He turned about, bobbed his head awkwardly and rumbled: "I lay my life at your feet. You gave me back myself." Eodan grinned. "I had small freedom to choose! It was get help or be cut down." "Nonetheless, there is fate in you," said Redbeard. He lifted his hammer between both hands. "I take you for disa--for chieftain. I am your hound and horse, bow and quiver, son and grandson, until the sky is broken." Eodan said, moved to see tears on a giant's face, "Who are you?" "I am called Tjorr the Sarmatian, _disa_. My folk are the Rukh-Ansa, a confederation among the Alanic peoples. We dwell on the western side of the Don River, north of the Azov Sea. I carry _disa_ blood myself, being a son of the clan chief Beli. The Cimmerian Greeks caught me in battle a few years ago. I went from hand to hand, being too quick of temper to make a good slave, until at last they pegged me into this floating sty. And now you have freed me!" Tjorr blew his nose and wiped his eyes. "Well, I am Eodan, Boierik's son, of the Cimbri. We can trade stories later. How shall we dislodge those two up there?" "A bow would be easiest," said Tjorr, brightening, "but I'd liefer throw things at them." Flavius went to the deck's edge and looked down. "Eodan," he called. "Will you speak with me?" The Cimbrian bristled. "What can you say to talk back your life?" "Only this." Flavius' tone remained cool. "Do you really think to man a ship with these apes? They know how to row. Can they lay a course, hold a rudder, set a sail or splice a line? Do you, yourself, even know where to aim, to reach some certain country? Now Captain Demetrios has mastered all these arts, and I, who own a small pleasure craft, have some skill. Eodan, you can kill us if you wish, but then you will be wrecked in a day!" There was buzzing among the slaves. The ship heeled sharply, under a gust, and Eodan felt spray sting his face. Phryne left the rail and came to him. "I have not seen much of the sea," she said, "but I fear Flavius is right." Eodan looked back along the deck, toward Hwicca. She stood watching the Roman in a way he did not know, save that it was not hate. Eodan raised his sword until it trembled before his eyes. The blood running down the blade made the haft slippery. I had no real quarrel with any of the men whose blood this was, he thought. Then he regarded the sea, where it curled white on restless greenish blue, and the sky, and the far dim line that was Italy. He spat on the planks and called, "Very well! Lay down your arms and be our deck officers. You shall not be harmed." "What proof do you have?" snorted Demetrios. "None, except that he wants to reach land again with his wife," said Flavius. "Come." He led the way down the ladder. The rowers muttered obscenity. Two of them moved close, their pieces of oar lifted. Tjorr waved them back with his sledge. Flavius handed his sword to Eodan, who pitched it down so it rang.