He walked over planks grisly with the dead and the hurt. There were more of the latter, there always were, but many of them would die, too, from bleeding or inflammation. The still air quivered with their groans. He counted up. Besides himself and Tjorr, eight pirates were hale. Eleven merchant crewmen stood on their feet; but their captain had quit the world bravely. "This should cool our lads off," said the Cimbrian. "I scarcely think they will want to try piracy again." "They can raise their numbers, _disa_," Tjorr reminded him. "There must be forty slaves below decks, at least." "True--indeed--Well, so be it. If we can come to Egypt, I care not." Eodan looked glumly down the boarding plank to the smaller craft. "I am sick of blood. Can you set matters to rights here?" "_Da._ I'll try not to bother you." The redbeard's look was so gentle that Eodan wondered how much he understood--surely not a great deal; it was growing upon Eodan what a reach of darkness each human soul holds for all others. He returned to the lesser galley and cut the bonds of Flavius and Demetrios. "You can go look about," he said listlessly. Flavius stood up. He searched Eodan's face for a long while. "It was badly done of the fates not to make you a Roman," he said at last, and left. Demetrios followed him. Eodan sighed and went to the cabin. Hwicca and Phryne stood there. The Cimbrian girl was flushed; her breast rose and fell and she ran forward to take his hands. "I thought I saw all our folk come back in you!" she cried. Eodan looked across her shoulder at Phryne, who stood white in the doorway. "I begin to grasp your meaning," he said with a crooked smile. "This was no more unjust than any other war." "Would you wash yourself?" asked the Greek girl. He nodded. "That, and sleep." Hwicca stepped back, her face hurt and bewildered. Eodan went past her into the cabin. Phryne brought him a sponge and a bucket of salt water. He cleansed himself and lay down on one of the mattresses. Sleep came like a blow.... He woke suddenly. Lamplight met his eyes. The air had cooled, and the ship was rocking. He heard singing and the stamp of feet, but remotely. He sat up. Hwicca sat beside him. Her hair was loose, rushing over her shoulders so he did not at first see she wore her best gown. She hugged her knees and regarded him with troubled eyes. "Is it night?" he asked in the Cimbric. "Yes," she answered, very quietly. "Tjorr said not to waken you. He said he had brought order on the new ship. They released the slaves and locked up the crewmen and such of the rowers as did not want to join us. He got the wounded below decks over there--and everything--" She held out a leather bottle. "He said to give you this."