"_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?" The gathered blossoms shivered on her breast. Finally she looked up and said, "Of course. But I really cannot stay here long. The mistress has one of her bad days." "Hm. They say in the kitchen that's only from idleness and overeating. They say her husband sent her down here because her behavior made too much of a scandal even for Rome." "Well--well, it was a--a rest cure...." Ha, thought Eodan, I would like to help Mistress Cordelia rest her tired nerves! The story went that Flavius needed her family's help too much in his political striving to divorce her. And, if ever a man deserved the cuckoo sign, it was Flavius! Eodan clamped on that thought and tried to snuff it out. He could taste its bitterness in his throat. He said: "You have a Cimbrian habit, Phryne, which I myself was losing. You do not speak evil of folk behind their backs. But tell me, how long have you been here?" "Not long. We came down perhaps a week before your accident." Phryne looked past a stile, over the meadow to the blue Samnian hills. Tall white clouds walked on a lazy wind. "I only wish we could stay forever, but I'm afraid we will go back to the city in a few months. We always do." "How do you stand with the mistress?" asked Eodan. He hitched himself a little closer to the girl. "Just what is your position?" "Oh--I have been her personal attendant for a couple of years. Not a body servant; she has enough maids." Eodan nodded. His thoughts about Cordelia's younger maids were lickerish, and their eyes had not barred him. But so far there had been no chance. He listened to Phryne: "I am her amanuensis. I keep her records and accounts, write her letters for her, read and sing to her when she wants such diversion. It is not a hard life. She is not cruel. Some matrons--" The girl shivered. "You are from Greece?" She nodded. "Plataea. My grandfather lost his freedom in the war of--No matter, it would mean nothing to you." She smiled. "How tiny our vaunted world of Greeks and Romans is, after all!" "So you were born a slave?" he went on.