But Amanda had only perplexed Livia Plurabella more. “What have you got against it, then?” she asked.
“We just don't think it's right for anyone to be able to buy and sell someone else,” Amanda said. “And it's always worse for women-everybody knows that. If the Lietuvans took Polisso, would you want them selling and buying you?“
Such things did happen after cities fell. Livia Plurabella turned pale. She leaned towards Amanda and set a manicured hand-a hand probably manicured by a slave-on her forearm. “Is there going to be a war?” she whispered, as if she didn't dare say it out loud. “Is there? What have you heard?”
She'd missed the point again, or most of it. But war was no small thing, either. “I haven't heard anything new,” Amanda said. “All I know is, everybody's worried about it.”
Some of the matron's color came back. “Gods be praised,” she said in a voice more like her own. “A sack is the worst thing in the world. Pray to your own funny God that you never have to find out how bad a sack can be.” She got to her feet. “I will send the slave with the money. No, you don't need to show me out, dear. I know the way.” Off she went, the hem of her long wool tunic sweeping around her ankles.
Amanda wanted to know how she knew about sacks. She also wanted to ask her more questions about slavery now that she had the chance. But Livia Plurabella had done all the talking she intended to do. She opened the front door, then closed it behind her. Amanda sighed. The chance was gone.
Jeremy was tossing a ball back and forth in the street with a boy named Fabio Lentulo and nicknamed Barbato-the guy with the beard. Fabio was Jeremy's age, more or less. He was a skinny little fellow, a head shorter than Jeremy. He'd been apprenticed to the silversmith whose shop stood a few doors down from Jeremy's house. Jeremy had got to know him the summer before. Even then, Fabio had had this thick, curly, luxuriant beard on cheeks and chin and upper lip. Jeremy didn't know if his own beard would be that heavy when he was thirty-or ever.
Playing catch in the street here was an adventure. They had to do it over and through traffic, which paid no attention to them. The ball was leather, and stuffed with feathers. It wasn't especially round. It would have made a crummy baseball. For throwing back and forth, though, it was all right.
Jeremy dodged a creaking oxcart. He lofted the ball over the sacks of beans or barley piled high in the back of the cart. Fabio jumped to catch it. When he came down, he almost got trampled by a horse with big clay jars of wine tied to its back. The man leading the horse called him several different kinds of idiot. Fabio gave back better than he got. Grinning, he sent Jeremy running after the ball with a high lob.
His foot splashed down in a smelly puddle the instant he made the catch. The dirty water-he hoped it was water, anyway-splattered him and three or four people around him. They all told him just what they thought. Since he was as disgusted as they were, he couldn't even yell back.
He flung the ball right at Fabio's nose, as hard as he could. It wouldn't have hurt much had it hit. But it didn't. The apprentice snatched it out of the air. He grinned. His teeth were white, but crooked. “Got you!” he said, and threw the ball back.
This time, Jeremy caught it without disaster. So Fabio thought landing him in trouble was fun, did he? “Why aren't you at work?” Jeremy shouted.
“My boss is down sick, so he didn't open up,” Fabio answered. “Why aren't you?”
“I will be pretty soon, if you don't get me killed first,” Jeremy said, and Fabio Lentulo's grin got bigger. Jeremy threw the ball high in the air. Fabio had to look up to follow its flight. That meant he couldn't watch where he was going. He caught it-and staggered back into one of the four big men carrying a sedan chair. Jolted out of step, the man swore and boxed Fabio's ear. The woman sitting in the sedan chair screeched at the apprentice. Now Jeremy was the one who grinned. “Two can play at that game!” he called.
From then on, it was who could land whom in a worse pickle. How they didn't get killed or badly hurt, Jeremy never understood. That they didn't lose the ball might have been an even bigger marvel.
And then everything, even the ball game, came to a stop. A herald went through the streets shouting, “All who are not Roman citizens or legal residents have two days to vacate Polisso! By order of the most illustrious city prefect Sesto Capurnio, and the most noble and valiant garrison commander Annio Basso, all who are not Roman citizens or legal residents have two days to vacate Polisso! After that, they may be arrested. Their property may be seized. They may be sold as slaves. Hear ye! Hear ye! All who are not…” He started over again, as loud as he could.
“That doesn't sound good,” Jeremy said.
“Sounds like a war, all right,” Fabio Lentulo agreed. “Don't want any stinking Lietuvans around to open the gates at night or something.”
“Why would they want to do that?” Jeremy asked.
The silversmith's apprentice looked at him as if he'd just lost his mind. “Because they're Lietuvans,” Fabio said with exaggerated patience. “They'd rather have their stupid King rule here than the Emperor, gods bless him. They'd rather have everybody bow down to their stupid gods, too-Perku-nas and all the others nobody ever heard of. What do you want to bet they're throwing Romans out of their ugly old towns, too?“
What Jeremy would have bet was that Fabio had never been more then ten kilometers outside of Polisso in his life. He had no way of knowing whether the towns in the Kingdom of Lietuva were ugly. For that matter, he had no way of knowing whether King Kuzmickas was stupid, either. But he believed those things, because he lived in the Roman Empire. If he'd lived in Lietuva, he would have thought the Emperor was stupid and Roman towns were ugly and Roman gods were stupid. Nationalism wasn't as strong in this world as it was in the home timeline, but it existed.
Fabio Lentulo suddenly looked like a ferret that had spotted a mouse. “I know where some of those lousy Lietuvans live,” he said. “They won't be able to take all their stuff with them-not if they've only got two days to pack. The plundering ought to be juicy.”
“No, thanks,” Jeremy said. “Leave me out.”
“Why not?” Now Fabio really couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Who knows what all they'll have to leave behind?” But Jeremy shook his head. The apprentice stared. “You ore weird. What's wrong with plundering a bunch of rotten foreigners?”
“I don't care that they're foreigners,” Jeremy answered. “They're merchants. So am I. I wouldn't want anybody plundering me if I had to get out of town.”
“Is that the Golden Rule thing Christians go on and on about?” Fabio asked.
“Well-yes,” Jeremy said, surprised the local had heard of it.
Fabio Lentulo might have heard of it, but he wasn't much impressed. With a scornful wave, he said, “Bunch of crap, if you ask me. You do your friends all the good you can and your enemies all the harm you can, and that's how you come out on top.”
The ancient Greeks and Romans had believed the same thing. Plenty of people in Jeremy's world still did, but they mostly pretended they didn't. In Agrippan Rome, Christianity hadn't changed morals as much as it had back home. People here were more openly for themselves than they were in the home timeline.
Maybe that explains why they don't worry about owning slaves, Jeremy thought. If somebody was a slave, didn't he have it coming to him? Jeremy liked the idea-for about half a minute. Then he remembered all the men who'd owned slaves in the South before the Civil War… and who'd called themselves good Christians. He sighed. Things weren't so simple as they looked at first.