"I thank Your Majesty. But it has not ended yet." "Are you certain?" Mithradates looked at him, with gravity falling like a veil. "I wonder if you are not too much a man to be flung back on any northward wind. Would you like to fight Rome?" Eodan answered harshly, "There is blood of my blood on their hands. I count it defeat that I shall not meet the man Flavius again. I will set up a horse skull in the North and curse him, but it is not enough." "Your chance could come," said Mithradates. "There will be war between Rome and Pontus. Not yet, not for some years, but it is brewing, and it will be pitiless. I shall need good officers." "I have not the skills, Great King," said Eodan. "You could learn them, I think. See here. This very month I am leading an expedition against the Tectosages. Their tetrarch has been a thorn in my side since I took Galatian territory. We have had border skirmishes, and all the Gallic cantons lean toward Rome and intrigue against me. They must learn who is master. It will not be a great war--an outright conquest would alarm the Romans too much at this stage of things--only a punitive expedition. But the fighting will be brisk and the booty sufficient. I would like to have you and your Alanic friend in my following. I think you could serve me well, and you would gain in both wealth and knowledge." "I should be honored, Great King," said Eodan. One did not refuse such an offer, and indeed it could be profitable. And to ride a war-horse again! "So be it. We shall talk further. Now, hm, did you say your Grecian girl was a maiden and wishes to remain so? _I_ would not stand for it! _I_ took it for granted, till you related otherwise, that you two held her in common." "She lifted me from slavery, Lord. It is a small thing to repay her." "Well, as you wish. If she is indeed learned, she can tutor the younger children of palace officials." Mithradates grinned. "Meanwhile, you and the Alan have certain needs. I take it you both prefer women?" He beckoned his secretary and gave orders. Morning was not far off when Eodan and Tjorr entered their room, none too steadily. A maidservant accompanying them woke Phryne, who came from her chamber wrapped in a mantle. Her eyes were dark in the lamp-glow. "What has happened?" she asked. "Much," said Eodan. "It is well for us. But now you shall have a private room, and a servant of your own." "Why--" Phryne's look turned forlorn. It fell on a couch in the corner and on the two who sat there. Long gowns and demure veils did not hide what they were. She grew white. She stamped her foot and cried out, "You could have let your wife grow cold in death before this!" Eodan, weary, startled by her rage, snapped back: "What good would it be for her ghost if I remained less than a man, just because you are less than a woman?" Phryne drew her mantle over her face and departed.