“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.”
Again, she didn't make anything special out of it. It was just the way this world worked. It was probably the way any world worked. But hunger was a much more common guest here than in Los Angeles in the home timeline.
Maria went into her owner's house. Amanda turned away and started back toward the house where she and Jeremy lived. Those words again-her owner. Words, and the ideas behind them, had enormous power.
But what can I do? Amanda thought unhappily. Even if she bought Amanda, set her free, and found her work where she could make a living-not always easy to do for a freedwoman-then what? How many slaves just like her would remain in Polisso afterwards? Up into the thousands, surely. How many in all of this Roman Empire? In Lietuva? In Persia? In the gunpowder empires in India? In China? Millions all told, without a doubt.
And Crosstime Traffic had only a few outposts in this whole world. Some problems were just too big to solve with what was available to tackle them. Amanda hated that, which didn't make it any less true.
Jeremy was sitting in the courtyard reading a poem when a cannonball crashed into the kitchen. The poem had kept him interested all the way through. It was in neoLatin, about a girl on a trading ship who'd been captured by Scandinavian pirates but escaped, and about her adventures getting back to the Empire. It wasn't great literature. It was more like this world's closest approach to reality TV. But it wasn't dull, not even slightly.
All the same, he dropped the scroll and jumped to his feet when half a dozen roof tiles exploded into red dust. A magpie that had been sitting on the roof flew away as fast as it could, screeching in alarm.
From her room, Amanda let out a startled squawk: “What was that?“
“We just got hit,” Jeremy answered. “I'm going to see how bad.”
There was a hole in the roof in the kitchen, and another one in the far wall. But the planks under the roof tiles weren't smoldering. The cannonball hadn't smashed any weight-bearing beams. No big cracks ran out from the whole in the wall. The stonework still seemed sound.
Amanda came into the kitchen behind Jeremy. As he had, she looked around. “We're lucky,” she said after a few seconds.
“I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “I can put boards over the hole in the roof to keep the rain out till somebody really repairs it. And some plaster will take care of the one in the wall.”
“I suppose so.” Amanda hesitated. “Do you think we'll ever get back?”
In a way, the question came out of the blue. In another way, Jeremy had trouble thinking about anything else. How surprising was it that his sister felt the same way? Not very. He shrugged. “I have to think so. Whatever's gone wrong, it can't stay messed up forever.“ Why not? he wondered. It shouldn't have got messed up in the first place. Since it has, who knows how long it can stay that way?