She drew her knife. "Get out!" she screamed.
Flavius raised his brows, but left. Phryne slammed the door after him.
A while she smote her hands together. Then, viciously, she tore off her
tunic and washed herself.
Wrapped in the mantle, she emerged again. She felt calmer--on the
surface; underneath was a dark clamor in an unknown language. Sundown
blazed among restless clouds; the mast swayed back and forth in heaven.
Tjorr sat on a barrel under the forecastle, drumming his heels as he
raised a stolen chalice. Elsewhere men crowded shrieking about lashed
casks, and the deck that had been bloodied was now stained purple.
Phryne shivered and drew the wool closer about her. This was going to
be a night where Circe reigned.
She looked aft. A small cluster of men stood together around Flavius'
tall form. She recognized Demetrios, the youth Quintus, two or three
others. Briefly, she was afraid. But--a few unarmed malcontents? she
asked herself scornfully.
She walked forward. A locked hatch cover muffled some weird
noises--what was that? Oh, to be sure, the free crew and the more timid
slaves of this galley had been chained to the rowers' benches down
there.
Tjorr boomed at her, "Hoy, shield maiden! Come drink with me! You've
earned it!"
Phryne joined him. One man snatched after her. Tjorr tossed his hammer,
casually. The man screamed and hopped about, clutching his bare toes.
"Next one insults my girl gets it in the brisket," said Tjorr without
rancor. "Now bring me back that maul."
Phryne accepted the cup he sloshed into the barrel for her. She held it
two-handed, bracing herself against the ship's long swinging. Barbarous
to drink it undiluted, she thought; but fresh water was too begrudged
at sea. She looked at the hairy, squatting shapes that ringed her in
and asked, "Will there not be fights that disable men we need?"
Tjorr pointed to a chest behind the barrel. "All arms save our own are
in there," he said. "And here I'll sit all night. I'm not unaware of
that Flavius cockroach, little one. Were I the chief, he'd have been
fish food long ago."
"Is your life so much more to you than your honor?" she bridled.
"Well, I suppose not. But I've three small sons at home. The youngest
was just starting to walk on his little bandy legs when I went off. And
then there's my woman, too, if she's not wed another by now, and--Well,
anyhow, it would be bitter to die without drinking of the Don again."
Tjorr tossed off his cup and dipped it in once more.
"Where would you yourself go?" he asked.
Phryne stared eastward, where night came striding into the wind. "I do
not know," she said.
"Hm? But surely--you spoke of Egypt--"
"It may be. Perhaps in Alexandria.... Leave me alone!" Phryne went from
him, up the ladder and into the bow.
She huddled there a long time. No one ventured past Tjorr; she could be
by herself. Down on the main deck the scene grew more wild and noisy
each hour; by torch and hearth-light she glimpsed revels as though Pan
the terrible had put to sea. One small corner of civilization remained,
far aft below the poop, where Flavius and his comrades warmed their
hands over a brazier and drank so slowly she was not certain they drank
at all.
The moon seemed to fly through heaven, pale among great driving clouds.
It showed fleetingly how the waters surged from the west--not very high
as yet, but with foam on black waves. And the wind droned louder than
before.
Phryne sat under the bulwarks and nursed her beaker, letting the wine
warm her only a little. This was no time to flee her trouble. She must
choose a road.
And what was there for her?
Briefly, when they had planned where to go on their newly won ship,
it had flamed up--perhaps Antinous was in Alexandria, perhaps she
could find him again! Too long had he kissed her only in dreams. She
hearkened back to the last time when she awoke crying his name.... She
knew, then, suddenly, that she had not really seen his face in the
dream. She had not done so for months. She could not even call it to
mind now--it was a blur; he had had a straight nose and gray eyes and
so on, but she only remembered the _words_.
Well, Time devoured all things at last, but it might have spared the
ghost she bore of Antinous.
Nevertheless, she thought, she could stay in Alexandria.... No, what
hope had a woman without friends? There were only the brothels; better
to seek the sea's decency this very night. She could follow Eodan
toward his barbarian goal, most likely to his death along the way, but
suppose they did get back to this Cimberland, what then? Eodan would
house her, but she would not be a useless leech on any man. And so she
would merely exist, alone on the marches of the world, until finally in
her need she let some brainless red youth tumble her in his hut.
She wondered drearily if Flavius had meant his offer. It was the best
of an evil bargain. And if he lied--well, then she would die, and the
shades did not remember this earth.
When Eodan released Flavius, she would go with him to Rome.
The decision brought peace, after so many hours of treading the same
round like a blinded ox grinding wheat. Perhaps now she could sleep.
