"Down on your face, barbarian!" roared Mithradates.
That was no moment to haggle about pride. Eodan threw himself flat. "How have I offended My Lord?" The upsurge of his own wrath came to him as a shock. He had thought this man was his friend.
"Where is the woman Phryne?" the voice thundered over his head.
Eodan leaped to his feet. "Is she gone?" he shouted.
"I gave you no command to rise," growled Mithradates.
"Is she gone?" yelled the Cimbrian again, out of a feeling that fire had touched him.
Mithradates stared at him for a long while. Slowly, the king's visage softened. "Then you do not know?" he asked quietly.
"By my father's ghost, Lord, I swear I do not."
"Hear, then. Her maids entered her tent this morning to help her arise. She was not there. The eunuch on guard says he knows nothing. I believe him, though he shall still drink poison for his stupidity, and be pardoned only if my new antidote saves him. There was a hole in the tent, at the rear; she must have slashed it with a knife among her possessions. When word of this finally came to me, I had inquiries made. An under-groom of your own, Cimbrian, says she came to him in the night, demanding horses, clothing, arms and food, and rode off. He says he had received orders to give her whatever she wished without question."
"That is true, Great King, but—I never thought—I never—Why would she have gone, whose destiny had just blossomed?"