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very grave. “Children are cheap.”
    “And revenge.”
    “Ah.” He laid the amulet down. “But I thought that the Christians were opposed to violence in any form?”
    “Are they?” asked Marcus, considerably startled.
    “Of course.” The old man folded his hands among his papers. “That’s why they refuse to enter the legions. They have placed themselves in the hands of their god. They will not struggle against his will.”
    “But I thought—I mean, I don’t know much about it, but I have heard stories of Christian soldiers, even Christian gladiators. And the man who kicked me sure didn’t have any scruples about violence.”
    The bright blue eyes widened at him. “It would hardly be the first time that a man believes one thing and performs the opposite. Under stress, the most stoic Stoic has been known to curse Fate and even try to meddle with its outcome.”
    The look the old man shot him was so knowing, and yet so teasing, that Marcus had to chuckle. “But I’ve been told I’m very young in my philosophy,” he apologized.
    “I venture to say,” returned the old scholar, “that you are merely very young. For all his own philosophy Plato almost grieved himself to death over the murder of Socrates—thereby demonstrating that he placed far more importance on the event than did Socrates himself. But as for the Christians...”
    “Wait a minute,” said Marcus. “How did you know I was a philosopher at all?”
    “I didn’t,” smiled Sixtus. “You told me.”
    “Yes, but...”
    “Why else would a rich man’s son leave his father’s house, to live like a pauper in the Subura, and where else would any man get that lamp-oil pallor and bookish stoop?”
    Marcus stared at him blankly for a long moment. Sixtus pointed to the stained hem of his toga. “Mud that color isn’t found elsewhere in Rome. The stains are all ages; you obviously spend considerable time there and just as obviously don’t have slaves to keep the garment properly cleaned.”
    “Yes, but...” Marcus halted, those twinkling, impish eyes daring him to ask another question. Instead he said, “Have you ever thought of going into soothsaying, sir?”
    “Frequently, but not only would I lose my citizenship, but the incense makes me sneeze. I suppose if I hadn’t been coerced into a military career by an arrogant and well-muscled father, I might have made a fair lawyer, but even that would have been a blot upon the name of the House of Julianus; what he’d think of me now I can’t imagine. No, what a man is and does marks him, body and mind. It only takes reading the marks and a modicum of the logic with which, believe me, I was inundated during my days as governor of Antioch.”
    Marcus had to grin. The Syrian capital was famous for the wranglings of its metaphysicians. “How long were you governor there, sir?”
    “At the time it seemed like forever. It’s less of a social nuisance than other things one can acquire in Antioch, but in the long run I’m not sure it hasn’t been more troublesome. Why revenge?”
    He was beginning to wonder how Churaldin kept pace with the old man’s lightning changes of subject. “Because Tullius Varus was responsible for the deaths of a group of Christians three years ago.”
    There was momentary silence. “Yes, he was, wasn’t he? As prefect of the city he would be able to order such things. And he was, I believe, giving games?” Sixtus leaned his chin on his hands; chips of white light outlined the stretched skin over the cheekbones, the delicate fretwork scoring around the eyes. Then he glanced back at Marcus again, the tips of milky lashes glinting like silver. “But I can hardly imagine the Christians themselves would be so united as to prepare an organized revenge. I am given to understand that of the several groups of Christians in Rome, no two are on speaking terms with each other.”
    “Several groups?” The scope of the problem widened, suddenly and alarmingly.
    “Yes, of