Текст книги "The Gladiator"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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'Why?' Cato stared up at Sempronius. 'We should do what we can for him first.'

'There isn't time. Now leave him and let's go.'

'Leave him?' Cato shook his head. 'Like this? He wouldn't have a chance.'

'He doesn't have much of a chance as it is. You said so yourself.'

Cato was still holding the boy's hand. He bit his lip.' No. I can't leave him, sir. It's not right.'

Sempronius took a deep breath.' Centurion Cato, it's not a question of right or wrong. I'm giving you an order.'

There was a tense silence as the two men stared at each other.

Then the child groaned slightly and Cato looked down and stroked the boy's fine hair with his spare hand. 'Easy now, lad. Easy.'

'Cato, ' Sempronius continued in a gentle tone, 'we have to go on.

We have to get to Gortyna as soon as possible. We have to do what we can to restore order, to help people and to save lives. There's not much we can dofor this one. And if we lost the best part of a day by taking him back to Matala, then other lives might be put at risk as a result.'

'They might be, ' Cato replied.' Who can say for certain? But if we abandon this boy now, then we can be sure he will die, cold and alone.'

'Perhaps, perhaps not. He might be saved by some one.'

'Do you really believe that?'

'Do you really believe that a delay would not put lives at risk in Gortyna?' Sempronius countered.

Cato frowned, torn by the truth of the senator's words, and his own moral compulsion to do what he could to save the boy. He decided to try another tack. 'What if this was Julia? Would you still say we should go on?'

'But it isn't Julia, fortunately. Now, Cato, my boy, please see reason.

You're an officer, with wider obligations to your duty, to your empire. I'm sure you have had to leave badly wounded men behind you on campaign. This boy is a casualty, and one you can do nothing for. Why, I dare say that the slightest movement would be the most terrible agony. Would you really put him through the torment of a ride back to Matala? Only for him to die there? It is kindest to leave him-' Sempronius laid his hand on Cato's shoulder and squeezed gently. 'Believe me... Now we have to go. Come.'

Cato felt a bitter pain in his throat as he fought to accept Sempronius's argument. Whatever his heart said, he had responsibilities to others, many others. He tore his eyes away from the boy's face and released his tender hold on the small hand. At once the fingers scrabbled and grasped at Cato's as the boy's eyes stared in terror. Cato hurriedly stood up and backed away, pulling his hand free.

'Come.' Sempronius drew him away, towards the tethered horses.

'No time to waste.'

As Cato turned and followed the senator, a shrill, keening cry of panic and terror split the dusk and pierced his young heart like a javelin. He felt that he wanted to be sick, that he was a cold, inhuman creature who had forsaken any claim to those qualities that defined a good man.

'We have to go.' Sempronius raised his voice, grasping Cato's arm and pulling him firmly away from the intensifying cries of the small boy. 'Get on your horse and let's be away. Don't forget what I said. Others need you.'

He steered Cato to the side of his mount and helped heave him up on to its back. Then he hurriedly untethered the horse and thrust the reins into Cato's hand before slapping the animal's flank to send it on its way with a shrill whinny. Sempronius mounted his own beast and spurred it on, after the other horse. When he drew alongside the centurion, he glanced at him quickly and saw the grim set of Cato's expression in the twilight. Sempronius felt a heavy weight of guilt settle on his heart. It had been a hard but necessary duty to leave the stricken child, and it had clearly affected Cato far more than himself. The young man had a good soul. He felt deeply, and was not afraid to show it. As Sempronius urged his horse ahead, there was one small grain of comfort he could glean from the situation. That was the realisation that his daughter had chosen her man well.

As night closed in over Crete they rode on, following the main route across the rich agricultural plain to Gortyna. On either side the groves of olive trees, fruit orchards and vineyards stretched out towards the distant hills. Much of the land had been bought up and concentrated in estates, owned by some of the wealthiest men of the empire. While they lived lives of luxury in the cities, the estates were managed for them by stewards. Beneath the stewards were the overseers who commanded the gangs of slaves that toiled from before dawn to dusk. For most of the slaves life was brutal and short and death was a release. Now, though, the situation had changed, Cato reflected. The earthquake had flattened many of the estates, and the slaves would snatch the opportunity to escape, or turn on their former masters.

It was a clear night, and even though a crescent moon and the star-speckled heavens provided dim illumination, Sempronius slowed the pace to a walk.

