"Not so!" he said harshly. "If you would--" He glanced at Flavius,
who raised brows and smiled. Then he put his lips by Hwicca's ear to
breathe: "I gave him no true oath. We can sacrifice him in Gaul; that
will remove all stain from you."
"_No!_" She cried it aloud, pulling free of him. The face he looked
upon was filled with terror.
"As you like," he floundered. "Whatever you wish. But remember, I am
your husband. It is for me to say if you are guilty, and I say you are
not."
"Let me alone," she pleaded. "Let me alone."
Eodan sat listening to her dry sobs. He hefted his sword, dully
thinking about its use. He had never fought with such a weapon; the
Cimbrian blades were for hewing, and this was for stabbing....
Phryne crept over the narrow space and touched his arm. "Wait," she
whispered. He saw a helpless look in her eyes, as if she sat watching a
child being burned out by fever. "Give her time, Eodan. I know not what
the Cimbrian law is--I suppose your women were chaste--it means more to
her, what has happened, than you can know."
"I do not understand," he said. "There is some witchcraft here. I do
not understand her any longer."
"Wait, Eodan. Only wait."
He squatted into his own corner, under the low roof, and looked across
to Flavius. The Roman had closed his eyes and stretched out; could he
really sleep now?
At last the noise ended. Eodan saw Hwicca fall asleep herself, curled
like a child. There was that much to thank the dark Powers for. Phryne
and he seemed too weary to rest, or too taut. Yet no thoughts ran in
his head; it felt hollowed out, and time did not flow for him. When a
new clamor began, and he felt the ship move, it was a jarring surprise.
Already!
He opened the door and looked out. The deckhands had cast loose, the
oars were walking, he heard rowlocks creak and the muffled gonging of
the stroke-setter beneath his shoes. They slipped through a channel
between many hulls still one dark mysterious mass. Ostia and Italy
behind her lay misty under the first saffron clouds; ahead, the
Tyrrhenian Sea caught a few wan gleams. There were stars in the west.
The sailors, shivering in tunics or mere loincloths, scurried over the
deck doing things unknown to Eodan. They were a ruffianly-looking lot,
swept from many ports of the Midworld Sea--a hairy Pamphylian, a brown
Libyan, a big-nosed Thracian, a brawny red-faced Gaul, another two or
three whom Eodan could only guess about. Captain Demetrios walked among
them, a sword at his waist, a light whip in his hand. He saw Eodan and
came over, beaming snag-toothed in his beard.
"Good morning," he said. "You had a--hah!--pleasant night with your
woman and your boy?"