In the waiting silence, Paul studied the man, sensing the aura of power that radiated from him. He was a leader - a Fremen leader.
A man near the center of the table across from Paul muttered: "Who's he to tell us what rights we have on Arrakis?"
"It is said that the Duke Leto Atreides rules with the consent of the governed," the Fremen said. "Thus I must tell you the way it is with us: a certain responsibility falls on those who have seen a crysknife." He passed a dark glance across Idaho . "They are ours. They may never leave Arrakis without our consent."
Halleck and several of the others started to rise, angry expressions on their faces. Halleck said: "The Duke Leto determines whether - "
"One moment, please," Leto said, and the very mildness of his voice held them. This must not get out of hand , he thought. He addressed himself to the Fremen: "Sir, I honor and respect the personal dignity of any man who respects my dignity. I am indeed indebted to you. And I always pay my debts. If it is your custom that this knife remain sheathed here, then it is so ordered - by me . And if there is any other way we may honor the man who died in our service, you have but to name it."
The Fremen stared at the Duke, then slowly pulled aside his veil, revealing a thin nose and full-lipped mouth in a glistening black beard. Deliberately he bent over the end of the table, spat on its polished surface.
As the men around the table started to surge to their feet, Idaho 's voice boomed across the room: "Hold!"
Into the sudden charged stillness, Idaho said: "We thank you, Stilgar, for the gift of your body's moisture. We accept it in the spirit with which it is given." And Idaho spat on the table in front of the Duke.
Aside to the Duke, he said; "Remember how precious water is here, Sire. That was a token of respect."
Leto sank back into his own chair, caught Paul's eye, a rueful grin on his son's face, sensed the slow relaxation of tension around the table as understanding came to his men.
The Fremen looked at Idaho , said: "You measured well in my sietch, Duncan Idaho. Is there a bond on your allegiance to your Duke?"
"He's asking me to enlist with him. Sire," Idaho said.
"Would he accept a dual allegiance?" Leto asked.
"You wish me to go with him, Sire?"
"I wish you to make your own decision in the matter," Leto said, and he could not keep the urgency out of his voice.
Idaho studied the Fremen. "Would you have me under these conditions, Stilgar? There'd be times when I'd have to return to serve my Duke."
"You fight well and you did your best for our friend," Stilgar said. He looked at Leto. "Let it be thus: the man Idaho keeps the crysknife he holds as a mark of his allegiance to us. He must be cleansed, of course, and the rites observed, but this can be done. He will be Fremen and soldier of the Atreides. There is precedent for this: Liet serves two masters."
" Duncan ?" Leto asked.
"I understand, Sire," Idaho said.
"It is agreed, then," Leto said.
"Your water is ours, Duncan Idaho." Stilgar said. "The body of our friend remains with your Duke. His water is Atreides water. It is a bond between us."
Leto sighed, glanced at Hawat, catching the old Mentat's eye. Hawat nodded, his expression pleased.
"I will await below," Stilgar said, "while Idaho makes farewell with his friends. Turok was the name of our dead friend. Remember that when it comes time to release his spirit. You are friends of Turok."
Stilgar started to turn away.
"Will you not stay a while?" Leto asked.
The Fremen turned back, whipping his veil into place with a casual gesture, adjusting something beneath it. Paul glimpsed what looked like a thin tube before the veil settled into place.
"Is there reason to stay?" the Fremen asked.
"We would honor you," the Duke said.
"Honor requires that I be elsewhere soon," the Fremen said. He shot another glance at Idaho , whirled, and strode out past the door guards.
"If the other Fremen match him, we'll serve each other well," Leto said.
Idaho spoke in a dry voice: "He's a fair sample, Sire."
"You understand what you're to do, Duncan ?"
"I'm your ambassador to the Fremen, Sire."
"Much depends on you, Duncan. We're going to need at least five battalions of those people before the Sardaukar descend on us."
"This is going to take some doing, Sire. The Fremen are a pretty independent bunch." Idaho hesitated, then: "And, Sire, there's one other thing. One of the mercenaries we knocked over was trying to get this blade from our dead Fremen friend. The mercenary says there's a Harkonnen reward of a million Solaris for anyone who'll bring in a single crysknife."
Leto's chin came up in a movement of obvious surprise. "Why do they want one of those blades so badly?"
"The knife is ground from a sandworm's tooth; it's the mark of the Fremen, Sire. With it, a blue-eyed man could penetrate any sietch in the land. They'd question me unless I were known. I don't look Fremen. But . . . "
"Piter de Vries," the Duke said.
"A man of devilish cunning, my Lord," Hawat said.
Idaho slipped the sheathed knife beneath his tunic.
"Guard that knife," the Duke said.
"I understand, m'Lord." He patted the transceiver on his belt kit. "I'll report soon as possible. Thufir has my call code. Use battle language." He saluted, spun about, and hurried after the Fremen.
They heard his footsteps drumming down the corridor.