"That is not my province." The physician left him.
Eodan walked slowly out of the villa into the walled flower garden
behind the kitchen. His leg felt almost a stranger to him. No matter,
he would be running in an hour. Running hence? They were _not_ going to
make a field hand of him again! It ground away, not only the body, but
mind and pride and hope, until a mere two-legged ox remained.
Phryne was talking with one of Cordelia's maids. She saw him and said,
"Enough. Come with me." The girl's eyes lingered on Eodan as she went
by. He swore at Phryne; in all the time since the orchard morning, she
would not speak to him--the winds take her! He considered how to get
the maid alone.
"There you are! And well at last! You've been loafing too long, you
lazy dog, and eating like a horse the while! Come here!"
Eodan strolled toward the major-domo. He rubbed his fist, looked at it
and back at the man's nose, nodded and said: "I did not hear you. Would
you repeat your wish?"
"There, there are some--heavy barrels to move," stammered the
major-domo. "If you will kindly come this way ..."
Eodan was willing enough to trundle the wine casks about. It was
a glory to feel his strength returned. And the villa was all in a
bustle--they were hanging up garlands everywhere, the girls giggled and
the men laughed, o ho ho, tonight! Eodan drew a pretty wench, a maid,
into a corner, they scuffled a little, she whispered breathlessly that
she would meet him in the olive grove after moonrise or as soon as she
could get away....
The Roman correctness of household eased. Men helped themselves openly
to wine, laughed with their overseers, drew buckets of water to pour
over sweaty skin, combed the fleas from their hair and wove garlands.
Eodan, rolling a great cheese from the storehouse, chanted a Cimbrian
march for his friend the groom.
"_High stood our helmets,
host-men gathered,
bows were blowing
bale-wind of arrows--_"
But no one understood the words.
At sundown the lamps were lit with those sulfur-tipped sticks Eodan
still thought a rash risk of Fire's anger. The villa glowed with a
hundred small suns of its own. He stood in the garden with Mopsus. "I
must go in now and help feed my fellows," he said.
"So, so. A good feed tonight. A good feed. My granddaughter used to
live for Floralia night--or was it my daughter, she was a baby too,
once ... I wonder, though, why Mistress hasn't asked any high-born
guests. It isn't like Mistress not to have fun when she can."
Eodan shrugged. He had seen Cordelia often enough, seated on a couch
or borne in a litter, but his world had been far from here, even in
the house; she rarely entered the kitchen or the stables. She was only
a task his little maidservant must finish before joining him under the
olive trees.
He went back into the villa. At its rear were the rooms where the
household's male property ate and slept. As he passed out of the
kitchen toward those chambers, he saw Phryne.
The lamp that she held turned her pale skin to gold. He moved forward,
smiling, a little tipsy, meaning only to explain himself to her. She
lifted her hand. "Stop."
"I'm not about to touch you," he flared.
"Good!" Her mouth twisted upward. He had seldom heard so whetted a
voice. "I was sent to fetch you. Come."
She turned about and walked quickly toward the atrium. He followed.
"But Phryne, what is this?"