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“But I gather you have leaders for them while you are off seeking that help. Where have you been?”
    “Thus far, only Audiarna. The reception we got there decided me to come straight to you.”
    “What did they say?”
    Gratillonius shrugged. Corentinus explained, harshly: “The tribune and the chorepiscopus both told us they had no space or food to spare. When I pressed them they finally cried that they could not, dared not take in a flock of pagans who were fleeing from the wrath of God. I saw it would be useless to argue. Also, they were doubtless right when they said our people would be in actual danger from the dwellers. Ys is—was near Audiarna. The horror of what has happened, the terror of more to come, possesses them in a way you should be free of here at your remove.”
    Apuleius looked at Gratillonius and shook his head in pity. The centurion of the Second, the King of Ys had lacked strength to dispute with a couple of insignificant officials and must needs leave it to his clerical companion.
    “We can take in your fifty at once, of course,” Apuleiustold them. “A trading town like this has a certain amount of spare lodging in the slack season. It is not a wealthy town, though. We can find simple fare, clothing, and the like for that many, but only temporarily. The rest shall have to stay behind until something has been worked out with the provincial authorities. I will dispatch letters about that in the morning.”
    “God will bless you,” Corentinus promised.
    Gratillonius stirred and glanced up. “I knew we could count on you, old friend,” he said, with a slight stirring of life in his voice. “But as for the tribunes or even the governor—I’ve given thought to this, you understand. They never liked Ys, they endured it because they had to, and some of them hate me. Why should they bestir themselves for a band of alien fugitives?”
    “Christ commands us to succor the poor,” Apuleius answered.
    “Pardon me, but I’ve never seen that order very well followed. Oh, Bishop Martinus will certainty do what he can, and I suppose several others too, but—”
    “I’ll remind them that people who become desperate become dangerous. Don’t fret too much.” With compassion: “It’ll take time, resettling them, but remember Max-imus’s veterans. Armorica continues underpopulated, terribly short of hands for both work and war. We’ll get your people homes.”
    “Scattered among strangers? After they’ve lost everything they ever had or ever were? Better dead, I think.”
    “Don’t say that,” Corentinus reproved. “God’s left the road open for them to win free of the demons they worshipped.”
    Gratillonius stiffened. His gaze sought Apuleius and held fast. His speech was flat with weariness but firm: “Keep them together. Else the spirit will die in them and the flesh will follow it. You’ve been in Ys. You’ve seen what they can do, what they know. Think what you’ve gained from the veterans and, all right, those former outlaws who came to these parts. We’re going to need those hands you spoke of more than ever, now Ys is gone. It was the keystone of defense for Armorica. How many troops does Rome keep in this entire peninsula—two thousand?And no navy worth mentioning; the Ysan fleet was the mainstay of that. The barbarians will be coming back. Trade will be ripped apart. I offer you some good fighting men, and some more who can learn to be, and others who’re skilled workmen or sailors or scribes or—Man, can you afford to waste them?”
    He sagged. Twilight deepened in the room. Finally Apuleius murmured, “You propose to resettle the Ysans, your former subjects, rural as well as urban, in this neighborhood?”
    Gratillonius was barely audible: “I don’t know any better place. Do you?”
    Corentinus took the word. “We’ve talked about it a little, we two, and I’ve given it thought of my own. I used to live hereabouts, you recall, and though that was years ago, the