"I bear the commission of the Republic."
"The king spoke truly--they are not that interested in one man. This
decree is a gesture to please you, belike through your father-in-law.
You are the one who has made it his life's work to destroy me."
"Well, then, if you wish, I am revenging Cordelia," said Flavius. His
eyes shifted with a curious unease.
"I spared you at Arausio. And what was Cordelia to you, ever?"
"So now you call up the past and whine for your life."
"Oh, no," said Eodan softly. "I thank all the high gods that we meet
again. For you killed my Hwicca."
"_I_ did?" cried Flavius. His skin was chalky. "Now the gods would
shatter you, did they exist!"
"Your sword struck her down," said Eodan.
"After you flung her upon it!" shrieked Flavius. "You are her murderer
and none but you! I have heard enough of your filth!"
He whirled and almost ran. Phryne, small and solitary at the gate,
flinched aside from him. He vanished.
Eodan stood for a while staring after the Roman. It came to him
finally, like a voice from elsewhere: So that is why he must hate me.
He also loved Hwicca, in his own way. Indeed the soul of man is a
forest at night.
He thought coldly, It is well. Now I can be certain that Flavius will
never depart my track until one of us has died.
Phryne joined him as he left. As they went mutely from the castle,
Tjorr rushed up to them. "There are Romans come!" he bawled. "A dozen
Roman soldiers in camp.... I'd swear I saw Flavius himself go by....
Phryne! _You_ are here!"
"Have you any further information?" asked the girl sweetly.
They walked toward Eodan's tent, and she explained to the Alan what had
happened. Tjorr gripped his hammer. "By the thunder," he said, "it was
well done of you! But what help did you think you could give us?"
"I did not know," she answered unsteadily, "nor am I certain yet. A
word, perhaps ... one more voice to plead, with a flattering abasement
impossible to Eodan ... or some scheme--I could not stay away."
Tjorr looked at the Cimbrian's unheeding back. "Be not angry with him
if he shows you cold thanks," he said. "There has been a blackness in
him of late, and this cannot have lightened it."
"He has already rewarded me beyond measure," she said, "by the way he
greeted me."
They entered the tent. Eodan slumped on a heap of skins and wrapped
solitude about himself. After some low-voiced talk with Phryne, it
occurred to Tjorr to take her out and show her to his and Eodan's
personal guards, grooms and other attendants. "She is not to be
insulted. Obey her as you would obey me. Any who behaves otherwise,
I'll break his head. D'you hear?"
When they came back it was approaching sunset. Eodan was sitting before
a small pile of silks, linens and ornaments. "A slave brought these for
you, Phryne," he said. "The king commands your presence at his feast."
"The king!" She stared bewildered. "What would the king with me?"
"Be not afraid," said Eodan. "He is only cruel to his enemies."
Tjorr's eyes glittered. "But this is wonderful!" he cried. "Girl, your
fortune may be made! I'll get a female to help you dress--"
When she had gone he muttered, "She did not appear overly glad of the
king's favor."
"She is too frightened on our behalf," said Eodan.
"Do you think she has good reason to fear?"
"I do not know--nor care, if I can only lay hands on Flavius."
As twilight fell, an escort of torchbearers came to bring them to the
castle. Entering the feasting hall, Eodan saw it aglow with lamps. Some
attempt to make it worthy of the king was shown by plundered robes
strewn on the floor; musicians stood in the murk under the god-pillars
and caterwauled. It was no large banquet Mithradates gave this
night--couches for a score of his officers, with Eodan on his right and
Tjorr beyond him, Flavius on the left. Cimbrian and Alan wore Persian
dress, to defy the plain white tunic of the Roman. The rest clad their
Anatolian bodies in Greek style, save that the king had thrown a
purple robe over his wide shoulders.
Eodan greeted Mithradates and the nobles as always, and reclined
himself stiffly. The king helped himself to fruit from a crystal bowl.
"Never before has this place known such an assembly of the great," he
declared with sardonic sententiousness. "And yet our chief guest has
not been summoned."
"Who might that be, Lord of the World?" asked a Pontine.
"It is not our custom that women dine with men," said Mithradates. "We
feel it a corruption of older and manlier ways." That was a malicious
dart at Flavius, thought Eodan. "Yet all you nobles would consider
it no insult to guest a queen; and many philosophers assure us that
royalty is a matter of the spirit rather than of birth."
