Next, the tribune's reading of the bill from the pulpit was extremely lengthy, and when Calabis had eaten his fill, he took the glass of water handed to him by the proprietress and touched the shriveled purse, in which there were about thirty or fifty left, and said to himself, "Is this the politics of Rome?" Money and blood? ”

"Maybe a hundred or two hundred years ago, or even more ago, it was not like that, my father said that the archon of the ancient times, when the people played the flute to give him his position, he was still working in the fields, and after washing the mud from his feet, he led his army to defeat the barbarian invasion, and then he took off his purple robe, and went back to the field again, just like a peasant. Now the city of Rome is rotten, and the citizens are not concerned with honor, but with the gold and silver brought by the war, the slaves, the bread and prostitutes delivered for free, and - the dinar and the cestrius that are attached to the bribery of election fraud - just like what you did today, little brother, you did a good job, the citizens will only smash their votes on those whom he thinks are worth smashing, politics has turned into gambling and war, and there are no politicians on the stage, only winners. The proprietress put her hand on the window, as if she were lamenting the prospect of the city of Rome, and as if answering the doubts of Calabis.

"Citizens, now I ask you, would you like to make your own decision on this bill now?" After the reading of the civil tribune, the citizens of the different groups of centuriens also raised their hands, and then, according to different occupations, passed through the different passages (pons, bridges) that had been set up in advance, walked to the ballot box anonymously, and threw the pottery shard engraved with the choice into it.

"Are these the people who took the money just now?" Calabis asked.

"At least most of them, and you have to know that you are definitely not the only one who is doing this for your Lord today." The proprietress leaned against the window and said with a smile, "However, the people this time are very different from the people at the last town hall, which shows that he has changed the asset certification of many citizens and manipulated the number of people in this vote - your patron Luculas is indeed the richest man, he should be about the same fortune as Crassus, God knows how much he spent for this time!" ”

"Hostess, where is the laundry?" Calabis picked up his purse and sword, got up and asked, ready to leave.

"This old cloak seems to be worn by a soldier, what else do you want it for?"

"A memento and a gift, hostess."

"Call me Brother Duomu, you are so calm in front of me, you must have a wife?" The proprietress sticked to Calabis, "Laundry, turn left at the third street corner, it's bigger." If you want me to wash you, I'd love to, and I'll wash you from head to toe."

Turning a fig tree, Calabis saw the laundry room that the proprietress had mentioned, and dozens of female workers in the courtyard were struggling to wash by the basin, and Calabis handed the blood-stained cloak to the receptionist, who carried something fishy, but without the slightest sign of surprise, about the city of Rome such things were commonplace.

"Ten Sethreus." The receptionist stretched out his hand.

"Washing a cloak with you will allow me to eat two meals of haode, plus fuck a prostitute." Calabis said dissatisfied.

The receptionist said angrily: "Free man of a foreign land, you are not in a bad mind, I hope you can adapt to the prices of Rome as soon as possible, how can the cheap prostitutes here be equivalent to two pieces of wheat bread in one hair, and how can they be compared with washing clothes?" You don't see, we're all purely manual here, and the cost is too expensive. "Calabis looked into the courtyard, and indeed the women and clothes inside were densely packed.

"His brother-in-law's, it seems that he will have to wash less clothes in the future, and he really can't afford to wash them." Calabis grunted in his heart, took the marked pottery shard, and was about to turn away, but heard the receptionist shout in a small voice, "Fan Lun Lingna, Fan Lun Lingna, don't look like a dead man, wash this cloak, look at you like this, can you suffer two Ass a day?" Clumsy, your father is in Little Asia Adam Qiuba, life and death are uncertain, your mother still has to be a secret prostitute at home, you have to look like a poor girl! ”

Hearing this, Calabis's heart tightened, and then he turned around, brushed aside the rows of wet robes and blouses hanging in the courtyard, and walked to a brownish-haired girl who looked to be only eleven or twelve years old who took the cloak. ”

That Van Lun Rina raised her head, a few strands of hair hung down in front of her forehead, and when she saw Calabis staring at her, she was so frightened that she shrank into the corner with her cloak and whispered, "Who are you?"

"Do you live at the back of the Flower Temple? Well, Van Lun Lina. Calabis continued to take a step forward.

At dusk, Carabis and Van Lunjuna came to the back alley of the Flower Temple, in a cold four-story apartment, even more desolate than the apartment rented by Calabis and Potty, the gray ground floor was a foster baby care home, and in a row of cabinets against the wall, there were groups of drawers, many children, dirty children, sitting in these equally dirty drawers, crying, shouting, and sleeping. "Whose children are these?"

"The poor, the poor like our family, the parents go out to work, and the children are stored here." Fan Lunjuna's words are somewhat mature that does not coincide with her age.

Walking on the crumbling staircase, the two came to the house of Van Lunjuna, whose walls were cracked on the third floor, and after knocking for a long time, her mother, who was also the wife of Highbrid, opened the door in a panic, this is a tall woman with a slightly hooked nose, and she trembled with fear when she saw Calabis standing aside, with a short sword in her hand and a blue tattoo on her arm.

"Why don't you invite me in for a drink, ma'am?" Calabis asked, leaning against the doorway.

Carabis's wife walked in like a sieve, and Carabis followed, and the room was dark, full of musty smell, and half of the stove was broken, and all the furniture was black, and it was smoky, and there were rolls of gray rags piled up on the ground in several places, and then Carabis saw a disheveled man, who was swinging there, pretending to be very innocent, and when he saw Calabis, he smiled wryly, and the bed was a mess.

"I'm sorry, it's only salt water." Hebrida's wife turned her back to Calabis, who was seated, and was busy on the stove, still looking back in horror. Fan Lunjuna was very calm, walked to the cradle with ease, and teased her sister who was crying inside.

"You must know, ma'am, that I am also from the Seventh Legion, and have just arrived in Rome, and I know your husband well," said Calabis, taking a sip of the clay cup, to Hybrida's wife.