"Only this." Flavius' tone remained cool. "Do you really think to man
a ship with these apes? They know how to row. Can they lay a course,
hold a rudder, set a sail or splice a line? Do you, yourself, even know
where to aim, to reach some certain country? Now Captain Demetrios has
mastered all these arts, and I, who own a small pleasure craft, have
some skill. Eodan, you can kill us if you wish, but then you will be
wrecked in a day!"
There was buzzing among the slaves. The ship heeled sharply, under a
gust, and Eodan felt spray sting his face.
Phryne left the rail and came to him. "I have not seen much of the
sea," she said, "but I fear Flavius is right."
Eodan looked back along the deck, toward Hwicca. She stood watching the
Roman in a way he did not know, save that it was not hate. Eodan raised
his sword until it trembled before his eyes. The blood running down the
blade made the haft slippery. I had no real quarrel with any of the men
whose blood this was, he thought.
Then he regarded the sea, where it curled white on restless greenish
blue, and the sky, and the far dim line that was Italy. He spat on
the planks and called, "Very well! Lay down your arms and be our deck
officers. You shall not be harmed."
"What proof do you have?" snorted Demetrios.
"None, except that he wants to reach land again with his wife," said
Flavius. "Come." He led the way down the ladder. The rowers muttered
obscenity. Two of them moved close, their pieces of oar lifted. Tjorr
waved them back with his sledge. Flavius handed his sword to Eodan, who
pitched it down so it rang.
"I advise you to assert your authority without delay." Flavius folded
his arms and leaned against the poop, amused of face. "You have an
unruly band there."
By now the remaining oarsmen had come on deck. Eodan counted them. All
told, he had sixteen alive, including Tjorr, though several of these
had suffered wounds. He mounted halfway up the ladder. "Hear me!" he
cried.
They moved about, stripping the fallen sailors, shaking weapons they
had taken, chattering in a dozen tongues. Several edged close to
Hwicca. "Hear me!" roared Eodan. Tjorr took Demetrios' helmet and
banged on it with his hammer till ears hurt from the noise. "Heed me
now or I throw you overboard!" shouted Eodan.
When he had them standing, squatting or sitting beneath him, he began
to talk. There was little art of oratory among the Northern folk, but
he knew coldly that he must learn it for himself this day if he wanted
to live.
"I am Eodan who freed you," he said. "I am a Cimbrian. Last year,
having destroyed many Roman armies, we entered Italy. There our luck
turned, we were beaten and I was taken for a slave. But my luck has
turned again, for you see that I captured this ship and struck the
irons off you. And I shall give you your own freedom back!" He played
for a while on the thought of no more manacles or whips, sailing to a
land where they could find homes and wives or start out for their own
countries. When he had them shouting for him--he was astonished how
easy that was--he grew stern.
"A ship without a captain is a ship for the sea to eat. Now I am the
captain. For the good of all, I must be obeyed. For the good of all,
those who do not obey must suffer death or the lash. Hear me! It may
well be needful for you to row again, but you will row as free men. He
who will not pull his oar is not chained; he is welcome to leave us
over the side. He whose gluttony takes more than his ration shall be
cut into fish bait to make up for it. Hear me! I show you two women.
They are mine. I know you have been long without women, but he who
touches them, he who so much as makes a lewd remark to them, will be
nailed to the yardarm. For I am your captain. I am he who will lead you
to freedom and safety. I am the captain!"
A moment's stillness, then Tjorr whooped. And then they all shouted
themselves raw, clapped, danced and held their weapons aloft.
"_Captain, captain!_" Eodan leaned on the ladder while the cheering
beat in his face. Now, he thought drunkenly, now I can forgive Marius
that he made a triumph!
But the ship was bucking, drifting before the wind. While Tjorr went
among the men, binding hurts and learning what skills they might have,
Eodan conferred. Beside him were Hwicca, who held his arm and looked
gravely at him, and Phryne, who stood with feet braced wide against the
roll and fists defiantly on her hips. Demetrios, red with throttled
anger, faced Eodan; Flavius sat on a coil of rope, his chiseled
features gone blank.
"First we must know where to betake us," said Eodan. "I do not think we
could sail unquestioned into Massilia harbor as we are! Could we put in
elsewhere on the shore of Gaul, unseen?"
"It's a tricky coast for a lubber crew," said Demetrios.
"Narbonensis is thickly settled," added Phryne. "Even if we landed in
some cove, I doubt we would get far on foot before some prefect tracked
us down." Her gaze went west, toward the sun. "Indeed, nearly all the
Midworld seacoasts of Europe are Roman."
"There is Africa," said Flavius.
Phryne nodded thoughtfully. It struck Eodan (why had he never noticed
it before, with her hair so short?) that the shape of her head was
beautiful.
"Mauretania," she murmured. "No, that is well west of us. A long way to
go across open sea, with so tiny and awkward a crew. Numidia must be
nearly south ... but so is Carthage, where Romans dwell. Then I hear
Tripolis and Cyrenaica are desert in many places, down to the very
sea--"