She couldn't see that his poetry was much use either, but at the end of the night Carce and the world had survived. Alphena's sword had not defeated the threat, so perhaps her brother's verses had.

At any rate, Varus hadn't run. He was as true a citizen of Carce as any legionary who stood firm against charging barbarians; as true as the sort of man Corylus would be when he returned to the frontier as an officer.

Alphena's eyes slipped unbidden into the audience again. Corylus sat very close to the woman beside him. She wasn't young-she must be almost thirty!-but she wasn't bad looking in a coarse way.

A lower-class Hedia, Alphena thought, and for an instant embarrassment overcame her anger. Hedia saved my life!

Corylus' neighbor was from a knightly family like his own, shown by the two thin stripes on the hem of her tunic. She wore a linen cloak too, longer than the warm temperatures demanded but just the thing to conceal a man's groping hand.

Did Corylus and the hussy meet here by plan?

Alphena jerked her eyes away; but after a moment, she found herself looking at Corylus again.

"My goodness, the excitement just makes me dizzy," said Orpelia, the woman seated to the right of Corylus. "You'll keep me from falling over if I'm overcome, won't you, dear?"

She toppled-lunged would have been another way of describing it-against Corylus' shoulder, shifting her arm back so that her breast flopped against his forearm. As if that hadn't been a clear enough signal, she tried to wriggle closer.

Orpelia was the wife of a ship-owner named Bassos, a Greek born on Euboea who had become extremely wealthy. Also, according to Orpelia, Bassos was very old and at present inspecting his estates in Sicily.