"Then forget her, as you will have to forget all the Cimbri," said the woman in a cold voice. "I will not arouse Flavius' suspicions by speaking of that mop-headed sow he has been wallowing with all winter. Let him sell her to a brothel when he tires of her, as he has done with so many others." Through a shimmering and a humming, Eodan saw how she stood crouched, ready to escape his violence and call for help. Neither of them moved--until at last she walked by him, threw herself upon the bed and beckoned him as she would a dog. He came. There was nothing else possible, save to die. Toward sunrise, Cordelia murmured drowsily, "I forgive you, Hercules. We will forget what was said, because of what was done." He made his lips touch hers. "Now good night," she laughed. "Or is it good morning?" He waited until she slept--by the colorless, heartless false dawn she looked blowsy enough--then put on his tunic and stole from the room. He felt the need of a bath and, yes, he would borrow a horse and gallop it for some miles. He was empty with weariness, but there was no sleep in him. Not even when they bound him amidst the wagons had he felt so alone. "Eodan." He stopped under the garden wall. The buildings were blacknesses that shouldered among paling stars; rails and roofs gleamed with dew. Beyond the stableyard the land was still full of night. Phryne came to him. "Are you up so early?" he asked in a small wonderment. "I could not sleep," she answered. "Nor I," he mumbled bitterly. "Though for another reason. I never thought I could hate a woman while I embraced her." "She must have found that interesting," said Phryne. He heard the scorn in her voice; he did not know how much was intended for him, but he felt the whole burden of it. He said through a thickness in his lungs, "Why do I not bid them crucify me and be done? I let her call my Hwicca foul names, and then I kissed her!" "You must live," said Phryne gently. "Why?" "For--well--" She stood beside him, and somehow he came to think of a certain brook, sun-speckled under airy beeches, long ago in Cimberland. "Well, for what help you can give your wife," she finished, looking straight before her, across the Samnian darkness. "Which is none," he groaned. Suddenly it burst within him. As if the sun had taken him full in the eyes, he gasped and cried low, "But I can!" "What?" Fear shadowed the face that swung to him. "How?" "Hear me, Phryne," he whispered, rapidly, shaking with the knowledge of it. "I will go hence. I know the road to Rome, I walked it the other way last year. I can find his house there, and steal Hwicca away, and--O Bull whose horns are the moon, why did you not make it clear to me before?" "You cannot!" A muted shriek. "You do not know the land, the city ... every man who sees you will know your height and hair and--What use will it be, to die on a cross or thrown to wild beasts?"