“Did you kill my father?” Sevro flicks him on his broad chest. “Did you kill my father?” Cassius looks down at him. No measure of humor to the man, just pride, not the vain sort I’ve seen in him over the years. War and life have drained that vigorous spirit from him. This is the face, the bearing of a man who wants nothing more than to die with a little dignity. “Yes,” he says loudly. “I did.” “Glad we cleared that up. He’s a murderer,” Sevro shouts to the crowd. “And what do we do to murderers?” The crowd roars for Cassius’s life. And Sevro, after making a show of cupping his ear, gives it to
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