Amanda was already in the kitchen, eating bread and honey and drinking watered wine. “Good day,” she said.
“Good day,” Jeremy answered. He tore his own piece of bread from the loaf. No one here had ever heard of sliced bread. That annoyed him. It wasn't the biggest thing that did, though. He said, “Don't you get sick and tired of speaking this language?”
“Oh, yes. Oh, yes.“ His sister nodded. ”But what choice have we got? If the locals hear us using English, what will they think? They'll think it's Lietuvan. That's the only foreign language anyone's likely to hear around here. And if they think it's Lietuvan, they'll think we're spies. So-neoLatin.“
“NeoLatin,” Jeremy agreed dully. He bit into the bread. It tasted good, but it was gritty. Was this how it would be for the rest of his life? A language that wasn't his, food that wore down his teeth, an empire that had forgotten freedom and never heard of so many other things?
Another cannonball smashed something to smithereens. If the gunner had turned his cannon a little to the left… In that case, Jeremy might not have had to worry about the rest of his life.
Amanda didn't want to go back to the water fountain, not after what had happened there. She didn't think she was more likely to get hurt there. That wasn't it. She could get hurt anywhere, and she knew it. But she didn't want to be reminded of where the other women had got hurt.
The locals hadn't done much to clean things up, either. Broken stone and bricks still lay where they had fallen. For that matter, the cannonball still lay there, too. It wasn't all that much bigger than her closed fist. Strange to think something so small could have done so much harm.
As no one had cleaned up the rubble, so no one had cleaned up the bloodstains. They were brownish-black now, and dry, not wet, gleaming scarlet. But she still knew what they meant. They meant anguish for people who hadn't done anything to deserve any. How many husbands were without wives, how many children without mothers, because of that round lump of iron?
Most of the women at the fountain this morning hadn't been there when the cannonball struck home. Amanda thought she could tell which ones had. They were the ones who flinched whenever another cannonball smacked into Polisso. Amanda flinched, too. After seeing what she'd seen, she didn't know how anyone could keep from flinching.
The slave girl named Maria came out of her house with a water jar on her hip. “Good morning, Mistress Amanda,” she said. “God bless you.”
“God bless you,” Amanda answered automatically. But, in this place, that didn't seem adequate. She waved with her free hand. “Do you think God blessed what happened here?”
Maria only shrugged. “I am sorry, truly sorry, people were hurt. But I am less than a mote in the eye of God. I cannot know His purposes. Neither can any other mere mortal.”
“You really mean that,” Amanda said in slow wonder.
“You really doubt it.” Maria sounded every bit as amazed.
They both stared, neither understanding the other in the least. Maria said, “I thought even an Imperial Christian would have more faith in the Lord.”
Amanda said, “I thought even a strong Christian would be able to think for herself a little bit.”
And then, at the same time, they both said, “How can you be so blind?”
That might have killed the strange, delicate friendship that had grown up between them. Friendship between slave and free wasn't easy in Agrippan Rome. Neither was friendship between a native of Agrippan Rome and someone from the home timeline. Pile the one on top of the other and this friendship should have been impossible to begin with. But Amanda and Maria really did like each other.
Maria's eyes twinkled. Amanda's eyes sparkled. They both started to laugh. Maria wagged a finger at Amanda. “You are impossible!” she said.
“Well, you are pretty difficult yourself,” Amanda retorted. They laughed some more.
“You are more than half a heathen,” Maria said. By the standards of strong Christians in Agrippan Rome, that was true and more than true.
“You're drunk on God,” Amanda said. By the standards of ordinary Americans in the home timeline, that was also true and more than true. Maria had very little but her God. No wonder she clung to Him so tightly. After a moment, Amanda added, “You're nice anyway, though.”
“So are you,” Maria said. They put down the jars and hugged each other.
Another cannonball crashed into a building. A rumbling roar followed the first sharp impact. A wall-or maybe the whole building-had fallen down. “I hope nobody was inside,” Amanda said.
“Me, too,” Maria said. They hugged again, clutching each other for whatever reassurance they could find. Then, with a sigh, Maria picked up her water jar. “Amanda-” She broke off.
“What is it?” Amanda asked.
“I've prayed so hard.“ Maria's voice was soft and shaky, her thin face pinched with worry. ”I've prayed and prayed and prayed, and the Lietuvans are still out there. They're still smashing things up. They're still killing people. I know it's God's will-but I have so much trouble seeing why.“ She sounded on the edge of tears.
“And you're asking me?” Amanda said in dismay. “That kind of question makes me feel like Adas, holding up the heavens on my shoulders.”
Maria nodded. If she was offended, she kept it to herself. Lots of people here used figures of speech from the Greek myths even if they didn't believe in them. People did the same thing in the home timeline, though not so much. The slave girl said, “You think about these things, anyhow. A lot of people never do.”
“Maybe I do, but I haven't got any real answers,” Amanda said. “Either things happen because God makes them happen, or they happen because they just happen-you know what I mean?”
“Oh, yes,” Maria said. “Some people call Fortune a god. I don't believe that.” She set her chin and looked stubborn.
“Well…” Amanda paused. “If things happen because God make them happen, then you need to figure out why bad things happen.“
“Satan,” Maria said. “It has to be Satan.”
“But if God's all-powerful, why does He let Satan do things like that?” Amanda asked. Maria's face was the picture of hard, serious thought. After close to half a minute, she gave Amanda a sad little shrug. Amanda also shrugged. She said, “I don't know, either. And if things just happen because they happen, what can you do about it? Nothing I can see.”
“You sound like a philosopher,” Maria said wistfully.
Amanda laughed. “Not likely! Philosophers are supposed to have answers, aren't they? All I've got are questions.”
“Maybe even questions help,” Maria said. “All I had before were things to worry about.” She still had those, of course. But they didn't seem to worry her quite so much.
Water poured out of the fountain. Amanda filled her jug. Maria filled hers. She put it on her head when she was through. As usual, Amanda put hers on her hip again. Maria looked tall, erect, and graceful carrying her jar the way she did. Amanda knew she would have looked like a clumsy fool trying to do the same. Enough women carried full jars the way she did to keep her from standing out. That was all she cared about.
“See you soon,” Maria said.
“Take care of yourself,” Amanda answered. “Do you have enough to eat?”
“Yes. My owner hasn't changed what he gives me at all,” Maria said. My owner. There it was, ugly as a slap in the face. Just hearing the words made Amanda want to be sick, or to lash out and hit something. But Maria took them in stride, if not for granted. Real worry in her voice, she asked, “What about you, Amanda? Are you and your brother all right?”
“We're fine, so far,” Amanda said. She and Jeremy were a good deal better off than that, but she didn't want to sound as if she were bragging. She didn't think Maria would do anything to betray her trust, but you never could tell who might be listening.
“That's good,” Maria said, and then, wistfully, “You've got money. If you've got money, you can always get food, as long as there's any food to get.”