In the morning they turned east. The wind had shifted enough to give
them some help, though it was necessary to break out the spare oars and
put ten men back on them. Eodan thought of making Flavius go into the
pit for a while. He glanced at Phryne, who sat pensively looking out
toward Egypt, and decided she would think it an unworthy deed.
Hwicca came out some time close to noon. She had put on a fresh gown
and a blue palla; it set off her sunlight-colored braids. She looked
out over the sea, which glittered blue and green in a hundred hues,
foamed, cried out and snorted under a sky of pale crystal. The wind
whooped over the world's rim and drew blood to her cheeks. Eodan had
not seen her so fair since they crossed the Alpine snows.
He went to her and said, striving to be calm, "I hope you feel yourself
again."
"Oh, yes. I am used to the movement now." Hwicca smiled at him, shy as
a child, and he remembered that she was after all no more than eighteen
winters. "Indeed this is a lovely way of faring, as if we rode on a
great bird."
Hope kindled him. He rubbed his chin weightily--let him not urge
himself too fast--and answered: "Yes, I could become as much a
shipwright as a horse tamer, I think. When we return to the North, we
shall begin making some real ships. I only remember boats from my
boyhood. Already I think I could teach their builders some new arts."
Her pleasure faded a little. "Are you indeed bound to return to
Cimberland?" she asked.
"If not to the same place, somewhere near," he said. "I remember my
father speaking of tribes not far eastward, Goths and Sueones, strong
wealthy folk who speak a tongue we could understand. But I would at
least be among my own folk again."
She lowered her face and murmured, "They have a saying here, that
nothing human is alien to them."
"Would you liefer stay in Rome?" he asked, stabbed.
"Let us not talk of that," she begged. Her hand stole up to his chin,
bristly after the past few unshaven days. When she touched him, it
seemed almost pain. "You look so funny," she smiled. "Black hair and
yellow whiskers."
"Hm, thanks," he said, gripping his temper tight. "Since the dye will
linger, Phryne told me, I'd best shave myself."
"How did it happen Phryne came with you?" asked Hwicca, a little too
lightly.
"She attended a matron at the farm, Flavius' wife. We came to know each
other."
"How well?" Hwicca arched her brows.
"She is my friend," he fumbled. "Nothing else."
"Cordelia is a bitch," said Hwicca, flushed, "but her maids have an
easy enough life. What drove this Phryne to forsake it?"