 CHAPTER VI Not till four days afterward did Friney stop Eoden on the portico and breathe, "'I have made ready. Meet me in my chamber. Do you know where it is?' After sunset, and I will try to disguise you. Can you get horses?' His heart raced within him. He thought for a moment, standing under fluted pillars with a green lawn and broad fields before him, standing among thunders and drawn swords. At last he nodded. There are stable boys who sleep among the animals, but it will be simple enough to frighten them if I have any weapon. No one else will know until morning. Then the gates of Tartarus will be opened. Her eyes were huge and her cheeks pale. "'Let me see,' she murmured. "'I will have a sword for you. I know where such tools are kept, and a couple of daggers as well. You can over all the boys, so they let themselves be bound and gagged one by one. Drop a little word here or there, as if in carelessness, to make them think you plan to flee into the mountains. That would be the expected direction anyhow to reach Helvetia. Where do you think to go, in truth, after Rome, Eoden?' "'I do not know,' he said. North, to some place, where men are still free. I do not know what the best way is.' "'There is none,' she told him. They are all beset. Quickly, leaning close so he could feel her breath upon his breast, swift and frightened. "'I am not so sure your best hope lies to the north. You would have to cross too much Roman country. In the east or the south now, but we can speak of that later. We dare not be seen lingering like this. After dark then, do not fail. I have contrived that the two girls who sleep with me be out to-night. My supplies would be discovered before another such chance came. So to-night!' She went from him, almost running, the breeze fluttering her light white gown about her. Eoden could not hold himself from staring. A slave with the soul of a chief's daughter, he thought. Surely some power had sent her across his path. He would have promised sacrifices if he had known what power it was, but the gods of this land were unknown to him, and Symbulans too far away to have heard about his trouble. Well, to-night! He went on into the villa. It was hours till sundown. How would he live through them without roaring his secret to the world? He would get Cordelia's permission to go for a gallop. Yes, a good plan. Thus he could spy out his road of escape. He found her in the peristyle. Her maids twittered and giggled, a plump little scurrying bevy, wisps of cloth gay about a delicious roundedness, fore and aft. They were laying out towels, clean garments, the mistress was pleased to swim in the pool. Cordelia stood aloof among them. As she saw Yoden come between the pillars, she drew her half-discarded stola about her. The dark Etruscan head lifted, and she said with an unwanted chill. What would you? Did you not hear the household was forbidden to come here? I beg pardon, said Yoden. I was out. Out! You have been out far too much. This is the place you are supposed to guard. Where were you? Yoden thought back. On a certain morning he had made his vow to quit this kept life. The next night she had still been exhausted, and he slept in the guard's chamber. Since she had said nothing about it, he had again slept with the guards the following darkness. The next morning he offered the cattle overseer to help bring the several beasts of good stock from a neighboring plantation. They had not come back till well after sundown, and he was tired and went directly to his pallet. Yes, by fire itself, he had scarcely seen Cordelia in three days. I am sure you knew my whereabouts, Mistress, he answered her. If you do not summon me to—to help you—an uncontrollable giggling tinkled around the sunlit space, Cordelia frowned and thinned her lips. I would not trouble you, Mistress, he finished. She said slowly. Is gratitude, then, not a barbarian habit? But how have I done wrong? he asked. He knew very well, and he could not disemble bewilderment he did not feel. Cordelia's face darkened. Go, all you women! she snapped. Let no one in here. They fled with squeaks of dismay. Now Mistress was angry. Cordelia walked slowly toward Yoden, across gleaming Mosaic. Her knuckles, where she held up the loosened, ungirdled stola, were bloodlessly taught. If you think so little of me, that you will only come on command, that you will drive cows till midnight rather than even ask me if that is my wish—she was close to him now, speaking through knotted jaws. Don't think I have not seen you in corners with that friny. If you find me dull, you may as well go back to the fields. I find you not dull, but a foe, he wanted to say. There is too much blood between us. A-loud. Mistress, I did not understand. I thought you would summon me. Something eased within her. She laughed, low, and put her hands on his shoulders. The gown fell about her feet. It could have been one of the statues he had seen, Venus, in her aspect of hot, sleepless nights that stood before him, save that veins pulsed under this skin and sweat-jeweled it in the sun. Hercules, Hercules, she cried, can you not get it into your thick yellow head? I want to be the one commanded. He stepped back, stammering, feeling the will of Venus, but remembering she was Wicca's enemy. Mistress, I cannot. I am. Tonight, she said eagerly, just at day's end, we will watch the sun go down, and we shall not sleep before it rises again. Oh, my weird which I invoked, help me now, he thought. It came to him what he must do, and because the day was warm and she stood clothed only in sunlight and her loose and dark hair, and he had slept alone for three nights, and he might be a flayed corpse in a few days. He trod forward with a bull strong and exultant in his soul. Oh, said Cornelia, Hercules, no! Tonight I told you. He grinned, pulled her to him, and held her one-handed with muscles that had wrestled horned kind to earth, while his lips bruised hers and his free hand roved up and down her body. Well, she sighed finally. Well, just once. When they had rested for a time he stood up. Come into the pool, he said. She hung back. Laughing, he sprang. Water spouted, drenching her. He swam to the edge where she crouched and hauled her after him. She came up spluttering. He kissed her. She gave in and paddled about, while he snorted and shurned, porpoise-like, darting in again and again, until at last it was she who urged him back onto the tiles. Thereafter she complained that her body was sore from the hardness, so they sought her bedroom. After a while she clapped her hands and had a girl bring refreshments. And so it went till sundown. As the first darkness came out of the east and up from the lower valley, like smoke, Cordelia drew Yoden's hand down upon her bosom and held him there, with a grasp made gentle by weariness. Oh, Hercules, she whispered. I thought there were no more men in the world worth caring for. He lay with closed eyes, drained of strength, wishing he could sleep, wishing this were wicca. It is not only that you still my hunger, she murmured. Her voice was trailing off, swallowed by sleep. It is yourself. I am not lonely under your kisses. Be with me always, Hercules. I ask you, as a beggar, I, who love you. The Yoden waited until he was sure she slept deeply. Then he took her arms from about his neck and sat up. The room was dark and hot. He heard the night outside, noisy with crickets. It was hard to remember that he must not be contented with she who lay beside him. For a moment he cursed his own foolishness, which had laid a weird on him. But what was said could not be unsaid. He sighed, got to his feet, and fumbled about after his tunic. When he found it, he stood for a little while looking down at Cordelia. But his eyes were blurred with night. Finally, not knowing why, he stooped and kissed her, not on the mouth, but the brow. Barefooted, he slipped across the marble to the small tiring-room beyond. A bronze mirror caught enough light to prickle him with a thought of ghosts. Beyond stood Franey's door. The only bar was on this side, but he knocked and waited till she opened it. She stood with a lamp in her hand, dressed as during the day, but with her hair tumbled about her shoulders. The smoky oil flame touched eyes that were too bright and lips that lacked steadiness. So you came after all, she said. I agreed to, did I not? Yoden sat down. His knee shook with exhaustion. He was unable even to feel afraid. He looked duly about the room. A mere cubicle, three pallets on the floor, a table with some combs and other things, a shelf holding many rolled-up books. Those must be hers, he thought. A window faced, unshuttered on blackness. I hope you completed your task, spat Franey. It would not do to leave your owner unsatisfied before you go to your dear wife, would it? Oh, be still, he said. I had no choice. She would have me come to her and stay all night. Did you enjoy your work? jeered the whisper. I did, he said, flat and cold on the unmoving air. I do not know how this concerns you, but if you are so angry with me, I shall depart without your help. He half stood up. She pushed down on his shoulders. No, Yoden. Suddenly frantic. Zeus, help us know. It would be your death. I am sorry for what I said. It was, indeed, no. No concern of mine. He looked up, startled. She had turned her head and was wiping her eyes with her knuckles like a child. Franey, he asked, what is the matter? Nothing. Come, we are spilling time. She drew a shaky breath, squared her shoulders, and went over to the table. And beneath it she dragged a small wooden box, squatting on the floor. As he saw her by that guttering light, against monstrous unrestful shadows, he thought of a Symbrian godwife, but a newly initiated one. Young, shy, fair, riven by the powers she must now reign and drive. Franey took out a bundle of harsh grey cloth, a sheathed Roman sword and two long daggers, some pots and bowls and more. I have stolen enough money to fill a purse, she whispered, and these clothes will pass for a poor small-holders. The hat will shade your face from Chan's eyes. We will dye your hair black and cover that barbarous tattoo with a bandage, as though it were some injury. Here, bend over. It was soothing to have her work upon his head, rinsing, rubbing in the dye, combing. He felt a little strength flow into him. When she was done, she washed her blackened hands, cocked her head, and smiled. There. Though we must take along a razor and shave that flak stubble every day. We? It grew upon him what she meant. He gaped. But you are coming too? Of course, she said. It would be... Yodin, if you try to go out alone, hardly knowing the road, not knowing Rome at all, with that atrocious Latin, and... her words became feverish. Oh, Yodin, Yodin, you simbri mule, would you even know where to buy food? As well fall on this sword at once and save everyone trouble. Friny, he said, wholly overcome, as though he were caught in floating dreams. Your place here is good. What can I do for you? Why? She bit her lip and