"You'll do as you're told," said Tjorr.
Demetrios gulped and looked appealingly at Flavius. The Roman smiled, winked and came down the poop ladder. "Your watch," he said.
After a while Eodan began to regret not following Tjorr's counsel. His crew had become still more slatternly. Now they would do nothing but sit about boasting of their future, until he finally kicked them into sullen labor. Quintus sidled up in the afternoon and proposed that the weapons be handed out so the men could practice. Eodan told him they should first practice being sailors. Quintus argued. He would not stop arguing until Eodan finally knocked him to the deck; then he slouched off, muttering, to find his big friend.
Toward evening, Hwicca came on deck. She was supported by Phryne, and her face was pale. Eodan's heart turned over. He went to her and asked, "Do you feel well, my darling?"
"Better," she said dully. "But so tired."
Phryne, who had not followed their Cimbric, said angrily to Eodan: "She shivers with cold. I have no warmth to give her!"
He said in the Northern language, "Would you have me stay with you tonight, Hwicca?"
"As you wish," she said. "You are my husband."
Eodan left her, went to the hearth and struck the cook with his fist for a bad supper.
Presently Hwicca returned to the cabin. Phryne sought Eodan. Was it only the sunset that reddened her eyes? She said in a jagged tone, "I do not know what is wrong between you two. I can only guess. But I will sleep no more with her."