...Sextus advanced, hand raised to strike...harsh words came from somewhere...Philandros stood on the edge of a cliff, staring at the sea with tear-blurred eyes..."Sextus--Sextus...." The hand raised, clothes were torn, and the stones of the cliff-side gave way beneath him, tumbling into darkness.

The sun's merciless bronze disk beat down upon him with unrelenting heat, pain wracked his body from head to foot...the water was so close, but he couldn't reach it, couldn't lose himself in its cooling wetness. He moaned and tried to move, but some force restrained him...at last he gave up the struggle, and felt a sudden wave of coolness across his brow...but his throat was so dry!

"Water...."the voice came weakly to the waiting ears of Spurius and Eirik stopped his playing anxiously. Olaf had sprung up, fetching a cup with cool water, but Spurius restrained him.

"No...that is too much: just a few spoons at first." He watched as Olaf followed his instructions, dribbling water onto the parched lips of his ex-master. Whether Philandros was truly awake was unknown, but Olaf watched him swallow the water with tears of joy running down his cheeks: his beloved would live!

Coolness, blessed coolness came to him at last...but still he could not move... Spurius mixed a spoonful of poppy juice into the water, and allowed Olaf to feed some to his patient.

"He really mustn't move for a while...try to see if he will talk to you!"

Olaf placed his mouth close to Philandros' ear, and his voice faltered only a little as he spoke to his belovèd. "Philandros, dear one...can you hear me? Try to speak--it is important!"

The red head tried to move just a bit, but the face winced with pain. "No, dear Philon...just try to speak--don't move!" Olaf watched the lips as they parted, closed, and parted again. Faintly, at first only a puff of hissing breath could be heard...it was only after several minutes that any words could be made out, scarcely more than a suggestion of sounds. Olaf and Spurius leaned in closely to listen....

"h-he...tried..." the breath died away for a moment, then came out again just barely a mumble. "...kill....m..."

Olaf started back in alarm: someone had tried to kill his dearest friend?! "Who, dear Philon--who tried to kill you?" The northerner was almost crying out the words in his desire to learn who had done this to his love.

The breath was faint as the poppy juice again took hold...only part of a name, if it was a name, could be understood.

"...sse...t...ss..." Once more Philandros was lost to them, but it seemed the fever had broken...his chances of living were better than they had been, or so Spurius hoped!

Olaf sat up from the bed...his face set. Sextus had done this after all! Somehow, the man would pay!