looked away. This would be too easy to find out who had helped you. I dare not stay. He leaned forward, taking her hands. But what am I to you? Why should you help me at all, then? She jerked free, angrily. I am a Greek, she snapped. My grandfather was a free man. None of this concerns you. Yodin shook his head in wonderment. But indeed he thought in the darkling northern part of his soul this was brought on when I invoked the powers. She is part of my weird. He dared ask no further. There was too much awe about her. Had he indeed let a vessel of power touch him and lived? Freedom. Freedom! said Friny. In a barbarous land, in sod huts and stinking leather clothes, with not a book or a harp for a thousand miles. Oh, truly, I shall be free! Her laughter rattled. Yodin made the sign against Trolldom. Well, quickly, she said, I could not be taken for any peasant girl, so I must be a boy. There are the shears. She crouched before him and waited. He took the long crow's wing-colored tresses in his hands, feeling that he offended some spirit of loveliness. But he cropped away until there were only ragged bangs falling over her brow and her ears could be seen. She looked in a mirror and sighed. Gather them up, she said. When we make a fire I shall offer them to Hecate. She pointed to the clothes. Now, put that on. Do not stand there gopping. With a movement as of defiance she undid her girdle, threw it on the floor, and stepped from her gown. Indeed she was beautiful, thought Yodin. Her womaness did not flaunt itself, bursting through its clothes like cordelias. It waited, cooled among shadows, for one discoverer. He grunted some apology when she glared, turned his back, and fumbled on the garments laid out for him. A gray, patched woolen tunic, scuffed sandals, a felt hat, and a long wool cloak. He picked up the heavy purse, slung a sword next to his skin, and put a knife in the rope belt. As he took up his staff, he saw friend he clad like him. The baggy cloth would hide the shape of her body. She must hope the dirty old cape would shield slim legs and high arched feet. She was turning from the shelf of books. She had run her fingers over the scrolls just once and tears lay in her eyes. Come, she said, we have only till morning. Then they will start to hunt us. Now he entered Rome herself, and he saw just a little of a city that toiled and played and sang and dickered and laughed, plotted, feasted, sacrificed, lied, swindled, and stood by friends. A city of men and women and children like any others, built by men's hands and guarded by men's bodies. He had thought Rome was walled, but he found as he trudged through hours of buildings that she eternally outgrew her walls, as though she were a snake casting skin, so that the old gates stood open in the midst of a brawling traffic. He had thought of Romans as divided into iron sheath-rankers, pigish man-traders, and one woman who shuddered in his arms. But he saw a gang of children playing ball in the dust, a leathery smith in a clangorous tiny shop, and a limping man who cried out the roasted nutsy-bore for sale in panniers slung from a yoke. He saw Romans spread their wares in flimsy boots, while a temple gleamed purity above them. He saw a Roman matron and clothes no better than his, who scolded her small boy for being reckless about passing horse carts. He saw a young girl weeping, for some reason he never knew, and he saw two young men, merry with wine, stop to rumple the ears of an itinerant dog. He had growled about him the heavy sound of laden wheels, echoing between grimy brick walls. A haze hung in the air, smoke and dust, tinged with garlic, cooked meat, new bread, perfume, horse-dung, sewage, garbage, human sweat. Folk milled about, shouting, waving their arms, chaffering, thrusting away past the crowds, somehow, anyhow. Once, Friny was whirled from Yodin in such an eddy. He gassed with terror knowing he was indeed lost without her. She found her way back to him, but thereafter he held her wrist. They threaded their way toward the Esquiline gate. We must find an inn, Friny said. She had to shout through the noise. The house is on the Vimino Hill, but we could not go there clad as we are, nor before dark in any case. Yodin nodded dumbly. He let her lead him under the portal. A distance beyond it was a shabby district of tall wooden tenements, where the streets were slimy with refuse, and the landless, workless scourings of war and debt crouched in their rags waiting for the next doll. He was too tired even to feel anger at the shouts from tooth-wroughten mouths. Hey, old peasant! A son of the soil! There are straws in his hair! Aha! Will you not lend us that pretty boy for a while? No, he will not. There are hard-fisted lot these farmers. Cisalpine guards for certain see the ox look about them. But then where are their goldish breeches? Ha-ha! Lost their breeches, did they! Now was it at dice or what? Friny, gone pale with wrath, led Yodin through twisted alleys until they found an inn. The landlord sat outside, yawning and picking his teeth with a thumbnail. We would have a room for ourselves, she said. Half a cestors, said the landlord. Half a cestors for this flea-pit? One copper-ass! cried Friny. They haggled while Yodin shuffled his feet and looked about. When at last he was alone with her, in a windowless box of a room, he said. The night winds take you, girl. What do we care for a copper more or less? I feel a fool every place we stop listening to you. I wonder what they would have thought of two people who did not bargain, purred Friny. That they were in a suspicious haste to get off the streets? It was too murky to read her face, but he had come to know that tone. He could almost have traced out the quirk of her mouth and the mockery of her eyes. Oh, well, you rescued me again, he said. I am a blundering dult. What shall we do next, Captain Sir? You have a wit like a bludgeon, she said. Be quiet and let me think. She threw herself on a pile of moldy straw and looked up at a ceiling hidden as much by grime as by dimness. Yodin hunched among the stinks and choked down his wrath. She had saved him too often in the days that lay behind. Her right to badger him was earned. He could have guided the first wild gallop himself out of the estate and down ringing dirt roads to the south. When they reached a stream they had dismounted and led their horses several miles northerly in its channel, slipping and stumbling while the dark hours fled them. But he would have done that, too, to cover his trail. They found another road at last and went mercilessly along it toward the Latin way. The horses were ready to fall down by sunrise. Yodin would have turned them loose then and gone ahead on foot. Friny had made him, unwillingly, lead them into a brushy ravine and kill them. But that was not a thought Yodin might never have had. It was another trail covering after all, and a chance to sacrifice for luck. She had told him to offer the beast to Hermes, whom he did not know, but he felt any God would have been pleased. No, he thought. Thus far he could have come without her. He might even have gone for many miles, sleeping by day and walking by night. But when he blundered into a sheepfold and the dogs flew at him and the shepherds came to club him for a thief, he could not have fobbed them off with so ready a tale as Friny had. He could never have passed himself for a harmless man when they bought bread and wine on the way. He would have had to steal his food with all the risks. He reckoned himself brave, but he had gone chill when she chattered merrily with a wagoner chance met at an inn. Yet it ended with two days of riding on a load of barley while the blisters on their soles eased. He recalled seeing in the first dawn how their feet bled from the river-stones, but she had said nothing. She saved him from having to answer any questions at all in his accent when she remarked calmly that her poor brother was a mute. The last two days, with houses and villages grown so thick they dared not sleep out in the grass like vagabonds, she had gotten rooms for them. Formerly they had lain side by side, wrapped in their cloaks, looking up at a sky frosty with stars, and she had told him unbelievable things that the wise Greeks thought about heaven until he begged her to spare his whirling head. Then she laughed very softly and said he knew the stars themselves better than she. And now in Rome. Yes, surely she belonged to his weird, for he saw now how Moonstruck had been his notion of entering Rome alone. Nonetheless, at the few times weariness or weariness had not forbidden them to speak freely, she was apt to be curt with him. He wondered how he offended her. Once he asked, then she said for him to cease plaguing her with foolish questions. She stirred on the straw. I will go out and buy us better clothing, she said. After sunset I will take you to Flavius' house. I know a way we can get in. But then it must be you who leads, for I have no more plans in me. I have none, he said. I will trust in whatever gods are willing to guide us. If they guide us not to our doom, she said. That may well be. But if so, what can we do to stop it? Yoden shrugged. I had thought we might steal Huica from the house, buy boys' dress for her too, Franey, and then if we could all get on a ship bound somewhere. The girl sighed and left. Yoden stretched himself out and went to sleep. She came back with cloaks and tunics of better stuff than they wore, a lamp and a jug of hot water and a basin borrowed from the innkeeper. Once again he submitted to her razor. When she was done she gestured curtly at a loaf of bread and a cheese. Eat, she said. You may need your strength. He had been tearing at it for some time when he noticed that she sat on moving. Will you not have some? He asked. Her tone was far off, as if she had small care for what was to happen to them. I have no appetite. But you too? Let me alone, she flared. Presently they were out again upon the street. It was sunset time and the crowds had thinned, so they moved quickly over mucked cobbles. It is well to get into a better part of the city before dark, muttered Franey. There could be robbers out. Yodan lifted his staff. I would give much for a good fight, he said. Franey looked at him, his eyes two heads above her own. I understand, she said, her fingers stroked lightly over his arm. It will not be long now, Yodan. The tightness in his breast grew with every pace. As dusk settled over the city he found himself climbing a wide, well-paved road up the Viminal Hill so that he could gaze down across roofs and roofs and roofs, here and there a last pale gleam of temple marble, hazy blue fading into black in the east and many lit windows making an eldritch earthbound star sky farther than a man could see. Faintly to him came smoke, a sound of wheels or tired feet, a distant hail that quivered upon still air. Once a horseman went by, casting the two plebeians an incurious glance. Wicca thought, Yodan. Wicca, I have not seen you for a thousand