"Though the Great King shows that when spirit and birth unite, royalty
comes near godhood," said an officer with practiced readiness.
"I am therefore pleased to present to you all a veritable Atalanta--or
an Amazon princess--or even an Athena, wise as well as valiant. Let
Phryne of Hellas stand forth!"
She walked from the inner door, urged by a chamberlain. Her garb was
dazzling--long lustrous gown and flowing silken mantle, her hair and
throat and arms a barbaric blaze of finery. It came as a wrenching in
Eodan that she should look so unhappy. She advanced with downcast eyes
and prostrated herself.
"No--up, up!" boomed Mithradates. "The King would have you share his
place."
Eodan heard a muffled snicker at the table's end. Blood beat thickly in
his temples; what right had some Asiatic to laugh at a Greek? His eyes
ranged in search of the man, to deal with him later. By the time he
looked back, Phryne had reclined beside Mithradates on the royal couch.
"Know," said the ruler in his customary Greek, "she spent her last
wealth and risked life, freedom and honor to journey here from Sinope
that she might plead the case of her comrades. And before then she had
shared the perils of flight from Rome and battle at sea--and she is
learned enough to instruct the children of noblemen. Therefore I say
a queen's heart lies behind those fair breasts, and it shall have a
queen's honor. Drink, Phryne!"
He took up his huge silver chalice and gave it to her with his own
hands. A low, envious gasp sighed down the length of the table.
Phryne lifted her decorous veil to put the cup at her lips. "Ha, ha!"
shouted Mithradates. "See, she is beautiful as well! Let the feast
begin!"
It was no banquet at all, compared to the least meal in Sinope--little
more than a roast ox and several kinds of fowl, stuffed with rice and
olives. No acrobats or trained women being available, some young Gauls
offered a perilous sword dance, and a Phrygian wizard showed such
tricks as releasing doves from an empty box. Thus Tjorr enjoyed it
better than any he had attended before; his guffaws rang between the
guardsmen's shields until even Flavius had to smile a little. Eodan
hardly noticed what passed his eyes and teeth; he was too aware of the
Roman.
When the meal was at last over, an expectant silence fell. Mithradates
leaned toward Flavius. "Your account of your adventures was
ungraciously curt today," he said smiling. "Now we would hear more
fully. You can be no ordinary man, who so endangered the Cimbrian."
"Your Majesty flatters me," said Flavius. "I am a most ordinary Roman."
"Then you flatter your state. Though you belittled it earlier, in
contending that one man might be so great a danger to it."
"Would not Your Majesty alone be the greatest danger to us, were we so
unfortunate as to lose your good will?"
"Ha! Let it not be said your race makes poor courtiers. Your
compliments are only less polished than the orations in which you
describe your own bluffness." Mithradates drained his chalice and set
it down; at once a slave refilled it. His gaze went from Flavius to
Eodan and Tjorr, and back to Phryne. "Surely there is a purpose here,"
he mused. "Lives are not often so entangled. I must take care to reach
a decision that will accord with the will of the Most High."
Eodan sat up. "My Lord," he said raggedly, "give weapons to us two, or
our bare hands, and watch who heaven favors!"
Mithradates murmured thoughtfully: "I have heard you speak of yourself,
Eodan, as a man whom the gods hate."
"For once he spoke truth, Your Majesty," said Flavius. "It would be an
impiety if--if I, at least, suffered him to live."
"Would you meet him in single combat, then?" asked Mithradates.
"It is an uncouth German custom, Your Majesty," said Flavius. "It is
not worthy of a civilized man."
"You have not answered my question."
"Well ... I would meet him, Great King, if there were no better way."
Eodan sprang to his feet. "At once!" he yelled.
"Give me my hammer, and I'll take care of his following!" said Tjorr.
Phryne sat up on the couch. "No!" she gasped.
"Back!" cried Mithradates. His face was flushed with the wine; he
drained a second cup in three gulps. "Back, lie down--I cannot have
this. You are both my guests!"
The room grew very quiet, until only the crackling fires and the heavy
breathing of men had voice. And outside the wind prowled under the
walls.
"This may not be," said the king finally. "I am a civilized man, too.
