It was as though some hand closed on Eodan's heart. His wrist went slack, the sword drooped downward.
"Hwicca," he mumbled, "what have we done to the Powers?"
Flavius smiled in his own locked manner and held out his hand. "Will you give me that sword?" he asked.
Phryne whirled upon Hwicca. "You lump!" she yelled. "Is it you that he would die for?"
The Cimbrian girl shook herself. She got to her feet and moved across the floor like a sleepwalker. "No, Eodan," she said in their own tongue. "Hold fast."
There was scant life in her voice, but it tapped the wells of his inward self. Eodan drew his head up again, so that he loomed over them all, and laughter grew in his mouth. He jabbed at Flavius' throat, forcing the Roman back. "We sail today," he said in Latin. "Or else you shall be spitted on this. And I will be swift enough afterward to kill the girls and fall on the blade myself."
Flavius caught a breath as though to speak, met Eodan's green gaze and blew out again. He spread his hands and shrugged.
"Now," said Phryne, "we must have a plausible story for your sudden departure. Eodan and I are Narbonensian Gauls who have brought you an urgent message from your kinsman Septimus, who resides in Massilia."
"You kept your ears wide while you ate my salt, Phryne," said Flavius, with a sidelong glance at Hwicca.
The Grecian girl swiped the air, angrily, and went on: "You need say little more. Speak of a chance to invest money, and all will expect you to be close-mouthed. No one knows Eodan, so he will accompany you about the house; but you will stay within doors, sending your slaves out on the needful errands. When the social calls are paid you in the forenoon, your doorkeeper must turn them back on the plea that you are sick from too much wine. I shall remain here, lest I be recognized. Food will be brought to this door for Hwicca and myself, but no one is to enter save you two."