years. I am going to see you to-night. Though all the earth stood up to bar my way, I will hold you again to-night. The darkness thickened until at last he heard his footfalls hollow on unseen stones, until the houses on either side were little more than black blocks. His heart beat so loudly that he could almost not hear Friny's final words. We have found it. But he felt with unwanted keenness how her hand clenched about his. They stood before a sheer ten-foot wall. The house lies within a garden, she whispered. No one watches the rear. Guests come in at the other side. There is a gate, but it would be locked now. If you can raise me to the top, I will tie my belt to a bow, I know, and you can follow. Yodan made a cup of his hands. She stepped up, in a single flowing movement, cawed at his head to steady herself and murmured, Now! He lifted her carefully, but aware of her legs sliding along his cheek. Then she had scrambled to the top, and he felt his way past rough plaster until he found the cord she let down. He climbed it hand over hand. Where is your staff? hissed Friny. Down below, he said. Have the gods maddened you to mark your own path? Back and get it! she snapped. When at last they stood in the garden, Yodan peered through the crooked branches of a tree. No light showed on this side. He guessed, from remembering the villa, that kitchen and slave quarters were at this end, but there would be a separate corridor on one side that the owners used. Friny led him to such a door. It creaked beneath her touch. She halted, and time stretched horribly while they waited. No one heard, she sighed. Come! Two hanging labs gave just enough light for them to see down the hall. To the atrium, whispered Friny. Nobody seems to be there. But the Cymbrian girl stayed here. She stopped in front of a door and touched it with hands that shook. Here, Oden! He saw her mouth writhe as if in pain. Oh, Yodan! The unknown god Grant she be here! He found himself suddenly, coldly, his own master. His fingers were quite steady on the latch string. The door opened upon darkness. No, there was a window at the end, broader than most Italian windows. He had a glimpse of gray-blue night crossed with a flowering vine and one trembling star. He went through. His daggers slid from its sheath. If Flavius was here, Flavius would not see morning. But otherwise, he told himself, he must keep wicca from yelling in her joy. Put a hand over her mouth if he must, or at least a kiss. Silence was their only shield. He patted over the floor, Friny closing the door behind him. They stood in shadows. Wicca! he whispered. It rustled by the window. He heard a single Latin word. Here! He glided toward it. Now he saw her, an outline. She had been seated by the window looking out. Her long loose hair and white gown caught what light there was. Is it you? she asked uncertainly. She used the thou form of closeness and it twisted him. He reached her. Do not speak aloud! he said low in the cymbric. He heard her breath drawn in so sharply that it seemed her lungs must rip. He dropped his knife and made one more step to take her in his hands. She began to shiver. Yoden! No! You are dead! she cried like a lost child. If he told you that, I shall tear his tongue out! he answered in a wrath that hammered against his skull. I am alive. I, Yoden, your man, I have come to take you home, Wicca. Let me go! horror rode her voice. He caught her arms. She shook as if with fever. Can you give us light, Friny? he asked in Latin. She must see I am no Nightwalker. Wicca did not speak again. Having risen, she stood wholly mute. Her hand brushed him and he felt the palm had changed, had gone soft. She had ground no grain and driven no oxen for nigh to a year. Oh, his poor cage, darling! He let his own grasp go about her shoulders and then her waist. He raised her chin and kissed her. The lips beneath his were dead. In an overwhelming grief that she should have been so hurt, he drew her to him and laid her head on his breast. Long afterward, Friny found flint and steel and a lamp. A tiny glow herded immense misshapen shadows into the corners. Yoden looked upon Wicca. She had not altered greatly to his eyes. Her skin was white now. The sun had touched its seldom. The rain and wind never. But the same dear small freckles dusted across her nose. She had taken on weight. She was fuller about the breast and hip. Her hair streamed in a loose mane past a Roman gown and a Roman girdle, thin sheer stuff broided with gold. She wore a necklace of opals and amber. He did not like the perfume smell, but... Wicca! Wicca! Her eyes seemed black, wrenched upward to his. They were dry and fever bright. Her shaking had eased until he could only feel it as a quiver beneath the skin. I thought you were killed, she told him, tonelessly. No, I was sent to a farm south of here. I escaped. Now we shall go home. Yoden. The cold, softened hands reached down, pulling his arms away. She went from him to the chair in which she had been seated when he came in. She sat upon it, her weight against one arm, and stared at the floor. The curve of thigh and waist and drooping head was a sharp pain to him. Yoden, she said at last, wonderingly. She looked up. I killed Othric. I killed him myself. I saw it, he said. I would have done so too. Flavius brought me here. She mumbled. That was not your wish, he answered. Through a wall in his throat he had raised against tears. There was only one thing that gave me the strength to live, she said. I thought you had died. Yoden wanted to take her in one arm, lead her out, hold a torch in the other hand. He would kindle the world and dance about its flames. He went to her instead and sat down at her feet, so she must look at him. Wicca, he said, it was I who failed. I brought you to this land of sorrow. When we were wedded I could have turned our wagon northward. I let myself be overcome by the Romans. I even left you my own task of free, freeing our son. The anger of the gods is on my head, not yours. Do you think I care for any gods now? she said. Suddenly she wept, not like a woman, but like a man, great, coughing, gulping sobs that pulled the ribs and stretched the jaws. She lifted her head and howled, the Cymbrian wolf howl when they mourned for their slain. Friny stepped back, drawing her knife by the door, but no one came. The gods thought, Odin, they were used to hearing Flavius' new concubine yell. Wicca reached for him with unsteady hands and brushed them across his mouth. You kissed me, she cried, now see what you kissed off. He looked upon a greasy redness. My owner likes me painted. I have tried to please him. The Odin sat in numbness. Wicca fought herself to quiet. Finally she said, stammering and choking. He brought me here. He left me alone, for many days, until I had used up all my tears. At last he came. He spoke kindly. He offered his protection if... if... I should have asked him for a spear in my heart. I did not, Odin. I gave him back his kindness. He had thought many ugly fates for her. This he had not awaited. Go, she said. Go while it is still dark. I have money. I will give you what I have. Leave this place of men's deaths. Go north and raise me a memory stone, if you will. Odin, I am dead. Leave the dead alone. She turned away, looking into night. He got up slowly and went to where Friny was standing. Well, said the Grecian girl, what is the trouble? Her tone was unexpectedly stinging, almost contemptuous. It jerked him like a whip. He bridled with an anger at her that drained off some of the hurt Wicca had given. She yielded herself to Flavius. Did you expect otherwise? asked Friny, winter cold. It is one thing to fall on your own sword in battle's heat, another to be a captive alone, and get the first soft word spoken in weeks. Romans have long known how to harness a soul. Oh, well, Odin shook his head, stunned. It is not that. I looked for nothing else. I have seen too many women taken. But she will not come with me now, Friny. The Helene stared across the room at Wicca, who sat with her face hidden in her hair. Then she glanced about at clothes and jewels and whatever else a man was blind to. She nodded. Your wife told you she did not merely obey, she said to Odin. She tried to please Flavius. She wanted to. He started. Are you a witch? Only a woman, said Friny. Odin, think if you are able. She believed you dead, did she not? I heard the gossip in this household last winter. And Flavius was a man, and there was life in this woman, enough life to draw you here into the she-wolf's throat to get her back. What would you have her do? Friny brought down her foot so the floor thudded. Beneath the boy-cropped dark bangs she regarded Odin with eyes that crackled. Her scorn flayed him. She feels she has betrayed you because for a while she kissed Flavius willingly. She will send you off and remain here, caged, waiting for him to tire of her and sell her to a brothel, and so it last to destruction and a corpse rotting in the Tiber. She will damn herself to that, for no other reason than that she remained a living woman. And you, you rotting, bawling, screening, man-thing, you think you might actually go from her as she asks? Friny snatched up a vase and hurled at shattering at his feet. Well, go then, she said. Go, and the Orinus have you, for I am done with you. Odin stared, from one to another of them, for very long. Finally he said, What thanks I owed you before, Friny, can be forgotten beside this. He went to Wicca, stood behind her, pulled her head back against him, and stroked her hair. Forgive me, he said. There is much I do not understand. But you shall come with me, for I have always loved you. No, she whispered, I will not. There is no luck in me. I will not. He wondered, with a deep harsh wound in the thought, how wide of the Mark Friny too might have been. But if they lived beyond this night, if his weird should carry him back to Jutland Horizons, he would have their lifetimes to learn and to heal. But first it was to escape. Boyaric Sun said calmly, You are going with us, Wicca. Let me hear no more about that. End of chapter 7 Chapter 8 of The Golden Slave by Paul Anderson A new thought had come to Yoden. When he asked Friny, she said it was good, less hopeless, at least, than most things they might attempt. They sat in the chamber and waited. Little was spoken. Wicca lay on the couch, after Yoden told her to rest. She stared at the ceiling. Only her lungs moved. Yoden sat beside her, stroking her hair. Friny kept her back to them. The night grew gray. Wicca had said Flavius was out to some banquet. Yoden began to wonder if her own slave-girls might not come in to attend her before the Roman returned. That could be a risky thing, capturing them. December had not dreamed he would be glad to see Flavius again, save as an object of revenge. But when Vale, and the laughter sounded in the hall, and a little afterward the latch went up, he drew his sword and glided to the door with more happiness than the night had yet given him. Flavius