tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71468625491465405142024-02-19T17:50:46.701-08:00DougsbookblogMy latest novel Hammer of Rome, ninth in the Gaius Valerius Verrens series is available now, and I'm working on two new books set in the dying years of Imperial rule in BritanniaDoughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.comBlogger217125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-32982358398257943472023-03-26T07:37:00.001-07:002023-03-26T07:37:17.345-07:00THE MISSING LINKS 2<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="e8dqs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="e8dqs-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="e8dqs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Here's another chapter that didn't quite make the final cut of </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The</span><span data-offset-key="e8dqs-2-0" style="font-family: inherit;"> Wall, and I have a bit more regret about losing this one, because I think it gives a fairly reliable insight into the lives of the tribes north of Hadrian's Wall. It also put a bit more flesh on the bones of poor unlucky Drosten the Pict who falls foul of Marcuis Flavius Victor in the opening scenes of the book. Let me know what you think.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="dnfdl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dnfdl-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="dnfdl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="5lvc3-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5lvc3-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="5lvc3-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="5u3ma-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5u3ma-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="5u3ma-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="779mq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="779mq-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="779mq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">They crouched round the communal pot dipping wooden bowls into the thin barley soup and waiting for it to cool before they supped a little of the liquid at a time. Every drop must be savoured for this was their first and last proper meal of the day.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="4k6nu-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4k6nu-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="4k6nu-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Ciniath, the father, grey-bearded and grim, his back twisted by some long-ago injury that kept him from the fields. Mother Eslin, lank silver hair hanging across wrinkled cheeks, lips smacking noisily as she sucked the soup into her toothless mouth. Two sons. Breth, whose careworn features looked as aged as his father, but with the hard muscles of a farmer and a fighter. Nechtan, the younger, barely out of his teens and his unsmiling face already with the lines of a maturity borne of necessity. Three wives, all young and dark. Each had been a beauty in her own way, but caked dirt, soot from the fire and the habitual dejection that went hand in hand with making a life in this unforgiving land had dulled the glow of youth. One held a babe of less than a year at her breast.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="6f2ra-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6f2ra-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="6f2ra-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">In the shadows on the fringes of the glow from the embers, five more children, two girls and three boys, jostled for the places of greatest warmth. They made little animal mewing noises as they waited their turn at the pot. Beyond them a long-limbed hunting dog gnawed at a deer bone long since stripped of meat or any other form of sustenance.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="2ddln-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2ddln-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="2ddln-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">All but the youngest children and the babe had a hand in building the house that sheltered them. The men staked out a circle ten paces across and dug the holes for timbers they harvested from the hillside. The women cut thin willow branches to weave into a lattice between the uprights and gathered reeds from the river bank and tied them in tight bunches to thatch the roof. The older children mixed earth and manure from the dungheap with water then slapped the thick mud onto the wattle inside and out where it dried to make the walls wind and waterproof.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="5o7i4-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5o7i4-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="5o7i4-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">They ate from an iron pot that, along with the ancient sword hanging from a peg jammed into one of the uprights, was the extended family’s most treasured possession. Everything else could be replaced through industry and a craftsmanship passed down the generations: the cots, one for each family, that lined the walls, separated for a semblance of privacy by wooden partitions; the bowls and spoons; the shelves and the chest.; the tunics and skirts of thick plaid cloth they wore; the matted furs they slept beneath. Only the land from which they eked a living, the single cow and two pigs in the nearby byre, and the house they occupied were more precious than iron. A second sword had once hung beside the first, but that had been lost. Two silver arm rings, a fine jeweled brooch, and a small figure of a Roman god, had been bartered for the food they needed to see them through winter after the catastrophe.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="eugu8-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="eugu8-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="eugu8-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Am I to starve to death?’ The sullen voice came from the bed closest to the door. ‘Not that it would be a bad thing.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="fueo7-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fueo7-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="fueo7-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">This was a well-worn refrain and only the girl with the baby at her breast looked up. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="d7mll-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d7mll-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="d7mll-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘See to your husband, Duna,’ the old woman ordered. ‘You should have done it long since.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="eqdjv-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="eqdjv-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="eqdjv-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Drosten was sleeping, ma, and I had the baby to look after.’ Duna handed the baby to her neighbour. She scooped a bowl of soup from the pot and took it to where her husband had levered himself up to sit on the edge of the cot.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="cmr5h-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="cmr5h-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="cmr5h-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Must you make it so obvious that you cannot stand the sight of me?’ Drosten hissed. Dark, sunken eyes glared out from a face the colour of day-old ashes. He stank because he was too proud to let anyone else clean him and only unconsciousness or delirium provided the opportunity for her to wash his body. She raised the bowl towards his lips and in an act of pure instinct he reached out for it only to freeze at the look of horror on his wife’s face. The blackened stumps of his forearms began to shake and the tremor spread to his whole body. Tears poured down his bearded cheeks and he sobbed convulsively.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="34fvm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="34fvm-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="34fvm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Hush, husband.’ Duna laid down the soup and took him in her arms. ‘You will feel better once you’ve eaten.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="b2fpb-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="b2fpb-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="b2fpb-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Hush?’ Drosten snarled, self-pity replaced by anger like the lightning rise of a summer storm. ‘Why should I hush?’ He waved the truncated arms in her face. ‘Do I not have reason to weep? I am nothing. What use is a man who cannot even wipe his own arse? I would cut my own throat if I had the means, but my family will not even provide me with that release.’ He made their mercy sound like a curse.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="4sbuk-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4sbuk-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="4sbuk-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">“Next year will be better.’ His father stoked the fire, producing a burst of sparks that danced for a fleeting moment within the smoke. ‘Hasn’t Oengus the smith said he’ll fashion you a socket fitted with a spoon so you will be able to feed yourself?’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="dilrk-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dilrk-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="dilrk-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Will he fashion fingers to hold a sword or a spear?’ Drosten demanded. ‘A spade? A mattock? Anything that would make a life worth living?’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="b545r-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="b545r-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="b545r-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘They say Keother has made sacrifices to Taranis to place a curse on sgriosadair beatha.’ The suggestion came from Nechtan, the younger brother. Sgriosadair beatha– the words meant the destroyer of lives. ‘A priest has foretold that the beast will be delivered up to Keother. Those who suffered his cruelty will witness as he is blinded, muted and castrated, before he is made to crawl back to the Wall minus his hands and his feet.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="8lsp8-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8lsp8-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="8lsp8-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘You are a fool if you believe the Lord of the Wall will place himself at Keother’s mercy,’ Drosten rasped. ‘Clever Keother who sent fifty of his best warriors to death or mutilation, and for what profit? A few bushels of grain and a handful of bronze coins paid for in blood that are still safe behind Alona’s walls.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="1qapa-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1qapa-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="1qapa-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Ciniath shuffled uncomfortably at his place by the fire. He owed what little he had to his chieftain, but what his son said was undeniable. The decision to raid Alona had been a disaster and not Keother’s first.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="f61pr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="f61pr-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="f61pr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Keother and his small sub-tribe of Caledonian Picts had farmed a broad strip of fertile land between the hills and the coast north of the Bodotria. Plentiful streams brought fresh, crystal clear water tumbling from the heights of the Graupius mountains to irrigate dark, rich earth that produced a fine crop even in times of drought. A land of plenty, yet his arrogance and ambition betrayed them all. Keother attempted to undermine a neighbouring Pictish lord, a man with a much more devious mind and a direct blood link to King Lucti. Clever Lucti saw the ruse for what it was, a preliminary move towards a direct challenge to his authority. A less decisive man might have focussed his ire on Keother alone, but he rightly concluded Keother would not have dared act without the encouragement of allies among his warriors. Fortunately, Lucti had a surfeit of warriors of his own and no other threats to counter. He drove Keother and his entire tribe south and watched as they stumbled through the marshy kerseland and crossed the Bodotria by the ford at the Wolf’s Crag. To exile.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="vh5n-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="vh5n-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="vh5n-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Keother lingered for a month in the disputed lands between the Four Kingdoms before heading south, picking up more of the discontented and the banished along the way. He ensured their passage took them well clear of the main centres of the Votadini and Selgovae. In any case, the force he led then was powerful enough that they need not fear any but the strongest of warrior bands.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="4ckv7-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4ckv7-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="4ckv7-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">His route was not entirely aimless. Keother’s father had followed his king south of the Wall in the great loot-taking of thirty years earlier. The old man spoke of a hidden valley a day’s march in length that ran between the western limits of the Selgovae and the easternmost settlements of the Novantae. Here, after a season of hardship, Keother settled his people on the flat, often boggy ground by the river. Their presence irritated Corvus and his Novantae counterpart, but the land was of little value and, for the moment, each was happy to leave any retribution to the other.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="adi54-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="adi54-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="adi54-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Naturally, Keother’s closest allies, men who owed him for their ponies and swords, had been given the prime territory, and it was with a pang of conscience that Drosten’s father remembered how he had encouraged his son to join the raiders of Alona to gain favour with his chieftain</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="fjlq0-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fjlq0-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="fjlq0-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Ciniath shook his head at the memory. ‘Keother believed he needed the silver to secure a place at Briga’s side, they say she covets nothing more. A successful raid would have raised him in her eyes and provided grain enough for the winter.’ </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="aa7uv-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="aa7uv-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="aa7uv-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘If he wished to prove his courage perhaps he should have led it himself?’ Duna’s voice broke the thoughtful silence that followed. ‘But what does Keother need of grain when he already has meat and ample soft bread at his command? Keother who lives behind walls and ditches protected by bodyguards instead of on a rocky platform so deep in the valley it barely feels the touch of the sun. Keother’s couches are not covered in flea-ridden furs. His walls have plaid coverings to keep out the wind and his arms are heavy with torcs of gold, not silver.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="7dfff-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7dfff-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="7dfff-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Soon we will have wall coverings of the finest cloth and your fingers will shine with rings of gold, Duna.’ Nechtan’s words brought a bark of bitter laughter from Drosten, but the younger brother ignored him. ‘Yours too,’ his eyes shone as he placed an arm round his wife’s shoulders. ‘And a golden brooch to wear at your breast. We will have stone lamps and the oil to fill them, and fine bowls and plates of red clay.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="6f9an-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6f9an-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="6f9an-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Clay pots break,’ his father muttered. ‘What do we need of clay pots. And where is this bounty to come from?’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="a271f-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="a271f-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="a271f-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">But no-one in the hut had any doubt of the answer. Drosten collapsed back on his bed with a groan and covered his face with his arms. ‘What have you heard, brother?’ Duna asked quietly.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="7n101-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7n101-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="7n101-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Briga will lead the tribes south in the spring,’ Nechtan rose from beside the fire and stood next to the hanging sword. Seona, his eldest brother’s wife let out a soft gasp as her husband went to join Nechtan beside the blade. Now she understood their absence two days earlier and the thoughtful silence since. A pact had been made. A pact which sent a chill through her heart and that was made all the icier by Nechtan’s next words. ‘Keother has sent word pledging his warriors to fight at her side. We have been promised horses ...’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="aqk5j-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="aqk5j-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="aqk5j-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘And a second sword,’ Breth interrupted. ‘A sword forged for the hand of Keother himself.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="au4p0-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="au4p0-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="au4p0-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘And not just the Caledonian Picts,’ his brother continued. ‘Picts from the far north and the far west. A thousand Scotti are ready to set sail from Hibernia and Dalriada to march with us.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="4bnsb-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4bnsb-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="4bnsb-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘And what of the tribes who will stand in your way,’ Ciniath said. ‘What of the Selgovae, the Votadini and the Novantae? The thieving Damnonii who will no doubt swoop across the Bodotria to take everything that is left behind?’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="c1uhg-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="c1uhg-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="c1uhg-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘The Damnonii are pledged,’ Nechtan insisted. ‘Briga has persuaded them there is plunder for all and easy passage to the Wall. Keother does not know the detail, but he believes there is a pact and one or more of the others will join us.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="1bssj-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1bssj-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="1bssj-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘And the Romans on the Wall?’ Drosten spat from his bed. ‘Do you think they will just stand back and allow you free passage. Or those at Eboracum? A legion awaits you there. Will they stay behind their walls while you raid and plunder and burn?’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="b3gkf-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="b3gkf-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="b3gkf-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘A legion in name only,’ Ciniath felt the need to assert his authority. ‘Not a legion of old like those who scorched the earth of our lands and butchered all they found, man, woman and child.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="988c9-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="988c9-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="988c9-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘What do you know of a legion of old,’ Drosten sneered at his father. ‘The legions of old had been ghosts for a dozen generations in your own grandfather’s time. You told me that yourself.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="1rui3-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1rui3-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="1rui3-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘And I told you that tales of their might had been passed down through the ages in song and lore. Merciless killers who marched together as one, fought together as one and slaughtered together as one. They sheltered behind their big shields and meted out death with a sword barely as long as the dagger in my belt. Not even the bravest warrior could stand against them. Their mercy did not extend even to the beasts in the fields. Now only a single legion remains at Eboracum, and that a mere shadow of its forebears.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="4orb0-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4orb0-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="4orb0-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Weakened or not they drove Lucti and his army from south of the Wall like hunted deer not three summers ago,’ Duna said. ‘What has changed that Queen Briga is prepared to risk all again?’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="8rqkr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8rqkr-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="8rqkr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Lucti was driven out by an army sent by Rome, as was Gartnait before him,’ an unexpected intervention from the taciturn Breth. ‘Rome is no longer capable of sending armies to help Britannia. She has her own troubles in Italia and Gaul.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="dptcp-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dptcp-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="dptcp-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Ah, Breth the great strategist talks as if he knows the actual locations of Italia and Gaul rather than they just being names to him,’ Drosten mocked his brother. ‘Did this great revelation come in a dream or did you see it in the clouds? More likely it is another secret from the mouth of the great Keother.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="2vrcm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2vrcm-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="2vrcm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘I know that we live on an island, brother, and that Italia and Gaul lie on the far side of a great sea. And yes, the information came from Keother, but Queen Briga was its source. She and her council greeted an emissary from Saxonia at Pennfahel where the turf wall meets the Bodotria. This Saxon assured her that Rome is assailed on every hand by war bands. In the spring they will combine with their brothers from Germania to destroy what remains of Rome’s legions. They urged her to act when the ground softens and the rowans are in bud. There will be no saviours from across the sea for Britannia this time.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="d8r4c-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d8r4c-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="d8r4c-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Ciniath struggled up from his seat and limped to take his place beside his able-bodied sons. With difficulty he reached up to lift the sword from its peg. ‘This blade was placed in my hands by Talorc, son of Gartnait. I can no longer wield it, but my eldest son will carry it in my stead.’ He handed the sword to Breth, who accepted with a short bow of the head. ‘May he bring honour to this family and avenge his brother for the injuries he suffered.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="61d95-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="61d95-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="61d95-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Will your vengeance bring me back my hands,’ Drosten’s voice rose a shout. ‘I can still feel the blade cutting through my flesh and smashing my bones. The very blade I carried to Alona,’ he spat, ‘to bring honour to my family. Three blows it took and I howled like a dog as each was struck.’ Duna pushed him back on the bed, but he would not be silenced. ‘Rome may be weak, but sgriosadair beatha is anything but. Outnumbered or not he will bring his horse soldiers against Briga’s army. What then?’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="57cui-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="57cui-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="57cui-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Breth drew the sword from its scabbard with rasping hiss. ‘It has been foretold,’ he said quietly. ‘One way or another the Lord of the Wall will be dead by the time Briga’s army reaches the Wall.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="actil-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="actil-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="actil-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">He froze as a low growl rose from deep in the hunting dog’s chest. She rose to her feet, eyes fixed on the covered doorway. ‘Down Tuiren,’ Ciniath snapped, but there was a breathlessness in his chest. When his eyes met those of his sons he saw the same message there. ‘Duna? You know what to do,’ Duna was already gathering cloaks and furs and the other women collected the children. ‘Up the gully and onto the crag. You’ll have a cold night, but you’ll be safe there. Drosten ...’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="5nrrt-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5nrrt-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="5nrrt-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘I stay.’</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="cdqtk-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="cdqtk-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="cdqtk-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">In the distance they could hear the unmistakeable drum of hoofbeats.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="a4ngd-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="a4ngd-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="a4ngd-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Hurry girl!’ Ciniath struggled to hide the panic in his voice.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="eg3vm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="eg3vm-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="eg3vm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="10q3u-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="10q3u-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="10q3u-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="5bt3g-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5bt3g-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="5bt3g-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="57sf0-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="57sf0-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="57sf0-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="6f96v-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6f96v-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="6f96v-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="c2o5o-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="c2o5o-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="c2o5o-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">And, of course, if you like The Wall, you're going to love The Barbarian, out on June 8.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="bq5m8-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bq5m8-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="bq5m8-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="35kaf-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="35kaf-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="x1fey0fg" style="color: var(--blue-link); font-family: inherit;">https://www.amazon.co.uk/Barbarian-Douglas-Jackson/dp/1787634825/</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="9dv9h-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9dv9h-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="9dv9h-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="51ud0" data-offset-key="a0jl7-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><script type="text/javascript">