It was very late. The revelry had ended. By the light of a sinking
moon, glimpsed through clouds, she saw men sprawled across the deck,
their cups and their bodies rolling with the ship. A few feeble voices
hiccoughed some last song, but, mostly, they were all snoring to match
the wind. Phryne stood up, stiff-limbed, to seek her tent on the
smaller galley.
The brazier under the poop was still aglow. A dark figure crossed in
front of it, and another and another. Flavius' party was retiring, too.
Being sober, they would have the sense to go below to sleep. One of
them had just entered the poop....
No, what was it he came back with? Torchlight shimmered on iron. A
crowbar from the carpenter's kit? And there were hammers, a drawknife,
even a saw. O father Zeus, weapons!
Flavius led them across the deck. The last half-dozen celebrants,
seated in a ring about a wine cask, looked up. "Well," Phryne heard,
"who 'at? c'mere, old frien', c'mere f' little drink--"
Flavius struck coldly with his bar. Two hammers beat as one, _thock,
thock_--like butchers, the three men stunned those who sat. Quintus
cackled gleefully and began to saw a throat across. "No need!" snapped
Flavius. "This way!"
Phryne threw herself to the planks. What if they had seen her? Her
heart beat so wildly she feared it would burst. As though from
immensely far off, she heard Flavius break the lock on the hatch and go
below.
Phryne caught her lip in her teeth to hold it steady. She could just
see one man standing guard on deck while the others were breaking off
chains in the rowers' pit. Could he see her in turn, if she--but if she
lay still, he would find her at sunrise!
Phryne inched to the ladder. Down, now. Moonlight fell on Tjorr,
sprawled back against the weapon chest. His mouth was open and he was
making private thunder in his nose. Phryne crouched beside him. He was
too massive; her hands would not shake him enough. "Tjorr! Tjorr, it is
mutiny!" she whispered. "Tjorr, wake up!"
"What's that?" A ragged, half-frightened cry from the guard. Phryne saw
him against the sky, peering about.
"Uh," mumbled Tjorr. He swatted at her and rolled over.
Phryne drew her knife. The guard shaded his eyes, staring forward. "Is
somebody awake there?" he called.
She put her mouth to the Alan's ear. "Wake, wake," she whispered. "You
sleep yourself into Hades."
A man's head rose over the hatch coaming. "Somebody's astir up there,"
chattered the sentry.
"We'll go see," said the man. His burst-off chains swung from his
wrists; it was the last mutiny all over again. How the gods must be
laughing! Another followed him. Phryne recognized Quintus' ferret body.
"Ummmm," said Tjorr and resumed his snoring.
Phryne put her dagger point on a buttock and pushed.
"_Draush-ni-tchaka-belog!_" The Sarmatian came to his feet with a howl.
"What muck-swilling misbegotten son of--Oh!" His gaze wobbled to rest
on the man running toward him. The hammer seemed to leap into his hand.
"Up!" he bawled. "Up and fight!"
Phryne dashed past him. Eodan still slept, she thought wildly; they
could fall upon him unawares and kill him in his wife's arms. Behind
her she heard a sound like a melon splitting open. "_Yuk-hai-saa-saa!_"
chanted Tjorr. "You're next, Quintus!"
The youth ran back, almost parallel to Phryne. Men were coming from the
hatch, one after the other. He saw her and shrilled: "Get that one
too! It's--" He broke off, swerved and plunged toward her in silence.
Phryne put her foot on the gangway between the ships. It jerked back
and forth as they rolled, and she heard ropes rubbing together. She
must go all-fours over it or risk being thrown into the water between
the hulls. She crouched.
A hand closed on her ankle. She felt herself being yanked back on deck.
Moonlight speared through darkness as she sat up. Quintus stood over
her, grasping his saw. "Lie there," he said. "Lie there or I'll take
your head off!"
Phryne whipped to her knees and stabbed at his foot. He danced aside,
laughing. The saw blade reached across her arm. It was no deep cut, but
she cried out and dropped her knife. He kicked it away, grabbed her
shoulder and hurled her onto her back. Kneeling beside her, he laid the
saw teeth across her throat. "Be still, now, if you would live," he
said. "I've business to finish with you."
Phryne looked into the downy face. She lifted her arms. "Oh," she said.
"I am conquered."
Quintus' chin dropped. Moving carefully, so he could see what she did,
she unfastened her belt. "I have never known a man like you," she
breathed. "Let me get this mantle off--" She slid her hands toward the
brooch at her throat. The fabric wrinkled up ahead of her arm.
"Quickly!" gasped the boy. He lifted the saw a little, it was shaking
so much, and fumbled at his loincloth.
Phryne got the bundled cloak between her throat and the teeth. She
stabbed him in the hand with her brooch pin. He yelled, the saw
skittered from his grasp. She leaped up and onto the gangway.
