She shrank back with a little whimper.
"No more of that," said Phryne sharply. "We are certain not to outlive
this trip if we quarrel among ourselves." She regarded Hwicca closely.
"You look strong," she said, "and I daresay you have some knowledge of
weapons."
The Cimbrian girl nodded, wordless.
"Well, then," said Phryne, "Eodan and I can do no more without rest.
You have slept a while, now watch Flavius for us. It is simple enough.
Hold this sword. Stay out of his reach. If he makes a suspicious move,
call us. If it looks as if he might escape, stab!"
Hwicca took the heavy blade. "That much ... yes," she said in the
Cimbric.
Eodan laughed, without mirth, but not uncomforted. He curled on his
side to face her. The last sight he had, before sleep smote, was the
unsure smile with which she looked at him....
Her scream wakened Eodan.
He sprang to a crouch. He had a moment's glimpse of Flavius' tall form
stooped beneath the roof. The Roman was at the door, and Hwicca was
plunging toward him. Flavius kicked out. He got her swordbearing arm.
She cried aloud, fell and tried to seize his feet. He fumbled with the
latch, kicking her again.
Eodan roared and sprang, but it was too narrow a space. He stumbled
over Hwicca. Phryne had just come awake. Sleep spilled from her,
and she grabbed for her knife. Eodan picked himself up from his
entanglement with Hwicca as Flavius got the door open. Eodan rushed for
him.
They went backwards out on the deck. Eodan reached after Flavius'
throat. The Roman's knees were doubled up before his stomach. He
straightened them enough to fend off the Cimbrian, rolled over and
shouted.
"Help! Captain! Slave mutiny! Help!"
Eodan grasped for him, missed again and saw the Libyan sailor's legs
pounding up. The Libyan was swinging a club. Eodan scrambled back from
the blow and bounced to his feet. The Libyan yelled and raised the club
high. Eodan's fist leaped, and he felt bone and flesh crunch under his
knuckles. The Libyan choked and sat down.
Wildly, Eodan looked toward the bow. He had a glimpse of sea that
sparkled blue beneath a sun close to noon. The ship rolled gently, but
to an opposing wind; they were still only oar-powered. The land was
a thin streak to starboard. Flavius stood in a knot of men under the
forecastle, pointing back to the cabin and yelling.
"Give me that sword!" bawled Eodan.
Phryne came out with it. The wind rumpled her short dark hair, the sun
blinked on her knife blade. Her tilted face looked forward in the calm
of--hopelessness? No, Hwicca sobbed behind her, saying, "There are
worse endings. Kill me, Eodan."
"No!" he cried. "Come, follow me! _By the Bull_--"
He lifted his sword and ran aft. The sailors in the bow milled, unsure.
Demetrios exhorted them. Up on the poop, the steersman gaped and let go
his oar. The ship heeled as the wind brought it about. Eodan stumbled,
regained his feet and reached the hatch he wanted.
It stood open. The stench of the grave boiled from it. Even in that
moment he was close to retching. But--"Down in there!" he rapped, and
sprang first, ignoring the ladder.
He struck a platform where the gong-beater stood, staring, mouth open
like a fish. Eodan stabbed once. The gong-beater screamed, caught at
his belly and sank to his knees.
Eodan looked down the length of the pit. Overhead was the main deck.
Before him was an oblong well, with ten benches on either side and a
man chained to each. He could not see them as more than a blur--here
a bleached face, there a tangle of hair. A catwalk ran down the
middle, above the seats. Light came in shafts through the hatch and
the oar-ports. As the ship rolled, a sunbeam would sickle up and down,
touching a rib or a strake or a human face, and then flee onward. It
was noisy here--timbers groaned, waves slapped the hull, rowlocks
creaked, chains rattled.
The overseer came at a run along the catwalk. He was a big man with a
smashed, hating face. He was bearing a whip with leaded thongs and a
trident for prodding or killing. "Pirates!" he whooped. "Pirates!"
A beast-howl lifted from the benches. Oars clattered in their locks;
the men stood up and barked, grunted, yammered. Eodan could not tell
whether it was fear or wrath. And his life depended on which it was.
As the overseer reached him, Eodan crouched. The overseer stabbed.
Eodan swayed his body aside, as though this were a bull's horn in the
Cimbrian springtime games. He should have thrust in his turn, but habit
was too strong. He struck downward with his sword. The overseer's
trident was wrenched loose and went ringing to the platform.
The man's mouth opened. Perhaps he cursed, but Eodan could not hear
above the slave-racket. His fingers clawed for a hold, to wrestle the
Cimbrian. Eodan got him by belt and throat, heaved him up over his
head, and roared aloud.
"Here! He's yours!"
And hurled the overseer into darkness.
"Eodan," cried Hwicca. Her hands fell frantic upon his body. He looked
into wild eyes. "What would you do?"
"No time to hunt for keys to the locks," he rapped. "Pick up that
trident. Pry the shackles off these men!"
Hwicca stood back, staring. The slaves hooted and jumped about. A
swift sunbeam caught bared teeth down in the murk. They could hear the
overseer being ripped apart.
"Can you hold the crew off long enough?" called Phryne.
"I had better!" said Eodan.
He pulled off his cloak and whirled it around his left arm. The
gong-beater caught feebly at his heels. He stamped down the hand and
bounded up the ladder.
The sailors were nearing. All of them had weapons, such as were kept
against pirates. Demetrios was bearing a shield and helmet as well.
Flavius was walking beside him.
"There he is!" bellowed the captain, and feet thudded on the planks.
Eodan went down again and waited.
There was grunting and cursing at his back. Once the girls had a man
or two free, it would go faster.... But if I were a slave, he thought,
with the mind beaten out of me, I might not use a sudden woman for
anything but--Here is a man to fight!
It was the Libyan, with a broken nose to avenge. He came down the
ladder quickly, facing forward in sailor fashion, bearing a short
spear. In the shifting gloom he was not much more than another shadow.
Eodan poised himself. The spear punched at his stomach. He caught the
point in his wadded cloak, shoved it aside and stepped in. The Libyan
howled, but was scarcely heard above the howling of the galley slaves.
Eodan slid the sword into him. The sailor did not seem to feel it. He
backed against the ladder, pulled his spear free and struck. Eodan did
not quite sidestep it. The edge raked his shoulder. As the Libyan moved
in, Eodan chopped at the wooden handle of his enemy's weapon. Roman
iron bit; he caught it. The Libyan wrestled him for the shaft. Eodan
jerked. The Libyan lost his balance, slipped in his own pouring blood
and fell into the pit.
Eodan glanced up. The sky in the hatch blinded him. He could only see
that someone was looking down. As if from far away, he heard Demetrios:
"Throw a kettle of boiling water. He cannot withstand that!"
"He can retreat onto the catwalk," said Flavius, "and come back to meet
the next man we send. No, let one sailor carry that kettle down the
ladder. The barbarian cannot attack him without being scalded. Two or
three others can come directly behind--"
Gasping, Eodan turned toward the benches. It had quieted a little. He
heard links clash in the darkness. A staple screamed as it was torn out
of a timber.
"Follow me!" shouted Eodan. "Break your oars for clubs! There are no
more than six or seven men up there! You can be free!"
They shuffled and mumbled in the dark. He glimpsed a few who had been
released holding up their dangling chains in a dull, wondering way.
They were loathsome with sores and scars.