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-13192878117778547702023-03-21T03:28:00.002-07:002023-06-05T13:21:57.376-07:00THE MISSING LINKS 1<div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xdj266r x126k92a" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Quite a lot of what I write in the original drafts of my books doesn't make it to the final version. Not because it's not interesting, but because sometimes description and reflection gets in the way of the flow of the story. I thought it might be interesting to my readers if I put a few setpieces I cut from The Wall up here. The first one is from Marcus's visit to King Corvus of the Selgovae at Bremenium (High Rochester) and it provides an insight into what the abandoned fort <span style="font-family: inherit;"><a style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit;" tabindex="-1"></a></span>might have been like. </div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">MARCUS'S mind took time to respond to the urgent summons after the night of feasting and drinking at Bremenium. His head throbbed and his mouth tasted as if something had died in it. All he wanted to do was turn over, but the enormous paw shaking his shoulder would not be denied.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">‘What is it?’ He struggled to his feet, stretched and scratched an itch under his armpit, a gift from the fleas that infested the straw they’d been lying on. A single lamp nurtured a swiftly dying flame and King Corvus of the Selgovae replenished its oil with the dregs of a second. It struck Marcus as odd, because the nearest window showed signs of the first dull rays of the dawn. Caradoc entered through the open door tightening the belt on his braccae. He stirred the ash of the fire to produce a faint glow that ignited the fresh moss and twigs. The flames looked inviting, but Marcus picked up his cloak and followed Corvus to the door.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">‘We found it when we were searching the place,’ Corvus led the way from the barrack into the chill morning air. Marcus shivered and wrapped the cloak tighter about his body. ‘Somebody had piled rubble around the entrance, but a little of it had fallen away, enough to see the wooden door. It made me suspicious because every other piece of timber in the place had been burned.’ They passed a ruined granary on the right and Marcus saw their destination was the derelict remains of the principia, once the largest building in the fort. ‘I thought they might have left their treasure behind,’ Corvus grinned over his shoulder, ‘but I was disappointed.’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">They passed through the remains of the gate and crossed the cobbled courtyard. A wing of ruined buildings flanked them on either side and another faced them to the north. The northern building had consisted of three separate rooms, but the front wall had collapsed to reveal a pair of partitions, charred beams and scattered heaps of roof tiles. Marcus immediately recognized their destination. The rooms to the right and left were where the commander of Bremenium and his clerks had administered the running of the fort, but the central one was different. His heart quickened as they approached what had once been the most sacred place in Bremenium.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Debris cracked beneath their feet on the stone flagstones as they approached a rubble pile appreciably larger than the others. Corvus’s warriors had cleared the blackened stones and burned timbers to reveal a wooden door. The door was the entrance to a sunken stone chamber hurriedly covered up when the fort was abandoned. This room was the sacellum, where the standards of the garrison had been kept in honoured isolation. Once, it would have been a shrine, almost a place of worship. More recently the increasing influence of the Christian faith had blurred the lines between glorification, idolization and devotion. Many commanders now combined the sacellum with a chapel, as Marcus’s predecessor had done at Hunnum and Arrius at Vindobala. Yet the military was an essentially conservative organization and the distinction was ignored as often as it was honoured. However, the primary function of the sunken chamber persisted. It was the fort’s strong room.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">The rubble had protected the sturdy wooden door from the flames that devoured the rest of the building, but Corvus’s men had little trouble in forcing it open. Corvus ducked beneath the lintel and manoeuvered his massive bulk into the cramped entrance. Marcus followed as well as he could to where the chamber opened out beneath a vaulted ceiling, illuminated by the Selgovae king’s lamp.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">‘It seems to me these must have been important,’ Corvus lowered the lamp to throw light on an object lying on the stone floor. ‘I would be interested in the meaning of the symbols.’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Marcus knew the Selgovae, like the other northern tribes, were neither interested nor tutored in the art of writing. Corvus had educated himself enough to speak a rough form of Latin common on the frontier that allowed him to communicate with Roman officials. He was capable of being understood, more or less, and he could absorb a simple answer. But the knowledge he retained, prodigious though it was, had only been passed from generation to generation in story and song through men with memories like Marcus’s spy.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Marcus looked down at the object at his feet, a worked slab of stone about a sword blade in length and about half that in width. The letters CDN ET were clearly visible across the top portion of the slab. He had to squint to make out the message on the main part and he read the words aloud as their substance revealed itself. ‘It is an altar and it says: To the Genius – that is the guardian spirit – of our lord and of the standards of the First Cohort of Vardulli and of Gordianus’s unit of scouts based at Bremenium, Egnatius Lucilianus, Emperor’s propraetorian legate, set this up under the charge of Cassius Sabinianus, tribune.’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Corvus frowned. ‘So an Emperor visited this place?’ The notion clearly impressed him.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Not then,’ Marcus shook his head. ‘Though they certainly passed through Bremenium more than once. It was ordered on his behalf by Lucilianus, his general in Britannia, perhaps even the governor of the province, and carried out by the commander of the fort, Sabinianus.’ It struck him that Sabinianus might be the one time commander of the Ala Sabiniana, but it was a common enough name. He knew of no link between the Vardulli, who had their origins in a Gaulish tribe, and the Pannonians of Hunnum.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Corvus’s light shifted to show a second slab placed carefully beside the first. Marcus blinked when he realized what it was. ‘This looks like a stone set up to commemorate the building of the fort and it mentions a genuine Emperor, Antoninus Pius, Conqueror of Parthia, Conqueror of Britannia and Conqueror of Germania, and a list of other titles. It says his First Loyal Cohort of Vardulli, Roman citizens, part-mounted and a thousand strong, called Antoniniana, built this.’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">A bark of laughter escaped Corvus. ‘If this Emperor Pius conquered all of Britannia he did not keep it long.’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Marcus acknowledged the truth of it with a smile. ‘You know of the outer wall far to the north, that once separated this part of Britannia from the Caledonian Picts?’ </div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Of course,’ Corvus said. ‘All men know of it. My father once told me it had been whispered in his own father’s time that when the Romans walked the ramparts of the north wall the Selgovae were the sworn allies of Rome, aye, and more than that, even citizens of Rome. What do you think of that Marcus Flavius Victor?’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">‘I think it’s possible,’ Marcus admitted. The little he knew of Rome’s Emperors was confined to their contacts with Britannia and, like Hadrian, Antoninus Pius had more impact than most. As part of Marcus’s education his blood-father decreed he spend time in Londinium learning about the province’s administration. He’d been thirteen or fourteen, and when he wasn’t being flogged for ogling the pretty, but always inaccessible, city girls, he had spent time with a clerk learning the history of the island. ‘When Pius built his wall, the lands of the Selgovae, the Votadini, the Damnonii and the Novantae became part of the Empire. The earthen wall was manned for more than twenty years, long enough for your chiefs, if not their people, to learn Roman ways and become Roman citizens.’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Corvus looked thoughtful for a moment. He took a last look at the two stone slabs and nodded. ‘It is time we talked’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">This time he led the way to the northern rampart where the flagstone walkway remained largely intact. Corvus placed a hand on the dressed stone of the wall and ran a finger along the mortar. ‘This Emperor Pius, he built to last,’ he turned to look across the fort and down towards the valley where the smoke from scores of cooking fires marked the location of Marcus’s force. ‘A thousand men, eh?’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Marcus nodded. Both men were thinking the same. A thousand soldiers in a single cohort seemed impossible in these days when the manpower of many units could be numbered in the low hundreds. Yet Marcus knew the building slab didn’t lie. The First Vardulli would have had an infantry contingent of just under eight hundred men, supported by two hundred and forty cavalry. This fortress and their presence here also told him something else. Antoninus Pius or his advisers had been wary of the threat from the Selgovae.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Before its abandonment this remote outpost had undoubtedly been one of the most heavily defended forts in Britannia, manned by a military unit with the fighting power of a present-day legion. The platform where they stood had been built to hold an onager a catapult capable of throwing a boulder the size of Corvus’s great head four hundred paces. Any barbarian force foolish enough to attack Bremenium would have been battered to pieces in a welter of smashed bone and flying limbs long before they reached the walls. That extension of Roman power was here for a reason. Whatever the legalities of their status, Corvus’s Selgovae ancestors had never bent the knee to Rome.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">‘An ambitious man could do a great deal with a thousand well-trained and well-armed men, the Selgovae suggested. ‘Whole kingdoms could be ripe for the plucking.’ Marcus sensed Corvus studying him, but he kept his eyes on the valley below. ‘But a thousand men is a lot of shit,’ Corvus continued, ever mindful of the practicalities. ‘We’ve only been here two days and the stone shit pits in the outhouse are overflowing.’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">‘They’d have diverted a stream from up there,’ Marcus pointed to the northern height in the distance, ‘to carry it away. The pipes will have broken underground.’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">‘You have the silver?’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Of course,’ Marcus smiled. ‘We have an agreement.’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">‘But not here?’</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Of course, not.’ Do you take me for an idiot?</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjo3fqSxdyhxeviDWNYorod4srvc8ePnGmIa4SGlpLZDc5swl1IGUFt7mgicVdpGUUiXoqsSMMfPbNFc4l4VLUiJsddxgtjWe-_wFght1leGJzFwvpWKiq_SfiT2vxemxMSvZYoiBozcq2VKGxUU1hhBoLHksbfRzUZI1LH3rvhCrvjL6GmbgyKkQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1109" data-original-width="1300" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjo3fqSxdyhxeviDWNYorod4srvc8ePnGmIa4SGlpLZDc5swl1IGUFt7mgicVdpGUUiXoqsSMMfPbNFc4l4VLUiJsddxgtjWe-_wFght1leGJzFwvpWKiq_SfiT2vxemxMSvZYoiBozcq2VKGxUU1hhBoLHksbfRzUZI1LH3rvhCrvjL6GmbgyKkQ" width="281" /></a></div><br /></div></div><script type="text/javascript">
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-36446546074067815852021-05-11T08:04:00.001-07:002021-05-11T08:07:28.757-07:00WRITING AND FIGHTING<br />I STUMBLED on this interview I did on my approach to writing battle scenes for the Historical Novel Society a few years back, and I thought it was worth reviving. Hope you enjoy!<script type="text/javascript">
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</script><div><br /></div><div><div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: garamond, "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><b style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">1) In <span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic;">Avenger of Rome</span>, there is a climatic battle scene which is detailed and riveting. When you set out to write battle scenes on such a large scale, what are the technical building blocks that you use to create them?</b></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic;"><span class="yiv979028044Apple-style-span" face="arial, helvetica, sans-serif" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: small;"><span class="yiv979028044Apple-style-span" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">There are two types of battle that require slightly different approaches. The first is where there is a historical record and you have the choice of fitting your action and your narrative into a factual framework. There's a good example of this in my book Claudius where the invading legions meet the combined tribes of Britain under Caratacus in a climactic battle on the Thames (although it may have been the Medway). The Roman historian Cassius Dio has left us a few details - for instance we know how many and which legions take part - and I used them as the foundations for my battle plan. The second type is where you are writing an entirely fictional battle as in Avenger and Hero of Rome, the first in the Valerius series.</div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Firstly you have to remember that you're omnipotent, you can go anywhere and see and experience anything: to a certain extent the battlefield is your deadly playground. Then you have to approach your battle like a general. I've been fortunate to have a lifetime of reading military memoirs and factual books about battles, and it's something I really enjoy. The building blocks are the forces at your disposal and the forces at your enemy's disposal, the effectiveness of both sides' weapons and technology, and finally the terrain. In Hero of Rome, the battle is fought at Roman Colchester, and I was able to use the terrain, rivers, slopes and the city walls, to conduct a defence. In Avenger, thanks to Google earth, I was fortunate to discover the perfect position in eastern Turkey where a relatively weak Roman army could hold off a much stronger Parthian force, and I used the terrain and Valerius's experience to help him win it.</div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>2) Gaius Valerius Verrens is the complex hero of the Rome series, how do you sustain his character arc through a series of books while not allowing him to be overshadowed by new impressive characters like Corbulo in Avenger of Rome?</b><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">All of my characters, even the relatively minor ones, are real people to me. By accident or design Valerius starts off in Hero of Rome as a relatively young and rather inexperienced officer whose life is dictated by his father. I think everyone is moulded to a certain extent by their experiences, and we know that war changes people. What Valerius suffers in book 1, dictates who he is in book 2, and so on. He grows older, he's a little wiser, but he still makes mistakes. I don't worry about other characters overshadowing him because that happens in life, and he's living in an age of great and sometimes terrible men. Nero, Seneca, Vespasian, Corbulo, Vitellius, Peter and Paul; all men of power who have to be portrayed that way.</div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">3) </span><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic;">Hero of Rome</span> was a battle driven book and <span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic;">Defender of Rome</span> was more concerned with political events while your latest <span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic;">Avenger of Rome</span> balanced the two expertly. Where are you planning to bring the next book in the Rome series, e.g. will it be more political? Also how far is it from publication and can you give us an idea of its plot?</b><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I wanted Valerius to face different challenges in each book. I'd get very bored if he simply marched into battle every time. Fortunately Valerius lives in endlessly interesting times. Sword of Rome (the provisional title) carries on more or less directly from Avenger and plunges Valerius straight into the Year of the Four Emperors, eighteen months of bloody civil war which almost tore Rome apart. Valerius has come into contact with all the main protagonists and that places him at the centre of events. It's a mix of political subterfuge and constant threat that builds up to the first battle of Bedriacum. It's with my editor now and I think/hope it has the same qualities as Avenger: a real epic blockbuster. </div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">4) You rewrote history in your last book with the decisive battle in </span><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic;">Avenger of Rome</span> not drawn from the historical record. When you sat down to consider making changes to the history narrative, what were the pros and cons you thought about?</b><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I have a huge respect for the historical record and I try wherever possible to work within it, although I reserve the right to read between the lines and come to my own conclusion whether it is accurate or not. Most of the sources we deal with in First century Rome were written between fifty and a hundred and fifty years after the events they record and by men with their own political convictions and motivations. When I came up with the idea of Valerius meeting Corbulo I had no idea the great general's battles had all been fought by that point. I wrestled with lots of possibilities, including abandoning the book altogether, but the more I researched, the more I realised that the conditions were there for Vologases to make a surprise attack, and that Corbulo the man I envisaged would have reacted accordingly. It's known that Emperors expunged the names and records of great men who attracted their ire. Why not let Nero do that with Corbulo's final victory?</div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>5) In a recent panel at the HNS 2012 conference, it was stated that Roman historical fiction is in general more popular in the UK than in the US. Do you think that's true in your experience? If so, what is the attraction for your UK readers to Roman historical fiction do you think? If not, do reactions to your books differ greatly between your UK and US readers?</b><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The short answer to the first part of your question is Yes. I think UK readers are attracted to the Romans, because, like much of the rest of Europe, Rome has left its stamp all around them, with roads, villas, forts and marching camps. They're curious about these alien people who lived among them two thousand years ago and created great monuments like Hadrian's Wall and magnificent buildings like those in Bath. The Romans were here for 370 years, but we know comparitively little about their lives. Hopefully my books, and others like them, help fill in the gaps</div></div>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-41303372671810040252020-04-18T03:29:00.000-07:002020-04-18T03:58:10.635-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE - The new Gaius Valerius Verrens story<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "times new roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">CHAPTER 1</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">In the dream, Fuscus spoke to him, but not the Fuscus he had known, fat and jovial and with a wit as sharp as the point of a gladius. This Fuscus had flesh the colour of week old ashes and his pale lips were drawn back from teeth bared in a snarl, or more likely a grimace of agony. Valerius held Fuscus’s severed head in his hand. He knew he was dreaming, but the weight of the head was comfortingly familiar, because this was not the first time he had carried the late governor of Moesia’s skull. His memory drifted idly to another dreamlike day, his feet tethered beneath the belly of a Dacian pony and his fingers twisted in the dark curls of which Fuscus had been so proud. The warriors of King Decebalus’s bodyguard had laughed as they passed among the rotting, naked corpses carpeting the field of sorrow at Tapae, all that remained of the mighty Fifth Legion Alaudae. Cornelius Fuscus had led them, under protest, at the direct command of his Emperor, to ambush and defeat beyond the Danuvius, and, dishonoured by the loss of the legion’s eagle, fought to the last when he could have fled. Gaius Valerius Verrens had fought at his side.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">For a few moments he struggled to understand what Fuscus was trying to tell him. The mangled lips moved, but the sound was faint as a distant whisper and the words blurred together. He might have been talking a different language and not the polished, aristocratic Latin of a former Prefect of the Praetorian Guard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then, as if a curtain had been drawn back, it came to him. ‘Flee, Valerius,’ the gaping mouth screamed. ‘Flee for your life and that of your family. His is a hatred that will never die. He will never stop hounding you.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Titus Flavius Caesar Domitianus Augustus. Emperor of Rome. Master and God. Pontifex Maximus. Murderer. Torturer. Betrayer. Enemy unto death.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Domitian.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lord?’ The dream faded to be replaced by a moment of confusion. A callused hand shook his shoulder. ‘Lord, we must be moving at dawn. They cannot be far behind.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He opened his eyes to find a shadowy figure stooped over him silhouetted by stars that glittered sharply in the inky sky. Other shadows bustled around the tethered horses down by the stream. A little dell surrounded by trees, he remembered, reached by rocky ground and far enough from the road to feel secure. No fire, of course, the flames would invite a spear between the shoulders. With a jolt of fear he realised something was missing.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The lady is preparing our food lord.’ The voice took on a disapproving tone.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">At least she won’t poison us, Shabolz. Unlike one of your stews.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">His words brought a bark of laughter from Shabolz, the man who had carried him from the field of Mons Graupius when Gnaeus Julius Agricola would have left him for dead. The man who had vowed to serve him unto death. They’d been on cold rations for a week or more and would break their fast with stale bread, hard cheese and perhaps a few dried out olives. </span><span style="color: #00000a;"><span style="font-family: "timesnewromanpsmt" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tall and slim with close-cropped sandy hair, serious gray eyes and handsome regular features, t</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he Pannonian cavalryman had barely changed since the day they’d met at Valerius’s villa outside Rome seven years earlier. A warrior born to the saddle, he was all that was left of Valerius’s bodyguard. Shabolz walked off chuckling and Valerius’s spirits rose. For all their peril he could not have been favoured with better companions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius drew back his blanket and pushed himself to his feet, grunting with the ache of half a dozen old wounds. His back felt as if he’d lain on a bed of knives and his twisted left leg shook when he put his weight on it. A stiff cowhide stock over his forearm held in position the oak fist that replaced the right hand he’d lost so long ago in Britannia. In normal times he would have removed it to sleep, but these were not normal times. He untied the laces with the practised fingers of his left hand and pulled the stock free of the arm. From a leather sack at his side he retrieved a clay bottle and uncorked it with his teeth to pour a little of the oil inside on the chafed flesh of his stump. After replacing cork and bottle he massaged the oil into his flesh, resisting the impulse to groan with the pleasure of it. When it was done he slipped the socket back in place and redid the laces.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Another, less bulky figure appeared from the darkness and he didn’t require the gift of sight to be aware of the presence of his wife.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">You should have woken me earlier,’ he said as Tabitha thrust a crust of bread into his hand and bent to buckle a long cavalry sword to his belt. ‘And Shabolz thinks it’s not fitting that a princess of Emesa should have to work like a common serving girl.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz stayed awake on guard all night.’ It wasn’t news. The Pannonian had kept watch every night since they’d been forced to flee Viminacium, sleeping in the saddle during the day to maintain his strength. ‘There,’ she completed her task. ‘You old men need your sleep,’ she continued. ‘Or you become irritable.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Old?’ His mock outrage made her smile, as it always did. ‘If you’d still been under the blanket when I woke I’d have showed you ...’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hush,’ she put a finger to his lips. ‘The children are close.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They stood together, basking in the comfort of each other’s presence, passing the crust between them and taking alternate sips of icy river water from a brass cup. In the pre-dawn silence Valerius could hear Lucius preparing the horses for the day and showing his sister how to secure the various straps and buckles. The boy was at the stage where he seemed to grow a few inches every week. At the age of twelve his head already reached to his father’s shoulder. A good boy, gentle and kind, perhaps too gentle for his own good, but with a keen intelligence and quick mind that undoubtedly came from his mother. Olivia, five years younger, and with Tabitha’s golden skin and raven hair, had a mercurial quality that kept her constantly on the move, and an insatiable curiosity about her surroundings that Shabolz cheerfully satisfied. He heard her yelp of delight as the Pannonian went to help them with the saddles. Six horses, four saddled and two spares that also carried their provisions, what little they had left.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The sun rose in the trees behind Valerius and the dappled light fell on Tabitha’s face. Her slim figure hidden beneath a baggy peasant’s tunic and green braccae, she was as beautiful as she had been on the day he had saved her life on the road to Apamea. True, tiny lines etched the skin at the corners of her eyes and her dark hair was shot with silver. But old? They didn’t feel old or, when the opportunity arose, act it either, but they were certainly getting older. Valerius was close to fifty now, and his once dark hair was almost white. Yet, his wounds apart, he was still vigorous and his mind remained as sharp as it had ever been. It needed to be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Their eyes met and he knew Tabitha’s thoughts precisely mirrored his own.</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="__DdeLink__5883_28194429"></a><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How could everyone act so normally when they could all be dead by the time the sun went down?