The man rattled a long sentence at him. It might as well have been in Trabresh. Padway waved his hands despairingly, crying, "Lento!"
The man backed up and started over. "I said I understood you, and I thought it was October 9th, but I wasn't sure because I couldn't remember whether my mother's wedding anniversary came three days ago or four."
"What year?"
"What year?"
"Sic, what year?"
"Twelve eighty-eight Anno Urbis Conditae."
It was Padway's turn to be puzzled. "Please, what is that in the Christian era?"
"You mean, how many years since the birth of Christ?"
"Hoc ille— that's right."
"Well, now—I don't know; five hundred and something. Better ask a priest, stranger."