Let the world be sure I am no barbarian. We shall settle this dispute
by reason and principle. Hear me and obey!"
"The King has spoken," came whispers from around the long room.
"These people sought my roof," said Mithradates, "and it was granted
them to stay. They are under my protection."
"The hospitality of Your Majesty is known throughout the world," said
Flavius. "But no guest may remain forever. Dismiss them from your
presence, Great Lord, and I will wait for them outside your borders."
"You have not yet given me a reason to send them away," Mithradates
told him.
"Your Majesty," said Flavius, becoming grave, "I have charged them with
revolt, murder, theft and piracy. They are foes of civilization itself,
and the Roman state is certain that all civilized men will recognize
that fact. Let me tell the King a tale.
"At their request, the Cimbri sent an embassy to Rome while they were
still in Gaul. Their terms were refused, of course--should we allow
wild men within our borders?--but they were shown about the city.
Has the King heard what they thought most wonderful? The feed bags
on dray-horses! It is truth I tell. They could not take their eyes
off; they laughed like children. They were also shown that Grecian
statue called the Shepherd, which the King has surely heard is one of
our greatest treasures, the image of an old man with all the tragedy
and dignity of age upon him. The wondered why anyone had troubled to
picture a slave so old and lame as to be worthless!"
Flavius leaned forward, gesturing, his orator's voice filling the
hall with richness and warmth. "Great King, beyond our realms are
the barbarians, the howling folk without law or knowledge. We have
thrilled at your exploits when you broke the Scythians; there you
served Rome, Your Majesty, even as Rome served Pontus on the Raudian
plain. Our fore-fathers were not the same, Great King: yours were
Persian shahs and mine were Latin freeholders. But the same mother
bore us--Hellas--and we honor her alike." He pointed at Eodan. "There
he sits--the enemy--who would stable his horses in the Parthenon
and kindle a fire with Homer. It is more that I hunt than this one
barbarian, O Protector of the Greeks. It is barbarism itself."
Stillness fell again. Mithradates drained another cup. Eodan crouched,
waiting for he knew not what. The king looked at him. "What have you to
say to that?" he asked.
Eodan thought dimly, I might play upon his honor, as Flavius did on
his pride. I daresay he would allow me to remain in Pontus the rest of
my life, did I show him a scar or two won in his service. But I am a
Cimbrian.
He said heavily, in his rough Greek: "I ask no more than the rights of
a man, My Lord."
"A barbarian is not a man!" snarled Flavius.
Mithradates shifted the weight on his elbow till he stared down at
Phryne. "Well," he said, "we have one pure Hellene here. What does she
think?"
"A Greekling slave!" exclaimed Flavius. "The King jests. He knows a
slave is even less a person than a barbarian."
Phryne sat up and flung at him: "You were a better man's slave after
Arausio. You needed the whole Roman army to make him yours in turn.
Must we raise ancestors from Hades? Well, then, where were yours when
mine fought at Salamis?"
Mithradates put on a frown. "_Mine_ were in Persian ships," he said.
"Yet now you are called the protector of the Greeks," she answered
promptly. He grinned. "Great King, who deserved better of you--the man
who freed even one little Greek, or the man whose people laid Corinth
waste?"
"I cannot believe you are at feud with all the gods, Eodan," said
Mithradates. "At least one must love you, to send you so fair an
advocate."
He sprawled lionlike, turning his maned head toward Flavius. "These
people are still of my household," he said. "Let no man do them harm.
The King has spoken."
Eodan's heart lifted, however somberly, as Flavius bent his stiff neck.
"I hear and obey, Your Majesty," he mumbled.
"Well," said Mithradates, his solemnity leaping to become genial,
"remain a while. Accompany us back to Sinope. There is much I would ask
of you, and you shall not go home empty-handed. Now fill all flagons
and drink with me!"
Phryne stared at Eodan a moment. Then her face sank into her hands.
"But what is the matter?" said the King. "You have won your cause,
girl."
"Forgive me, Lord. That is why I weep."
"Come, drink of my cup. Those eyes are too beautiful to redden."
She accepted, shakily. Tjorr plucked at Eodan's sleeve. "We seem to've
escaped that snare," he muttered. "Now we'll have to devise one for
Flavius."