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They would probably have been dead already if it hadn’t been for Shabolz’s skills and knowledge of the country. It </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">wasn’t </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>his </i></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">country. Pannonia lay far to the west behind them. He’d somehow kept them on a course parallel with the Via Militaris, the road that carried official traffic between Singidum and far off Byzantium. As far as Valerius could tell they were somewhere in the east of Moesia, perhaps even in Thrace, two day’s ride or more south of the mighty Danuvius river. A land of towering, precipitous mountains where eagles soared on the breeze above shadowed tree-lined gorges filled with tumbling streams and sometimes impassable rivers. Yet Shabolz always seemed to know when a river valley would have a potential escape route instead of a dead end. He never hesitated when they came to a fork in the forest track and he understood the ways of the animals and birds and every subtlety of their alarm signals. A jay’s cry was different if it had been disturbed by a weasel or a badger. A fox gave a different bark if a bear or a wolf was close. Each of them had a specific cry for man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Those skills had never been more vital than in the forest. Four days earlier the Pannonian had sensed some presence in their wake. He’d waited until they’d reached an area where they could dismount and lead their horses up a rock incline away from the track and into hiding in the forest above. Twenty minutes later Valerius watched from a crag as a well-armed column of twenty men in black cloaks passed on the track below, so close he could hear the sound of their mounts’ hooves. They had a wariness and a sense of purpose that Valerius understood all too well. Not soldiers, hired killers. When their leader turned to scan his surroundings with flat, dead eyes, Valerius had recognized the pale features with a shiver of dread. Claudius Durio, Domitian’s most feared torturer and assassin. He’d vowed there and then that Tabitha, Lucius and Olivia would never be allowed to fall into Durio’s hands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The ruse that had taken them to the crag, and the diversion that followed, bought them time and space, but both were now running out. At the start of each day a decision must be made.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">As the children finished preparing the horses, Valerius, Tabitha and Shabolz crouched over a patch of dry earth. Valerius drew a dagger from his belt and scratched three lines in the dirt. ‘North, south or do we continue due east?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">East,’ Tabitha said firmly. ‘We agreed that only in Emesa will we be safe.’ Emesa was the Syrian city where she had been brought up. They would be under the protection of her uncle, the king. ‘Whatever we do to put them off our scent we must always move east.’ She saw the doubt on Shabolz’s face. ‘We can make a feint to north or south once we are on the move. They’ll be expecting a change of direction. We can use that to our advantage.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The only reason for going north is to take ship on the Danuvius. If we do it, we have to be certain of a boat. That means a big town, Oescus or Novae. They’re busy ports, places where tongues wag. We will only have one chance. No boat and we risk being trapped against the river and taken.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’d also have to sell the horses,’ Valerius said thoughtfully ‘But if we can reach the river, we can be on the Great Sea within days instead of weeks. The Great Sea will carry us to Trapezus. From Trapezus it is only a three day ride to the Euphrates Valley and the Euphrates will carry us as far south as Zeugma. From Zeugma I can lead us to Antioch blindfolded,’ he smiled at Tabitha. ‘And from Antioch you will guide us home.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not south, lord?’ Shabolz wondered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">If they turned south they could reach the Mare Adriaticum in less than a week, perhaps at Phillipi, where they could take ship directly to Syria. But the man who wanted them dead would know that too. The authorities at every port on the coast between Thesssalonica and Neapolis had likely already been alerted.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">No,’ Valerius decided. ‘That would make it easy for them. Tabitha is right. We will continue east for the moment.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Olivia – a miniature replica of her mother in tunic and braccae - and Lucius were already in the saddle, holding the reins of the remaining horses. Before he mounted, Valerius secured the leather sack to his saddle pommel. The misshapen object inside made it awkward and he wondered, as he did each morning, whether it would be better to throw it in the nearest river or bury it deep where it would never be found.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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CHAPTER 2</div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It took two months after the battle at Mons Graupius for Valerius’s injuries to recover sufficiently for him to resume his duties as</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>legatus iuridicus </i></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">at the governor’s palace in Londinium, though his shattered leg had never properly healed. Julius Agricola, whom Valerius suspected of sacrificing Valerius and his group of trusted bodyguards and friends, stayed in the north hunting down bands of rebel Celts, obsessed by Calgacus, the mighty Caledonian war chief whose body had never been found.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Though outwardly their lives returned to normal, Valerius and Tabitha were never able to relax. Emperor Domitian, though he basked in the glory of Agricola’s victory, had more than one reason to wish Gaius Valerius Verrens dead, and Domitian was a vengeful man. Every meal, however carefully prepared, might contain the potential for a painful death. Every dark passage could conceal the glint of an assassin’s knife. Valerius had finally allowed himself to believe they might yet survive when the news came. They were ordered to Rome immediately.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Run? What chance would they have when he was certain Domitian and Agricola were watching their every movement? No, they had no option but to return. Logic dictated that even a man as twisted as Domitian must have a reason for wishing to look Valerius in the eye. In that reason he might find some sort of salvation. Another cause for hope lay in Valerius’s friendship with the Emperor’s wife, Domitia Augusta. In her most recent communication Domitia had hinted that she held some power over her husband, and as long as that should be the case Valerius had nothing to fear. Valerius suspected her influence had something to do with the sudden and unexplained death of the Emperor’s predecessor, his brother, Valerius’s friend Titus.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">An anxious three week journey, each day mired in doubt and the children never allowed even an arm’s length away. By sea to Gesoriacum, a fast galley through Gaul on the Sequanna, overland to the Rhodanus, the port of Massilia and another ship across the Mare Nostrum to the capital. And confusion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not a death sentence, as it turned out, but a welcome. Summoned to Domitian’s palace on the Palatine Hill, Valerius entered a court bustling with preparations for war. A Dacian army had swarmed across the Danuvius frontier and attacked the province of Moesia. Sabinus, governor of the beleaguered province, had been butchered and his legions defeated by the barbarians.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The emperor praises your valour and your achievements in war,’ Domitian’s freedman Lucianus told him. ‘He wishes you to act as military adviser to the Praetorian Prefect Cornelius Fuscus when he pushes the Dacians back beyond the Danuvius. The Emperor himself will command the first stage of the campaign and it is his desire that your wife accompany you as companion to the Augusta. You will have all the honours and facilities that accompany your current rank.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fuscus would lead a force of three legions, First and Second Adiutrix and Fourth Flavia. Their commanders quickly accepted Valerius as one of their own, but Tabitha summed up their position best.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">If he cannot kill you,’ she whispered as they walked along a marbled corridor to the quarters they’d been allocated, ‘he wants you close enough to touch, for when the time comes. And it will come. He will try to lull us with soothing words, but we have never been in greater danger.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We have to find fodder for the horses,’ Shabolz </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">pointed out the blindingly obvious</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. Sweat ran down his face in the midday heat and he took a sip from his waterskin. ‘We riders can get by on the little we have, but they need full bellies, especially if we have to run.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius swatted vainly at the cloud of flies that buzzed around his face and over his mount’s bobbing head. They’d </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">rationed</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the hay they’d gathered in the rush to flee Viminacium as long as they could. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Now t</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">here as no avoiding it. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After days of keeping to</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">rough cattle tracks far from the main road </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">igns of habitation were few and far between, but Valerius had no doubt Shabolz would be able to find a farm or a charcoal burner’s camp relatively close by.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">‘When we reach the next farmstead you can go and barter for what we need,’ he held out a few silver pieces.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">You don’t know these people, lord.’Shabolz laughed. ‘They’re wolves down here. Like as not they’d take the silver, steal the horse, cut my throat and feed me to their pigs. Waste not, want not, is their way. They trust no-one. It’s not so long ago that the Dacians burned and butchered their way through this valley. The farms will only just be recovering and the farmers will be keeping what they have, just in case.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">So it has to be a town?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I doubt we can avoid it, lord.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then it must be Trimontium.’ Trimontium, the place of the three hills, was the next </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">substantial settlement</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">on their route, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">an important trading place.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius had hoped to avoid the centre of the city, but there was no helping it. Once they reached Trimontium </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">would finally have to take the decision he’d been avoiding. ‘How far do you think?’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz shrugged. ‘We could be there before nightfall, but best we arrive when they’re still waking up. We can be in and out of the city before anyone realizes we were there.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They camped for the night within sight of the torches on Trimontium’s walls. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Farmers began queuing at the gates in the loom of the highest of the city’s three hills well before first light. As dawn broke Valerius and his companions slipped </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">slipped in amongst </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the carts taking their produce to market.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He’d hoped to find some trader with</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">fodder </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to sell and save them entering</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, but </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he hoped in vain. Instead, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz bartered for a squealing suckling pig on a rope that would help them blend in with the crowd.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius led the way</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">through the central arch </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">of the gateway </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">without incident and </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">they found themselves in</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a street that was already </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">crowded. Trimontium was a typically Roman city, laid out on an orderly grid system, with soaring three storey apartment buildings that blocked out the light and open-fronted shops at ground level. At this time of day the shopkeepers were laying out their wares on wooden tables. Bolts of cloth in a dozen different colours, jugs, bowls and pots, leather shoes and jerkins, amphorae of wine stacked against walls. Already the scent of simmering stews and freshly baked bread hung in the air, tantalising the nostrils and reminding Valerius that it wasn’t only the horses that needed resupply. Yet look a little closer and </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">it</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">wasn’t really Roman at all. The people who thronged the streets even at this early hour were dressed in tunics and dresses that would look more at home in the east. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">To a tutored eye, like Tabitha’s, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the detail of the buildings was recognizably </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hellenic</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, which wasn’t surprising, because not so long ago Trimontium had been Philippopolis. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">T</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">inhabitants</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">still considered themselves Greek and </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">conversed among themselves in a language that was more Greek than Latin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They led their horses at a walk, with Shabolz and Valerius in the lead and Tabitha following with the children. The squealing suckling pig dug in its heels in on the cobbles and Lucius had to pick up the squirming animal and tuck it under his arm.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We need to find a stables,’ Valerius said.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then we should look for an inn,’ Tabitha called. ‘And the best place to find an inn is close to the forum.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The street they were on proved to be the Decumanus Maximus, one of the city’s two main thoroughfares, which meant it would lead directly to the forum. They pushed their way through the growing throng until they reached a broad open space surrounded by a colonnaded walkway on three sides and dominated by a complex of massive public buildings to the north.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">More</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">streets</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">led from the paved forum and on one of them Valerius spotted the sign for an inn, which </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">fortunately</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">proved to have an ostler’s yard attached. They tied the horses to a rail and allowed the </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">animals</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to drink from a trough while Shabolz strode off to negotiate with the owner for a dozen bags of hay. In the meantime, Tabitha went in search of food while Valerius watched the horses from a corner of the courtyard and the children played nearby, taking turns at chasing the</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">bemused</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">piglet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">His attention was so focussed on their antics it never occurred to him that they might be being watched.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Two men stared out from the shaded entrance to an alley on the other side of the street from the ostler’s yard where they’d spent many bored hours since receiving their orders two days earlier. One older, with a bald head and a cast to his right eye, the other, an almost girlishly handsome young man with dark hair, they’d been told to look out for a specific group. Two men, a woman and two children, a boy and a girl. Every inn and stables in the centre of Trimontium was being similarly observed, because their leader believed his quarry must pass through this busy crossroads city and they would take the opportunity to rest their horses and replenish their supplies. Only one more vital detail was needed to prove them correct.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As the day warmed, Valerius pushed his cloak back from his shoulders and allowed it to fall on the stone wall of the trough beside him. The younger man, whose sharp eyesight had given him the name </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">T</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he Hawk, whispered to the older with an authority that would have surprised anyone who didn’t know him and the bald man nodded and slipped away silently up the alley. The Hawk felt his excitement grow as he watched the children play. His commander had offered a reward for the hunter who first identified his prey, and he’d already decided what that reward would be. His pretty features hid a pitiless depravity that sickened even the most merciless of his comrades. The handsome woman who’d accompanied the children had excited him and it excited him more to picture the entertainment she would provide when she fell into his hands. It was amazing what tricks even the bravest of women could be persuaded to perform when her daughter was chained naked to the wall with a glowing brazier and a pair of red hot shears in front of her. The possibilities were endless, and the young man had an unlimited imagination. He smiled and continued his surveillance. Not long now. As long as they didn’t move on too soon.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That’s enough play for the moment,’ Valerius warned his children.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lucius had the piglet on its rope as he ran around the stable yard pursued by Olivia, but as he neared the open gate for the last time, the little animal slipped the noose and ran for freedom, with Olivia in its wake.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">No,’ Valerius shouted as she ran into the roadway.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But in her excitement Olivia was beyond hearing.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The piglet darted this way and that, suddenly seeing its opportunity in the darkened opening opposite the gate. Olivia instinctively gave chase. As she entered the alley she was halted abruptly by a hand that darted out and took her by the shoulder. Before she could cry out, she was spun round to face her father and she froze at the sting of a blade at her neck.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Don’t struggle, girl,’ an almost gentle voice instructed, ‘or you’ll cut your own throat.’ </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Hawk stepped into the sunlight at the alley’s entrance. Two or three people passing nearby gaped in astonishment and fear at the sight of the knife at the girl’s throat. ‘This is Imperial business,’ he snapped. ‘Anyone who interferes will regret it. You,’ he called to Valerius as the street cleared, ‘stay where you are, and the boy.’ </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Don’t move, Lucius,’ Valerius ordered. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Father,’ Olivia cried.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shut it, girl.’ The voice was no longer gentle.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Stay quiet, Olivia.' Fear, desperation and helplessness made Valerius's voice as brittle as an old man's. 'Don’t hurt her, please.’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Nobody’s getting hurt as long as you stay just where you are,’ the young man smiled. ‘But if you or the boy moves, I’ll cut her. I’m not sure whether to take her nose,’ the knife flickered upwards and Olivia let out a squeal, ‘or one of her eyes. Don’t make me decide which.’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Nobody will move,’ Valerius assured him. ‘What is this all about?’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I think you know that already, friend. Someone important wants to have words with the one-handed man and is willing to pay handsomely for it. A few of my friends will be along soon to make sure it happens.’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then you only need me,’ Valerius tried to keep his tone conversational. He needed to make sure the man holding the blade at Olivia’s throat stayed calm. ‘I wont give you any trouble. The children are of no use to you. You can just let them go.’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I might have other ideas,’ The Hawk grinned.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">From the corner of his eye and just out of the knife man’s vision, Valerius could see Tabitha edging cautiously along the front wall of the adjoining building.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">One part of Valerius’s mind screamed at his wife to go back before she killed Olivia and herself, while the other applauded her courage and ingenuity as he stood helpless and frozen to the spot. He looked at the knife man for some sign of insecurity, but the youth appeared entirely in control. Why should he not with the empty alley at his back and his flanks partially covered by the walls on either side?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Inch by precarious inch, Tabitha eased herself along the stuccoed wall, a look of the utmost concentration on her face, though her wide eyes reflected her terror for Olivia and her burning hatred for the man who held her. A leopardess intent on protecting her brood. But a leopardess without claws, for she was completely unarmed.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I think there has been some kind of mistake.’ All Valerius could do was fight to keep the attention of Olivia’s abductor.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">You’re the one who made the mistake when you annoyed our powerful friend,’ the accompanying smile was as steady as the blade at Olivia’s throat. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to think about that while you’re being transported back to Rome in a stinking cage. Meantime I’ll be entertaining your family, in a manner of speaking. I have quite broad tastes. I don’t mind where it goes. I’m particularly looking forward to your wife. Shouldn’t she be back by now? She’s missing all the fun.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius bit the inside of his lip to stop himself glancing to his right, so hard his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. Tabitha was less than three short paces from her quarry, her back pressed hard against the wall. What would she do? What could she do without a weapon? She’d go for the knife hand, but all it would take was one stroke and Olivia would be gone. Valerius had seen it before. The look of astonishment, the sheet of red, and the obscene gurgle of someone drowning in their own blood. He tensed. Somehow he had to distract the knife man. But how? No chance of a mad rush with a fence between them. He tried to remember if there was something close he could throw. His pack. That was it. It had enough weight to stun a man. But where was it? He had to pick it up and launch it in a single movement. He allowed his left hand to drift down towards the bench. Tabitha inched ever closer and his mind screamed with despair. He was going to lose them both.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Don’t think you ...’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Hawk’s words were punctuated by a meaty crack and his head jerked back. A short feathered shaft appeared between his eyes and, with a sharp squeal not unlike the fugitive piglet, he toppled backwards taking Olivia with him. Lucius let out a cry of terror. Tabitha darted round the corner of the alley and stared at the fallen bodies. Valerius ran across the road to where Olivia lay with her eyes screwed shut and the knife edge still tight against her throat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Slowly she relaxed and the eyes opened one at a time. ‘Am I still alive, father?’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius bent and gently removed the hand with the knife and Tabitha stooped to take her daughter in her arms.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Amateurs,’ Valerius turned to where Shabolz was vaulting the fence. ‘They never learn when to keep their mouth shut.’ The auxiliary put his booted foot against dead man’s throat and grunted as he pulled the little weighted Pannonian throwing dart from his skull. ‘It’s time we were moving, and you,’ he turned to Lucius, ‘will have to find us supper. I was looking forward to that pig.’</span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">CHAPTER 3</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They headed north out of the city as soon as the horses were loaded with the supplies Tabitha and Shabolz had bought, crossing the bridge and taking the Via Claudia, the road through the mountains to the Danuvius. Normally, Valerius would have avoided the main road, but now, as he explained to Tabitha, his fear of Durio and his men reaching Oescus ahead of them meant the necessity for speed outweighed that for stealth.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’ll only truly be safe when we are on the ship taking us to the Great Sea,' he said. 'Durio will be hunting us, but he can’t be sure we haven’t continued on the Via Militaris heading for Byzantium, or even turned south towards Greece.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz dropped back to cover their rear. Whatever his final decision it was clear the Emperor’s assassin would send fast riders to check if they’d used the northern road. Sure enough, an hour into their journey, the Pannonian’s sharp whistle gave them warning to get off the road into hiding in a stand of trees while two riders galloped past.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">What happens if they come back?’ Lucius asked.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hopefully the same trick will work again,’ Shabolz said as he rode past to take the lead. ‘If it doesn’t we’ll think of something.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha rode with Olivia close on one side and Lucius on the other. Her head still reeled from the shock of what had happened only a few hours earlier and she wanted them close. She’d had no idea what she was going to do when she reached the man with the knife. It made her nauseous to think what might have happened to Olivia if Shabolz hadn’t been so certain of his ability with the throwing dart.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mama, do you ever wish we were back with the lady Augusta?’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Despite her troubled thoughts Tabitha managed a smile. The memories came tumbling back of the weeks and months they’d spent at the beating heart of the Empire in the company of a woman Valerius, by his own admission, had once loved, and her all-powerful husband who would have killed them all without the slightest qualm.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I miss the soft beds and rich food,’ she admitted. Domitian had travelled from Rome to Moesia at the head of the Empire’s entire apparatus of state, protected by his Praetorian Guard and a full legion. The never ending column had eaten and drunk its way up the length of Italia and crawled sedately across the broad plains of Pannonia and Dalmatia like a giant caterpillar, leaving a swathe of empty storehouses and dismayed landowners twenty miles wide behind it. Naturally, the Emperor’s palace household took pride of place at the head, preceded only by two cohorts of infantry and surrounded by a screen of cavalry close enough to act quickly but far enough away so the Imperial party didn’t have to eat their dust. Valerius and Tabitha were allocated a luxuriously appointed sprung wagon a few places behind that of Domitia Augusta, but Valerius preferred to travel with Shabolz and the men of his bodyguard who had accompanied him from Britannia. Tabitha spent most of her time with Lucius and Olivia, trying to keep them occupied, but she dined often with Domitia, sometimes alone, but mostly with the ladies of the court.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Domitia must have been close to forty, but with a dark, ageless beauty and a carriage and an authority that was a testament to her noble status. At first Tabitha had considered the Augusta haughty. She’d been prepared to dislike her, particularly given her past attachment to Valerius, but gradually she realized Domitian’s wife spent much of her time preoccupied and tense. She never knew when she might receive a summons from her husband, or what that summons might entail. Domitia in her turn made it plain she enjoyed Tabitha’s company and conversation, but preferred that they did not become close. Only once, when they were alone, did she unburden herself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">She summoned Tabitha when the dishes had been cleared after dinner and said very softly. ‘It is not in your interests to appear to be in my favour, nor in mine to be too friendly with you, but know this Tabitha, I have a fondness for you, and an obligation – only an obligation, I assure you – to your husband.’