Breden blinked at you in astonishment, no trace of a smile remaining on her face. You gave her a moment, and when no response was forthcoming gently prompted her: "I rode two miles upriver this morning. The water on that road wouldn't wet a child's shins."
"By the Blessed Angels, kurios! Now that I've heard what your eyes have seen, I'd never believe that foolish helot Starn who spoke to me of a flood." Breden's speech slowed markedly, as if struggling to penetrate the mystery of how she came to be misled. "Indeed, now that you mention this, I recall that Starn cannot swim, and fears any moving water. I was myself a fool to heed anything he said about a river—or indeed any stream larger than a piss-trickle! I can only repent, and beg your tolerance for my passing on a falsehood unawares, and throw myself on your mercy." She paused in a cautious half-bow. When you just watched her levelly, she ventured: "Would you…would you then have us hail back your noble cousins, the aristarchs?"
Your lips quirked. "They'll have ridden further from us with every word you added to that little speech. And if I meant to spare them the long ride, I'd have spoken before they left. So tell me, Breden t'de Rose…if I rode up the river, would I meet your friend Starn, who said the road was dangerous for horses?"
The lean young helot straightened to regard you thoughtfully. "In truth, there may have been something to that fool's warning, kurios Hugh. There's water on the road. And there's danger." Her voice was toneless, but her wary eyes were suddenly aflame. "You might have heard about Olen Stonehewer?"
You wouldn't have, if you hadn't asked Old Joana why she was looking so miserable a day earlier. "He's the t'Pelematou helot who…"
1) "…was punished…"
2) "…died…"
3) "…was killed…"
4) "…was brutally slaughtered…"