A long time passed while King Mithradates read the dispatches handed him, questioned Arpad more closely and dictated to his secretary. Eodan could not hear what was said, the courtiers made so much noise as they circulated and chattered. It would be in Greek or Persian, anyhow. But finally the chamberlain called out something. A hush fell bit by bit, and Eodan saw eyes turn his way. He walked forward. Tjorr and Phryne came behind him; it had been arranged thus at her advice. At the ritual distance from the throne, Eodan halted. Tjorr and Phryne made obeisance, thrice knocking their heads on the carpet and then remaining crouched. Eodan merely bowed his head once upon folded hands. He heard a sigh go around the room, like the wind before a hailstorm. Raising his eyes, he locked gaze with Mithradates Eupator. The King of Pontus was a giant, tall as Eodan and broad as Tjorr, his hands ropy with veins and sinew like any hunts-man's. Within a mane of curly dark hair and bearded jawline, his head was nearly Greek--a wide brow, gray eyes, straight nose, rounded shaven chin; it lifted straight from the pillar of his throat. He was only in his mid-thirties, Phryne said, but he owned half this eastern sea, and Rome itself feared he might take all Asia. "Do you not bow to the throne?" he asked, almost mildly. His Latin came as easily as any Senator's. "My Lord," said Eodan, "I beg forgiveness if I, a stranger, have unknowingly offended. I gave to you that sign of respect we have in the North, when one of royal blood meets a greater king." He had made it up himself the day before, but no one had to know that. He hazarded a cruel death--far safer to proclaim himself dust beneath the royal feet--but as one more humble suppliant among thousands he could not have hoped for much. Mithradates leaned back and rubbed his chin. Curious, thought Eodan in a far part of his being, the king's nails are blue at the base.... "My captain told me what little you would say to him," murmured the Pontine. "I trust you will be more frank with me." "Great King," said Eodan, "I have so little to bring you I am ashamed. May you live forever! All the world lays its wealth in your hands. I can but offer the salvage price of my ship, paid at Rhodes, which Arpad insists is his. I leave to your judgment, Wise One, whether the monies do indeed belong to him, or to me who would give them as an offering to Your Majesty. But one gift at least I bring, if you will accept it--my story, what I have done since leaving my own realm, and what I have seen from Thule to Rhodes and from Dacia to Spain. Since this tale is my gift to you, I did not think it fit that Arpad, your servant, should have its maidenhead." Mithradates opened his mouth and bellowed with laughter. "Well, your gift is accepted," he said at last, "and I shall not be miserly myself if the tale be rich. From what country are you?" "Cimberland, Great King."