The lamp that she held turned her pale skin to gold. He moved forward, smiling, a little tipsy, meaning only to explain himself to her. She lifted her hand. "Stop." "I'm not about to touch you," he flared. "Good!" Her mouth twisted upward. He had seldom heard so whetted a voice. "I was sent to fetch you. Come." She turned about and walked quickly toward the atrium. He followed. "But Phryne, what is this?" Her fist clenched. "You do not know?" He halted and said harshly, "If I am about to be sent back to the barracks--" She looked over her shoulder. Tears stood in her eyes. "Oh, not that," she said. "Be not afraid of that. Be glad! You are about to be honored and pleasured." "What?" "In fact, the highest honor and the noblest pleasure of which _you_ are capable." She stamped her foot, caught her breath and strode on. He followed in bewilderment. They crossed an open peristyle, where the first stars mirrored themselves shakenly in a mosaic pool. Beyond was a door inlaid with ivory, Venus twining arms about beautiful Adonis. A Nubian with a sword stood on guard. Eodan had seen him about--a huge man, cat-footed, but betrayed by his smooth cheeks and high voice. Phryne knocked on the door. "Go in," she said. "Go on in." Someone giggled, down in the flickering darkness of the corridor. Eodan pushed his way through, and the door swung shut behind him. He stood in a long room, marble-floored, richly strewn with rugs and with expensive furnishings. Many lamps hung from the ceiling, till the air seemed as full of soft light as of incense. The window was trellised with climbing roses. A table bore wine and carefully prepared food for two. But there was only one broad couch beside it. Cordelia was stretched out on the couch. Light rippled along her gown. It was of the sheerest silk; her flesh seemed to glow through. She sat up, smiling, so that her copious breasts were thrust at him. "Hail, Cimbrian," she said. Eodan gaped. The blood roared in his temples. She stood up, took a big two-handled silver cup and walked across to him. Her gait was a challenge. When she stood before him he could look down the loose open front of her dress. "Will you not drink with me?" she asked. "Yes," he said, in his own tongue, for Latin had no such simple way of agreeing. He took the goblet and hoisted it in hands that shook. He was no judge of wine, nor would he have cared tonight, but he noticed dimly that this was smooth and strong. "I have watched you go about," said Cordelia. "I wanted to thank you for your--services--but it seemed best to let your wound heal first. And then today I saw you lift a cask I would have set two men to carry. I am very glad of that." He handed her back the cup, still mute. "All of it?" she laughed. "But I wanted to share it with you. As a pledge of friendship. Now we must pour another." Her thigh brushed his as she turned. He gulped for air. "Come," she said, took his hand and led him to the couch.