'No point in having the horses stumble, ' he explained. 'Besides, they could use a rest.'

'So could I.' Cato shifted his buttocks and rubbed a hand on the small of his back. Thenight air was cool, and now he wondered at the wisdom of leaving his cloak with the dying boy. At once he dismissed the unworthy thought and glanced round at the surrounding landscape. The road climbed up on to a low ridge, and as they reached the crest Cato saw a fire blazing across the fields to his right, no more than quarter of a mile away.

'What in the name of the gods is going on over there?'

Sempronius muttered.

Both riders reined in as they gazed towards the lurid red flames licking up into the night. A pyre had been built close to the ruins of a collection of farm buildings. Around it were four stout timbers with crosspieces, from which hung the naked bodies of three men and a woman, close enough to the fire to be scorched by the heat. They writhed in agony and their cries, thin and distant though they were, chilled Cato's blood.

In the glow of the flames, and the stark shadows of those slowly roasting on the crosses, Cato could make out a ring of figures watching spectacle. Some of them carried jars and drank freely from them as they looked on. Others were dancing, while a few lobbed stones at their victims.

Cato swallowed. 'Looks like the slaves are taking their revenge.'

The two of them stared at the grim scene for a moment before the senator muttered, ' The poor bastards.'

'I fear this won't be the last time we witness this kind of thing,' said Cato. 'It will be breaking out across the island, I imagine.'

As they watched, a burly man emerged from the crowd with a mallet and went over to the cross bearing the woman. He knocked out the wedges, keeping the crosses in place, and then, bracing himself against the stake, pushed it towards the fire. The cross lurched over, hung still for a second as the woman thrashed uselessly against her bonds, and then toppled into the blaze in a burst of sparks and a sudden flare of flames that licked up into the night, along with a last scream of pain and terror.

'I've seen enough, ' said Cato. 'We'd best go, sir.'

'Yes... yes, of course.'

Cato tugged his reins to turn the horse back in the direction of Gortyna, and was about to dig his heels in when he saw a figure stroll out on to the road, ten paces ahead.

'And where do you think you're going?' the man called out cheerily in roughly accented Latin. 'Two riders out on the road in the middle of night can't be up to any good.'

Senator Sempronius breathed a sigh of relief at the man's amiable tone, while Cato's sword hand slipped casually down to his thigh.

'You'd better get out of here, ' said Sempronius. 'There's a slave gang on the loose nearby. You should escape while you can.'

'Oho!' the man called back and took a few paces towards the riders.' From the sound of your voice, you must be part of the quality, a very proper Roman and no mistake.'

'I am a Roman official, ' Sempronius acknowledged. 'I have to get to Gortyna as swiftly as I can, so I'd ask you to step aside, my good man, then we can all be on our way'

The stranger was close enough now for Cato to make out some detail. He was tall and broad with unkempt hair and a beard, and dressed in a ragged tunic. A long club swung from his hand. He laughed as he lifted the club and let it rest on his shoulder.

'The thing is, this here road belongs to me now, and I've decided to charge a toll for road users.' His tone hardened. 'Beginning with you two. Now, get off those horses and hand them over. The horses and anything else of value you have on you.'

'What?' Sempronius stiffened in his saddle.' How dare you?'

As the man had been speaking, Cato was aware of movement either side of the road, and now he could see several figures closing in around them. His fingers tightened around the handle of his sword as he spoke quietly. 'Sir, we're in trouble. Draw your sword.'

'Trouble?' Sempronius looked round and froze as he saw men emerging from the shadows, each one holding a club, or pitchfork, and all as ragged as the first man. There was a swift clatter as the two Romans snatched out their swords and held them ready.

'Now then, don't push your luck, gentlemen,' the man said evenly.

'No sense in anyone getting hurt. There's far more of us than you. You put up any fight and I swear I'll gut you both. So, nice and easy like, throw your swords away and get off those horses.'

Cato's heart was pounding and there was the familiar icy tingle on the back of his neck that came before a fight. He gritted his teeth and growled, 'Since you've been good enough to play fair by us, I'll give you one warning. Get out of our way.'

There was a moment of stillness as the two Romans stared intently at the men surrounding them, then some one roared:

'Get 'em, lads!'

