Flavius winked and jerked his thumb at Hwicca and Phryne. "I should not have said 'sleep,' captain."
"Oh," said Demetrios enviously. "Of course."
They went up on deck. There was a high poop, where the great steering oar was lashed; the stem-post curled up over it like a flaunting tail. The forecastle stood somewhat lower, bearing a rough tent erected for the officers. The free deckhands would bed in the open, as always. Amidships rose the single mast, with a flimsy cabin just aft where Flavius' attendants laid down his gear. A lamp showed it windowless, though crannies let in ample cold air, and bare save for a little wooden sea-god nailed to his shelf.
Demetrios bowed in the doorway. "Good night, then, noble master," he said. "I hope we'll get a pleasant voyage."
Flavius smiled graciously. "I am sure we will."
[IX]
"Well, now!" said the Roman when they sat behind a closed door. He stretched himself across one of the mattresses, boylike on his belly, and reached for a leather bottle of good wine. His grin leaped at the others. "Thus far, my friends, well done. Shall we pledge our mutual success?"
Eodan opened his cloak and let the sword slide to his knees. His left arm was stiff and pained from holding the blade pressed to his ribs, hours at a time. He looked with sullen red eyes at his enemy and said: "No. I will pledge your ghost in your own blood, nothing else."
Phryne hugged her knees and stared from a drawn small face. "It is best that Flavius not leave this cabin all the voyage," she said. "He can plead seasickness. Two of us must be with him at any time, awake."