The Betrayer

Jethro Martyn raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glaring sun. Light was glancing off an intricately carved marble statue and falling with a dappled effect upon Jethro and his horse. The steed snorted in annoyance and carried its rider swiftly away from the irritating sculpture. As it did so, Jethro dropped his hand and began to study his surroundings.

The city was magnificent. Beautiful monuments and statues decorated the streets for as far as the eye could see. Around these masterpieces, the common houses and shops had sprung from the earth. Yet even these comparatively ugly constructions were as vivid and colourful as the imagination of the undoubtedly gifted architect who designed them. Everywhere he looked, Jethro could see nature and man living in harmony.

He had entered the city only a few hours earlier, and was still very much in awe of the settlement and its surprisingly friendly inhabitants. A wandering treasure-hunter, Jethro had visited many different towns and communities in his time, but he had not yet encountered such welcoming and affable people. Upon arrival, Jethro had been treated to the utmost courtesy and immediately directed towards the most favourable inn in the city. It was this inn that he was now headed for.

Despite his lack of knowledge of the city, Jethro’s coming was by no means accidental. The inhabitants of the previous settlement in which he had stayed; a small town dominated by weather-beaten shepherds and farmers; had told him of a highly valued collection of maps to be found not far from this very city. Jethro, inspired by the enthusiastic ranting of the locals, had determined to find these maps.

Turning the corner, he sighted his destination at the end of the spotlessly clean avenue. Kicking his spurs into the horse’s flanks, he accelerated towards the tavern. As he rode closer, Jethro could not help but notice that this building in particular was even more splendid and resplendent than the surrounding structures, which in a city of such irrefutable beauty was a fine achievement.

Upon closer inspection, Jethro was able to determine the inn’s name: The Betrayer. The title appeared to be so grossly inappropriate for such a marvellous building that Jethro made a mental note to enquire about its origin at a later time. For the moment, however, he dismounted and was instantaneously greeted by a young stable boy who, with a tender touch, led the mare away.

After inhaling deeply, Jethro strode forward purposefully through the open doorway. Once inside, he was greeted by a veritable cacophony of noise. The inn was packed; the city gatekeepers’ assured promises about the tavern’s popularity were confirmed instantly. Men and women parted graciously before him as Jethro made his way towards the busy bar that dominated one side of the large, low-roofed room.

A small, rosy-cheeked man greeted him, light rebounding fiercely from the shining bald pate that dominated the upper half of his head. Beneath this, the rough skin was creased into many folds by the huge smile that stretched from ear to ear. A portly stomach rested heavily against the bar, clothed in a simple white shirt.

"A fine afternoon to you, my good sir. How may I be of assistance?"

Jethro cleared his throat noisily and raised his voice to shout above the din.

"I’m looking for a place to stay for a few nights. I’ve heard that you might be able to help me."

"Indeed, indeed," The man’s hairless scalp glistened with sweat as he scrambled frantically under the bar. "Twould be a pleasure to have you, sir.