Black Gruel, part 4

"Ha ha! Outsmarted you!"
I smiled weakly at him as he headed away to the pantry, but really I was filled with alarm. As soon as he untied the pouch he would discover Draces’s ring, recognise it and deduce that things did not happen exactly as I had described.
If I simply ran away, he would advertise a description of me and I would be a known outlaw for miles around. Aside from complicating my training, this would ruin my reputation at the barracks, because above all we prided ourselves on stealth. I would be a laughingstock, a mere anecdote like that fool Pythos who ended up brained by a flute girl.
The obvious thing for me to do was to kill this guy and I really, really didn’t want to do that. Call me a Persian, but I had no desire to arouse the wrath of the divine Host. This person had extended the courtesies to a stranger whom he believed to be a slave. There are those boys from the barracks who would spit on me for that sentiment, but I say that it was not cowardice but piety and prudence. After all, there is no shame in fearing the gods and if I killed this man, there was a good chance Zeus would punish me for it.
I stayed where I was but I could clearly picture in my mind the man opening the pouch, seeing the ring and planning my destruction.
I stole into the courtyard looking for some object that might serve as a weapon if things came to that. I spied a hoe, and moved myself within arms’ reach. I must have stood there in the courtyard with its little garden and modest fountain for a short time, but it seemed like an epoch. The songbirds looked at me curiously and sang songs about how odd I looked and how I was obviously up to no good. The plants, which were essentially weeds growing from converted troughs, hovered in a breeze from the open door and gleamed maliciously. With every minute, I felt more inclined to race down after the man and get him with the hoe.
Finally, his wood-soles sandals clattered on the cobblestones and he appeared laden with not only my purse (which was now bulging) but also a larger bag full of what looked like flat bread and hollowed gourds full of liquid. If he had discovered my identity as the murderer of his friends, he showed no sign of it. In fact, he was whistling cheerily as he approached and he seemed no longer as loutish. In fact he was standing tall and walking easily, imparting a sense of leisurely confidence.
"Ah, there you are, over there lad."
I eyed him warily.
"Here is your stuff. You won’t want to be hanging around here too long, I’ll bet, though I’ve no objection. Take this. You’ll want to try the black gruel – that’s particularly good stuff. Our specialty; pigs cooked in their own blood it is. Get going now. What are you staring at? Oh, this." He looked down at the ring on his hand. "I hope you don’t mind if I borrow it from you. I always thought it would look good on me. What do you think?"
I nodded and started backing away.
"Don’t worry about anything." He called as I ran out of the door. "It will be our little secret."