</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">On the tenth day of the expedition the Emperor’s entourage descended on Ravenna like a flock of locusts. Domitia’s officials requisitioned a fine house where she could stay the night and prepared a large room for a special banquet on the occasion of her thirty-seventh birthday. Tabitha was invited to attend as one of Domitia’s companions. She had little choice, though she dreaded the thought of being in close proximity to the Emperor who fostered such a visceral hatred for Valerius.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It quickly became apparent as they settled into their couches around an enormous gilt table that Domitian, though he sent his wife the blessings of the day, was too busy to make an appearance. Domitia showed no sign of displeasure as she accepted the congratulations of her companions. They included two or three young men, the husbands of her particular friends, who took care to keep a chaste distance – Domitian was known to harbour a sometimes fatal jealousy. A couch to Domitia’s right remained empty and Tabitha wondered if it had some kind of symbolism to do with the Emperor’s absence. She looked away, and when she looked back it had been filled. Her heart felt as if it had stopped.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">That face. It still had the burned out, tormented nobility she remembered, though the jowls were heavier and the broad forehead lined and creased. He contrived to wear his thinning hair in the Judaean style, tight-curled and an unlikely shade of crow black given the white that shot through his cropped beard. Heavier in the chest and the belly, but that was hardly surprising after fifteen years. The last time she’d seen him was in the Great Temple of Jerusalem with flaming timbers falling around their ears while they tried to kill each other.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Joseph Ben Mahtityahu.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The man raised his head with a frown, as if the name had echoed through the room. Their eyes met and she saw her own shock mirrored there. They ignored each other for the rest of the meal.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As the banquet broke up, Domitia waved Tabitha across.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You have not met Josephus,’ she introduced the man beside her. ‘An exotic in a court of exotics. He was Vespasian’s prisoner, Titus’s pet, and, for some reason that escapes me entirely, he retains my husband’s favour.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Emperor Domitianus treasures me for my wit and charm, as the lady Augusta knows full well,’ Josephus smiled. He bowed. ‘It is an honour to meet a fellow Judaean who has risen high in the Emperor’s favour.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Of course,’ Domitia frowned. ‘I should have introduced you earlier.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Perhaps I could have the pleasure of escorting the lady Tabitha back to her quarters. I long for news of my homeland and we may have acquaintances in common.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha allowed Josephus to drape her cloak across her shoulders, though his touch made her flesh creep. Together they walked through the growing dusk towards the wagon lines, accompanied by two of her slave girls who hovered just out of hearing distance.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They say it is always the fattest rat that survives, I see that is true.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I prefer to think of myself as the most cunning,’ Josephus showed no resentment at the insult.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’m sure the shades of Gamala’s defenders will be pleased to hear it.’ Josephus had been the commander of a Judaean fort besieged by the Romans and the unlikely sole survivor of a garrison who had all agreed to commit suicide. ‘What do you want of me? Is it my silence or my forgiveness?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is neither,’ Josephus said. ‘Anything you say cannot harm me and your forgiveness means nothing to me.’ He turned to her. ‘The court of Titus Flavius Caesar Domitianus Augustus can be a very dangerous place.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Is that a threat?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is a statement of fact.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then what,’ Tabitha demanded.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A person cannot have too many friends in this place.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You once stabbed a man who was a friend in the back.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Allies then. ‘Josephus shrugged, not caring to remember the knife he had plunged into Serpentius. ‘We shall be allies.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Why should I ally myself to a man I do not trust?’ Tabitha asked.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Josephus pondered the question for a few moments as they passed through the city gate and walked across the bridge to the causeway that led to the high ground of the wagon park. ‘We have a mutual interest in staying alive. As your husband knows better than most, an Emperor’s favour can be a fickle commodity,’ he looked over his shoulder to check that the servant girls were outwith hearing distance. ‘Shall I tell you a story?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As long as it’s not too dull.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Oh, it’s not dull. Not at all. It concerns a ruler, young and vigorous and loved by his people.’ He glanced at her and she nodded to signify her understanding that they were talking about Titus, Domitian’s brother. ‘Despite being in the prime of his life this ruler inexplicably fell ill, took to his bed and died. Naturally, no-one mourned more vocally than the ruler’s heir, soon to take up the burden of the crown. Yet his first task on mounting the throne was not to create a lasting memorial for his brother or hoist him to the pantheon. No, it was to make a list. A list of those who had grieved, offended, or failed him. It was a long list and it contained some surprising,’ his swarthy features took on a reflective look, ‘not to say perturbing, names.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It must have been a difficult time,’ Tabitha agreed. ‘Yet here we are.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Indeed, here we are. Both of us,’ Josephus said meaningfully. ‘And we owe our presence to the enterprise of a certain lady.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I think I understand ...’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">No, you must hear the rest. It became clear to those on the list – for the ruler made no secret of its existence or the purpose for which it had been created – that their continued wellbeing depended on the manufacture of a shield to deflect the inevitable blades that were coming their way. Fortunately, one person close to both brothers had been troubled for some time about the elder’s failing health and had made certain inquiries. These inquiries led her to a woman versed in a multitude ways of preparing mushrooms, sadly by then the victim of one of her own concoctions, and a servant who had disappeared in doubtful circumstances. The servant was a Judaean and she invited a gentleman of resource of the same race,’ Josephus nodded modestly to acknowledge Tabitha’s raised eyebrow, ‘to make inquiries into his whereabouts, or, if necessary his fate. It took many weeks and all his resources, but the gentleman not only discovered the boy was still alive, but also his whereabouts.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He must have had an interesting story to tell,’ Tabitha didn’t hide her growing respect. ‘If, of course, he could be persuaded to tell it.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Oh, he did, and in time he did tell it, in great detail and in front of two trusted jurists who took down his every word. Later they created four drafts of the testament on the finest parchment which were passed to powerful men who held prominent places on the list. Respected politicians whose word carried weight and whose story would have outraged a Senate which already hated and mistrusted their new ruler. And not just the Senate, but the people who had loved their former, now deceased, Emperor.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That was well done.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Yes, my mistress is wise, as well as beautiful.’ Josephus chose to drop the pretence. ‘She let it be known that multiple copies of the testament existed and that should there be any unexplained deaths or disappearances one would be presented to the Senate. Naturally, her husband is interested to know the locations of these papers that combine to thwart his will. To my knowledge he has tracked down two of the recipients. You will have noticed a substantial portion of the Senate accompany us?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Surely it is the custom for the Emperor to take his to take his closest advisers on campaign?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is,’ Josephus agreed, ‘but these are not his closest advisers. They are the men he trusts least and among them, he is certain, are all four holders of the testament. He cannot act until he is certain of the identity of all four, but when he does ...’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Our shield falls from our hands.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Precisely.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What do you want from us?’ Tabitha demanded.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Judaean’s voice became more urgent. ‘It may be that he will still have a use for either Valerius or myself, but it is unlikely both would be spared. If your time comes I will know quickly enough to provide you with fast horses and supplies to reach a place of sanctuary. All I ask is that you prepare the same for me.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How will you know when that time comes?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A certain person will give you adequate warning.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But won’t she be the first person on his list?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They reached the wagon lines. ‘If that is the case we are all dead anyway.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Josephus bowed and marched off into the growing darkness.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">CHAPTER 4</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They reached Oescus on the afternoon of the fourth day and Valerius quickly found an inn close to the port where they could rest. The town was swarming with off-duty legionaries from the Fifth Macedonica which garrisoned the nearby fort and he prayed he didn’t bump into any of his old comrades. Shabolz set off immediately to try to organize passage on a river craft heading east the next morning. Valerius had no doubt Durio would learn of the Pannonian’s inquiries, but there was no helping that. Shabolz returned just before nightfall to report that he’d found places on a trading vessel carrying timber and wine to the port of Tomis on the coast of the Great Sea, a journey that would take twelve and a half days. He carried two large sacks of provisions that should last them the length of the trip and the news that as much wine as they could drink was included in the extortionate price the ship’s owner had negotiated.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius discussed with Tabitha whether they should sell the horses. ‘There’s no knowing when we might need the silver,’ he pointed out. ‘But ...’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha shook her head. ‘If they find us before the boat sails tomorrow and we have no horses we might as well cut our own throats to save them the trouble of doing it. Better to release them at the wharf.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius nodded. It had been a long hard day in baking heat through the hill country south of the river and they were all close to exhaustion. Tabitha and the children took the room’s only bed and he and Shabolz lay on the floor in their cloaks. He eased off the leather stock and oiled his stump, leaving a little oil to drip into the intricate mechanism at the heart of the wooden fist. When he was done, he returned the oil to the leather sack and was asleep within seconds.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The sound of a gentle giggle woke him just as dawn broke. He opened an eye to discover Lucius and Olivia crouched beside him gently pulling apart the strings on the leather sack. Tabitha was nowhere in sight and he guessed she must have gone to draw water from the well. The two children were so focussed on their quest that they jumped away from the bag when he raised himself on his good arm.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’re sorry father,’ Lucius blurted. ‘We were just curious. You keep it so close and whatever is in it is so heavy ...’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Olivia huddled behind her brother her dark eyes wide. There was no doubting who was the leader of this escapade. Curious? How could he not have realised? He blamed himself. Shabolz and Tabitha were both aware of the contents of the sack, how did he believe he could keep them a secret from his children in these circumstances.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He smiled. ‘There’s no need to be creeping about. All you had to do was ask. Take a look.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lucius picked up the bag and reached inside, reverently removing an object wrapped in softer leather than the outer sack. He laid it on the ground and knelt over it. With Olivia peering over his shoulder he peeled back the leather and they both gasped in wonder at the gleaming wonder they’d revealed. Lucius picked it up in both hands, marvelling at the weight.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Is it real gold, father?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It. The length of a man’s forearm from wingtip to wingtip, its feathered chest puffed out, the raptor’s beak gaped in a scream of defiance. Half as high as it was wide, the hooked claws held a lightning bolt in their grasp.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">An Imperial eagle. A legion’s heart and its soul. The symbol of its honour and its vow to the emperor. The eagle of the Fifth Alaudae..</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius shook his head. ‘It is coated in gold leaf, but I would guess it was originally forged from bronze.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Is it ours?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It belongs to its legion, but whether that legion still exists I do not know. I intend to return it to a lady whose father once commanded the Fifth Aludae. She will know what to do with it.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The lady Augusta,’ Olivia squealed.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius laughed at his daughter’s insight. How could she have known?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Yes, her father was the great general, Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo.’ Corbulo had been like a father to Valerius when they had served together in Armenia. Valerius was at his side when he died, a victim of Nero’s insane jealousy.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How did you get it?’ Lucius asked.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">King Decebalus of the Dacians took it as a trophy when he won a great victory over the legions. I took it from King Decebalus.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The dull, metallic clang tore Valerius from his revery and his left hand swooped to his sword hilt as he whirled to face the threat. A sailor emptying his slop bucket over the side stared open-mouthed at the scarred warrior in the fighter’s crouch.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You didn’t strike me as the nervous type,’ the ship’s master called from his position beside the steering oar. ‘Falco, I’d be a little quieter around our passengers if I was you.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius ignored the jibe and walked across the deck to where Tabitha and the children sat on straw bales playing a version of the soldier’s game on a board etched into the deck. Shabolz was in the bows lying on a folded sail with his eyes closed and a look of serene contentment on his face. Tabitha looked up as he approached. ‘Are you all right, Valerius?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He just surprised me when he battered that bucket against the side.’ Valerius shrugged off the moment of horror that had overwhelmed him. They were on the sixth day of their journey downriver. Valerius would have expected the children to be fractious by now, but there was a mesmerising quality to the rush of the water beneath the ship’s hull that seemed to calm them as they swept past cliffs and forests, forts and settlements in the sunshine. He guessed they were somewhere close to Durosturum, one of the main fortresses on the frontier. Where possible the steersman had kept close to the southern bank for fear of a sudden hail of Dacian spears if they strayed too close to the northern.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was the sound. That sound that would live in his memory until the day he died. The metal bucket against the solid timber of the ship’s hull had precisely the same quality as a Dacian falx meeting the iron of a legionary’s helmet. Multiply it a thousand times and then ten times more, and add the shrieks of the wounded, the maimed and the dying, and you had the insane clamour of a battle between outnumbered Roman legionaries and barbarians wielding the most feared weapon the world had yet seen. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius had witnessed the soldiers of Rome fighting and winning against enormous odds from the heather-clad hills of Caledonia to the deserts of Armenia. They won because a legion fought as a single disciplined organism and because they were the best armed and armoured soldiers in the world. Each man’s head was protected by a helmet of metal or brass, his torso by armour made from polished iron plate or linked mail, and he stood behind a stout wooden shield pushed tight against his neighbours until the gladius, his deadly short sword darted in between. A battle against barbarians wasn’t really a battle at all, just butchery.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Dacians were different, because the Dacians had the falx.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Three feet of curved iron at the end of a two foot shaft, the heavy weapon was shaped like a reaping hook, with an inside edge like a razor, and a needle point. The Dacians wielded them two handed and with enormous strength, giving no thought for their safety as long as they killed their enemy. The point would puncture or, at worst crush, a helmet of the finest quality. Those made of inferior metal could be split in two, along with the head inside. The heavy blade would shear through a shield of oak and kill or wound the man holding it. Valerius, a veteran of more battles than he could count, had seldom seen Roman soldiers suffer wounds like this. Skulls punctured or smashed, faces cut in half, arms and legs sliced off, torsos split open despite the armour that protected them. Even the tightest formation could not hold them back. A Dacian attack was like ten thousand men hewing their way through a forest of flesh.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">King Decebalus was no fool. When Domitian arrived in Pannonia with his legions to avenge Sabinus, the Dacians simply melted away before him and slipped back across the river. Valerius, now part of the entourage of Cornelius Fuscus, had watched as the Emperor struck out like a blind man, sending cohorts and sometimes full legions out at the first whisper of the enemy, however unlikely. Domitian’s commanders silently cursed his ineptitude and Fuscus urged caution, but the Emperor ignored them. After a month he became bored with playing hide and seek in the Illyrian mountains and retired to his tented pavilions to concentrate on entertaining his concubines and complaining about his wife.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius helped the new governor to prepare for the advance into the fractured wilds of Dacia. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d crossed the Danuvius. He’d been fortunate to escape with his life twenty years earlier when he’d been lured into an ambush across the river. His knowledge of the first twenty miles int Dacia and the tribesmen who inhabited those lands gave Fuscus an insight into the dangers he faced. With Domitian’s demands for an advance becoming ever more shrill, he concluded that he needed more legions if he was to destroy Decebalus’s capital at Sarmizegetusa, some six days march into the Dacian heartland.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Domitian refused the reinforcements.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">The Dacians had burned the wooden bridge at Viminacium when they retreated over the Danuvius so Fuscus ordered the creation of a floating bridge from a hundred and more supply barges and a plank road. Fortunately there had been little Spring rain and the river was slow and sluggish, but it still took two weeks to gather the boats and anchor them in place before the engineers could make the road.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Short-handed or not, one legion had to be left in reserve against a surprise Dacian attack or to exploit a Roman success. Against Valerius’s advice Fuscus decided to leave the Fourth Flavia at Viminacium on the grounds that, as the legion had been based at Singidunum in Moesia, their experiences had left them with too great a respect for the Dacian warriors. Valerius reasoned that a legion that knew the country and the enemy should be at the front where their experience would be of the most use. Fuscus would not be moved and it was the First and Second Adiutrix that crossed the bridge of boats and turned east onto the flat plain that led towards the mountains and Sarmizegetusa.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">As always, auxiliaries made up the van of the marching column - a cohort each of Thracian spearmen and archers, lightly armed and ready to deploy into a skirmish line at the first contact with the enemy. On the far flank </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">Valerius</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">could see the dust </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">that identified </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">the legion</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s cavalry contingent, who would be scouting the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">open country</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">and the route ahead. Next came the camp prefect, responsible for march discipline, accompanied by the junior tribunes who weren</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">t much good for anything but carrying messages. Behind them, the signallers with their curved trumpets.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">His heart beat a little faster as the eagle came into sight - the eagle of the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">First Adiutrix</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">- the golden wings raised and beak open in a scream of defiance. The eagle was a legion</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s pride and a legion</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s soul, presented personally by the Emperor and every man was oath sworn to protect it. It was borne by the aquilifer, a veteran of twenty year</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s service, sweating in the heat beneath his leopard skin, the face a snarling mask over his helmet. Eight men accompanied him, the eagle</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s personal guard, the phalerae that proclaimed their valour on their breasts. There was no greater shame for a legion than to lose its eagle.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">Behind the eagle marched the men who would protect it and die for it. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">In the lead came the elite First cohort, led by its standard bearer and composed of eight hundred men, in five double strength centuries of a hundred and sixty men each. These were the legion’s bravest and best troops, the men who could be relied on to break the enemy line, or hold their own under any pressure.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">Every man wore a polished iron helmet with a neck protector, cheek guards and a reinforced brow. His torso was protected by </span><span lang="en-US"><i>lorica segmentata </i></span><span lang="en-US">armour, a complex arrangement of case hardened iron bands that covered the chest, shoulders and back. He carried a pair of </span><span lang="en-US"><i>pila</i></span><span lang="en-US">, weighted spears designed to punch through shields and light armour, and on his hip he wore a twenty-two inch </span><span lang="en-US"><i>gladius,</i></span><span lang="en-US">the short sword that had almost literally carved out the Roman empire. On his back, he bore the brightly painted </span><span lang="en-US"><i>scutum, </i></span><span lang="en-US">the big shield that he cursed on the march for its weight, but that would save his life in the battle line. It was prone to chafe the shoulders, back and legs, but it was the work of a moment to unsling it and face the enemy ready for battle. They were short, wiry men, with uncouth habits and a soldier’s tendency to complain, but, the</span><span lang="en-US">Fifth</span><span lang="en-US">, those dozy bastards, notwithstanding, they knew that if they maintained their discipline they were invincible.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Behind them by the thousand came the mules of the supply train; no ox carts on this campaign because no roads existed where were going, only precipitous mountain passes and boulder-filled valley bottoms that would snap an axle as if it was a toothpick. The mules were followed by more auxiliaries. Frisians and Tungrians, Vangiones and Nervians from the swamps of Germania, Gauls from every part of that vast land, and lithe, tanned hillmen, blood brothers to Shabolz, from Pannonia and Moetia and Dalmatia.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sixteen thousand men marched into Dacia with Cornelius Fuscus. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was a magnificent sight, but that magnificence and the confidence it inspired faded as they entered the mountains.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’re too strung out,’ Valerius told Fuscus. The </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">mountain</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">valleys were deep, with precipitous tree-lined slopes that it was near impossible to patrol effectively. Hidden gullies might conceal a hundred Dacian warriors. An entire army </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">could</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">hide among the tops. The valley bottoms were narrow and constricted further by rivers and streams </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">with no room for the cohorts to deploy. ‘We should find another way to</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sarmizegetusa.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">F</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">uscus wiped his brow, he was not built for campaigning in the heat. ‘No,’ he said, though Valerius could see he was equally concerned. ‘The Emperor seeks a quick victory and our spies say this is the fastest route to the Dacian king. It would take a week to prise us out of here and another three to march round the mountains.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius’s premonition of loo</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">m</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ing disaster increased with every mile they marched.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They were approaching the end of a narrow valley when it happened. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What had been open ground where the vale opened out and rose towards the next pass suddenly became a wall of Dacian warriors who had somehow evaded the lead scouts. Bugles blared as Fuscus immediately issued orders for the lead cohorts to move from column into line ready to attack.