But when he saw her he halted. He had never thought much about beauty—land, workmanship, live flesh was good or bad, no more. Now, briefly, the sight of a girl's dark head and slim waist, with dew and white radiance between, went through him like a spear.
The moment passed by. He thought only as he swung about toward her that—by the Bull!—it was a new year and she was a handsome wench. "Ave," he called.
"Atque vale," said Phryne, smiling at him. His hair needed cutting again, and it was uncombed, tangled with sunlight.
"Hail and farewell? Oh, now, wait!" Eodan reached her and barred the path. "You have no haste. Come talk to me."
"My task here is finished," she said in a quick, unsure voice.
"Must they know that?" Eodan's coldest laugh snapped out. "I've learned how to stretch an hour's task into a day. You, having been a slave longer, must be even more skilled at it."
The fair planes of her cheeks turned red. She answered, "At least I have learned not to insult those who do me no harm."
"I am sorry," he said, contrite. "My people were not mannered. Is that why you have kept yourself from me?"
"I have not," she said, looking away. "It—it only happened ... I was busy—"
"Well, now you are not busy," he said. "Can we be friends?"