"Is it night?" he asked in the Cimbric.
"Yes," she answered, very quietly. "Tjorr said not to waken you. He said he had brought order on the new ship. They released the slaves and locked up the crewmen and such of the rowers as did not want to join us. He got the wounded below decks over there—and everything—" She held out a leather bottle. "He said to give you this."
Eodan ignored it. He stepped to the door and glanced out. The grappling plank was taken down, and only ropes and a single lashed gangway joined the two vessels; the hulls rocked enough to break any stiff bridge. It was dark and empty on this ship. Torches flared on the other, bobbing in a crazy dance, hoarse voices chanted and laughter went raw under a sky of reborn wind and hurried clouds.
"What is that foolishness?" he snapped.
Hwicca came to stand at his side and look, almost frightened, at the Tartarus-view. A naked black outline, hair and beard one mane, capered against fire-glow. You could just glimpse a circle of others, leaping and kicking with hands joined around the ship's hearth.
"There was wine on board," said Hwicca.
"Oh ... oh, yes. I remember now. And Tjorr let them have the cargo?"
"He told me he could not stop them. It seemed best to grant them this night's drinking. Then tomorrow we could all take the big galley—"
"And let the crew of that one have this. Hm. It is not such a bad thought."
"You would let them go?" asked Hwicca, astonished.