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius felt a thrill of fear that had nothing to do with the Dacians in front of him. He had been in this position before, at the battle of the Cepha gap when Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo had faced Vologases, the Parthian King of Kings, and his Invincibles. But then it had been Corbulo who was the stopper in the wine skin. He looked over his shoulder to the rear where the legionary column stretched away to the end of the narrow, tree-lined valley and far beyond. The rear guard of the Second Adiutrix must be four or five miles away and entirely out of contact with the expedition’s commander. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">All around him soldiers were changing position, crammed closely together by the terrain and getting in each other’s way. It was taking an age to reform the legion and every passing second added to the confusion.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And this was the widest part of the valley. They’d entered through a narrow gorge that was now perhaps a mile behind them. Between Valerius and the gorge stood six cohorts of the First Adiutrix, perhaps three thousand of Rome’s finest troops. But the nature of the terrain mean only the first cohort was likely to be contact with the enemy. Decebalus had chosen his defensive position well.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Even as the thought formed Decebalus proved that defence was the last thing on his mind. From the far end of the valley came cries of alarm and fear accompanied by a tearing crash as a dozen large trees fell simultaneously to crush the rearmost troops and block the gorge.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fuscus looked to Valerius with a</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">n expression</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">of incompreh</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">e</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">nsion on his plump features. ‘</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What’s happening?’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">An image formed in Valerius’s mind. Mars save us! It can’t be. ‘Look to your flanks,’ he shouted. ‘Signaller ...’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But it was already too late. From the heights and trees around them swarms of falx-wielding Dacian warriors poured down towards the disorganized Roman formation. Valerius’s heart froze. He had read about the annihilation of Varus’s legions in Germania and he knew what came next. Yet there was one last thing he could do.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Get the eagle out,’ he called to Fuscus. ‘</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Use the couriers.’ Every Roman legion contained a mounted detachment of a hundred and twenty cavalry who acted as scouts and couriers. A dozen of them were milling around Fuscus waiting for orders.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fuscus shook his head. ‘No ...’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius took him by the arm with his left hand. ‘We’re finished Cornelius. But you can still save yourself and the eagle. Rome has already lost an eagle and a governor to the Dacians don’t present them with a second.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The eagle can go,’ Fuscus’s voice shook. ‘But I stay with my men.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Aquila to me,’ Valerius roared. ‘Couriers at the ready.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The standard bearer ran up, his face shining with sweat beneath the leopard’s mask and surrounded by his guard. Valerius dismounted and handed </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the astonished soldier</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the reins. ‘Marcus Aquila. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Your duty is to save the eagle.’ Aquila opened his mouth. ‘No,’ Valerius </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">had to shout above the growing din all around him as falxes clattered into helmets and armour and shields</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. ‘No protests and no foolish sacrifice. Go with these riders. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">horses </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">will carry you over the slope </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">by the gorge. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hurry.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Aquila growled a curse, but one of his guards held the eagle as he vaulted into the saddle. ‘</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Go well my friends.’ He galloped off at the heart of the cloud of cavalrymen as they carved their way through the confusion towards the end of the valley.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Meanwhile the First Adiutrix was dying on its feet around them. Ten thousand warriors had fallen from the heights and the falxes were carving the column into smaller pieces. The legionaries were brave, they fought well and died hard, but they still died. Died screaming and gutted, or silently like pole-axed cattle, or staring in disbelief as blood spurted from severed arms or legs. The First’s legate and his officers did what they could to rally their soldiers and form some kind of defensive line, but the Dacian charge had smashed in the column’s flanks and they could not control a thousand individual fights. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fuscus stood at the centre of his bodyguard of Praetorians and stared at the carnage around him.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What can we do? </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Will the other cohorts come to our support?</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius shook his head. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He had a feeling that the rear cohorts were most likely fighting for their own lives</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. ‘All we can do is save our honour.’ He looked ahead to where the Dacian line had stood at the head of the valley. Over a wall of plunging falx blades he saw a single warrior standing on a raised mound surrounded by lavishly dressed courtiers and waving standards.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Dacian king.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Cornelius,’ Valerius pointed to the mound. ‘</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There is still something to be salvaged from this. If we can kill King Decebalus </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">this defeat will be forgotten and </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">your name will be remembered alongside Paulinus, the saviour of Britannia, and Corbulo, scourge of the Parthians.’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">B</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ut how?’ Fuscus demanded. ‘He is beyond our reach.’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Centurion?’ Valerius called to the commander of Fuscus’s bodyguard, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">two </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">hundred strong and every man a veteran. ‘Order your men to form century wedge around us.’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It had come to him with the name Paulinus. Suetonius Paulinus had defeated the Iceni rebel Boudicca using just this tactic. Valerius had watched the Roman wedges carve deep into the centre of the rebel army and destroy their cohesion. That day it had been the catalyst for victory. Today the salvation of Fuscus’s honour must suffice.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The centurion ordered his men into sections of twenty, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">every man with his gladius drawn and his shield at the ready</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, forming compact units five wide and four deep. One unit </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">created </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the tip of the arrow-shaped wedge, with two more behind. Valerius and Fuscus added themselves to the centre of the third row, and four more sections formed up behind them, the reserves who would flow forward as the formations in front were depleted.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ready,’ the centurion called.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For Rome,’ Valerius shouted, and his cry was echoed by every man in the formation. ‘Our mark is the mound directly ahead. An extra ration of wine for the man who bring me King Decebalus’s head.’ They laughed at that. Dead men walking and they knew it, but they still laughed. ‘Wedge will advance at the trot.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Four hundred paces. That was all it would take. And the first hundred were within their own lines. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then they would have to fight their way through a thousand Dacian warriors, hack down the king’s bodyguard and take their swords to him.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Make way. Make way, damn you.’ The centurion had placed himself in the centre of the point section of the arrowhead and he roared at the bewildered soldiers who stood in his way waiting for the Dacian falxes to reach them. Legionaries in the first rank of the wedge used their shields to hammer their comrades aside. Ahead of them the survivors of the first cohort continued to fight off attacks on their front and flanks. The valley had been narrow before, but the battlefield was narrower still and men packed close together naturally slowed the wedge’s advance. ‘Make way you bastards or your own comrades will cut you down.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The normal purpose of the wedge was to punch a hole through the enemy’s line. The soldiers of the first section would pierce the Dacian defences at whatever cost, the second and third sections would burst through and expand the breach so that all ten sections could then attack the enemy in the flank and rear. This was different. Valerius had designed his attack with the sole purpose of </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">getting a single Roman soldier within sword’s length of the Dacian king.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A sudden lurch and a crash of shields from only a few paces </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to the </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">front told Valerius that they’d reached the Dacian line, and a scream of mortal agony confirmed it. He was almost deafened by what sounded like axes hewing wood, but that he knew was the falx chopping into the shields of the men ahead. A new voice took up the task of encouraging the wedge forward. </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Dacian warriors roared and grunted with the effort of wielding their heavy half-moons of iron. The sharper clang of </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">metal </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">upon metal </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">now and the shrieks of dying men almost constant. Valerius could almost sense the wedge fading away around him. At his side Fuscus, exhausted, and muttering a string of obscenities, fell to his knees and was swallowed up by the sections behind. The pace quickened and in that moment his heart thundered. They were through. He could see daylight on either side where there had been living, breathing </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">soldier</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, and still the survivors of the wedge were fighting and dying for every yard. A big Dacian warrior appeared in front of him where there should have been a Roman back. </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The man </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">raised his falx to strike, but Valerius managed to get his shield under the blow and ram it into </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the snarling </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">face. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;">As the Dacian fell away, Valerius looked up to see the mound less than a dozen paces ahead, Decebalus, the Dacian king at the centre of his courtiers. He threw the shield aside and sprinted towards the salvation of Rome’s honour, the </span><span style="color: #00000a;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 10);">sword firm </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;">in his left hand. Six paces. A shouted order. His feet skidded from under him and he fell with the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #00000a;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 10);">blades</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">outstretched, the tip a finger's length from Decebalus’s feet. A shadow fell over him and something hammered into his helmet with enormous force.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Darkness.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">If you’re in pain, you’re not dead. Valerius tried to raise his head, but a bolt of agony suggested he’d be better to stay still. His last memory was … what was his last memory? He’d been with Fuscus on campaign. Shabolz … no Shabolz had stayed in Viminacium to guard Tabitha and the children. Open country. Then mountains. Then … it came flooding back in a series of flashing images and moments of sheer terror. The ambush. The knowledge they were doomed. The attempt to reach Decebalus and that final moment when the falx carved through his helmet into his skull. At least that’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">s </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">what it had felt like, and to an extent still did. His skull </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">certainly f</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">elt as if it had been split in two. He tried to open his eyes, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">but the lids seemed to be sewn shut. It was only when he attempted to raise his hand to identify the problem that he realized they were tied behind his back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Somewhere beyond the ringing sound in his ears he could hear people speaking, but the words meant nothing to him. He winced as he felt a hand on his shoulder, but the hand turned out to be gentle and accompanied by a second that wiped his face with a damp cloth. Gradually, it cleaned away whatever was covering his eyes and he was able to open them … only to close them just as quickly as a fiery light lanced through his brain. He waited a few moments before trying again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Th</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">e first thing he noticed was Fuscus, or at least Fuscus’s head. It lay upon a quite substantial pile </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">of similarly detached appendages</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">, each with it’s twisted features frozen in the moment of death. The </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">untidy heap of bloodied heads </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">lay to the left of a throne and in the throne sat a man who Valerius recognized as the king he’d been trying to kill. Decebalus </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">barked a string of words</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">that must have been an order, because someone pulled Valerius to his feet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">attempted to straighten </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">so he could face his fate like the man he was, a Roman officer, and a Hero of Rome</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">, but his body seemed to have been trampled by a herd of oxen and his limbs wouldn’t obey hi</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">s brain</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. Decebalus studied him with a look that should have conveyed hatred and malevolence, but all Valerius could read in the dark eyes was puzzlement. The king spoke again.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">King Decebalus says you deserve to die.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The words came from a short, dark-haired man at the king’s side. Precise latin, but with a pronounced Greek accent. As for the import, there was no denying the king was correct. That’s what happened to </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">invaders who failed. Valerius felt regret more than fear. He was a soldier and dying was what soldiers did. He should have died many times before. Just make it quick.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Of course, there was no guarantee of that. He had a v</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">ivid </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">memory of a lump of quivering flesh impaled on a thorn bush, who’d once been the commander of an auxiliary cavalry </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">patrol</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. That had been the last time he’d crossed the Danuvius and he vowed that, in the unlikely event he survived, he would never cross th</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">at accursed </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">river again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He let his eyes drift over his surroundings. A fine evening, with the birds singing their nightly chorus. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Fuscus’s head wasn’t the only trophy on display. A pile of cohort and centurial standards lay at Decebalus’s feet … and among them, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">taking </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">pride of place, was the unmistakeable form of an Imperial eagle. Valerius let out a</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">n involuntary </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">groan. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sending the eagle to safety had been Fuscus’s single successful act. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Had it all been in vain? Yet there was something about this eagle that troubled him. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Closer inspection told him it </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">wasn’t the eagle of the First Adiutrix, because the head was to the left, and the First’s eagle had been twisted to the right. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">T</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">his was the eagle of the Fifth Adiutrix. Corbulo’s eagle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He realized the interpreter was continuing to translate the king’s words. ‘The king intends to use you to send a message.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Now Valerius felt a shiver run through him. The </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">doomed </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">auxiliary decurion had certainly sent a potent message to those who’d discovered him, flayed of every inch of flesh and round eyeballs filled with horror staring from the wreckage of what had once been a face.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He had intended that </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">the Praetorian prefect </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Cornelius Fuscus should carry his message to the Emperor, and he had given orders that he be spared. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">S</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">adly the governor decided he could not face the shame of surrender and fell </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">up</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">on his own sword.’ Poor Fuscus, he would have known Domitian would never have let him live after this disaster. But what was the man saying? ‘You, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">the </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">officer </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">who showed the courage and sacrifice the king would expect of his own warriors, will go in his stead. T</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">ell the Emperor that King Decebalus’s venture into Moesia and Pannonia was a matter of political necessity to cement his hold on his crown.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It will not be repeated. Emperor Domitian will understand the pressures of political necessity. The king wants only p</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">ea</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">ce with his neighbours and an end to this unfortunate </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">mis</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">understanding.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Something threatened to burst inside Valerius. If the king believed Domitian would forget this ‘unfortunate </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">mis</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">understanding’, he was due to lear</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">n</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">a harsh lesson. But that didn’t matter</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He was going to live. He would feel the touch of Tabitha’s lips again and hear his children’s laughter. Of course, in the longer term, Domitian might have something to say about his future, but he would mee</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">t </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">that hurdle when it came.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He was going to live.</span><br />
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CHAPTER 5<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">A camp fire flickered in a </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">dusty clearing south of Melitene, somewhere in central Cappadocia. Even Valerius didn’t know exactly where they were, only that when he faced the rising sun at the next morning’s dawn they would take the path dictated by the wooden fist that replaced his right hand. South, where they must eventually reach the Euphrates River.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Fortuna had favoured them, and the shadow of Durio and the Emperor’s assassins had long since faded. When they had finally reached Tomis where the Danuvius met the Great Sea, Valerius had hoped to take ship </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">to Trapezus, but had ended up arranging passage on a merchant vessel bound for Sinope, which had added a hundred miles to their journey on the far shore. When Durio reached bustling Tomis he would waste days trying to discover which ship had carried the fugitives, if he ever did. Even if he knew about Sinope they could have taken any of a dozen roads from the port, with a hundred possible destinations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Despite the warmth of the night Lucius snuggled in beside him. He could hear Tabitha’s gentle snoring and the soft murmur of Olivia’s </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">dream talk. Shabolz would be keeping his eternal vigil over by the tethered horses.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You said you took the eagle from a king, father?’ Lucius whispered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Valerius smiled. He was surprised it had taken this long for his son’s curiosity to overome his shyness.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Rome had suffered a great defeat,’ he kept his voice low. ‘And the Emperor asked your father to lead an army back into Dacia to regain the Empire’s honour.’ It hadn’t quite been like that. Domitian had blamed him for Fuscus’s defeat and his message said that if Valerius failed he might as well follow Fuscus’s lead and fall on his sword. On the other hand, if he succeeded the new governor of Moesia had promised a second Gold Crown of Valour.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We used the following winter to recover and gather an army. It would be much stronger than the first expedition. In place of the shattered First legion, whose survivors would form our reserve, I was to have the Fifth Macedonica from Oescus, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">the sister legion of the unit which had lost its eagle, to add to the Fourth and the First. I also used the time to form a special force of auxiliaries, mountain troops from Noricum, Rhaetia and Helvetia. We marched on the first day of the spring planting.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">They’d taken a different route towards </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sarmizegetusa,</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">but eventually the legions had been forced into the mountains. Where King Decebalus waited.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I knew the Dacians would attempt to do to us what they’d done to my friend Fuscus. What their king didn’t know was that was exactly what I wanted him to do.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Because you had your mountain troops this time?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Exactly,’ Valerius ruffled his son’s hair. It all sounded so simple now. No hint of the endless hours of waiting. The doubt that he had </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">condemned </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">every </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">man of the six cohorts he had used to bait the trap. Wondering if Decebalus, a wolf in human guise, had sniffed out the threat and was even now moving to cut him off from his supplies. ‘The ambushers became the ambushed. My mountain men chased the Dacians from the heights and our brave soldiers destroyed the flower of Dacian manhood in the valley below. The river flowed red with their blood,’ he added the poetic flourish knowing no war story was complete for Lucius without its ration of gore.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">And you killed Decebalus?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">No,’ Valerius laughed at the thought. ‘The king fled. In truth his heart was never in the fight. We didn’t realise then how much our earlier campaign and his invasion of Moesia had weakened his strength. We captured his baggage train.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">One of the prisoner</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">s </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">had been Decebalus’s interpreter. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">n return for his freedom he’d shown Valerius the location of the booty taken from the earlier battles, removed from the baggage train as the Romans closed in and hidden in a cave. Conspicuous among it had been the eagle of the Fifth.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">So you took the eagle and returned in triumph.’ Lucius’s voice faded to a murmur and Valerius felt his son relax into sleep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It hadn’t quite been like that. Decebalus had retreated to </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sarmizegetusa </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and Valerius and his legions had besieged the city. Eventually the king was forced to ask for terms and, after months of negotiations, Domitian had finally agreed to a treaty that was surprisingly favourable to the Dacians. It was the following spring by the time Valerius was able to return from the campaign and cross the bridge of boats back in to Moesia. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He hadn’t drawn his sword from the beginning to the end of the expedition.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He remembered the solitary figure emerging from the morning mist as his horse clattered over the boards on to dry land. Shabolz handed him a scroll of tattered parchment. ‘This came two days ago.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Josephus hadn’t even had time to encode his message.</span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Your shield has fallen. The Emperor has discovered the location of the final statement and </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Saturninus and </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">all the other holders are dead. Flee. The arrangements are made as we discussed.”</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Well?’ he said to Shabolz.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">They are waiting at a farm east of Viminacium. We have food and forage for a week.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Then let us not delay.’ </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Valerius </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">dismissed his bodyguard </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">of legionary cavalry and they rode off into the murk</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. ‘You will like Emesa, old friend. The streets are paved with enough gold even to satisfy a Pannonian bandit and Tabitha’s uncle will make you a lord.