Cornelius Severus Scipio occupies the silver surface in the centre of the room, his eyes staring upwards at the goddess. Scipio the hero, the farm boy from a collateral line of a high family, who became a soldier like no other: legion champion with a sword, a spear, a dagger, with almost anything you name. People said his true father must have been Mars, or the Archangel Michael in his warlike raiment. They said that to see him fight was to see the business of war taken to a higher form. They said he’d fought the Visigoths to a standstill from among the ranks, then challenged them to find a fighter who could match him one on one. When no one could, a whole army—five times our numbers, or maybe ten—just went back into the forest. People will say a lot of things about a fellow who is cousin to the Pope and drinking buddy of the Eastern Emperor. They’ll say a lot, but not that much, so he must have been quite something.