Quintus yammered by the rail. A fury lifted in Phryne; she stood up
in the moonlight on the bobbing, twisting plank and opened her arms.
"Well," she cried, "are you man enough to follow?"
He stumbled onto the gangway. She kicked, and he fell down between the
hulls. They were protected by rope bumpers from grinding together, but
one lurching wall struck him as he went past. He rebounded, splashed
and did not rise again.
Phryne crawled over the plank. Great Mother of Mercy, she thought, what
had she done? But now it was to rouse Eodan. Up on the other ship,
Tjorr stabbed and hammered, crying to his drunken followers to waken.
Twenty men pressed in upon the Sarmatian, driving him back by sheer
weight from the weapon chest.
Phryne beat on the cabin door. "Eodan, Hwicca, come out!" she called.
"Come out before they kill you!"
It opened. The Cimbrian stood tall against blackness, armed only with a
yard-long sword. Behind him Hwicca still blinked sleep from her eyes.
Even in that moment, Phryne saw how fulfillment had made her beautiful.
Iron clanged in the windy moonlight. Phryne's breath choked. So they
had the weapons now! Flavius was already worming over the gangplank,
bearing sword and shield. Behind him came two more--the rest still
raged among the befuddled pirates, it was a bestial battle--one with an
ax and one with a spear. Phryne and the Cimbrians were naked.
Eodan sprang forward to meet Flavius before he crossed. The Roman stood
up and pounced the last few feet. He could have been thrown into the
sea, like Quintus, but the watery gods let him pass. He struck the
deck, danced away from Eodan's slash and smiled.
"Come," he said, "let us end this Iliad."
Eodan snarled and moved in. He had more reach, which his blade
immensely lengthened. But Flavius' shield seemed always to be where the
Cimbrian blows landed--over his head, in front of his breast, even down
to his knees. The battle banged and roared between those two.
Phryne and Hwicca faced the Roman's companions. The men grinned and
walked in at their leisure. Phryne tried to dart aside, but the
spearman thrust his shaft between her legs. She fell, and her mind
seemed to burst. When she regained herself, she was prodded erect.
"Over there," said the man. "Stand against the cabin wall. That's the
way." He held his pike close to her breasts, ready to drive it home.
Hwicca, a long knife in her hand, circled about with the axman. She
spat at him, wildcatlike. Once she tried to rush in with a stab, but
his weapon yelled down and she saved herself by falling. He tried to
strike again, but she got away too swiftly.
And Eodan and Flavius fought across the deck and back, sword on
shield, the Roman boring in behind his shelter and the Cimbrian holding
him off with sheer battering force.
A bloody, tattered giant loomed over the rail of the other galley.
Tjorr sheathed his sword in one final man, who tumbled down between the
hulls. The Alan jumped onto the gangway.
The man who was guarding Phryne saw him coming. "I must deal with him,"
he said, not unkindly. "Farewell, girl. We'll meet beyond the Styx." He
drew back his pike. Phryne had no more will or strength to dodge. She
waited.
Tjorr stopped on the middle of the gangplank, braced his legs and
whirled the hammer. Phryne did not see it fly; she only saw the
pikeman's eyes bulge out, and when he toppled she saw his head broken
open. Her knees deserted her; she sank to the deck and stared emptily
at all else.
Tjorr bounded down, fell upon the axman from behind and wrenched the
weapon loose. The axman kicked with a shod foot. Tjorr bellowed wrath
and pain, dropped the ax and was caught in a wrestler's grip. He and
the sailor went down on the deck like a pair of dogs.
Hwicca sped toward Eodan. She called out something--Phryne did not know
the rough word, but surely no voice had ever held more love. As Eodan's
gaze shifted toward her, Flavius stepped in close and brought the upper
edge of his shield beneath Eodan's jaw. The Cimbrian lurched back, and
his sword clattered from his hand. He leaned his back against the rail
and shook his head like a stunned bull.
Flavius poised his blade. Hwicca flung herself across Eodan's body--and
the sword struck home.
Flavius stared stupidly as she went to her knees. Eodan caught her and
eased her to the deck. He did not seem aware of the Roman any longer.
Tjorr broke his opponent's neck, picked up the fallen ax and thundered
toward Flavius. The Roman bounded away, up onto the gangplank. He
reached the other ship and faced back; but he was masked by shadow.
Tjorr paused at the plank's foot, saw spears bristle and stayed where
he was. His ax chopped and the plank's ropes parted. Now it dangled
free from the higher bulwark. Tjorr ran along the rail, cleaving lines.
A few arrows fell near him as he cranked the anchor windlass. The gale
caught the two ships and drove them apart.
Tjorr came back to Phryne. "If we set our canvas we can run away from
'em while they kill the last pirates," he croaked. "I see no other
chance. Do you think you and I can unfurl the sail alone?"