entered. He wore a wine-stained toga and a wreath slightly askew. He saw Wicca sitting up on the couch and raised his free arm. Are you awake, my dear? Did not mean to be so late. It was tedious without you. Yoden put the sword against his back and laid a hand on his shoulder. He closed his fingers as tightly as he could so that Flavius gasped with pain. If you cry out, you are a dead man, said Yoden. Friny closed the door. Flavius turned about with great care. Lamp light gleamed on steel. For a moment the Roman's narrow, curving face was nearly fluid as he struggled to cast off bewilderment and wine. Then it steadied. The dim light sparkled wet across his brow, but he straightened himself. Yoden, he said. I did not know you at once, with your hair black. Not so loudly, said Friny. She barred the door and circled about, her own dagger cocked for an underhanded stab in the way Yoden had shown her. But where did you find this handsome boy? asked Flavius as if a jib would armor him. No matter that, snapped the Cymbrian. He looked into the other man's rust-colored eyes. A lock of hair had fallen across one of them. Yoden thought of Wicca's hands brushing it back, and for a moment he stood in flames. A year ago he would have seen Flavius' heart. A few months back he would have found some quiet place and stretched his revenge through days. But on this night he shuddered to stillness. His blade was almost at Flavius' throat. The Roman had backed against the wall, panting, trying to shed his clumsy toga. Yoden skinned his teeth and said. You owe me a heavy blood price. You can never pay it, not with all your lands. So for my honour I should kill you. But I will forgo that. It is more to my honour that we three here gain our own lives back. I could manumit you, whispered Flavius through sandy lips. Yoden laughed unmerthfully. How long afterward would we live? No, you shall see us to safety. Once we are beyond Rome's reach we can let you go. Meanwhile you shall not be without us. This sword will be under my cloak. Do not think to trick us and call for help, because if it even looks as if we are not going to get free I will kill you. Flavius nodded. Let me past, he said. Yoden drew the blade back a few inches. Flavius walked to a table shedding his toga. Yoden followed each step. Flavius took a wine jug and poured into a chalice. He drank with care. Then turning about and looking straight up at Yoden. I would be interested to know how you escaped. It is a leak I must plug when this affair is over. December he answered with relish. Part of the road went through your wife's bed. Oh, so! Flavius nodded again. His wits had returned. They had never flown far. His face was almost a mask, save that the shadow of a smile played now and then across it. He moved with the wildcat ease Yoden remembered, unshaken and unhurried. No matter, snapped Friny. I have thought what we must do. Flavius regarded her with measuring eyes. At this season ships leave each day for all ports. You will engage passage for a short trip that can be done without exciting too much gossip. Let us say to Massilia in Gaul. We shall all forego. Massilia is subject to Rome, Flavius reminded her. But it is not many days travel by horse to the frontier. Beyond lies Aquitania, which is free. Even I have heard how the Gauls are still in upheaval after the Cymbrian Trek. We can make our own way among them, and you can return home from there. Flavius stroked his chin. Friny, is it not? he mused. Cordelia slave, become a most charming boy. Do you think to instruct the barbarians in Greek? Enough, growled Yoden. I think you have breathed fever mists, said Flavius. Do you really believe you can make your way through all Rome and Gaul alive? We have come thus far, said Friny. In the earliest sky-lightning Yoden saw how her eyes were dark-rimmed with weariness. He himself felt bowstring tense. Sleep would be his enemy. What have we to lose? he added to the girls' words. Flavius looked over at Wicca. She sat on the bed's edge, white-mouthed and red-eyed, watching them like a leashed dumb beast. Much, my friend, said Flavius, as runaway slaves you should be killed, or at least whipped and branded, but I could still save you. I could say you went on a secret errand for me. I could not save you if you were caught after having taken a Roman citizen hostage. Would you spare us even now? snorted Yoden. What oath can you give me? None, said Flavius. You would have to chance my mood, but be sure I have no complaint against Wicca, yet. If she is taken with you, though, abetting your flight and my capture, she will also die, piece by piece. He shook his head. Yoden, Yoden, you meant to save this girl, but you will give her to death. Better that than you. Do you not understand, said Flavius gently. It would not be a quick throat-cutting. The least she could await would be the arena beasts under the eye of all Rome. But the people have developed more refined tastes in such matters, and they are savage in their fear of slave mutiny. A servile war was ended only months ago in Sicily. I do not think she would merely face lions. It was as though some hand closed on Yoden's heart. His wrist went slack, the sword drooped downward. Wicca, he mumbled, what have we done to the powers? Flavius smiled in his own locked matter and held out his hand. Will you give me that sword? he asked. Friny world upon Wicca. You lump, she yelled. Is it you that he would die for? The Cymbrian girl shook herself. She got to her feet and moved across the floor like a sleep-walker. No, Yoden, she said in their own tongue. Hold fast. There was scant life in her voice, but it tapped the wells of his inward self. Yoden drew his head up again so that he loomed over them all and laughter grew in his mouth. He jabbed at Flavius' throat, forcing the Roman back. We sail to-day, he said in Latin, or else you shall be spitted on this, and I will be swift enough afterward to kill the girls and fall on the blade myself. Flavius caught a breath as though to speak, met Yoden's green gaze, and blew out again. He spread his hands and shrugged. Now, said Friny, we must have a plausible story for your sudden departure. Yoden and I are Narbonnesian Gauls, who have brought you an urgent message from your kinsman Septimus, who resides in Messilia. You kept your ears wide while you ate my salt, Friny, said Flavius, with a side-long glance at Wicca. The Grecian girl swiped the air, angrily, and went on. You need say little more. Speak of a chance to invest money, and all will expect you to be closed-mouthed. No one knows Yoden, so he will accompany you about the house. But you will stay within doors, sending your slaves out on the needful errands. When the social calls are paid you in the forenoon, your doorkeeper must turn them back on the plea that you are sick from too much wine. I shall remain here, lest I be recognized. Food will be brought to this door for Wicca and myself, but no one is to enter save you too. She turned to the Cymbrian as she continued. Yoden, do you know about writing, the marks made by Stylas or Quill? Good. Be sure he writes nothing that I do not see him write. Also, be sure that he speaks only in Latin. If he speaks two words running that you do not understand, kill him. Flavius pursed his lips. He regarded her for a long while before he said, very softly, And I hardly knew you existed, little one. Well, go! she stamped her foot. It will take time to find out about ships. Rouse a man now to inquire. Yoden draped the cloak around the sword which he carried bare under his left arm and followed Flavius out. The morning dragged. There was a Clepsidra in the atrium. Once when Yoden asked, Flavius told him how it counted time. Thereafter the Cymbrian sat listening to its drip drip drip and shuddered under a tightly held calm. For this was a troldom, where each falling drop eaked out another measure of a man's life. This waiting was the hardest thing he had yet done. Flavius himself suggested a casual remark to be made to the porter, explaining why the galls had not been seen entering the house. He had heard them talk beneath his garden wall, climbed a ladder in curiosity, and invited them over. He dealt smoothly enough with his stewards and errand-boys. He reclined on the couch, chatting plausibly of Gallic affairs, when food was served him and Yoden. He seemed to enjoy the scandalized faces of his older retainers when they saw Romans so familiar with a provincial. Why, it was unheard of. They went to the privy together. But chiefly there was nothing to do but wait. Yoden stayed within a quick lunge of Flavius, never taking eyes off him. Flavius shrugged lightly, called for some books, and lay on a couch reading when he did not nap. It had never before seemed to Yoden that hours on end of silence could be a torment. Word came about noon. A small galley was to leave Ostia for Messilia next sunrise. It carried only cheap wares, glass goods made in slave factories for barbarian markets, perhaps a chance person or two paid a few cestresses for space on deck, carrying their own food. Surely the great master Flavius would not travel in such a tub, and with three companions. In another few days a fine tri-ream with ample accommodations would depart. Well, if master Flavius insisted. Well, if he would pay that generously the officers would turn their cabin over to his party and sleep under canvas themselves. But, of course, master Flavius must not expect the cabin to be very comfortable. One would advise that he bring his own mattress. And then it was again to wait. Once Yoden caught himself nodding. His eyes had closed. All at once he realized it and opened them with a gasp. Flavius looked up from a scroll and chuckled. "'You only slept for a heartbeat,' he said. "'But how long do you think you can keep awake?' Long enough," spat the Cymbrian. The household bustled, shouted, chattered, a whirl of pompous orders and acknowledgments. There would be a hives buzzing about this, thought Yoden, his mind creaking with weariness. And some of Rome's mighty folk would hear and wonder. No matter, though. He would be at sea by that time ahead of any messages. Once out of Massiliatown, with a saddle beneath him and a string of remounts, he could raise the whole Roman army to Aquitania. They left for Ostia in mid-afternoon with four chariots. Flavius drove one, reckless and skilled. Yoden stood beside him and knew unsureness, as he hung on to the bumping, bouncing, rattling thing, not knowing whether he would be able to wield sword and not lose his feet. Micca and Frany paced them in another. The Cymbrian girl held reins and whip. She had never driven such a wagon before, but she kept an even distance behind Flavius, and looking back, Yoden saw in a glad leap of his heart that she smiled. The other two cars bore only a man of peace and the needful travel-goods, also some purses, fat with Ari, to see them through this land where gold had more strength than iron. Even in these days of a dying republic, when new wealth openly flouted