The shadows raced towards the horsemen. Cato kicked his heels in.' Ride, sir!'

Sempronius urged his mount forwards, but he was an instant slower to react than Cato, and before his horse had gone ten feet the man had snatched at the reins, while others rushed in from the side.

'Cato! Help!'

Cato twisted round in his saddle and saw the senator slashing wildly with his short sword at the figures flitting around him.

'Shit!' Cato hissed, and savagely wrenched the reins as he swerved his mount round. With his sword arm tensed he charged back into the loose melee about Sempronius. The horse let out a snort as it barged into the man holding the reins, and Cato slashed out with his sword in a wide arc, forcing the other men back. Then he gripped tight with his thighs as he swung across to the other side and hacked down at the hands still grasping the reins of Sempronius's horse. The blade thudded down, cutting flesh and shattering bone, and a shrill scream tore out of the man's lungs as he fell back staring in horror at his nearly severed hand. Cato leaned forward and snatched up the reins before pressing them towards the senator. 'Here!'

'Roman bastard!' a voice cried out, and Cato looked round just in time to see a man charging him with a pitchfork clutched in both hands. He snatched his sword blade back and chopped at the oncoming prongs. There was a sharp ring as metal met metal and Cato's blow knocked the prongs down, away from his chest. An instant later he felt a blow, like a punch, in his thigh, and there was a whinny from the horse as the other prong stuck into its side. Cato gasped, then snarled as he drew his arm back and slammed the tip of the blade deep into the man's chest, just below his neck. The attacker collapsed with a grunt, releasing his grip on the shaft of the pitchfork as he slumped to the ground. For a moment the shaft sagged, tearing at the flesh of man and horse, before Cato knocked it free with his sword. Then he glanced round, and saw that the two men he had put down had shaken the rest of the attackers.

'Go, sir!' he shouted at Sempronius.

This time he waited until the senator's mount had cleared the loose ring of men before he slapped the side of his blade into his own horse's rump and galloped after Sempronius. He heard a grunt, and another pitchfork narrowly flicked past his left side before dropping out of view. He ducked low, clenching his fist around the sword handle to ensure he did not drop it as they rode down the road to Gortyna. Behind them the attackers howled with rage and ran after them for a short distance, before giving up and hurling insults that gradually faded behind Cato as he followed Sempronius along the road.

CHAPTER SIX

Macro let out a weary sigh as he looked over the reports he had demanded from the officers and clerks of the auxiliary cohort.

Outside night had fallen, and from the window of the office he could see the flickering glow of torches along the walls of the acropolis. He blinked and rubbed his eyes as his mouth opened in a long, wide yawn, before returning his attention to his work. Several wax notebooks were stacked on his desk detailing the strength of each century in the cohort, with the names of the best men in each unit underscored by their centurions. Those dead or missing were marked with a cross. There was also a detailed inventory of the cohort's stores compiled by the quartermaster and a report from the only assistant assigned to the cohort's surgeon. The surgeon who had been in the port when the earthquake struck and was still missing. The barracks room that served as sick quarters was overflowing with injured, and the surgeon's assistant requested more men to help him deal with the casualties.

In addition to his other concerns, Macro had sent out a patrol to the bay to find the crew and passengers of the Horusand have themescorted back to the acropolis. They would be given shelter, and Macro would need the fittest of them to fill out the ranks of the cohort until the emergency was over.

As soon as he took command of the cohort, he had carried out a close inspection of the men formed up in their centuries in the courtyard of the acropolis. It was as Portillus had said: only half his men had survived when the earthquake struck Matala. Those that remained were badly shaken by the loss of their comrades, and the mortal terror they felt towards whichever god it was who had decided to wreak his fury upon the port. As Macro slowly paced along the ranks of the Twelfth Hispania, his experienced eye quickly saw that the cohort was typical of most of the garrison units stationed in the safer provinces of the empire. There was a mixture of worn-out veterans, impatiently awaiting their discharge, and those whose health had been broken on campaign and who had been transferred to Crete where they could manage to carry out gentle policing duties. Finally there was a handful of simpletons and scrawny youths who could just about be trusted to hold a weapon and not do themselves, or their comrades, any harm.

Macro shook his head. As things stood, the cohort was going to be little use in restoring order and helping the civilian survivors. He would need better men, and more of them, in the days to come.