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">But first they had to survive. And he had business in Antioch.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Antioch. Gem of the east. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">A cosmopolitan crossroads between east and west which straddled the Orontes River in the shadow of the mountains. The perfect place for a fugitive to seek refuge. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The city conjured up mixed memories for Valerius. It had been here, twenty years ago, that he had first been introduced to Rome’s greatest general, Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, the man who taught him more about soldiering than any other, and had been like a father to him. He’d been an honoured member of the general’s staff and lived in the magnificent palace complex in the centre of the city.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">In what seemed another existence entirely, he had passed through Antioch years later, exiled, dishonoured and disgraced, on his </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">journey </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">to </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">meet his friend, the future Emperor Titus, in </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Jerusalem, in a </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">bid </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">to restore his fortunes. On the way he had met Tabitha in the encounter that had changed his life. Then, he’d spent his time in hiding in a festering slum in the shadow of the mountains. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">One of the few positives of the visit had been </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">the </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">friendship he had struck up with a Judaean moneylender. Little by little this was where he’d secretly channeled a portion of his fortune in case of just this extremity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Now, he’d arranged to liquidate just enough </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">of the gold and silver </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">to ensure the family’s passage to Emesa with a substantial bodyguard, while the rest was transferred to the </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">city </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">by the next merchant caravan</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. They’d pick up the disposable treasure and the bodyguard at the north gate at dawn the following morning before setting off on the journey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The arrangements made, it was with </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">a lift </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">in his heart that he </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">made his way through the back streets </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">as darkness fell </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">towards the lodging house where he’d left Tabitha and the children. His fighting days were over. Time to settle down in the sun-dappled villa he remembered on the fringes of King Sohaemus’s palace, with its fountains and beautiful vistas across river and desert. Time to watch his children grow. To read from the king’s vast library and to learn from his scientists and scholars. Domitian and Rome and all its perils were behind them now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">S</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">till, he took care of his surroundings and the people who inhabited them. It was in these streets </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and alleys </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">he’d come within a mail-ring of death. If the assassin’s knife had contained a featherweight more force it would have punctured the chain vest he’d purchased on a whim and his bones would have mouldered long since in one of the festering streams that abounded this district.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He was close to the end of the alleyway and within a hundred paces of the lodging house when he heard the cries of alarm and the unmistakeable smell of burning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Tabitha!</span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Flames were already licking out from the ground floor windows of the rooming house and a </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">large </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">crowd had gathered </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">in the open square in front</span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">.</span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Valerius’s first instinct was to run straight for the </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">door, </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">but </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">cold logic </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">told him this was no accident and whoever had set the fire was part of the crowd. Instead, he ran diagonally across the street to</span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">wards </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">the rear of the burning building. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;">He was halfway along the alley when he almost tripped over a shadowy figure. He bent low and could just make out Shabolz’s </span><span style="color: #00000a;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 10);">unmistakable</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;"> features. He checked the throat for a pulse and his hand came away sticky with blood. Alive, but only just. If he could …</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">A child’s scream pierced his heart like a knife</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He made no conscious decision to abandon his friend. His feet carried him away from Shabolz of heir own volition. As he approached the kitchen entrance of the rooming house a heavy body smashed into him from the right, knocking him against </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">t</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">he </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">alley </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">wall. He would have ignored the obstruction, but two more figures loomed from the darkness in front of him. In the light of the flames he recognized Durio. The assassin smiled. ‘We thought you were inside, but this way is better. Now we’ll be able to take your head back to the Emperor.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Valerius reached for the inside of his wooden fist and a small sliver of steel flicked out from the middle knuckle. Durio only laughed. ‘We’re not afraid of your little toy. Three against one.’ He shook his head at his victim’s naivety. ‘You’re a dead man.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">No,’ a voice rasped out of the darkness. ‘Three against two, and you are.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Shabolz.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #00000a;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 10);">Dario’s</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;"> companions </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">gaped </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Valerius </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">launched himself forward. The killer hacked at him with a short sword, but Valerius blocked it with the wooden fist and the blade stuck for a precious moment in the seasoned oak. He smashed his head into the other man’s face and knocked him backwards, but his opponent released the sword and wrapped arms of incredible strength around him. Valerius kicked at the man’s legs and swung him in a circle, the snarling face so close he could smell the stink of his breath. A terrible cry tore from the </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">yawning </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">mouth </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and the grip slackened. Over the dying man’s shoulder he saw Durio staring in wonder as he struggled to free the blade that should have been buried in Valerius’s back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Valerius pushed the dying man aside and while Durio still fought with the blade he punched the assassin between the eyes with his wooden fist. With a terrible cry Durio’s hands flew to his forehead and his eyes flickered as a tiny wound pulsed blood </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">before he fell backwards like a toppled tree</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Go, Valerius.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">V</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">alerius </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">turned to where Shabolz slumped on his knees over the man he’d killed, with blood hanging in obscene </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">dark</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">strings from his mouth. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Without another word </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">he </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">leapt over Durio’s body and </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">ran </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">through the </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">open </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">kitchen door of his lodgings.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He was met with a pall of smoke and heat. No flames on this side of the building yet, but … another scream – Olivia? - galvanized him into action. He ran through the kitchen to the stairway, only to be confronted by a wall of </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">flame</span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. </span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Durio had done his work well. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;">They’d piled furniture from the lower rooms onto the stair and set it alight to block </span><span style="color: #00000a;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 10);">the</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;"> way. It was hopeless.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">But even as Valerius gave in to despair a </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">howling </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">figure came flying down the stair</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">s</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and jumped </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">straight </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">through the flaming barrier to run past him into the street. If someone could get down, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">a determined man could get up. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Valerius launched himself at the burning chairs and rugs, ignoring the agony in his left hand and the flames that licked at his face. The scent of singeing hair and cloth filled his nostrils and he knew he was on fire, but at last he </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">made a gap </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and hauled himself up the stairs towards the room they’d rented. A locked door, but a flimsy affair. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">A </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">heedless </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">shoulder charge </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">he was through. Olivia screamed again at the smoking apparition that burst into the room, but Valerius ignored his daughter. Tabitha lay by the bed either drugged or overwhelmed with smoke as she’d begun knotting sheets together to make a rope. Lucius knelt by her </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">body vainly s</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">truggling to continue the work his mother had begun before she collapsed.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Father?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We’ve no time,’ Valerius’s voice was a painful rasp, like a crow’s call. ‘Get to the window with your sister.’ He grabbed the sheet with his clawed left hand. A sharp crack and a new surge of smoke told him part of the roof had come down on the stairway. ‘Olivia take hold of the sheet. Lucius wrap your arms round your sister and do the same. Tightly now.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He took them in his arms and lifted them across the sill, wrapping the sheet around his shoulder and lodging himself against the window frame. The weight almost pulled him after them, but somehow he held on with his single hand, though the pressure stripped the burned skin from his hand. Lucius dropped to the ground from six feet and caught his sister as she fell after him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Valerius pulled the sheet back inside and ran to his wife. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Fire twisted and crackled in the doorway and flames licked across the ceiling above them as smoke billowed in clouds almost obscuring their escape route. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">No time to tie the sheet around Tabitha, even if he’d been able. He picked her up across his forearms and carried her to the window. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">She was stirring now, but he ignored her whispered questions. He took a firm grip on her arm with his burned left hand and lowered her as far as he could. Before he released her, part of his reeling mind </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">understood </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">that Lucius had rallied the bystanders and laid out some sort of sacks </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">as a </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">cushion </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">for </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">her fall.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Once Tabitha was gone, Valerius’s brain seemed to freeze and he didn’t know what to do next. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He stood reeling in the window until a </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">roar of thunder from above his head broke the spell and he launched himself </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">across the sill </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">as the roof fell in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Oddly, he felt no pain. He knew he was lying on his back and he could hear people moving around him.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Look at his face.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The poor man.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">By all the gods, his flesh has melted.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He’s dying.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">No.’ A new voice, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">full of authority, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">a woman’s voice made rough by her smoke-ravaged throat, but one he could never mistake. ‘He is mine </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I will not let him die.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">ROME</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Domitia Augusta unwrapped the soft leather from the package Josephus had placed before her and </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">her breath caught in her throat </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">as she </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">recognized</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">what lay within. The eagle. Her father’s eagle. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">For a moment t</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">ears welled up in her eyes, but she dashed them </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">away</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. She would not cry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sh</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">e went to her writing desk and picked up a stylus. Enough. Her father had always told her that a Corbulo did not have the luxury of choice, only duty. Well, she </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">was Domitia Longina Corbulo and she </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">would </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">not be bound by a dead man's edict</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. She had always known this day would come. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">H</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">er duty was to Rome and the people of Rome, not to the monster who had forced her into marriage and left her in fear of her life every day since.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You will find Gaius Valerius Verrens wherever he is and give him this,’ she continued writing </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">as she issued the order to the Judaean</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. ‘Tell him I have one last favour to ask of him.’</span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-40183715097379692492020-04-17T02:01:00.001-07:002020-04-18T03:33:21.613-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE: The journey ends<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 18</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Antioch. Gem of the east. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A cosmopolitan crossroads between east and west which straddled the Orontes River in the shadow of the mountains. The perfect place for a fugitive to seek refuge. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The city conjured up mixed memories for Valerius. It had been here, twenty years ago, that he had first been introduced to Rome’s greatest general, Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, the man who taught him more about soldiering than any other, and had been like a father to him. He’d been an honoured member of the general’s staff and lived in the magnificent palace complex in the centre of the city.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In what seemed another existence entirely, he had passed through Antioch years later, exiled, dishonoured and disgraced, on his </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">journey </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">meet his friend, the future Emperor Titus, in </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jerusalem, in a </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">bid </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to restore his fortunes. On the way he had met Tabitha in the encounter that had changed his life. Then, he’d spent his time in hiding in a festering slum in the shadow of the mountains. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One of the few positives of the visit had been </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">friendship he had struck up with a Judaean moneylender. Little by little this was where he’d secretly channeled a portion of his fortune in case of just this extremity.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Now, he’d arranged to liquidate just enough </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">of the gold and silver </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to ensure the family’s passage to Emesa with a substantial bodyguard, while the rest was transferred to the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">city </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">by the next merchant caravan</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. They’d pick up the disposable treasure and the bodyguard at the north gate at dawn the following morning before setting off on the journey.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The arrangements made, it was with </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a lift </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">in his heart that he </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">made his way through the back streets </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">as darkness fell </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">towards the lodging house where he’d left Tabitha and the children. His fighting days were over. Time to settle down in the sun-dappled villa he remembered on the fringes of King Sohaemus’s palace, with its fountains and beautiful vistas across river and desert. Time to watch his children grow. To read from the king’s vast library and to learn from his scientists and scholars. Domitian and Rome and all its perils were behind them now.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">S</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">till, he took care of his surroundings and the people who inhabited them. It was in these streets </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and alleys </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he’d come within a mail-ring of death. If the assassin’s knife had contained a featherweight more force it would have punctured the chain vest he’d purchased on a whim and his bones would have mouldered long since in one of the festering streams that abounded this district.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He was close to the end of the alleyway and within a hundred paces of the lodging house when he heard the cries of alarm and the unmistakeable smell of burning.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha!</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Flames were already licking out from the ground floor windows of the rooming house and a </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">large </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">crowd had gathered </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">in the open square in front</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius’s first instinct was to run straight for the </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">door, </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">but </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">cold logic </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">told him this was no accident and whoever had set the fire was part of the crowd. Instead, he ran diagonally across the street to</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">wards </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the rear of the burning building. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;">He was halfway along the alley when he almost tripped over a shadowy figure. He bent low and could just make out Shabolz’s </span><span style="color: #00000a;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 10);">unmistakable</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;"> features. He checked the throat for a pulse and his hand came away sticky with blood. Alive, but only just. If he could …</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A child’s scream pierced his heart like a knife</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He made no conscious decision to abandon his friend. His feet carried him away from Shabolz of heir own volition. As he approached the kitchen entrance of the rooming house a heavy body smashed into him from the right, knocking him against </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">alley </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">wall. He would have ignored the obstruction, but two more figures loomed from the darkness in front of him. In the light of the flames he recognized Durio. The assassin smiled. ‘We thought you were inside, but this way is better. Now we’ll be able to take your head back to the Emperor.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius reached for the inside of his wooden fist and a small sliver of steel flicked out from the middle knuckle. Durio only laughed. ‘We’re not afraid of your little toy. Three against one.’ He shook his head at his victim’s naivety. ‘You’re a dead man.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">No,’ a voice rasped out of the darkness. ‘Three against two, and you are.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #00000a;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 10);">Dario’s</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;"> companion</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">gaped </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">launched himself forward. The killer hacked at him with a short sword, but Valerius blocked it with the wooden fist and the blade stuck for a precious moment in the seasoned oak. He smashed his head into the other man’s face and knocked him backwards, but his opponent released the sword and wrapped arms of incredible strength around him. Valerius kicked at the man’s legs and swung him in a circle, the snarling face so close he could smell the stink of his breath. A terrible cry tore from the </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">yawning </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">mouth </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and the grip slackened. Over the dying man’s shoulder he saw Durio staring in wonder as he struggled to free the blade that should have been buried in Valerius’s back.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius pushed the dying man aside and while Durio still fought with the blade he punched the assassin between the eyes with his wooden fist. With a terrible cry Durio’s hands flew to his forehead and his eyes flickered as a tiny wound pulsed blood </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">before he fell backwards like a toppled tree</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Go, Valerius.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">V</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">alerius </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">turned to where Shabolz slumped on his knees over the man he’d killed, with blood hanging in obscene </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">dark</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">strings from his mouth. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Without another word </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">leapt over Durio’s body and </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ran </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">through the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">open </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">kitchen door of his lodgings.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He was met with a pall of smoke and heat. No flames on this side of the building yet, but … another scream – Olivia? - galvanized him into action. He ran through the kitchen to the stairway, only to be confronted by a wall of </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">flame</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Durio had done his work well. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;">They’d piled furniture from the lower rooms onto the stair and set it alight to block </span><span style="color: #00000a;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 10);">the</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;"> way. It was hopeless.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But even as Valerius gave in to despair a </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">howling </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">figure came flying down the stair</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and jumped </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">straight </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">through the flaming barrier to run past him into the street. If someone could get down, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a determined man could get up. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius launched himself at the burning chairs and rugs, ignoring the agony in his left hand and the flames that licked at his face. The scent of singeing hair and cloth filled his nostrils and he knew he was on fire, but at last he </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">made a gap </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and hauled himself up the stairs towards the room they’d rented. A locked door, but a flimsy affair. