If Taras looked in a pool of water, what would he see? Did the Jews’ God mark him?

As he walked through the city, he felt many eyes on him, but he dared not look up to confirm his suspicions. If the people of Antioch stayed clear of him, so much the better. The hunger gnawed at him like a wild thing, and he didn’t know how much longer he could control it. So whether the people stayed back because they sensed his evil or because they simply distrusted strangers, they were safer for keeping their distance.

Safer than Taras, at any rate.

He passed a noisy tavern on his right. The sounds of drinking, laughter, and fighting poured from the doorway and out into the street, along with the smells of ale, wine, and sweat. Taras risked a glance up the street and saw that both sides were lined with taverns and brothels, all of which seemed to be doing a brisk business this evening. The people of Antioch certainly enjoyed their pleasures.

One dirty man in ragged clothing walked up to Taras and fixed him with a half-lidded stare. The sour smell of wine rolled off him like flies on a pile of dung. The bleary-eyed stranger wobbled on his feet, then fell forward, wrapping his arms around Taras’ neck to break his fall.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” the stranger asked, his slurred words barely discernible even to Taras’ keen ears. “You’re the one she talks about.”

Taras blanched, not sure what the man might have heard. He tried to pry the drunk’s hands away, but the man grabbed his shoulder and shook him.

“Don’t lie,” he said. “I know it’s you. She’s mine, so stay away from her.”