Feather-Tongue finished his last tale.
When the crowd cried for more, amid shouts of praise, he only shook his head, and they slowly grew silent. He announced that he had told all that he possessed and there was nothing more he could offer.
Avarice began to laugh.
It was a rude, disquieting noise that carried everywhere in the silence. He claimed again that he was not satisfied for his last purchase. A wave of resentful leers spread through the crowd. Some even braved curses under their breath.
Feather-Tongue bowed politely, offering to gladly return the last and final payment.
Avarice smiled at this.
He sent out a servant to gather three pouches’ worth of gold and gems. It was only what he had paid the final time. He need not try to take anything more. A hundred-fold still remained that could never be carried away by the poet.
Shouts rose from the crowd, some in pleas that the poet might have just one more telling in him. But others shouted at Avarice that the barter was complete, now that the one final payment had been returned.
Avarice grew nervous. He had no choice by law and custom, and he waved off his guards. He had finally gotten everything this vagabond possessed, and the poet was free to go.
Feather-Tongue returned a final bow—but not to Avarice.
He faced each of the eight directions, offering his humble thanks to the people, and then turned to leave. He was halfway to the northern tunnel running under the stands when a crackling voice called out.
Avarice alone stood up among the elders.
All stared dumbfounded at the great treasure littering the amphitheater’s floor. Avarice asked why the poet had not taken his payment.
Feather-Tongue only shook his head.
Avarice grew gleeful. This fool now would not carry away even a meager part of the payment. Not only had Avarice gained all the tales of this idiot, but his wealth was left for him to reclaim.
Feather-Tongue turned about.
“I do accept your payment, and so it is mine,” he said. “But I will touch none of it . . . and until I do, neither shall any other. That is the law of barter . . . even for purchases.”
Avarice went cold with uncertainty.
Feather-Tongue’s gaze passed over the elders and then around the masses gathered upon the amphitheater’s stone steps and stands.
“But I offer this, by my oath, and witnessed by all,” he added, and then pointed to Avarice. “Whoever gains any true barter with that one . . . may take an equal measure of what I leave here.”
Avarice’s old heart hammered in panic. His gaze raced feverishly over the wealth he had paid, mixed with the paltry offers of others.
“But only in honorable barter,” Feather- Tongue repeated, still pointing to Avarice. “For those who give or take only coin with that one . . . shall have none of mine by fair trade.”
Avarice looked about, and all eyes were on him.
He had no skills left, nor goods to spare, with which to barter in the old ways. Even trickery could not regain his payment, for he could not barter with himself in order to share in what the poet offered to all others. He could not even risk thievery, for his wealth was laid out before the eyes of the whole seatt.
Feather-Tongue retrieved his staff and pack from one astonished guard staring at the glittering mounds. He walked away from that unhappy, fallen place. It is said that no one of that forgotten seatt ever touched a single coin or gem of the poet’s wealth.
Bartering with Avarice was impossible. He had nothing to offer by way of goods or services.
Perhaps the false thänæ visited his lost wealth each day, gazing at it piled up in plain sight. Certainly someone else would always come, watching him, and he dared not steal a single coin.
Perhaps in time, the taunt of the poet’s wealth became too much. Its constant reminder of the shame that Avarice brought upon the seatt, and the shame of all who had made no attempt to stop him, were too much to bear. One can only guess that all left that place, slipping away with their families. Perhaps some few went in search of what they heard in Feather-Tongue’s tales.
But not Avarice, that is certain.
Awaking one day to find himself alone, he would have seized upon his lost fortune—and then wept. No one remained from which to purchase anything. He had no servants, pack animals, or companions to help carry it away. But Avarice would never