Eodan felt inwardly gouged, but he stalked to her and took her by the shoulders. "I have had enough of this," he said. "Tonight you shall decide who your man is."
"I told you I do not know!" she screamed.
Eodan slipped his hands down over her arms until he had her wrists. "You shall decide," he repeated. "And you are going to choose me."
She tried to pull free, but he dragged her to him and laid his mouth upon hers. She writhed her face away. He held her, one-handed about the waist, while his free hand drew her knife and stabbed it into the wall. Then he grasped her hair and forced her lips back where he wanted them.
Suddenly she shivered. He let her go, and she sank to her knees, holding his. He sat down and laid an arm about her waist. She came to him, weeping and laughing. "It is you," she said. "It is you, Eodan."
Long afterward, when the lamp had gone out of itself, she whispered, "I think it must always, really, have been you."
[XIII]
When Phryne saw Hwicca go in to her husband and close the door behind, she felt this ship would be no place for anyone else tonight. Let her board the other one, then. She made sure that the dagger was safe in her girdle, then climbed the grappling plank.
It surged and chattered on the newly won decks. Tjorr stood huge, bawling out his orders. They had begun to release the slaves; one after another shambled into the sunlight and blinked with dull eyes. Phryne went to the Sarmatian. "Can I be of help?" she asked.