Meanwhile, he resolved to do what he could with the resources at hand. Not that there were many resources, he sighed. The quartermaster's inventory revealed that the cohort had been run down in recent years. A string of governors had done their best to cut the costs of running the province right down to the bone in order to curry favour with the emperor and senate back in Rome. Worn – out equipment had not been replaced and the soldiers had had to make up the shortfall in the local markets. They wore an odd assortment of standard-issue kit and a range of old Gallic and Greek helmets and swords. There were very few slings, almost no lead shot for them, and very few reserves of essential rations and drinking water. Two of the cisterns of the acropolis were bone dry and the third only half full, and what was left was barely potable, as Macro had discovered when he accompanied the quartermaster down the steps into the cool interior of the cistern, cut from living rock.

'That is fucking disgusting!' He spat out the rank-tasting liquid and wiped his mouth dry on the back of his hand before climbing back out.' When was the last time this was drained and cleaned out?'

The quartermaster shrugged. 'Don't know, sir. Must have been before my time.'

'How long have you been here?'

'Seven years, sir.'

'Seven years, ' Macro repeated flatly. 'And you just chose to ignore it?'

'No, sir, ' the quartermaster replied indignantly He was a thin old stick, with dark, wizened features, but he carried the scars that spoke 53

of some active service, Macro conceded. The quartermaster continued.' The prefect told me not to bother. Said that how as we were a garrison unit, and the province was at peace, there was no point in preparing for a siege, sir.'

'I see. Right, well, that's going to change. At first light I want you and your clerks down here. The cistern is to be drained, thoroughly cleaned, repaired and made ready to store any rain that falls.'

'Yes, sir.'

Macro stared at the quartermaster.' Look here... what was the name again?'

'Corvinus, sir. Lucius Junillus Corvinus.'

'Corvinus, eh?' Macro smiled.' Crow – it suits you. Now then, we have people out there who need our help. For now we are just going to help the survivors. Dig out any of those trapped in the ruins, then we have to feed them, see that they have fresh water and shelter. In the longer term we will need to make sure that there is order. If the food runs short then we're going to be hard pressed to keep things peaceable. In that event, I need every man of the Twelfth Hispania properly equipped and ready to fight. So that means you will need to pull your thumb out of your arse and make sure the men have what they need. Got that?'

'Yes, sir. I'll do my best.'

Macro shook his head. 'Best isn't good enough. You will do what I need you to do. If you can't do the job then I'll send you back to the ranks and find some one who can.'

'B-but you can't do that, ' Corvinus stammered. 'I will protest to the prefect, sir. You have no authority to remove me.'

'You can protest all you like. The prefect is dead.'

'Dead?'

'He was killed when the earthquake hit Gortyna. Him and most of the senior officials running the province. That's why Senator Sempronius is taking charge of things. That's why I am in charge of the cohort, and why you are going to have to start earning your pay for the first time in years.' Macro paused and then gently punched the man on the chest. 'It's all down to us, Corvinus. We're all that stands between those people out there, and starvation and chaos. Now, I'll ask you one time only. Can you do your job?'

Corvinus took a deep breath and nodded.

'Good man! Now then, I want a full inventory of the cohort's kit in my hands before the first change of watch tonight. You'd best start now.'

'Yes, sir.' Corvinus saluted and turned away, hurrying across the courtyard to the supply office and storerooms. Macro watched him for a moment and then sighed. He hoped that this was going to be the briefest command he would ever hold. Just long enough to set the cohort back on its feet and deal with the crisis in Matala before a new prefect arrived. Then he, Cato and the others could continue their voyage back to Rome. The sooner the better, he mused as he made his way back to the prefect's office.

Once he had finished reading through the waxed note tablets, Macro sent for Portillus. While he waited, he helped himself to one of the small jars of wine that the prefect had kept in a small rack in the corner of the office. Several tiles had fallen in and smashed the jars in the upper section of the rack, but some at the bottom had survived.

He tugged the cork stopper out and sniffed. A fine aroma wafted up into his nostrils and he smiled. Clearly the prefect had been a man who knew how to indulge himself. Shutting one eye, he peered into the jar.

'And half full.' He smiled to himself as he took the jar and a silvered cup back to the desk and filled the cup almost to the brim.

'Not a total disaster then.'

