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'Very well - it is your wishes.'
'Do you not agree with me? These are the women and children - they cannot fight.'
'When you're as old as me Arra, enemy is enemy. It doesn't matter whether it's the youngest child or oldest person: they are still your opposition.'
I thought once again but I kept my original answer. 'There is to be no more deaths. They will come here and then I'll decide what is to be done. And I trust your men will treat them as equals?'
'Maybe - maybe not,' Bartholomew said, feeling somewhat guilty.
'Well if they don't, they'll end up in graves,' I threatened. 'And I'm not lying now.'
'So be it.'
The temple door burst open and a soldier ran in, holding a piece of paper.
'Master, sir,' he gasped. 'From … the head.'
Bartholomew took the page and read through it quickly, his eyes widening in disbelief before turning to me.
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