Eodan glanced across at the Roman, who was shaking in rage but somehow
achieving mannered discourse with a Pontine officer. "Hm. Perhaps
the King will let me pursue him when he departs.... No, I fear not,
it would be an open act of war. It may be I shall have to wait until
there is actual war with Rome." His fingers strained crooked upon the
cushions. "Give it be otherwise!"
"Make not too free with such wishes," cautioned Tjorr. "They are often
granted, in ways we mortals did not look for."
Eodan drank deep, as it was one means of easing the hate and the
hurt within himself. He saw Flavius do likewise. Mithradates was in
conversation with Phryne; none dared interrupt him. Eodan drifted
about, playing some pachisi with one man--he played badly tonight--and
talking of cavalry tactics with another. Time went.
He heard Mithradates at last, when the deep voice crashed through all
the babble around: "Come with me now."
He swung about, suddenly cold. The king was standing up. Phryne had
risen, too; her hands were lifted, and behind her thin veil he saw
horror.
"What does My Lord mean?" she said, almost wildly.
Mithradates threw back his head and bellowed laughter. "You cannot be
that much a maiden," he whooped. "They only raise them like that in
Asia, for a novelty."
She sank to her knees, so that his bulk loomed up in shadow and she was
only a little heap of gaily colored clothes before him. "Great King, I
am not worthy," she stammered.
"What the skulls and bones is this?" muttered Tjorr at Eodan's ear.
"Her luck has found her and she won't go with it!"
The Cimbrian's gaze swept the hall. Most of the court was too drunk to
heed the byplay; a few watched with lickerish interest. Flavius stood
under a pillar, grinning.
Truly, thought Eodan in the darkness of his head, some god had rewarded
Phryne. A royal concubine was rich and honored; it was by no means
impossible to become a royal wife; and Mithradates, they said, was man
enough to satisfy all his harem. The Cimbrian took a step forward,
feeling his skin prickle. He grew aware that his hand felt after a
sword he did not have.
Phryne, huddled at the king's feet, looked sideways. Her look met
Eodan's; it was black with ruin. He glided toward her, hardly knowing
what he did. Phryne shook her head at him, and he jerked to a halt. O
Bull of the Cimbri, what Power used his limbs tonight?
"You have shown yourself well worthy," said Mithradates on an impatient
note. "Rise and come."
Perhaps only Eodan saw her lips tighten. She beat her head on the
floor. "Lord, forgive your slave. The Moon forbids me."
"Oh. Oh, indeed." Mithradates stepped back, a primitive unease on his
face. "You should have told me that earlier."
"I was too bedazzled by My Lord," she said. Her regained wit bespoke
some resolution taken. Eodan wondered with a chill what it had been.
"Well ... rise." Mithradates stooped for her hand and pulled her up as
if she were weightless. She stood trembling before him. "A week hence,
my tent will be decked with kings' robes for you," he said. "In the
meantime, you shall have a tent and servants of your own, and ride in
the Tetrarch's litter."
"Great King," she whispered--had Eodan not been close, he would not
have heard it--"if your handmaiden should in any way be displeasing
to you ... should somehow wrong Her Lord ... you will not hold it the
fault of her friends? They knew nothing of me save that I waited in
Sinope to do the King's will, even as they wish only to do it."
"Indeed," said Mithradates roughly. "I am no fool. And have I
not raised my shield above them?" He clapped his hands. "Let the
chamberlain see to her well-being. Find me a couple of Gallic girls for
tonight."
Phryne went past Eodan. She threw him only the quickest of glances, but
never had he seen a look more lonely. The hurried whisper drifted to
him: "Do not be troubled on my account. I do what is best. Make your
own way in the world."
He stared after her. The Power drained from him, he felt tired and
empty. He heard Tjorr rumble answer to Mithradates: "No, Lord, I'm sure
she's not one of these women who hate the touch of men, even if she has
stayed maiden uncommonly late. Haw! On the contrary, Lord, the man she
likes will have enough to do!"
"I thought so myself," said Mithradates. "It is a good omen, that she
was kept for me alone."
It went through Eodan like a sickness--they dared speak thus of his
oath-sister! He would have challenged the king himself if--if--An exile
ate bitter bread. He had only changed one slavery for another.