Gunpowder Empire

No bodies lay in the street. They'd already been dragged away, Romans and Lietuvans alike. They'd probably been plundered first: of weapons, of money, of armor, of food, of everything down to their shoes and their drawers. She wondered if scavengers in Polisso had quietly made sure some of the soldiers were dead. She wouldn't have been surprised.

Bullet scars marked the brick and stone ground floors of houses and shops. Bullet holes peppered the timber upper stories. In one way, though, the damage would have been worse in the home timeline. Here, neither side had been able to shoot out any glass windows. As far as Amanda knew, Polisso had none.

Several women were already at the fountain when she got there. “Everything all right with you, dearie?” one of them called.

“I'm still here. I'm still in one piece,” Amanda answered. “The town's still here, too. It's… not in as many pieces as it might be.”

The local woman laughed. “Ain't it the truth?” she said. “When those barbarians got inside, I didn't know whether to go up on the roof and throw tiles down on their noggins or hide under my bed.”

“That's how Pyrrhus of Epirus got it,” another woman said. “Roof tiles, I mean, not hiding under the bed.”

Amanda had heard of Pyrrhus of Epirus. He was the king who'd given his name to the Pyrrhic victory. He'd fought the Romans, beaten them thanks to war elephants, but almost ruined his army doing it. Afterwards, looking things over, he'd said, “One more victory like this and we're ruined!”

That was where her knowledge stopped. And she would have bet knowing even that much put her ahead of nine out of ten-maybe ninety-nine out of a hundred-people in Los Angeles in the home timeline. But this housewife on the edge of the Roman Empire knew how he'd died, even though he'd been dead for more than 2,300 years.

At first, that astonished Amanda. After a little while, though, it didn't any more. Pyrrhus was part of the locals' history in a way he wasn't back home. These Romans nowadays thought of themselves as-were-descended from the ones who'd battled and finally beaten Pyrrhus. They knew who he was the same way most Americans knew who Cornwallis was. He was almost a favorite enemy. He'd been tough, he'd been clever, he'd been dangerous-and he'd lost. What more could you ask for in a foe?

Some of the women who'd been at the fountain the morning before started going on about what they'd seen. They were amazingly calm about mutilated bodies. Amanda gulped. The woman who'd mentioned Pyrrhus noticed she was green and said, “Sweetie, if those Lietuvan so-and-sos had whipped our boys, we'd look like that now.“

She was right. That didn't make Amanda like it any more or make it any better. And when Roman legionaries took a town in Lietuva or Persia, they acted the same way. Soldiers played by tough rules in this world.

Come to that, soldiers played by tough rules in any world. The home timeline didn't have much to be proud of. The main difference was, they tried to cover up the worst of what they did in the home timeline. Here, they were likely to boast about their atrocities. They thought such horrors made other people afraid of them.

A ca

You're full of cheerful thoughts today, aren't you? Amanda said to herself.

And then, all at once, she did feel better. Here came Maria. The slave girl smiled and waved to her. “Good to see you're safe,” she said.

“Same to you,” Amanda answered.

“I was worried,” Maria said. “You never can tell what will happen when the enemy gets into a city.”

Amanda knew more about that now than she'd ever wanted to. “I'll say! The Lietuvans broke into our house. Ieremeo drove them off with his sword.”

“Bravely done!” Maria said.

“It was, wasn't it?” Amanda knew she sounded surprised. Bravery wasn't something people thought about much in the home timeline. How often did anyone there have the chance to be brave? How often did anyone there want the chance to be brave? Didn't the chance to be brave mean the chance to get killed, or at least badly hurt? Measuring yourself against a chance like that was what made bravery.

“I should say it was,” Maria answered. “Your brother with just a sword against trained soldiers with mailshirts and helmets and everything… He couldn't have frightened them off all by himself, could he?” She suddenly looked frightened. “I mean no disrespect to him, of course, none at all.”

What's that all about? But Amanda needed only a couple of seconds to realize what it was about. Maria had remembered she was a slave. She might have offended a freewoman. If she did offend, she could pay for it. Painfully.

“It's all right,” Amanda said quickly. “What's that proverb? 'Even Hercules can't fight two,' that's it. We would have been in a lot of trouble if the legionaries hadn't come up the street just then. The Lietuvans went off to fight them, and they never came back.”

Now what was the matter? Maria was looking at her as if she'd picked her nose in public. Voice stiff with disapproval, the slave girl said, “I wouldn't have thought even an Imperial Christian would believe in Hercules.”

“Who said I believe in him?” Amanda answered. “It's just a proverb.”

Maria wouldn't see it. The more Amanda tried to explain, the more stubborn the slave got. As far as she was concerned, the word was the thing. “You've talked of pagan gods twice now in the last couple of weeks,” she said sadly. “Either one thinks they have power, or one tells lies on purpose, knowing they are lies. And lies come straight from Satan.”

“You don't understand,” Maria told her. “I wanted you to know I wasn't mad because you said my brother couldn't fight off a bunch of Lietuvans by himself. I already knew he couldn't, and I was trying to find a fast way to say I knew it. That's all I was doing, honest.”

“It is not honest to treat pagan things as if they are real,” Maria said. “If you believe they are real, how can you believe in the one true God?”

“But I don't believe they are. I told you that, and it's the truth,” Amanda said.

Even more sadly, Maria shook her head. “I will pray for you,” she said, and turned away.

She didn't feel like being friendly any more. She couldn't have made it any plainer if she'd slapped Amanda in the face. Amanda had broken a rule nobody she approved of would break, and so she didn't approve of Amanda any more. No doubt she meant it when she said she would pray. In the here-and-now, though, that did Amanda no good at all.

I don't belong here. This isn't my world. Of course I'm going to make mistakes in it every once in a while, Amanda thought miserably. If things were the way they were supposed to be, that wouldn't have mattered so much. She could have got away whenever she needed to. But not now. Whether this was her world or not, she couldn't get away from it-and she'd just lost the only real friend she had.

Eleven

Jeremy saw more piles of rubble in Polisso than he had the last time he went to the market square. Amanda said, “If this siege goes on, how much of the city will be left?”

“Beats me,” he answered. “We're just lucky we haven't had a bad fire.” Polisso had nothing better to fight fires than a big wooden tub with a hand pump and a leather hose. They called it a siphon. Any blaze that got well started had no trouble staying ahead of it. Fire was a nightmare here, especially fire with a strong breeze to fan it.

A gang of municipal slaves with shovels and hods cleared bricks from the street. The ski