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">heedless </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">shoulder charge </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he was through. Olivia screamed again at the smoking apparition that burst into the room, but Valerius ignored his daughter. Tabitha lay by the bed either drugged or overwhelmed with smoke as she’d begun knotting sheets together to make a rope. Lucius knelt by her </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">body vainly s</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">truggling to continue the work his mother had begun before she collapsed.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Father?’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’ve no time,’ Valerius’s voice was a painful rasp, like a crow’s call. ‘Get to the window with your sister.’ He grabbed the sheet with his clawed left hand. A sharp crack and a new surge of smoke told him part of the roof had come down on the stairway. ‘Olivia take hold of the sheet. Lucius wrap your arms round your sister and do the same. Tightly now.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He took them in his arms and lifted them across the sill, wrapping the sheet around his shoulder and lodging himself against the window frame. The weight almost pulled him after them, but somehow he held on with his single hand, though the pressure stripped the burned skin from his hand. Lucius dropped to the ground from six feet and caught his sister as she fell after him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius pulled the sheet back inside and ran to his wife. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fire twisted and crackled in the doorway and flames licked across the ceiling above them as smoke billowed in clouds almost obscuring their escape route. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">No time to tie the sheet around Tabitha, even if he’d been able. He picked her up across his forearms and carried her to the window. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She was stirring now, but he ignored her whispered questions. He took a firm grip on her arm with his burned left hand and lowered her as far as he could. Before he released her, part of his reeling mind </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">understood </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">that Lucius had rallied the bystanders and laid out some sort of sacks </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">as a </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">cushion </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">for </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">her fall.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Once Tabitha was gone, Valerius’s brain seemed to freeze and he didn’t know what to do next. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He stood reeling in the window until a </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">roar of thunder from above his head broke the spell and he launched himself </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">across the sill </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">as the roof fell in.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Oddly, he felt no pain. He knew he was lying on his back and he could hear people moving around him.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Look at his face.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The poor man.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">By all the gods, his flesh has melted.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He’s dying.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">No.’ A new voice, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">full of authority, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a woman’s voice made rough by her smoke-ravaged throat, but one he could never mistake. ‘He is mine </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I will not let him die.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ROME</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Domitia Augusta unwrapped the soft leather from the package Josephus had placed before her and </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">her breath caught in her throat </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">as she </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">recognized</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">what lay within. The eagle. Her father’s eagle. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For a moment t</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ears welled up in her eyes, but she dashed them </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">away</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. She would not cry.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sh</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">e went to her writing desk and picked up a stylus. Enough. Her father had always told her that a Corbulo did not have the luxury of choice, only duty. Well, she </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">was Domitia Longina Corbulo and she </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">would </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">not be bound by a dead man's edict</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. She had always known this day would come. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">H</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">er duty was to Rome and the people of Rome, not to the monster who had forced her into marriage and left her in fear of her life every day since.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You will find Gaius Valerius Verrens wherever he is and give him this,’ she continued writing </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">as she issued the order to the Judaean</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. ‘Tell him I have one last favour to ask of him.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
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I hope you've enjoyed Valerius's last adventure. Thanks for staying with me along the way.</div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-61778726610192475822020-04-16T00:33:00.001-07:002020-04-18T03:23:58.110-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 17<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 17</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A camp fire flickered in a </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">dusty clearing south of Melitene, somewhere in central Cappadocia. Even Valerius didn’t know exactly where they were, only that when he faced the rising sun at the next morning’s dawn they would take the path dictated by the wooden fist that replaced his right hand. South, where they must eventually reach the Euphrates River.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fortuna had favoured them, and the shadow of Durio and the Emperor’s assassins had long since faded. When they had finally reached Tomis where the Danuvius met the Great Sea, Valerius had hoped to take ship </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to Trapezus, but had ended up arranging passage on a merchant vessel bound for Sinope, which had added a hundred miles to their journey on the far shore. When Durio reached bustling Tomis he would waste days trying to discover which ship had carried the fugitives, if he ever did. Even if he knew about Sinope they could have taken any of a dozen roads from the port, with a hundred possible destinations.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Despite the warmth of the night Lucius snuggled in beside him. He could hear Tabitha’s gentle snoring and the soft murmur of Olivia’s </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">dream talk. Shabolz would be keeping his eternal vigil over by the tethered horses.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You said you took the eagle from a king, father?’ Lucius whispered.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius smiled. He was surprised it had taken this long for his son’s curiosity to overome his shyness.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Rome had suffered a great defeat,’ he kept his voice low. ‘And the Emperor asked your father to lead an army back into Dacia to regain the Empire’s honour.’ It hadn’t quite been like that. Domitian had blamed him for Fuscus’s defeat and his message said that if Valerius failed he might as well follow Fuscus’s lead and fall on his sword. On the other hand, if he succeeded the new governor of Moesia had promised a second Gold Crown of Valour.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We used the following winter to recover and gather an army. It would be much stronger than the first expedition. In place of the shattered First legion, whose survivors would form our reserve, I was to have the Fifth Macedonica from Oescus, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the sister legion of the unit which had lost its eagle, to add to the Fourth and the First. I also used the time to form a special force of auxiliaries, mountain troops from Noricum, Rhaetia and Helvetia. We marched on the first day of the spring planting.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They’d taken a different route towards </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sarmizegetusa,</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">but eventually the legions had been forced into the mountains. Where King Decebalus waited.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I knew the Dacians would attempt to do to us what they’d done to my friend Fuscus. What their king didn’t know was that was exactly what I wanted him to do.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Because you had your mountain troops this time?’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Exactly,’ Valerius ruffled his son’s hair. It all sounded so simple now. No hint of the endless hours of waiting. The doubt that he had </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">condemned </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">every </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">man of the six cohorts he had used to bait the trap. Wondering if Decebalus, a wolf in human guise, had sniffed out the threat and was even now moving to cut him off from his supplies. ‘The ambushers became the ambushed. My mountain men chased the Dacians from the heights and our brave soldiers destroyed the flower of Dacian manhood in the valley below. The river flowed red with their blood,’ he added the poetic flourish knowing no war story was complete for Lucius without its ration of gore.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And you killed Decebalus?’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">No,’ Valerius laughed at the thought. ‘The king fled. In truth his heart was never in the fight. We didn’t realise then how much our earlier campaign and his invasion of Moesia had weakened his strength. We captured his baggage train.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One of the prisoner</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">had been Decebalus’s interpreter. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">n return for his freedom he’d shown Valerius the location of the booty taken from the earlier battles, removed from the baggage train as the Romans closed in and hidden in a cave. Conspicuous among it had been the eagle of the Fifth.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So you took the eagle and returned in triumph.’ Lucius’s voice faded to a murmur and Valerius felt his son relax into sleep.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It hadn’t quite been like that. Decebalus had retreated to </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sarmizegetusa </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and Valerius and his legions had besieged the city. Eventually the king was forced to ask for terms and, after months of negotiations, Domitian had finally agreed to a treaty that was surprisingly favourable to the Dacians. It was the following spring by the time Valerius was able to return from the campaign and cross the bridge of boats back in to Moesia. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He hadn’t drawn his sword from the beginning to the end of the expedition.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He remembered the solitary figure emerging from the morning mist as his horse clattered over the boards on to dry land. Shabolz handed him a scroll of tattered parchment. ‘This came two days ago.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Josephus hadn’t even had time to encode his message.</span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Your shield has fallen. The Emperor has discovered the location of the final statement and </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Saturninus and </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">all the other holders are dead. Flee. The arrangements are made as we discussed.”</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Well?’ he said to Shabolz.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They are waiting at a farm east of Viminacium. We have food and forage for a week.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then let us not delay.’ </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">dismissed his bodyguard </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">of legionary cavalry and they rode off into the murk</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. ‘You will like Emesa, old friend. The streets are paved with enough gold even to satisfy a Pannonian bandit and Tabitha’s uncle will make you a lord.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But first they had to survive. And he had business in Antioch.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">(PS. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.2in;">Don't miss tomorrow's bonus double length episode as the story comes to its climactic conclusion).</span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-6151374666323695242020-04-14T23:43:00.002-07:002020-04-18T03:23:12.472-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 16<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 16</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">If you’re in pain, you’re not dead. Valerius tried to raise his head, but a bolt of agony suggested he’d be better to stay still. His last memory was … what was his last memory? He’d been with Fuscus on campaign. Shabolz … no Shabolz had stayed in Viminacium to guard Tabitha and the children. Open country. Then mountains. Then … it came flooding back in a series of flashing images and moments of sheer terror. The ambush. The knowledge they were doomed. The attempt to reach Decebalus and that final moment when the falx carved through his helmet into his skull. At least that’</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">what it had felt like, and to an extent still did. His skull </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">certainly f</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">elt as if it had been split in two. He tried to open his eyes, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">but the lids seemed to be sewn shut. It was only when he attempted to raise his hand to identify the problem that he realized they were tied behind his back.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Somewhere beyond the ringing sound in his ears he could hear people speaking, but the words meant nothing to him. He winced as he felt a hand on his shoulder, but the hand turned out to be gentle and accompanied by a second that wiped his face with a damp cloth. Gradually, it cleaned away whatever was covering his eyes and he was able to open them … only to close them just as quickly as a fiery light lanced through his brain. He waited a few moments before trying again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Th</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">e first thing he noticed was Fuscus, or at least Fuscus’s head. It lay upon a quite substantial pile </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">of similarly detached appendages</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, each with it’s twisted features frozen in the moment of death. The </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">untidy heap of bloodied heads </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">lay to the left of a throne and in the throne sat a man who Valerius recognized as the king he’d been trying to kill. Decebalus </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">barked a string of words</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">that must have been an order, because someone pulled Valerius to his feet.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">attempted to straighten </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">so he could face his fate like the man he was, a Roman officer, and a Hero of Rome</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, but his body seemed to have been trampled by a herd of oxen and his limbs wouldn’t obey hi</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s brain</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. Decebalus studied him with a look that should have conveyed hatred and malevolence, but all Valerius could read in the dark eyes was puzzlement. The king spoke again.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">King Decebalus says you deserve to die.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The words came from a short, dark-haired man at the king’s side. Precise latin, but with a pronounced Greek accent. As for the import, there was no denying the king was correct. That’s what happened to </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">invaders who failed. Valerius felt regret more than fear. He was a soldier and dying was what soldiers did. He should have died many times before. Just make it quick.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Of course, there was no guarantee of that. He had a v</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ivid </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">memory of a lump of quivering flesh impaled on a thorn bush, who’d once been the commander of an auxiliary cavalry </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">patrol</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. That had been the last time he’d crossed the Danuvius and he vowed that, in the unlikely event he survived, he would never cross th</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">at accursed </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">river again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He let his eyes drift over his surroundings. A fine evening, with the birds singing their nightly chorus. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fuscus’s head wasn’t the only trophy on display. A pile of cohort and centurial standards lay at Decebalus’s feet … and among them, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">taking </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">pride of place, was the unmistakeable form of an Imperial eagle. Valerius let out a</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">n involuntary </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">groan. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sending the eagle to safety had been Fuscus’s single successful act. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Had it all been in vain? Yet there was something about this eagle that troubled him. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Closer inspection told him it </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">wasn’t the eagle of the First Adiutrix, because the head was to the left, and the First’s eagle had been twisted to the right. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">T</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">his was the eagle of the Fifth Adiutrix. Corbulo’s eagle.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He realized the interpreter was continuing to translate the king’s words. ‘The king intends to use you to send a message.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Now Valerius felt a shiver run through him. The </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">doomed </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">auxiliary decurion had certainly sent a potent message to those who’d discovered him, flayed of every inch of flesh and round eyeballs filled with horror staring from the wreckage of what had once been a face.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He had intended that </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the Praetorian prefect </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Cornelius Fuscus should carry his message to the Emperor, and he had given orders that he be spared. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">S</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">adly the governor decided he could not face the shame of surrender and fell </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">up</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">on his own sword.’ Poor Fuscus, he would have known Domitian would never have let him live after this disaster. But what was the man saying? ‘You, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">officer </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">who showed the courage and sacrifice the king would expect of his own warriors, will go in his stead. T</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ell the Emperor that King Decebalus’s venture into Moesia and Pannonia was a matter of political necessity to cement his hold on his crown.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It will not be repeated. Emperor Domitian will understand the pressures of political necessity. The king wants only p</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ea</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ce with his neighbours and an end to this unfortunate </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">mis</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">understanding.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Something threatened to burst inside Valerius. If the king believed Domitian would forget this ‘unfortunate </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">mis</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">understanding’, he was due to lear</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">n</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a harsh lesson. But that didn’t matter</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He was going to live. He would feel the touch of Tabitha’s lips again and hear his children’s laughter. Of course, in the longer term, Domitian might have something to say about his future, but he would mee</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">that hurdle when it came.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He was going to live.</span></span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-58554179012259596902020-04-14T01:11:00.005-07:002020-04-18T03:22:44.181-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 15 Disaster in Dacia<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 15</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Cornelius,’ Valerius pointed to the mound. ‘</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There is still something to be salvaged from this. If we can kill King Decebalus </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">this defeat will be forgotten and </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">your name will be remembered alongside Paulinus, the saviour of Britannia, and Corbulo, scourge of the Parthians.’</span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">B</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ut how?’ Fuscus demanded. ‘He is beyond our reach.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Centurion?’ Valerius called to the commander of Fuscus’s bodyguard, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">two </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">hundred strong and every man a veteran. ‘Order your men to form century wedge around us.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It had come to him with the name Paulinus. Suetonius Paulinus had defeated the Iceni rebel Boudicca using just this tactic. Valerius had watched the Roman wedges carve deep into the centre of the rebel army and destroy their cohesion. That day it had been the catalyst for victory. Today the salvation of Fuscus’s honour must suffice.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The centurion ordered his men into sections of twenty, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">every man with his gladius drawn and his shield at the ready</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, forming compact units five wide and four deep. One unit </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">created </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the tip of the arrow-shaped wedge, with two more behind. Valerius and Fuscus added themselves to the centre of the third row, and four more sections formed up behind them, the reserves who would flow forward as the formations in front were depleted.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ready,’ the centurion called.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For Rome,’ Valerius shouted, and his cry was echoed by every man in the formation. ‘Our mark is the mound directly ahead. An extra ration of wine for the man who bring me King Decebalus’s head.’ They laughed at that. Dead men walking and they knew it, but they still laughed. ‘Wedge will advance at the trot.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Four hundred paces. That was all it would take. And the first hundred were within their own lines. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then they would have to fight their way through a thousand Dacian warriors, hack down the king’s bodyguard and take their swords to him.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Make way. Make way, damn you.’ The centurion had placed himself in the centre of the point section of the arrowhead and he roared at the bewildered soldiers who stood in his way waiting for the Dacian falxes to reach them. Legionaries in the first rank of the wedge used their shields to hammer their comrades aside. Ahead of them the survivors of the first cohort continued to fight off attacks on their front and flanks. The valley had been narrow before, but the battlefield was narrower still and men packed close together naturally slowed the wedge’s advance. ‘Make way you bastards or your own comrades will cut you down.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The normal purpose of the wedge was to punch a hole through the enemy’s line. The soldiers of the first section would pierce the Dacian defences at whatever cost, the second and third sections would burst through and expand the breach so that all ten sections could then attack the enemy in the flank and rear. This was different. Valerius had designed his attack with the sole purpose of </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">getting a single Roman soldier within sword’s length of the Dacian king.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A sudden lurch and a crash of shields from only a few paces </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to the </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">front told Valerius that they’d reached the Dacian line, and a scream of mortal agony confirmed it. He was almost deafened by what sounded like axes hewing wood, but that he knew was the falx chopping into the shields of the men ahead. A new voice took up the task of encouraging the wedge forward. </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Dacian warriors roared and grunted with the effort of wielding their heavy half-moons of iron. The sharper clang of </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">metal </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">upon metal </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">now and the shrieks of dying men almost constant. Valerius could almost sense the wedge fading away around him. At his side Fuscus, exhausted, and muttering a string of obscenities, fell to his knees and was swallowed up by the sections behind. The pace quickened and in that moment his heart thundered. They were through. He could see daylight on either side where there had been living, breathing </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">soldier</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, and still the survivors of the wedge were fighting and dying for every yard. A big Dacian warrior appeared in front of him where there should have been a Roman back. </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The man </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">raised his falx to strike, but Valerius managed to get his shield under the blow and ram it into </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the snarling </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">face. