made so large a haul.

Looking back at that great catch, as here in this far land it is my
habit to do upon everything, however small, that happened to me in my
youth before I became a wanderer and an exile, I seem to see in it an
omen. For has it not always been my lot in life to be kissed of fortune
and to gather great store, and then of a sudden to lose it all as I was
to lose that rich multitude of fishes?

To-day, when I write this, once more I have great wealth of pomp and
love and power, of gold also, more than I can count. When I go forth, my
armies, who still look on me as half a god, shout their welcome and kiss
the air after their heathen fashion. My beauteous queen bows down to me
and the women of my household abase themselves into the dust. The
people of the Ancient City of Gold turn their faces to the wall and the
children cover their eyes with their hands that they may not look upon
my splendour as I pass, while maidens throw flowers for my feet to
tread. Upon my judgment hangs life or death, and my lightest word is as
though it were spoken from heaven. These and many other things are mine,
the trappings of power, the prerogative of the Lord-from-the-Sea who
brought victory to the Chanca people and led them back to their ancient
home where they might live safe, far from the Inca's rage.

And yet often, as I sit alone in my splendour upon the roof of the
ancient halls or wander through the starlit palace gardens, I call to
mind that great catch of fishes in the English sea and of what followed
after. I call to mind also my prosperity and wealth as one of the first
merchants of London Town and what followed after. I call to mind, too,
the winning of Blanche Aleys, the lady so far above me in rank and
station and what followed after. Then it is that I grow afraid of what