There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for a response, Portillus opened it and entered the office. A quick frown flitted across his face as he saw the wine, and then glanced to the surviving jars in the corner of the room. Macro realised that he had hoped to have them for himself now that the previous commander had no earthly use for such luxuries.

'Ahem, you sent for me, sir.'

Yes. Shut the door.'

Once the do or was closed and Portillus was standing at ease in front of the desk, Macro cleared his throat and began. 'This is not a good cohort, Centurion, as I am sure you know. The organisation is slack, the men are generally second-rate and the officers are worse. However,' he paused, 'that is about to change. And since you are my second in command, you are going to help make that change. Is that clear?'

Portillus nodded doubtfully

'I can't hear you, Centurion.'

'Yes, sir. It is clear.'

'Good.' Macro tapped the wax tablets. 'I want the best eighty men in the cohort to form a fighting century. They are to have the best of the kit, and they are to be commanded by the best officer. Who would you recommend?'

Portillus pursed his lips a moment before he replied. 'Centurion Milo, sir. He was promoted from the legions a year ago.'

'Then he shouldn't have gone soft yet. Fine, Milo it is. He is to choose his standard bearer, optio and clerk as he sees fit.'

'Yes, sir.'

'As for the rest of the men, they are going to work in the town at first light. They are to leave their kit here in barracks, but keep their swords, and divide into two teams. Half can deal with rescuing people from the ruins and carrying the injured up here to be treated.

The others are to forage through the ruins for any supplies of food and wine. You can detail some of them to start carrying water from the nearest streams to start filling the cisterns.'

'But that'll take ages, sir.'

'Well, we're not going anywhere for the moment, are we, Portillus?'

'No, sir.'

'Fine, then those are the orders for tomorrow. Make sure the men are told that there is to be no pilfering, mind. If they encounter any civilian looters they are to put a stop to it. Knock heads together if you must, but don't go straight in with the blade. The people out there have suffered enough already. One final thing. According to Corvinus we have some tents in stores. They're old and probably haven't been used for years, but they might be serviceable for the local people. Have some of the men set them up on the slope facing the acropolis, outside of the town.'

Portillus nodded, and then chewed his lip. 'Sir?'

'What?'

'Something just occurred to me. Most of the food in Matala was stored down in the warehouses. Near the main market.'

'So?'

'The wave destroyed the area, and carried away most of the debris when it receded. What's left will have been ruined. The only other food will be what was in the houses when the earthquake struck.

That won't amount to much, sir.'

'Hmm, you have a point.' Macro sat back and stroked his jaw. 'So we'll find what we can and then look for other sources of food. Any estates near to the port?'

Portillus thought for a moment.' The nearest one is further along the coast, owned by Senator Canlius. It produces olive oil and grain.'

'That's good for a start then. I'll send some men with wagons.

They can take what we need and let the landowner bill us when word gets back to him in Rome.'

'Senator Canlius won't like that, sir.'

'Probably not.' Macro sniffed. 'But it won't be my problem by then, so I don't care. We have to ensure a good supply of food so our men and the people don't starve while we sort things out.'

'Let's hope we can, sir.'

'Oh, we will.' Macro smiled. 'I won't stand for anything else. Now then, that's all for now, Portillus. I'll have the clerks draw up the assignments for each unit. They'll be with you and the other officers once they are ready. As soon as the sun rises I want the Twelfth Hispania to get to work.'

There was another knock at the door.

'Come!'

The do or opened and an auxiliary entered the room and saluted.

'Patrol's returning from the bay, sir.'

'Have they got the crew and passengers with them?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Soon as they are through the gates, have the men sent to the barracks. Spread them around. Once they're there, you can tell 'em they have just been inducted into the cohort and normal military discipline applies. Better explain what that means to them, eh?'

The auxiliary grinned. Yes, sir.'

'Have the women and children brought to the basilica. They can kip down in the admin hall. Then ask the senator's daughter if she would be kind enough to join me.'

'Yes, sir.' The auxiliary saluted and left the room.

Centurion Portillus raised an eyebrow. 'Sempronius's daughter? She's landed herself right in the middle of it. I doubt that the kid of a purple-striper is going to like the accommodation.'

Macro thought back to the desperate time when he had first encountered Julia during the siege of the citadel in Palmyra. She had taken her chances along with the rest of the defenders and had required no more than the meagre rations provided to the others, while devoting herself to the care of the wounded and the dying.

