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Florimel's quick recovery to spur them along. One night Chalmers commented that everything seemed to take longer, cost more, and smell worse in this continuum than in any of the others they'd visited.
    "I've been thinking about that," Shea replied. "Remember what you said about the peculiarities in the world of the Aeneid ?"
    "There were a great many such," Chalmers said. "Which ones were you thinking of in particular?"
    "All of them, and your explanation," Shea said. "Homer lived four hundred years after the Trojan War, and Virgil lived eight hundred years after Homer, besides being a Roman with a political axe to grind."
    "So?"
    "Suppose whatever Borodin used for his opera—an old Russian epic, I suppose—was written by one of Igor's contemporaries. Maybe one of his nobles. It would be favorable to Igor, but it might not leave in a lot of the details."
    "Such as lice and smells and taking forever to get anywhere?" Chalmers snapped. "I suppose that could be an explanation. It is hardly an excuse."
    Shea decided that Chalmers was in no mood for academic analysis, and turned away to take the first watch.

    By the evening of the third day, Chalmers was feeling more reconciled to the realism of Igor's world and the absence of Florimel.
    "Did that chief have any intention of negotiating at all?" he asked Igor as they made camp.
    "They still respect the truce banner, though not as much as they used to," the prince replied.
    "The wizard said that their rules, even among themselves, are breaking down," Shea added.
    Igor frowned, and Shea gave a thought to one of the virtues of being a Hero—what would be a grimace on an ordinary man was an earnest, noble expression on the prince's face. "I wouldn't mind seeing them fight among themselves, but if they no longer keep trade-truce . . . Curse them for the Devil's own spawn and fools as well!
    "Trade law holds that no one may be attacked at a neutral trade site, or for three days' journey before or after. In the lands of the Rus, of course, the princes punish theft, three days or no three days. But trade law holds even for the steppe, or has until now."
    "Does that mean, Your Highness, that if we find Florimel . . . ?" Reed's voice faltered. "If we find Florimel—for sale—that we couldn't challenge it there, or for three days after?"
    "In the lands of the Rus you could," Igor replied with a touch of pride. "No one may be enslaved among us except according to the provisions of the law, and before witnesses. And the wise man will register his slaves, whether Rus or foreign, with the chiliarch's clerk, so that if they flee, or are stolen, their ownership will not be in question.
    "But those who buy slaves on the steppe, by trade-truce, do not question their origins. And if they go to the chiliarch's clerk and say, 'I bought this slave on the steppe,' the clerk has to accept it. If it turns out that the slave belonged to someone else, or was not a slave at all, well, under the law, Polovtsi raids are treated as fire and shipwreck, a natural loss."
    "I can see room for all kinds of corruption," Shea muttered.
    "I have seen it, Egorov Andreivich."
    "But how do we get my wife back?" Chalmers pursued.
    "I could see about having her purchased by one of my agents," Igor replied. "That's risky; you never know how the bidding will go. A counterraid would be risky too, with that sorcerer among the steppe tribes. The only man I could count on would be my brother Vsevolod, but we might be enough, if we can catch them before they reach the truce area."
    The psychologists could see that Igor was now the warrior-prince, considering options. They said no more, nor, as he walked off to his own campfire, did he.

III
    Harold Shea sipped cautiously from the silver goblet in his hand. The mead in it was strong and sweet. Already he found himself unable to focus on the frieze of Olga's revenge, that marked the point where the walls of this chamber arched up to form its dome.
    The inside of the dome was