Eodan advanced until he caught the royal glance and made his usual obeisance.
“Down on your face, barbarian!” roared Mithradates.
That was no moment to haggle about pride. Eodan threw himself flat. “How have I offended My Lord?” The upsurge of his own wrath came to him as a shock. He had thought this man was his friend.
“Where is the woman Phryne?” the voice thundered over his head.
Eodan leaped to his feet. “Is she gone?’ he shouted.
“I gave you no command to rise,” growled Mithradates.
“Is she gone?” yelled the Cimbrian again, out of a feeling that fire had touched him.
Mithradates stared at him for a long while. Slowly, the king’s visage softened. “Then you do not know?” he asked quietly.
“By my father’s ghost, Lord, I swear I do not.”
“Hear, then. Her maids entered her tent this morning to help her arise. She was not there. The eunuch on guard says he knows nothing. I believe him, though he shall still drink poison for his stupidity, and be pardoned only if my new antidote saves him. There was a hole in the tent, at the rear; she must have slashed it with a knife among her possessions. When word of this finally came to me, I had inquiries made. An under-groom of your own, Cimbrian, says she came to him in the night, demanding horses, clothing, arms and food, and rode off. He says he had received orders to give her whatever she wished without question.”
“That is true, Great King, but ― I never thought ― I never ― Why would she have gone, whose destiny had just blossomed?”
“And into the Axylon! She was last seen riding south on the road into the Axylon!”
“Surely there is witchcraft here,” said Eodan. “She never showed any sign of madness, Lord. An evil spirit must have seized her, or some spell―”
Inwardly, coldly, his mind raced and dodged, like a hare with wolves behind. He did not know what might haunt these dreary plains; perhaps she was indeed harried out by a troll. He was thinly surprised that he did not cower at the thought, as once he would have done, but wished only to find that creature and sink iron into it. Yet maybe she had done this of her own will, for some reason unknown to him. He found it hard to imagine his cool Phryne, who knew what the stars were made of, seized by some misshapen Phrygian shadow; or was it just that he dared not imagine it?
Whatever the truth, he wanted to go after her himself. No yapping Asiatics would carry her back in ropes to the king’s bed. It was not meet!
Eodan’s green gaze narrowed upon Mithradates. He saw the terrors of a thousand generations, who had muttered in dark huts and brewed magic against a world they peopled with demons, flit over the lion-face. Let him dissect as many criminals and cast as many learned horoscopes as he wished; Mithradates remained only half a Greek.
“They deal in black arts here,” said the king. His finger traced a sign against evil, the Cross of Light that stood on the banners of Mithras. “I’ll hale the wizard we saw up onto a rack before this hour is out.”
A scheme sprang into Eodan’s head. His heart leaped with it.
“Or the Romans?” he said.
“What? No, their law forbids magic.”
“I have seen much Roman law broken by Romans, Great Master. Also, this may not be sorcery after all; it may be some trick of theirs.”
Mithradates whirled on a runner. “Bring me the Flavius,” he rapped.
Thereafter he paced, up and down, up and down; the only noise being his boots thudding, the fire that hissed in the pits and the wind whining outside. There was much smoke in the hall today; it stung tears from Eodan’s eyes.
He thought back to the night before … how small she had been, under the tower which was the king … and why had she been so afraid that his displeasure with her might be visited on her comrades? When the king tired of a concubine, even if she had only been with him one night, he did not rage about it. He always had enough women. He gave her to some noble, as a special mark of favor, and of course the noble would never be anything but gentle toward such a token. Usually he made her his chief wife. So Phryne’s luck had come golden to roost on her shoulder, by the mere fact of a royal command to bed.
Yet she had looked upon Eodan with desolation. And she had thrown him a final furtive word, not to trouble himself about her, for she would do what was best.
He thought, stiffening: It was so little to her liking, to enter a harem, that she rode forth alone. Out there is a land of wolf, bear, lynx and herdsmen wilder than they; south are Lycaonia and Parthia, where a woman is also only an animal. If she is not slain along the way, there will come a time when she must turn her dagger against herself.
Flavius entered. “Hail, King of the East,” he said. He saw Eodan and stopped. The Cimbrian remained unmoving.
Flavius bit his lip. Then: “How may I serve Your Majesty?”
“You can tell me what you know of Phryne’s vanishing,” spat Mithradates.
“What?” Flavius took a step backward. His eyes flickered to Eodan, then returned ― and suddenly a faint smile quivered upon his mouth.
“I know nothing, Lord,” he murmured. “Yet I would venture that she fled in the night?”
“It is so told,” Mithradates answered. “Is this any work of yours?’
“Of course not, Great King! I suggest―”
“He says it was not caused by him,” snapped Eodan. “Yet My Master knows he was never a friend to me or mine. Nor is Rome itself a friend of Pontus. What better way to harm us all at one blow?’
Flavius looked at Mithradates, who rumbled like a beast in the arena. Then, slowly, the Roman’s ruddy-brown eyes sought Eodan’s, held them and would not let go. “This was your plan to strike at me, was it not?” he murmured.
“I know nothing of it!” shouted Eodan. “I only know―”
Flavius shook his head, smiling. “Cimbrian, Cimbrian, you have laid down your natural weapons and tried a womanish trick. You will gain no victory with it. There is never any luck in demeaning oneself.”
Eodan sought for words, but he found only a black mist of his rage and fear. And of his shame ― that he should have tried to use Phryne’s plight as a dagger in a Roman back. Yes, he thought, shaken, I have called down evil upon myself and now I must somehow endure what comes.
Flavius turned back to Mithradates. He flung out speech as crisp as though to an army: “Great King, you are insulted by so clumsy an attempt at dividing me from your royal favor. Is it not likelier that this man, who knows the girl ― we have only his word and hers that she is even a maiden ― this man plotted with her to flee? Surely she had more chance to conspire with him and his friend than me; the caravan master who brought us here from Sinope will testify that she shunned me the whole trip, whereas she was in Eodan’s tent yesterday afternoon. And would she go out into that desert with no hope of succor? Would she not assure herself of an accomplice, a captain who could ride out from the army whenever and wherever he wished ― to bring her food, protection, ultimately to smuggle her back?”
Mithradates hunched his thick frame. His knuckles stood forth white on the knife hilt; he glared with three red eyes at Eodan and hawked out: “What have you to say?”
“That I serve the King and this Roman does not,” answered the Cimbrian frantically.
He felt himself driven back by Flavius’ marching phrases: “Protector of the East, there is a simple explanation for what has occurred. Rather, there are two. First, the barbarian and the Greekling feared what would happen when you, their master, learned she had lied to you and was only the leavings of a runaway slave. Thus he sent her out and will try to lead her back in the wake of the army; she may live with him, disguised, in Sinope itself; or conceivably he lured her forth with some such promise, murdered and buried her. Second, it is possible that he himself speaks truth for once, and it was her decision alone to flee. Like unto like ― she, a slave born, would rather lie with some Phrygian goatherd than with the King!”