old laws, this was no common faring on the Ostian way. Wagoners, horsemen, foot-travelers, porters, donkey-drivers, men in tavern doors and cottage windows and haughty gates, the rich matron in a litter and all her bearers, child and labor and aged beggar, all must stare at four galloping chariots with a Roman guiding one and a yellow-haired foreign woman the next. Well, let them talk too, thought Yoden. He wished he could give Rome a redder memory of his passage. Though this road was broad and superbly paved, there were miles to go. Once they stopped to change teams. It was after dark when they entered the Ostian streets. Torches flared, the horses stumbled on cobblestones. Flavius looked wind-flushed at Yoden and laughed. Thank you for a good ride, at least. Now, shall we to an inn? No. It was hard to think clearly, with a skull full of sand. But every stop every man they spoke to was another hazard. Let us get aboard at once. Flavius clicked his tongue but turned the chariot down toward the water-front. There was just enough light from the city and the pharaohs in the outer harbour for Yoden to see a world of ships. There spars hem the sky. Many of them were lit by torch or fire-pot so that slaves could continue loading. Such was the galley they sought. It was, indeed, neither large nor beautiful. It was battered, in need of paint, reeking of tar and slavery. The small bronze figure head was so corroded you could not tell what it had been intended to depict. Ten ports on a side showed where the oars would emerge. Through them came a sound of chains and animal sleep. Friny gagged at the smell. A line of near-naked dock-workers moved up and down a gang-plank bearing cases to be stowed in the hold, while an overseer and an armed guard watched. There was also a stout, dark-bearded man with a rolling gate who came up, gave a bear's bow, and said he was Demetrios, captain of this vessel. He had not been expecting his distinguished passengers yet. Take us to our cabin, said Flavius. We should sleep a few hours before you leave. The noise-master, said the captain, you would not sleep at all, I fear. Yoden looked wildly about. He had not thought of this. If the Demetrios man grew suspicious, what to do, what to do? Flavius winked and jerked his thumb at Wicca and Friny. I should not have said sleep, captain. Oh, said Demetrios enviously. Of course. They went up on deck. There was a high poop where the great steering ore was lashed. The stem-post curled up over it like a flaunting tail. The forecastle stood somewhat lower, bearing a rough tent erected for the officers. The free deck-hands would bed in the open as always. Amid ships rose the single mast, with a flimsy cabin just aft where Flavius' attendance laid down his gear. A lamp showed it windowless, though crannies led in ample cold air, and bear, safer a little wooden seagod, nailed to his shelf. Demetrios bowed in the doorway. Good night, then, noble-master, he said. I hope we'll get a pleasant voyage. Demetrios smiled graciously. I am sure we will. End of Chapter 8, Chapter 9 of The Golden Slave, by Paul Anderson. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. THE GOLDEN SLAVE, CHAPTER IX Well now, said the Roman, when they sat behind a closed door. He stretched himself across one of the mattresses, buoyed like on his belly, and reached for a leather bottle of good wine. His grin leaped at the others. Thus far, my friends, well done! Shall we pledge our mutual success? The Odin opened his cloak and let the sword slide to his knees. His left arm was stiff and pained from holding the blade pressed to his ribs hours at a time. He looked with sullen red eyes at his enemy and said, No, I will pledge your ghost in your own blood, nothing else. Friny hugged her knees and stared from a drawn small face. It is best that Flavius not leave this cabin all the voyage, she said. He can plead seasickness. Two of us must be with him at any time, awake. Oh, one will do, said Odin. His jaws felt rusty. At least if the other two are here asleep but ready to be called. Bind him, said Wicca timidly. Flavius raised his brows. If a sailor should chance to look in upon us and saw me bound, he murmured. It is true, Odin's head drooped. He jerked it back again. Be as wise on our behalf as you have been, Roman, and you will see Rome again. Flavius poured himself a cup. Do you think so? He asked lightly. I doubt that. I have promised. How much will your word be worth to you once we reach a wild land where you have no further need of me for shield? Flavius eyes rested candidly on Wicca, above the rim of his cup. A slow deep flush went up her throat in cheeks. She drew herself into a corner, away from them all, but her gaze remained locked with his. What did I expect us ever to get that far? went on Flavius. Your luck has been good until now. A power has been with me, said Odin, and touched his forehead, where the holy Triskiel lay under a grimy cloth. So you may think. But what educated man can take seriously those overgrown children on Olympus? The Roman nodded at Wicca. We speak of this now and then, you and I. Do you remember? There was a time you gathered jasmine blossoms. Be still about that, or I will forget my word! roared Odin in the cymbric. Wicca huddled back and lifted an arm as though to ward off a blow. As you wish, said Flavius, unruffled. To continue. A crash outside, and the sound of swearing and a whip interrupted him. I, myself, do not believe in any power except chance. There are blind moities of matter obeying blind laws. Only the idiot hand of chance keeps each cycle of centuries from being the same. Now it is very possible, by chance, to throw the same number at dice several times sequentially. It is not possible forever, my friend. I think you have thrown about as many good numbers as any man in the world ever did. Soon your luck must turn. You shall be found out through some happenstance. You will then try to kill me. One way or another we shall all die. You and Friny and Wicca and myself, all dead, mold in our mouths and our eye sockets empty. Flavius tossed off his wine and poured another cup. It is inevitable. Odin snarled, out of a chill dreary foreboding. If you say more such unlucky words, I will—no, not kill you. Each such word will cost you a tooth. Now hold your mouth. Flavius shrugged gracefully. Friny closed her eyes. Beneath the booming and the voices on deck there was silence. Finally, Odin turned to his wife. She would not meet his look. When he took her hand it lay slack on his palm. Quicka, he said, bird, cymbric, low, and unsure in his throat. Pay him no heed. We shall be free. Yes, she said, so he could scarcely hear it. That, yes, was not meant, he told her. His heart lay in a lump in his breast. She said in a torn voice. There is no freedom from that which was. Little Othric, said Odin. He looked at his wife's hand and remembered how his son's baby thinkers had curled about his thumb. He shook his head and smiled. No, him we shall always mourn. But it would be worse if we sailed off leaving him to grow up a Roman's beaten beast. You could not have done otherwise. There will come more children to us, and some of them will die of this or that, so it has ever been. But some will live, Wicca. She shook her head, still averting herself. I am dishonored. Not so, he said harshly. If you would, he glanced at Flavius, who raised brows and smiled. Then he put his lips by Wicca's ear to breathe. I gave him no true oath. We can sacrifice him in Gaul. That will remove all stain from you. No! she cried it aloud, pulling free of him. The face he looked upon was filled with terror. As you like, he floundered. Whatever you wish. But remember, I am your husband. It is for me to say if you are guilty, and I say you are not. Let me alone! she pleaded. Let me alone! Then sat listening to her dry sobs. He hefted his sword, deli thinking about its use. He had never fought with such a weapon. The Symbrian blades were forhewing, and this was for stabbing. Friney crept over the narrow space and touched his arm. Wait! she whispered. He saw a helpless look in her eyes, as if she sat watching a child being burned out by fever. Give her time, Yoden. I know not what the Symbrian law is. I suppose your women were chased. It means more to her what has happened than you can know. I do not understand, he said. There is some witchcraft here. I do not understand her any longer. Wait, Yoden. Only wait. He squatted into his own corner, under the low roof, and looked across to Flavius. The Roman had closed his eyes and stretched out. Could he really sleep now? At last the noise ended. Yoden saw Wicca fall asleep herself, curled like a child. There was that much to thank the dark powers for. Friney and he seemed too weary to rest, or too taut. Yet no thoughts ran in his head. It felt hollowed out, and time did not flow for him. When a new clamor began, and he felt the ship move, it was a jarring surprise. Already. He opened the door and looked out. The deck-hands had cast loose. The auras were walking. He heard Rolox Creek and the muffled gonging of the stroke-center beneath his shoes. They slipped through a channel between many hulls, still one dark, mysterious mass. Ostia and Italy behind her lay misty under the first saffron clouds. Ahead the Tyrrhenian Sea caught a few wan gleams. There were stars in the west. The sailors, shivering in tunics or mere loin cloths, scurried over the deck doing things unknown to Yoden. They were a roughenly-looking lot, swept from many ports of the mid-world sea. A hairy Pamphylian, a brown Libyan, a big-nosed Thracian, a brawny red-faced Gaul, another two or three whom Yoden could only guess about. Captain Demetrios walked among them, a sword at his waist, a light whip in his hand. He saw Yoden and came over, beaming snag-toothed in his beard. Good morning, he said. You had a, ha! Pleasant night with your woman and your boy? Yoden grunted. How long to Macilia? Oh, perhaps five days, maybe more, maybe less. Much depends on the wind. I have a fear it will turn against us. Demetrios cocked his head. Where are you from? I thought I'd seen them all till you turned up. Yoden said in Cymbric, you Southland swine. And where's that? asked Demetrios. But Yoden had closed the door again. The cabin was smoky and foul after the deck. He wondered if he could really smell the human agony that seeped off from the rower's pit. Flavius opened an eye. Have you foreseen you might get sick from the waves? He asked amably. I have foreseen kicking your ribs in, grated Yoden. Flavius nodded at Wicca, who had also awakened. She sighed up with chin on knees and shivered. Do you see, my dear, it is too much to expect that I should be released even if we ever get into Aquitania, he murmured. It would be asking more of your husband than anyone may even ask of a God. Wicca gave Yoden a forlorn glance. He laid himself upon a mattress near her. You will swear he shall have his life will you not? she asked fearfully. He said, out of his bitterness. You are loyal to