Julia was no whining member of the pampered aristocracy. She had proved her worth.

'She'll cope,' Macro replied. 'She's no kid. Julia Sempronia is tough enough. Besides, she has no choice.'

Portillus puffed out his cheeks. 'I'd sooner you tell her that than me, sir. Perhaps I'd better be off then. Duties to attend to and all that.'

'Yes, get on with it,' Macro responded gruffly. 'Bear in mind what I said. There'll be no slacking in this cohort from now on, and that applies to officers as much as the men.'

'I understand, sir.' Portillus bowed his head and hurried from the room. For a moment Macro was alone, and he looked at his cup of wine for an instant before greedily raising it to his lips and draining it.

'Ahhh! Needed that.' He wiped a dribble of wine from his chin and eased himself back in the chair with a gratified smile. His entire body ached with the exertions of the previous day and night, and his eyes were sore. He closed them for a moment, relishing the soothing comfort of a brief instant of relaxation. The wine still tingled in his throat and felt warm in his stomach as he folded his fingers across his belly.

'Just rest a moment,' he told himself drowsily. 'Just a moment...'

'Am I disturbing you?'

'W-w-what?' Macro struggled up in the seat and blinked his eyes open. Julia was standing in the threshold of the office grinning at him.

'It's just that you were snoring so loudly'

'Snoring?' Macro shook his head guiltily. 'Bollocks. I was just mumbling to myself.'

'With your eyes closed.'

Macro frowned at her. 'I can do two things at once, you know, miss.'

'I'm sorry, Macro. I meant no offence. You must be exhausted after all that we've been through. As are we all.'

'Where are my bloody manners?' Macro muttered to himself as he jumped to his feet and hurried to pull a spare chair over towards the table. He patted the seat. 'There you are, Miss Julia. Sit you down.'

'Thank you.' She let out a deep sigh. 'So, then, where is my father, and Cato?'

'Gone, miss.'

'Gone?'

'To Gortyna. Soon as we got here we heard that the governor, his staff and senior officers were caught up in the earthquake. Killed most of ' em outright. Your father said he had to take charge of things at once. He and Cato took two of the horses from the stables and left as soon as they could.'

'Typical,' Julia said with a trace of bitterness.' No last word for me, then?'

'Er, not as such, no.'

'And Cato?'

'Oh, he said to be sure to send you his love and that I was to take care of you until he got back.'

Julia stared at Macro and shook her head. 'You're a poor liar, Macro. Better leave that sort of thing to people who are trained for it, like my father.'

'If you say so.'

Julia looked round the office and then through the window towards the hillside opposite the acropolis. A handful of fires had already been lit and tiny figures clustered about the glow of the flames. 'I could hardly believe what I saw on the way up here,' she said quietly. 'I thought we had had it bad on the ship. But this?'

'We did have it bad on the ship, miss. We're lucky to be here. But you're right, it must have been terrifying when it struck the port.

Portillus told me there was a bloody great roar and a rumbling sound, and then the buildings started to shake and collapse, the weakest and oldest ones first. Naturally, that was where the poorest people in Matala were packed in. Thousands of them are buried under the ruins. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Poor souls who were left alive must have thought it was all over.' Macro shrugged.

'Until the wave hit the port, and swept up through the gorge some distance, destroying everything and everyone in its path. Portillus reckons that as many again were drowned as had died in the earthquake.'

Julia stared at him for a moment, then she shook her head and muttered, 'Dear gods...What can they have done to deserve this?'

'Who knows the will of the gods?' Macro yawned. 'But whatever the people of Crete have done to piss them off, they've paid a high price.'

Julia glanced out through the window, her mind still struggling to take in the scale of the destruction she had seen on the way up from the ship. It was impossible to imagine that many more towns and cities had shared the fate of Matala. Suddenly she froze. 'Do you think it's over? Do you think it could happen again?'

'I've no idea, miss. I'm just a soldier, not a soothsayer.' Macro leaned forward and tried to sound reassuring as he continued.

'There's been no more tremors since we arrived. We can only pray to the gods to spare us any more suffering.'

'Yes, there is that. If you really think prayers can help.'

'Well, they can't hurt.'

'I suppose not.' Julia was quiet for a moment before she fixed her gaze on Macro again.' Do you think they're safe out there? My father, and Cato?'