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The soldiers rush to their positions, as if they believe that moving fast enough will somehow dispel their fear. The sergeants, however, seem more composed: the sight of a dozen poorly armed rabble-rousers doesn't inspire much respect. Rigobert sharpens his sword, Durtan chews on his graying beard. The preachers are intensely focused, each in their own way: Gratin nervously shifts his weight, Raul stands motionless, Arno, with a mace slung over his shoulder, tries to appear more intimidating than he is. In any case, the gazes of both Voldemar's squad and their opponents are fixed on the pedestal in the center of this dilapidated dungeon. Two women stand on it; Voldemar recognizes one as a slum witch, the other is unfamiliar to him. Faded, like an ancient canvas, dressed only in a gray robe over her bare body, she looks at those who have come with bewilderment, disgust, and a barely perceptible fear – as a person looks at repulsive, venomous insects that are writhing and about to touch him with their mandibles. -- And so, here you are, fiery man. So quick to kill. So quick to send to death those over whom you have power. And now you have come to kill us. Here are two butchers in uniform – one loves pain, the other loves death. Why are you so cruel? You are so cruel because you are human. Or, conversely, you are human, and that is why you are so cruel. So self-assured. But in everyone else, the fire of cruelty barely burns in your souls. I am not cruel. I can help you. You don't have to die.
Added 3 minutes later Author
- Hmm, so you're not entirely riffraff, and it shows. It's strange that you weren't taught to read and write.
-- Just from a family of prosperous peasants. Literacy only brings sorrow and impairs common sense, sir. Author
- I need to dress you properly. Your rags cast a shadow of poverty on me. And I'm already drowning in it. After going to the bathhouse, Cassius goes to the market and buys:
-- Oh, I love gifts... I have a birthday in mid-March, by the way, sir Baron.
Cassius successfully acquires everything he had planned
E si sui vius, er mi grans benananza, e si ieu muoir, er mi grans deliuriers