your owner, Wicca. She shrank back with a little whimper. No more of that, said Friney sharply. We are certain not to outlive this trip if we quarrel among ourselves. She regarded Wicca closely. You look strong, she said, and I daresay you have some knowledge of weapons. The Cymbrian girl nodded, wordless. Well, then, said Friney. Yoden and I can do no more without rest. You have slept awhile. Now watch Flavius for us. It's simple enough. Hold this sword. Stay out of his reach. If he makes a suspicious move, call us. If it looks as if he might escape, stab. Wicca took the heavy blade. That much, yes, she said in the cymbric. Yoden laughed without mirth, but not uncomforted. He curled on his side to face her. The last sight he had, before sleep-smote, was the unsure smile with which she looked at him. Her scream wakened Yoden. He sprang to a crouch. He had a moment's glimpse of Flavius' tall form stooped beneath the roof. The Roman was at the door, and Wicca was plunging toward him. Flavius kicked out. He got her sword-bearing arm. She cried aloud, fell, and tried to seize his feet. He fumbled with the latch, kicking her again. Yoden roared and sprang, but it was too narrow a space. He stumbled over Wicca. Friney had just come awake. Sleep spilled from her, and she grabbed for her knife. Yoden picked himself up from his entanglement with Wicca as Flavius got the door open. Yoden rushed for him. They went backwards out on the deck. Yoden reached for Flavius' throat. The Roman's knees were doubled up before his stomach. He straightened them enough to fend off the Cymbrian, rolled over, and shouted, Help! Captain! Slave mutiny! Help! Yoden grasped for him, missed again, and saw the Libyan satyr's legs pounding up. The Libyan was swinging a club. Yoden scrambled back from the blow and bounced to his feet. The Libyan yelled and raised the club high. Yoden's fist leaped, and he felt bone and flesh crunch under his knuckles. The Libyan choked and sat down. Wildly Yoden looked toward the bow. He had a glimpse of sea that sparkled blue beneath the sun close to noon. The ship rolled gently, but to an opposing wind. They were still only ore-powered. The land was a thin streak to starboard. Flavius stood in a knot of men under the forecastle, pointing back to the cabin and yelling. Give me that sword! bawled Yoden. Friny came out with it. The wind rumpled her short dark hair. The sun blinked on her knife-blade. Her tilted face looked forward in the calm of... hopelessness? No, quick assobbed behind her saying... There are worse endings. Kill me, Yoden! No! he cried. Come, follow me! Buy the bowl! He lifted his sword and ran aft. The sailors in the bow milled, unsure. Demetrios exorted them. Up on the poop the Steersman gaped and let go his ore. The ship healed as the wind brought it about. Yoden stumbled, regained his feet and reached the hatch he wanted. It stood open. The stench of the grave boiled from it. Even in that moment he was close to retching. But... Down in there, he rapped and sprang first, ignoring the ladder. He struck a platform where the gong-beater stood, staring mouth-open like a fish. Yoden stabbed once. The gong-beater screamed, caught at his belly and sank to his knees. Yoden looked down the length of the pit. Overhead was the main deck. Before him was an oblong well, with ten benches on either side and a man chained to each. He could not see them as more than a blur. Here a bleached face, there a tangle of hair. A cat-walk ran down the middle above the seats. Light came in shafts through the hatch and the ore-ports. As the ship rolled a sun-beam would sickle up and down, touching a rib or a strake or a human face and then flee onward. It was noisy here. Timbers groaned, waves slapped the hull, rollocks creaked, chains rattled. The overseer came at a run along the cat-walk. He was a big man with a smashed, hating face. He was bearing a whip with leaded thongs and a trident for prodding or killing. Pirates! He whooped. Pirates! A beast howl lifted from the benches. Ores clattered in their locks. The men stood up and barked, grunted, yammered. The Odin could not tell whether it was fear or wrath, and his life depended on which it was. As the overseer reached him, the Odin crouched. The overseer stabbed. The Odin swayed his body aside as though this were a bull's horn in the simbrian springtime games. He should have thrust in his turn, but habit was too strong. He struck downward with his sword. The overseer's trident was wrenched loose and went ringing to the platform. The man's mouth opened. Perhaps he cursed, but the Odin could not hear above the slave-racket. His fingers clawed for a hold to wrestle the simbrian. The Odin got him by belt and throat, heaved him up over his head, and roared aloud. Here! He's yours! And hurled the overseer into darkness. The Odin cried wicca. Her hands fell frantic upon his body. He looked into the wild eyes. What would you do? No time to hunt for keys to the locks, he rapped. Pick up that trident. Pry the shackles off these men. Wicca stood back, staring. The slaves hooded and jumped about. A swift sunbeam caught bare teeth down in the murk. They could hear the overseer being ripped apart. Can you hold the crew off long enough? called Franey. I had better," said Odin. He pulled off his cloak and whirled it around his left arm. The gong-beater caught feebly at his heels. He stamped down the hand and bounded up the ladder. The sailors were nearing. All of them had weapons, such as were kept against pirates. Demetrios was bearing a shield and helmet as well. Flavius was walking beside him. There he is! bellowed the captain and feet thudded on the planks. Odin went down again and waited. There was grunting and cursing at his back. Once the girls had a man or two free it would go faster. But if I were a slave he thought, with the mind beaten out of me I might not use a sudden woman for anything but... here is a man to fight! It was a Libyan, with a broken nose to avenge. He came down the ladder quickly, facing forward in sailor fashion, bearing a short spear. In the shifting gloom he was not much more than another shadow. The Odin poised himself. The spear punched at his stomach. He caught the point in his wadded cloak, shoved it aside and stepped in. The Libyan howled but was scarcely heard above the howling of the galley-slaves. The Odin slid the sword into him. The sailor did not seem to feel it. He backed against the ladder, pulled his spear free and struck. The Odin did not quite sidestep it. The edge raked his shoulder. As the Libyan moved in, the Odin chopped at the wooden handle of his enemy's weapon. Roman iron bit. He caught it. The Libyan wrestled him for the shaft. The Odin jerked. The Libyan lost his balance, slipped in his own pouring blood and fell into the pit. The Odin glanced up. The sky in the hatch blinded him. He could only see that someone was looking down. As if from far away he heard Demetrios. Throw a kettle of boiling water. He cannot withstand that. He can retreat onto the catwalk, said Flavius, and come back to meet the next man we send. No, let one sailor carry that kettle down the ladder. The barbarian cannot attack him without being scolded. Two or three others can come directly behind. Getting Odin turned toward the benches. It had quieted a little. He heard lynx clash in the darkness. A staple screamed as it was torn out of a timber. Follow me! shouted Odin. Break your oars for clubs! There are no more than six or seven men up there! You can be free! They shuffled and mumbled in the dark. He glimpsed a few who had been released holding up their dangling chains in a dull, wondering way. They were loathsome with sores and scars. A voice yelled back to him. We can be crucified! No more! They have swords! Another whispered. They are masters! Odin shook his red blade high and yelled in rage. Is there even one man among you? A moment longer than a booming from the foul night before him. Get these god-rotten irons off me, boy, and you'll have at least two more hands! End of Chapter 9 CHAPTER X The man who sprang up onto the catwalk and joined Odin was huge. Not as tall as the Cymbrian, but with a breath of shoulder that made him look almost square. His arms, hanging down toward his knees, were cabled with muscle. His hair and beard were matted filth, but they still had the color of fire. Small blue eyes crackled under bony brows. The dented nose dilated, sucking air into a shaggy, bow-legged frame clad only in its chains. He trumpeted at the darkness. Hear me! You had courage enough to kill one stunned man tossed down to you! Now you've no hope for your flea-bitten lives but to fight! Whether you touch the Overseer or not, do you think the Romans would spare a man of us after this? They'll grind you up for pig-mash. Follow us, beat in a few heads. After all the beatings you've taken, it's your turn, and we'll have the ship. Whirling on Odin, he said with a wolfish glee, Come, let's at him. The rest will trail us. There's a spear somewhere, said the Cymbrian. Ha! I have my chains! The big men whirled the links still hanging on his wrists. Odin thought of Wicca, of his son and his father, and of Marius' triumphal parade. He swung up the ladder. The crew were gathered nearby on guard, one of them shouted as Odin's head emerged and ran forward holding a pike. Odin braced himself. As the metal thrust at him, he caught its shaft and forced it up. He jerked back while he took the last few rungs. The sailor fell to one knee. Odin came out on deck, yanked the pike away, and tossed it under the legs of the two nearest men approaching him. They went down. Ha! Well cast! bawled Redbeard. A man was going up the ladder to the poop-deck. Over the heads of two or three sailors, Odin saw that he had a bow. See, up there! he cried as he danced back from the gall's sword-thrust. Redbeard grunted, whirled his chain and let fly. The thracian deckhand screamed as the staple lens smashed across his face and dropped his axe. The Redbeard picked it up, took aim and threw it. There was a gleam in the air and a meaty whack. The bowman fell off the ladder, wailing, the axe standing in his shoulder. Back to back, snapped Odin. The crew were circling him, looking for a chance to rush in. He counted four. The gall, the Greek, the Pamphylian, and a stocky fellow with a leather apron be like a carpenter. The thracian, who rolled about moaning, and the archer, who lay bleeding to death were out of the fight. And here, from around the cabin, leaving their hot water-kettle, came Dimitrios and Flavius. Redbeard wrapped a chain about his right hand. The links on his left he kept dangling and twirled it. Hoi! Down there in the pit! He shouted, Get off your moldy butts and come crack some bones! The Pamphylian and the Greek moved in side by side, facing Odin. The first of them leaped about, thrusting lightly with his sword, not trying to do more than hold the Simbrian's eyes. Then the Greek worked in from the left. Odin's blade clanged against his. At once the Pamphylian darted close. The Odin could just whip his sword around in time to wound him and drive him back. It gave the Greek an opening. Odin saw that assault from the edge of an eye. He got his cloak shielded arm in the way. The Greek struck for his hip, but the thrust only furrowed Odin's flesh. Then Redbeard swatted his chain-clad hand around and the Greek reeled back. The Odin thrust savagely at the Pamphylian, who retreated. Redbeard batted the carpenter's pikeside with his right hand. The chain on his left wrist snapped forth and coiled around the Pamphylian's neck. Redbeard pulled him close, took him by the arm, and kicked him down the hatch. You puking brats! he roared into the pit as the sailor fell. Do I have to send him to you? Dmitrios and Flavius were among their men now, only the Gaul, the Greek, and the carpenter. Odin screamed and shook his sword at them. Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! Form ranks, barked Flavius. Best we get back under the poop, panted Redbeard. Odin drift aft across the deck, growling. Five men left, no more. But they marched in a line, their timidity gone. Two could not hope to stop them for long. The slaves came out. Not all had so much courage, perhaps ten, but those fell upon the crew with broken oars, chains and bare hands. Odin saw Flavius turn coolly, lift his sword and sheath it in a throat. Pull it free and gouge the next man open. The sailors fell into a ring, the yelping slaves recoiled. Ho, ho, ho, hee, ye! Shriek, Odin, and charged. It was Flavius head he wanted, but the Greeks he got. The sailor, his face puffy from the chain blow it had taken, stabbed. Odin went to one knee and let the point tear his wadded cloak. He thrust upward. Blood ran from the Greeks thigh, but the man stood firm. Odin jumped to his feet, got two hands on the Greek sword wrist and put his weight behind them. He heard the arm leave the socket and the Greek went down. The Odin saw that the fight had departed this place. The slaves were clubbing loose. He followed. A rover emerged from below, saw the Greek and the Thracian lying helpless and battered them to death. The Odin glimpsed Redbeard across the ship, locked bare-handed with the carpenter. Those were two strong men. The carpenter broke free and ran, pursued by Redbeard. Under the forecastle stood a rack of tools. As the carpenter picked up a hammer, Redbeard smote him with the chain and the hammer dropped. Redbeard caught it in mid-air, roared and struck the carpenter. But now the battle had ended. The gall had fallen, pounded to ruin. Only Flavius and the captain still lived. They fought their way aft to the poop. Half a dozen wounded slaves and three dead lay behind them. When they stood on the upper deck and defended the way with their swords, the mutineers fell back. For a while there was silence. The ship rolled easily, waves clapped the strakes, wind hummed in the rigging. The hurt men moaned. The dead men and the wreckage rolled about. But those were not loud noises under so high a heaven. Redbeard went to the foot of the poop and shook his hammer. "'Will you come down, or must I fetch you?' he cried. "'Come, if you will,' said Flavius. "'It would be a service to rid the earth of Latin as atrocious as yours.'" Redbeard hung back, glouring. One by one the roars drifted up to join him. Flavius arched his brows at them and grinned. His hair was flung disarrayed by the breeze. His tunic was ripped and a bruise purpled one calf. But he stood as though in Rome's forum. Beside him, Demetrios mouthed threats and brandished his blade. Eoden went to the hatch. He heard the remaining slaves clamber down there and a sickness choked him. By the bull he thought if those creatures have so much as spoken to Huica or Frini the fish will get them cooked. "'Hoy!' he shouted. "'Come up! We have won!' Something stirred on the ladder. And then the sun caught Huica's bright, blowing hair. She trod forth, dropping the trident in an unaware gesture. One leg showed through a rent in her gown. Her broad, snub-nosed face was still bewildered. The blue eyes were hazed as though she had not fully awakened. "'Huica!' croaked Eoden. "'Are you hurt?' "'No.' He flung his sword to the deck and drew her to him. "'We have the ship,' he said. "'We are free.' A moment only her fingers tightened on his arms. Then she pulled away and looked over the blood-smeared deck. "'Flavius?' she whispered. "'Up there!' Eoden pointed with a stabbing motion. "'We'll soon snatch him down.' Huica stepped aside. She shivered. "'It does not seem real,' she said in a child's high, thin voice. Frini's boy-figure emerged. She was holding a dripping dagger. She looked at it, shook her head, flung it from her, and bent shut eyes down upon clenched fists. Eoden laid a hand on her shoulder. He had been wild at thinking of harm to Huica. "'Now a strange tenderness rose in him,' and he asked very gently. "'What happened, Frini?' She raised a blind, violet stare. "'I killed a man,' she said. "'Oh! No more than that?' Thankfulness sang within Eoden. "'It was not so little.' She rubbed a wrist across her forehead. "'I think I will have evil dreams for a long time.' "'But men are killed daily.' "'He was a slave,' said Frini, without tone. Huica and I went among them. She pulled out the staples, and I guarded her. This one man shouted and seized her dress. He would have had her down under the bench. I struck him. I struck him twice in the neck. He slumped back, but it took him a while to die. A sunbeam came in. I saw that he did not understand. He was only a man, a young man. What did he know of us, of our purpose down there? Of anything but bench and chains and whip and one niggard piece of sky. And now he is among the shades, and he will never know.' She turned away, went to the rail, and stared out at the horizon. Eoden thought for a moment. He would have given blood of his own to comfort her, though this seemed only some female craziness. Well, do you think it would have been better for him to dishonor the woman that wanted to free him? Frini paused before answering. No, that is true. But give me a while to myself. Eoden picked up his sword and went to the poop-ladder. The slaves milled about, grumbling. Their bodies were mushroom-coloured, and they blinked in the bright day. They had not been starved, for their strength was worth money, but sores fastened on them and their hair and beards were crusted. Only the big red man seemed altogether human. Be like he had not been long at the oars. He turned about, bobbed his head awkwardly, and rumbled. I lay my life at your feet. You gave me back myself. Eoden grinned. I had small freedom to choose. It was get help or be cut down. Nevertheless there is fate in you, said Redbeard. He lifted his hammer between both hands. I take you for Dissa, for Chieftain. I am your hound and horse, bow and quiver, son and grandson, until the sky is broken. Eoden said, moved to see tears on a giant's face. Who are you? I am called Chior, the Sarmatian, Dissa. I folker the Ruk Ansa, a confederation among the Atlantic peoples. We dwell on the western side of the Don River, north of the Azov Sea. I carry Dissa blood myself, being a son of the clan chief, Belly. The Sarmarian Greeks caught me in battle a few years ago. I went from hand to hand, being too quick of temper to make a good slave, until at last they pegged me into this floating sty. And now you have freed me. Or blew his nose and wiped his eyes. Well, I am Eoden, Bioric's son, of the Simbri. We can trade stories later. How shall we dislodge those two up there? A bow would be easiest, said Chior, brightening. But I'd leave her throw things at them. Flavius went to the deck's edge and looked down. Eoden, he called, will you speak with me? The Simbrian bristled. What can you say to talk back your life? Only this, Flavius' tone remained cool. Do you really think to mannish ship with these apes? They know how to row. Can they lay a course, hold a rudder, set a sail, or splice a line? Do you yourself even know where to aim, to reach some certain country? Now Captain Demetrios has mastered all these arts, and I, who own a small pleasure-craft, have some skill. Eoden, you can kill us if you wish, but then you will be wrecked in a day." There was buzzing among the slaves. The ship healed sharply under a gust, and Eoden felt spray sting his face. Friny left the rail and came to him. I have not seen much of the sea, she said, but I fear Flavius is right. Eoden looked back along the deck toward Wicca. She stood watching the Roman in a way he did not know, save that it was not hate. Eoden raised his sword until it trembled before his eyes. The blood running down the blade made the half slippery. I had no real quarrel with any of the men whose blood this was, he thought. Then he regarded the sea, where it curled white on restless greenish blue, and the sky, and the far-dim line that was Italy. He spat on the planks and called. Very well, lay down your arms and be our deck-officers. You shall not be harmed." What proof do you have? snorted Demetrios. None except that he wants to reach land again with his wife, said Flavius. Come. He led the way down the ladder. The rovers muttered obscenity. Two of them moved close, their pieces of ore lifted. Tior waved them back with his sledge. Flavius handed his sword to Eoden, who pitched it down so it rang. I advise you to assert your authority without delay. Flavius folded his arms and leaned against the poop, amused of face. You have an unruly band there. By now the remaining oarsmen had come on deck. Eoden counted them. All told he had sixteen alive, including Tior, though several of these had suffered wounds. He mounted halfway up the ladder. Hear me, he cried. They moved about, stripping the fallen sailors, shaking weapons they had taken, chattering in a dozen tongues. Several edged close to Wicca. Hear me, roared Eoden. Tior took Demetrios' helmet and banged on it with his hammer till ears hurt from the noise. Heed me now, or I throw you overboard, shouted Eoden. When he had them standing, squatting, or sitting beneath him, he began to talk. There was little art of oratory among the northern folk, but he knew coldly that he must learn it for himself this day if he wanted to live. I am Eoden who freed you, he said. I am a Cymbrian. Last year, having destroyed many Roman armies, we entered Italy. There our luck turned. We were beaten, and I was taken for a slave. But my luck has turned again, for you see that I captured this ship and struck the irons off you, and I shall give you your own freedom back. He played for a while on the thought of no more manacles or whips sailing to a land where they could find homes and wives or start out for their own countries. When he had them shouting for him, he was astonished how easy that was, he grew stern. A ship without a captain is a ship for the sea to eat. Now I am the captain. For the good of all I must be obeyed. For the good of all those who do not obey must suffer death or the lash. Hear me. It may well be needful for you to