"Ha? Oh, it's you, little one. Best you keep out of harm's way. We've much to do before sunset."
"I told you I want to help, you oaf," she snapped.
Tjorr scratched in his ruddy beard. "I don't know what with. I'll not let you scrub the planks nor cook a meal. Sets a bad example, you know, we have to be officer class now. And otherwise—"
"Aqua, aqua." Croaking came from the pitch-bubbling deck as though men had become frogs.
Phryne looked at one who was trying feebly to stanch blood from a half severed arm. She felt more than a little ill, but she wetted her lips and said, "I know something about the care of hurts. Let me see to the wounded."
"Waste of time," said Tjorr. "If they're not too badly cut, a swathe of rags and maybe a few stitches will save 'em. The rest it would be kinder to throw overboard."
Phryne answered slowly: "Some woman bore each of these beneath her heart once. Let me do what I can."
"As you wish. Find a place down below. I'll tell off a couple of men to bear them thither for you."
In the time that followed, Phryne had horror to do. Twice she stopped—once to cast up at a certain sight and once to change her blood-stiffened gown for a tunic. It was hot and foul in the 'tween-decks space; the groaning and gasping seemed to fill her cosmos. Her temper began to slip—having held the hand of one youth and smiled on him, as the only lullaby she could give while he died, she heard a man screaming as though in childbirth, and, seeing he had a mere broken finger, she chased him out at dagger point. Otherwise it was to wash and bandage, cut and sew and swaddle, set and splint and fetch water, with no more help than a ship's carpenter from Galilee or some such dusty place.
She came out at last, unable to do more—now Aesculapius and Hermes Psychopompos must divide the souls as they would—and saw the sun low above a sea growing choppy. Its rays touched ragged mare's-tails that flew from the west; wind piped on the rigging. She shivered as that air flowed across her bare legs and arms, but made her way over a deck strange in its orderliness. Tjorr was looking down into an open cargo hatch.