“But ― but ― Well, so be it, my chief.”
Eodan turned back to the others. “I agree thus far. You may have the vessel after I have disembarked at my goal. Meanwhile, I advise you to learn better seamanship!”
“But, Master Captain,” said Quintus, “we know you and the honored mate are the best fighters aboard. We want you to lead us.”
Eodan shook his head.
“Well ― will you lead us against any ships we may happen to find before you depart?”
Eodan shrugged. “As you like, provided I think it is safe.”
“Oh, indeed, Master, indeed!” The boy spun around to face the men, raising his arms. “Give thanks to the captain!”
“Hoy!” cried Demetrios in dismay. “What about me?”
“You’ll do as you’re told,” said Tjorr.
Demetrios gulped and looked appealingly at Flavius. The Roman smiled, winked and came down the poop ladder. “Your watch,” he said.
After a while Eodan began to regret not following Tjorr’s counsel. His crew had become still more slatternly. Now they would do nothing but sit about boasting of their future, until he finally kicked them into sullen labor. Quintus sidled up in the afternoon and proposed that the weapons be handed out so the men could practice. Eodan told him they should first practice being sailors. Quintus argued. He would not stop arguing until Eodan finally knocked him to the deck; then he slouched off, muttering, to find his big friend.
Toward evening, Hwicca came on deck. She was supported by Phryne, and her face was pale. Eodan’s heart turned over. He went to her and asked, “Do you feel well, my darling?”
“Better,” she said dully. “But so tired.”
Phryne, who had not followed their Cimbric, said angrily to Eodan: “She shivers with cold. I have no warmth to give her!”
He said in the Northern language, “Would you have me stay with you tonight, Hwicca?”
“As you wish,” she said. “You are my husband.”
Eodan left her, went to the hearth and struck the cook with his fist for a bad supper.
Presently Hwicca, returned to the cabin. Phryne sought Eodan. Was it only the sunset that reddened her eyes? She said in a jagged tone, “I do not know what is wrong between you two. I can only guess. But I will sleep no more with her.”
“You can have the tent back, then,” said Eodan bitterly, “and I will roll a blanket on deck, since it appears we must all be sundered from each other.”
“Before Hades, I wonder now if she may not be right!” yelled Phryne. She stamped her foot, whipped about and ran to the tent.
She was still wearing the boy’s tunic, bare-legged, for there were no women’s garments aboard save Hwicca’s dresses, too large for her. Quintus, squatting by the rail with his friend, the big man called Narses, stared after the Greek girl and smacked his lips.
Eodan paced the deck in wrath, wondering what unlucky thing he had done. Well, the night wind take them all! Phryne, who would not help his wife when she needed help, and Hwicca, who had become a Roman’s whore, and ― by the Bull, no, he would not say that of her! If it were true, the only thing would be to cast her off, and he would not do that.
He raised his hands toward the early stars. “I would pull down the sky if I could,” he said between his teeth. “I would make a balefire for the world of all the world’s gods, and kindle it, and howl while it burned. And I would tread heaven under my feet, and call up the dead from their graves to hunt stars with me, till nothing was left but the night wind!”
No thunderbolt smote him. The ship ran onward, dropping the dark mass of Sicily astern; the last red clouds in the west smoldered to ash and then to night; the moon stood forth, insolently cool and fair. Eodan had no wish to sleep, but he saw that Demetrios was dangerously worn, so he sent the man aft to rouse Flavius and Tjorr.
“We can hold this course all night, they tell me,” he said to the Alan. “The wind is falling, so we won’t go too far. Call me if anything seems to threaten.”
“Da.” Tjorr’s small bush-browed eyes went from Eodan to the closed cabin door. He shook his head, and the moonlight showed a bemused compassion on his battered face. “As you will, Captain.”
Flavius hung back, well into the shadows. He did not follow Tjorr and the new watch aft until Eodan had departed.
The Cimbrian rolled himself into his blanket forward of the mast, so the sail’s shadow would keep the moon from his eyes. He sought sleep, but it would not come. Now and again he heard bare feet slap the planks, a man on watch or one come from below for some air. It was warmer tonight than before; his skin prickled. He cursed wearily, forbade himself to toss about and lay still. If he acted sleep, perhaps he could draw sleep.
It seemed as though many hours went by. Surely the night was old. He opened one eye. The same stars, the same moon ― it had only been his thoughts, treading the same barren circle. What use, he thought, was a kingdom, what use even was freedom, when—
There was scuffling, very faint, up in the bow. Eodan opened both eyes. Some noise, mice ― no, it was heavier. He glanced aft. He could see Flavius and the helmsman, Tjorr blocky against the Milky Way. They had seen nothing, heard nothing; indeed it was very faint. Up in the crow’s-nest, the lookout stood gazing into nowhere.
Well, no matter. The bow lookout would have cried any needful alarm.
Eodan sat up. But where was the man in the bow? He remembered dimly that, yes, the Narses man had traded for that watch about sundown. Narses’ hulking shadow did not show above the forecastle. There was only Phryne’s tent.
With a cold thought of long-necked monsters raiding ships’ decks for their food, Eodan sprang to his feet. Sword out, he glided toward the forecastle. Up the ladder ― The struggle was within the tent.
Eodan howled and lifted its flap. Moonlight splashed Quintus’ grinning face. He knelt on Phryne’s arms, one hand over her mouth and the other on her breast. “No one has to know, my beautiful,” he had been whispering. Narses’ knees held her thighs apart; he was just lifting her tunic.
Eodan struck. He felt his blade grate along a rib. Narses’ hands loosened. He straightened on his knees, plucking at the steel in his side. Eodan pulled it out, and Narses coughed up blood. Eodan struck him again, between the jaws, so that it crashed. The sword came out the back of his neck.
Quintus leaped from the upper deck. “Help!” he wailed. “Help, men, help!”
Phryne struggled from beneath Narses. Her tunic was drenched black under the moon with his blood. “Are you harmed?” croaked Eodan out of horror.
“No,” she said in a blind, stunned fashion. “You came soon enough―” She looked at her dripping garment, and a shudder went through her. She undid her belt and flung the tunic over the side. “But I would have bled so much less!” she cried.
“What is it?” bawled Tjorr. “Stand fast!”
The crew boiled from the hatch. Eodan put his foot on Narses’ face and tugged the sword free; it took all his strength. He sprang down to the main deck. “Where is Quintus from Saguntum?” he roared. “Bind me that offal before I kill the rest of you!”
They swirled and screamed on deck, blue shadows mingled in the white relentless moonlight. Tjorr went among the crew, striking with the butt of his hammer. Eodan saw Quintus huddled up against the poop, hands raised before his face. “There!” he shouted. “There!”
“Help!” shrieked the boy. “Help me! He has gone mad, shipmates! Hold off that barbarian!”
It was a while before some sort of calm had been restored. Then Eodan stood before Quintus and said, “This creature tried to violate a woman. You have heard the punishment. Nail him up!”
“No, no, no,” chattered Quintus, “it isn’t so, mates, it isn’t so. She lured us herself, she did, she begged us to come to her ― look at her there, flaunting herself―” Their eyes all went forward, where Phryne wept as she stood at a water bucket sponging Narses’ blood off her skin―”it’s just his jealousy! ― this barbarian is a worse tyrant than overseer ever was. Are you going to stand for this, mates?”