row again, but you will row as free men. He who will not pull his oar is not chained. He is welcome to leave us over the side. He whose gluttony takes more than his ration shall be cut into fish-bait to make up for it. Hear me. I show you two women. They are mine. I know you have been long without women, but he who touches them, he who so much as makes a lewd remark to them, will be nailed to the yard-arm. For I am your captain. I am he who will lead you to freedom and safety. I am the captain. A moment stillness, then to your whooped, and then they all shouted themselves raw, clapped, danced, and held their weapons aloft. Captain! Captain! Eoden leaned on the ladder while the cheering beat in his face. Now he thought drunkenly, now I can forgive Marius that he made a triumph. But the ship was bucking, drifting before the wind. While Tior went among the men, binding hurts and learning what skills they might have, Eoden conferred. Beside him were Wicca, who held his arm and looked gravely at him, and Freini, who stood with feet braced wide against the roll and fists defiantly on her hips. Demetrios, red with throttled anger, phased Eoden. Flavius sat on a coil of rope, his chiseled features gone blank. First, we must know where to but take us, said Eoden. I do not think we could sail unquestioned into Macilia Harbour as we are. Could we put in elsewhere on the shore of Gaul, unseen? It's a tricky coast for a lubber crew, said Demetrios. Narbonensis is thickly settled, added Freini. Even if we landed in some cove, I doubt we would get far on foot before some prefect tracked us down. Her gaze went west toward the sun. Indeed, nearly all the mid-world sea coasts of Europe are Roman. There is Africa, said Flavius. Freini nodded thoughtfully. What struck Eoden, why had he never noticed it before with her hair so short, that the shape of her head was beautiful? Maritania, she murmured. No, that is well west of us. A long way to go across open sea, with so tiny and awkward a crew. Numidia must be nearly south, but so is Carthage, where Romans dwell. Then I hear triplus on Cyrenaica are desert in many places, down to the very sea. Eoden said, By the bull we could sail around Gaul to Jutland. Flavius laughed noiselessly. Demetrios rumbled like some fire mountain before he achieved words. Would you not rather bore a hole in the ship? That would be an easier way to drown. Freini smiled to the Cymbrian. I should have awaited such a plan from you, she said, but he is right. It is too long a voyage, and the ocean is too rough for the likes of us. Well then, he snapped, where can we go? I would say toward Egypt. Eoden started. He had not often seen Freini redden. She lowered her eyes, but went on hurriedly. Oh, we could not sail into Alexandria like any mariners. The king of Egypt has no more desire to incur its slaver-volt than the Roman Senate. But there should be smaller harbors, or we could run into the Nile Delta after dark, or... It is a world city, Alexandria, even more than Rome. Let us once enter at a foot, a few at a time, with just a little money, and surely we can be better hidden than in the wildest desert. And those who would go further can find births with eastbound ships or caravans. You could go as far as the Cimmerian Bosporus, Eoden, Wicca, and thence make your own way north through the barbarian lands to your home. Eoden looked at Demetrios. The captain grunted. I suppose it might be done this time of year, he said. You'll let me off unhurt, won't you now? The gods will hate you if you break your word to me." Flavius said calmly. Chance abets your scheme, Freini. The wind is right for doubling around Sicily. Eoden whipped his sword up, threw it so it stuck in the bulkhead, toning, and laughed. Then we sail. He found much to do in the next few hours. He had to organize the crew, giving duties to all the men. He had to visit the whole ship. He had to count the stores and guess what ration of moldy hard-tack, wormy meat, sour wine, and scummed water could be handed out each day. His crew elected to sleep below in the pit. Most of them feared sea-monsters would snatch an unconscious man off the deck. A yarn often spun galley slaves to keep them docile. A cleared space in the four-castle peak was turned over to Tior, Flavius and Demetrios, who must always be on call. The prisoner officers would stand watch and watch the whole journey, supervised by captain or mate. Not trusting himself, Eoden said Tior would guard Flavius. Having cleaned the decks and gotten rid of the dead, they promised Neptune a bull when they came ashore to pay for polluting his waters. The crew made some shambling attempt to become human. It was almost a merry scene. Tior dragged a forge out on deck. Iron roared as his hammer and chisel struck off men's fetters. Beyond him stood a black Ethiopian, who hacked off as much hair and beard as shears would take. A tub of sea water and a sponge waited, and they could put on the tunics or loin-claws of the fallen sailors, shabby indeed, but more than a bench-slave had. And a stew-pot bubbled on the hearth forward of the mast, and an extra dole of wine was there to pour for the gods or drink oneself. Overhead strained the single square sail, patched and mildewed but carrying them south from Rome. A thought reached Eoden. He said, dismayed, But, Frini, I have not found any quarters for you. She looked at the cabin, then back at him and Wicca. Eoden said burned yellow behind her slight form. I can use that canvas shelter up on the forecastle deck, she said. It seems wrong, he muttered. Without you I would be dead a hundred times over, or still a slave. You should have the cabin, and we, you could not be alone enough in a tent on deck, she said. He heard Wicca's breath stumble, but she uttered no word. The sun went down, somewhere beyond the pillars of Hercules. The moon, approaching the full, rose out of Asia. The men yawned their way to sleep. Eoden overheard one young fellow say it had been a trying day. Presently only the watch was above decks, a look out in the boughs and one on the crow's nest, a steersman and Demetrius on the poop, two standbys dozing under the taff rail. Eoden said to Eoden, will you not sleep too? Not till Tior relieves me, he said. Would you trust that captain man? I can oversee him and call for help if— Eoden's mouth lifted wryly. Thank you, Franey, but it is not needful. Later perhaps. Now I think we shall watch the moon for a bit. Oh! The Greek girl was a whiteness in the night. She seemed very small within the great ring of the sea. Her head bent. Oh! I understand. Good night, Eoden. Good night. He watched her go to her tent. Wicca stood by the larbord rail. Her hair loosened, rippled a little in the wind. He thought he could still see a tinge of its golden hue. Otherwise the moon turned her to silver and mist. She was not wholly real. But shadows drew the deep curves of her where the torn dress fluttered and streamed. Eoden's temples beat slow and heavy. He walked to her and they stood looking east. The moon dazzled their eyes and flung a shaken bridge across darkly gleaming waters. There were not many stars to be seen against its brightness up in the violet-blue night. The sea rolled and whispered, the wind thrummed low. The ship's four-foot hissed and its timbers talked aloud. I had not awaited this, said Eoden at last, because she was not going to speak and he could find no better words. To gain her own vessel. It seems more of a risk this way, she answered, staring straight before her. The hands he remembered, how fair was a woman's hand laid beside the rough hairy paw of a man, were clenched on the rail. It is my fault. Had I not failed you this noontime? How did the Roman get to the door, he asked. You could have called me, or at least put your sword in him when he neared it, could you not? I tried, she said. But when he began to move that way slowly, as if by mere chance, talking to me all the while, he was so merry and he was saying me a verse, I did not want to. She shook her head, her lips pulled back from her teeth, and she said, harshly. Once I attacked him, were not all our lives forfeit? Was it not to be done only if death stood certain before us? I waited too long, that is all, I misjudged and waited too long. You could have warned him not to move further. He talked all the time, his verse, I had no chance to. You had no wish to interrupt him, flared Eoden. Is that not the way of it? He was singing you some pretty little lay about your eyes or your lips and smiling at you. You would not break the mood with anything so rude as a warning. Is that not how he used you? Her head bent. She slung to the rail and arched her back with the effort not to scream. Eoden paced up and down for a time, somewhere out in the water, a dolphin broached, playing with the moonlight. There was strangely little wind to feel when you sailed before it, as though the hollow, murmurous canvas above them had gathered it all in. When he turned his face aft, he caught only the lightest of warm, wandering airs. It was a fair night, he thought, a night when the powers were gentle. It was a night to lie out with your beloved as you carried her home. Eoden said, finally, with more weariness than he had thought a man's bones could bear. Oh yes, I too have learned somewhat of these southlanders. They are more skilled and gracious folk than we. They can speak of wisdom, opening the very heavens as they talk, and their wit is like sunshine skipping over a swift brook, and their verses sing a heart from its body. And their hands shape wood and stone so it seems alive, and love is also a craft to be learned, with a thousand small delights we heavy-footed northfolk had not dreamed us. Yes, all this I have seen for myself, and it was foolish of me to suppose you were blind. He came back behind her and laid his hands on her waist. Is it flavious, then, that you care for? I do not know, she whispered. But you were never more than a few months pleasure to him, cried Eoden. His voice split across. He swore it was otherwise. Her fingers twisted together, her head wove back and forth as if seeking flight. I do not know, Eoden. There was a trodum laid on me perhaps, though he said he would raise me from all the darkness of witches and gods into a sunlight air where only men dwelt. I do not know. She tore herself free, whirled about, and faced him. Can you not understand, Eoden? You are dear to me, but I care for him too. And that is why I am dishonored. It is not that I, a prisoner, lay with him, but I was his. Eoden let his arms fall. And you still are, he asked. I told you I do not know. She stared blindly out to sea. Now you have heard. Do what you think best. You can have the cabin for yourself, he said. He wanted to make it a gentle tone, but his words clashed flatly. She fled from him, and he heard the door bang shut upon her. After a long while he looked skyward, found the North Star, and measured its position against the moonlit wake. As nearly as he could tell, they were still on course.