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;">As the Dacian fell away, Valerius looked up to see the mound less than a dozen paces ahead, Decebalus, the Dacian king at the centre of his courtiers. He threw the shield aside and sprinted towards the salvation of Rome’s honour, the </span><span style="color: #00000a;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 10);">sword firm </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;">in his left hand. Six paces. A shouted order. His feet skidded from under him and he fell with the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #00000a;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 10);">blades</span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">outstretched, the tip a finger's length from Decebalus’s feet. A shadow fell over him and something hammered into his helmet with enormous force.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Darkness.</span></span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-17302214741732872322020-04-13T01:15:00.001-07:002020-04-18T03:22:18.161-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 14<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 14</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They were approaching the end of a narrow valley when it happened. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What had been open ground where the vale opened out and rose towards the next pass suddenly became a wall of Dacian warriors who had somehow evaded the lead scouts. Bugles blared as Fuscus immediately issued orders for the lead cohorts to move from column into line ready to attack.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius felt a thrill of fear that had nothing to do with the Dacians in front of him. He had been in this position before, at the battle of the Cepha gap when Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo had faced Vologases, the Parthian King of Kings, and his Invincibles. But then it had been Corbulo who was the stopper in the wine skin. He looked over his shoulder to the rear where the legionary column stretched away to the end of the narrow, tree-lined valley and far beyond. The rear guard of the Second Adiutrix must be four or five miles away and entirely out of contact with the expedition’s commander. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">All around him soldiers were changing position, crammed closely together by the terrain and getting in each other’s way. It was taking an age to reform the legion and every passing second added to the confusion.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And this was the widest part of the valley. They’d entered through a narrow gorge that was now perhaps a mile behind them. Between Valerius and the gorge stood six cohorts of the First Adiutrix, perhaps three thousand of Rome’s finest troops. But the nature of the terrain mean only the first cohort was likely to be contact with the enemy. Decebalus had chosen his defensive position well.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Even as the thought formed Decebalus proved that defence was the last thing on his mind. From the far end of the valley came cries of alarm and fear accompanied by a tearing crash as a dozen large trees fell simultaneously to crush the rearmost troops and block the gorge.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fuscus looked to Valerius with a</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">n expression</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">of incompreh</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">e</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">nsion on his plump features. ‘</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What’s happening?’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">An image formed in Valerius’s mind. Mars save us! It can’t be. ‘Look to your flanks,’ he shouted. ‘Signaller ...’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But it was already too late. From the heights and trees around them swarms of falx-wielding Dacian warriors poured down towards the disorganized Roman formation. Valerius’s heart froze. He had read about the annihilation of Varus’s legions in Germania and he knew what came next. Yet there was one last thing he could do.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Get the eagle out,’ he called to Fuscus. ‘</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Use the couriers.’ Every Roman legion contained a mounted detachment of a hundred and twenty cavalry who acted as scouts and couriers. A dozen of them were milling around Fuscus waiting for orders.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fuscus shook his head. ‘No ...’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius took him by the arm with his left hand. ‘We’re finished Cornelius. But you can still save yourself and the eagle. Rome has already lost an eagle and a governor to the Dacians don’t present them with a second.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The eagle can go,’ Fuscus’s voice shook. ‘But I stay with my men.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Aquila to me,’ Valerius roared. ‘Couriers at the ready.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The standard bearer ran up, his face shining with sweat beneath the leopard’s mask and surrounded by his guard. Valerius dismounted and handed </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the astonished soldier</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the reins. ‘Marcus Aquila. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Your duty is to save the eagle.’ Aquila opened his mouth. ‘No,’ Valerius </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">had to shout above the growing din all around him as falxes clattered into helmets and armour and shields</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. ‘No protests and no foolish sacrifice. Go with these riders. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">horses </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">will carry you over the slope </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">by the gorge. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hurry.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Aquila growled a curse, but one of his guards held the eagle as he vaulted into the saddle. ‘</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Go well my friends.’ He galloped off at the heart of the cloud of cavalrymen as they carved their way through the confusion towards the end of the valley.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Meanwhile the First Adiutrix was dying on its feet around them. Ten thousand warriors had fallen from the heights and the falxes were carving the column into smaller pieces. The legionaries were brave, they fought well and died hard, but they still died. Died screaming and gutted, or silently like pole-axed cattle, or staring in disbelief as blood spurted from severed arms or legs. The First’s legate and his officers did what they could to rally their soldiers and form some kind of defensive line, but the Dacian charge had smashed in the column’s flanks and they could not control a thousand individual fights. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fuscus stood at the centre of his bodyguard of Praetorians and stared at the carnage around him.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What can we do? </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Will the other cohorts come to our support?</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius shook his head. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He had a feeling that the rear cohorts were most likely fighting for their own lives</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. ‘All we can do is save our honour.’ He looked ahead to where the Dacian line had stood at the head of the valley. Over a wall of plunging falx blades he saw a single warrior standing on a raised mound surrounded by lavishly dressed courtiers and waving standards.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Dacian king.</span></span><br />
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-33723788048263575112020-04-12T07:45:00.002-07:002020-04-18T03:21:27.080-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE OMNIBUS 2 My weekly roundup of my Valerius short story posts.<script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">On the tenth day of the expedition the Emperor’s entourage descended on Ravenna like a flock of locusts. Domitia’s officials requisitioned a fine house where she could stay the night and prepared a large room for a special banquet on the occasion of her thirty-seventh birthday. Tabitha was invited to attend as one of Domitia’s companions. She had little choice, though she dreaded the thought of being in close proximity to the Emperor who fostered such a visceral hatred for Valerius.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It quickly became apparent as they settled into their couches around an enormous gilt table that Domitian, though he sent his wife the blessings of the day, was too busy to make an appearance. Domitia showed no sign of displeasure as she accepted the congratulations of her companions. They included two or three young men, the husbands of her particular friends, who took care to keep a chaste distance – Domitian was known to harbour a sometimes fatal jealousy. A couch to Domitia’s right remained empty and Tabitha wondered if it had some kind of symbolism to do with the Emperor’s absence. She looked away, and when she looked back it had been filled. Her heart felt as if it had stopped.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">That face. It still had the burned out, tormented nobility she remembered, though the jowls were heavier and the broad forehead lined and creased. He contrived to wear his thinning hair in the Judaean style, tight-curled and an unlikely shade of crow black given the white that shot through his cropped beard. Heavier in the chest and the belly, but that was hardly surprising after fifteen years. The last time she’d seen him was in the Great Temple of Jerusalem with flaming timbers falling around their ears while they tried to kill each other.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Joseph Ben Mahtityahu.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The man raised his head with a frown, as if the name had echoed through the room. Their eyes met and she saw her own shock mirrored there. They ignored each other for the rest of the meal.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As the banquet broke up, Domitia waved Tabitha across.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You have not met Josephus,’ she introduced the man beside her. ‘An exotic in a court of exotics. He was Vespasian’s prisoner, Titus’s pet, and, for some reason that escapes me entirely, he retains my husband’s favour.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Emperor Domitianus treasures me for my wit and charm, as the lady Augusta knows full well,’ Josephus smiled. He bowed. ‘It is an honour to meet a fellow Judaean who has risen high in the Emperor’s favour.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Of course,’ Domitia frowned. ‘I should have introduced you earlier.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Perhaps I could have the pleasure of escorting the lady Tabitha back to her quarters. I long for news of my homeland and we may have acquaintances in common.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha allowed Josephus to drape her cloak across her shoulders, though his touch made her flesh creep. Together they walked through the growing dusk towards the wagon lines, accompanied by two of her slave girls who hovered just out of hearing distance.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They say it is always the fattest rat that survives, I see that is true.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I prefer to think of myself as the most cunning,’ Josephus showed no resentment at the insult.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’m sure the shades of Gamala’s defenders will be pleased to hear it.’ Josephus had been the commander of a Judaean fort besieged by the Romans and the unlikely sole survivor of a garrison who had all agreed to commit suicide. ‘What do you want of me? Is it my silence or my forgiveness?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is neither,’ Josephus said. ‘Anything you say cannot harm me and your forgiveness means nothing to me.’ He turned to her. ‘The court of Titus Flavius Caesar Domitianus Augustus can be a very dangerous place.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Is that a threat?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is a statement of fact.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then what,’ Tabitha demanded.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A person cannot have too many friends in this place.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You once stabbed a man who was a friend in the back.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Allies then. ‘Josephus shrugged, not caring to remember the knife he had plunged into Serpentius. ‘We shall be allies.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Why should I ally myself to a man I do not trust?’ Tabitha asked.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Josephus pondered the question for a few moments as they passed through the city gate and walked across the bridge to the causeway that led to the high ground of the wagon park. ‘We have a mutual interest in staying alive. As your husband knows better than most, an Emperor’s favour can be a fickle commodity,’ he looked over his shoulder to check that the servant girls were outwith hearing distance. ‘Shall I tell you a story?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As long as it’s not too dull.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Oh, it’s not dull. Not at all. It concerns a ruler, young and vigorous and loved by his people.’ He glanced at her and she nodded to signify her understanding that they were talking about Titus, Domitian’s brother. ‘Despite being in the prime of his life this ruler inexplicably fell ill, took to his bed and died. Naturally, no-one mourned more vocally than the ruler’s heir, soon to take up the burden of the crown. Yet his first task on mounting the throne was not to create a lasting memorial for his brother or hoist him to the pantheon. No, it was to make a list. A list of those who had grieved, offended, or failed him. It was a long list and it contained some surprising,’ his swarthy features took on a reflective look, ‘not to say perturbing, names.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It must have been a difficult time,’ Tabitha agreed. ‘Yet here we are.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Indeed, here we are. Both of us,’ Josephus said meaningfully. ‘And we owe our presence to the enterprise of a certain lady.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I think I understand ...’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">No, you must hear the rest. It became clear to those on the list – for the ruler made no secret of its existence or the purpose for which it had been created – that their continued wellbeing depended on the manufacture of a shield to deflect the inevitable blades that were coming their way. Fortunately, one person close to both brothers had been troubled for some time about the elder’s failing health and had made certain inquiries. These inquiries led her to a woman versed in a multitude ways of preparing mushrooms, sadly by then the victim of one of her own concoctions, and a servant who had disappeared in doubtful circumstances. The servant was a Judaean and she invited a gentleman of resource of the same race,’ Josephus nodded modestly to acknowledge Tabitha’s raised eyebrow, ‘to make inquiries into his whereabouts, or, if necessary his fate. It took many weeks and all his resources, but the gentleman not only discovered the boy was still alive, but also his whereabouts.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He must have had an interesting story to tell,’ Tabitha didn’t hide her growing respect. ‘If, of course, he could be persuaded to tell it.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Oh, he did, and in time he did tell it, in great detail and in front of two trusted jurists who took down his every word. Later they created four drafts of the testament on the finest parchment which were passed to powerful men who held prominent places on the list. Respected politicians whose word carried weight and whose story would have outraged a Senate which already hated and mistrusted their new ruler. And not just the Senate, but the people who had loved their former, now deceased, Emperor.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That was well done.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Yes, my mistress is wise, as well as beautiful.’ Josephus chose to drop the pretence. ‘She let it be known that multiple copies of the testament existed and that should there be any unexplained deaths or disappearances one would be presented to the Senate. Naturally, her husband is interested to know the locations of these papers that combine to thwart his will. To my knowledge he has tracked down two of the recipients. You will have noticed a substantial portion of the Senate accompany us?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Surely it is the custom for the Emperor to take his to take his closest advisers on campaign?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is,’ Josephus agreed, ‘but these are not his closest advisers. They are the men he trusts least and among them, he is certain, are all four holders of the testament. He cannot act until he is certain of the identity of all four, but when he does ...’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Our shield falls from our hands.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Precisely.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What do you want from us?’ Tabitha demanded.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Judaean’s voice became more urgent. ‘It may be that he will still have a use for either Valerius or myself, but it is unlikely both would be spared. If your time comes I will know quickly enough to provide you with fast horses and supplies to reach a place of sanctuary. All I ask is that you prepare the same for me.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How will you know when that time comes?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A certain person will give you adequate warning.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But won’t she be the first person on his list?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They reached the wagon lines. ‘If that is the case we are all dead anyway.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Josephus bowed and marched off into the growing darkness.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">CHAPTER 3</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They reached Oescus on the afternoon of the fourth day and Valerius quickly found an inn close to the port where they could rest. The town was swarming with off-duty legionaries from the Fifth Macedonica which garrisoned the nearby fort and he prayed he didn’t bump into any of his old comrades. Shabolz set off immediately to try to organize passage on a river craft heading east the next morning. Valerius had no doubt Durio would learn of the Pannonian’s inquiries, but there was no helping that. Shabolz returned just before nightfall to report that he’d found places on a trading vessel carrying timber and wine to the port of Tomis on the coast of the Great Sea, a journey that would take twelve and a half days. He carried two large sacks of provisions that should last them the length of the trip and the news that as much wine as they could drink was included in the extortionate price the ship’s owner had negotiated.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius discussed with Tabitha whether they should sell the horses. ‘There’s no knowing when we might need the silver,’ he pointed out. ‘But ...’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha shook her head. ‘If they find us before the boat sails tomorrow and we have no horses we might as well cut our own throats to save them the trouble of doing it. Better to release them at the wharf.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius nodded. It had been a long hard day in baking heat through the hill country south of the river and they were all close to exhaustion. Tabitha and the children took the room’s only bed and he and Shabolz lay on the floor in their cloaks. He eased off the leather stock and oiled his stump, leaving a little oil to drip into the intricate mechanism at the heart of the wooden fist. When he was done, he returned the oil to the leather sack and was asleep within seconds.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The sound of a gentle giggle woke him just as dawn broke. He opened an eye to discover Lucius and Olivia crouched beside him gently pulling apart the strings on the leather sack. Tabitha was nowhere in sight and he guessed she must have gone to draw water from the well. The two children were so focussed on their quest that they jumped away from the bag when he raised himself on his good arm.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’re sorry father,’ Lucius blurted. ‘We were just curious. You keep it so close and whatever is in it is so heavy ...’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Olivia huddled behind her brother her dark eyes wide. There was no doubting who was the leader of this escapade. Curious? How could he not have realised? He blamed himself. Shabolz and Tabitha were both aware of the contents of the sack, how did he believe he could keep them a secret from his children in these circumstances.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He smiled. ‘There’s no need to be creeping about. All you had to do was ask. Take a look.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lucius picked up the bag and reached inside, reverently removing an object wrapped in softer leather than the outer sack. He laid it on the ground and knelt over it. With Olivia peering over his shoulder he peeled back the leather and they both gasped in wonder at the gleaming wonder they’d revealed. Lucius picked it up in both hands, marvelling at the weight.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Is it real gold, father?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It. The length of a man’s forearm from wingtip to wingtip, its feathered chest puffed out, the raptor’s beak gaped in a scream of defiance. Half as high as it was wide, the hooked claws held a lightning bolt in their grasp.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">An Imperial eagle. A legion’s heart and its soul. The symbol of its honour and its vow to the emperor. The eagle of the Fifth Alaudae..</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius shook his head. ‘It is coated in gold leaf, but I would guess it was originally forged from bronze.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Is it ours?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It belongs to its legion, but whether that legion still exists I do not know. I intend to return it to a lady whose father once commanded the Fifth Aludae. She will know what to do with it.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The lady Augusta,’ Olivia squealed.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius laughed at his daughter’s insight. How could she have known?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Yes, her father was the great general, Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo.’ Corbulo had been like a father to Valerius when they had served together in Armenia. Valerius was at his side when he died, a victim of Nero’s insane jealousy.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How did you get it?’ Lucius asked.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">King Decebalus of the Dacians took it as a trophy when he won a great victory over the legions. I took it from King Decebalus.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The dull, metallic clang tore Valerius from his revery and his left hand swooped to his sword hilt as he whirled to face the threat. A sailor emptying his slop bucket over the side stared open-mouthed at the scarred warrior in the fighter’s crouch.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You didn’t strike me as the nervous type,’ the ship’s master called from his position beside the steering oar. ‘Falco, I’d be a little quieter around our passengers if I was you.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius ignored the jibe and walked across the deck to where Tabitha and the children sat on straw bales playing a version of the soldier’s game on a board etched into the deck. Shabolz was in the bows lying on a folded sail with his eyes closed and a look of serene contentment on his face. Tabitha looked up as he approached. ‘Are you all right, Valerius?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He just surprised me when he battered that bucket against the side.’ Valerius shrugged off the moment of horror that had overwhelmed him. They were on the sixth day of their journey downriver. Valerius would have expected the children to be fractious by now, but there was a mesmerising quality to the rush of the water beneath the ship’s hull that seemed to calm them as they swept past cliffs and forests, forts and settlements in the sunshine. He guessed they were somewhere close to Durosturum, one of the main fortresses on the frontier. Where possible the steersman had kept close to the southern bank for fear of a sudden hail of Dacian spears if they strayed too close to the northern.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was the sound. That sound that would live in his memory until the day he died. The metal bucket against the solid timber of the ship’s hull had precisely the same quality as a Dacian falx meeting the iron of a legionary’s helmet. Multiply it a thousand times and then ten times more, and add the shrieks of the wounded, the maimed and the dying, and you had the insane clamour of a battle between outnumbered Roman legionaries and barbarians wielding the most feared weapon the world had yet seen. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius had witnessed the soldiers of Rome fighting and winning against enormous odds from the heather-clad hills of Caledonia to the deserts of Armenia. They won because a legion fought as a single disciplined organism and because they were the best armed and armoured soldiers in the world. Each man’s head was protected by a helmet of metal or brass, his torso by armour made from polished iron plate or linked mail, and he stood behind a stout wooden shield pushed tight against his neighbours until the gladius, his deadly short sword darted in between. A battle against barbarians wasn’t really a battle at all, just butchery.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Dacians were different, because the Dacians had the falx.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Three feet of curved iron at the end of a two foot shaft, the heavy weapon was shaped like a reaping hook, with an inside edge like a razor, and a needle point. The Dacians wielded them two handed and with enormous strength, giving no thought for their safety as long as they killed their enemy. The point would puncture or, at worst crush, a helmet of the finest quality. Those made of inferior metal could be split in two, along with the head inside. The heavy blade would shear through a shield of oak and kill or wound the man holding it. Valerius, a veteran of more battles than he could count, had seldom seen Roman soldiers suffer wounds like this. Skulls punctured or smashed, faces cut in half, arms and legs sliced off, torsos split open despite the armour that protected them. Even the tightest formation could not hold them back. A Dacian attack was like ten thousand men hewing their way through a forest of flesh.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">King Decebalus was no fool. When Domitian arrived in Pannonia with his legions to avenge Sabinus, the Dacians simply melted away before him and slipped back across the river. Valerius, now part of the entourage of Cornelius Fuscus, had watched as the Emperor struck out like a blind man, sending cohorts and sometimes full legions out at the first whisper of the enemy, however unlikely. Domitian’s commanders silently cursed his ineptitude and Fuscus urged caution, but the Emperor ignored them. After a month he became bored with playing hide and seek in the Illyrian mountains and retired to his tented pavilions to concentrate on entertaining his concubines and complaining about his wife.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius helped the new governor to prepare for the advance into the fractured wilds of Dacia. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d crossed the Danuvius. He’d been fortunate to escape with his life twenty years earlier when he’d been lured into an ambush across the river. His knowledge of the first twenty miles int Dacia and the tribesmen who inhabited those lands gave Fuscus an insight into the dangers he faced. With Domitian’s demands for an advance becoming ever more shrill, he concluded that he needed more legions if he was to destroy Decebalus’s capital at Sarmizegetusa, some six days march into the Dacian heartland.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Domitian refused the reinforcements.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">The Dacians had burned the wooden bridge at Viminacium when they retreated over the Danuvius so Fuscus ordered the creation of a floating bridge from a hundred and more supply barges and a plank road. Fortunately there had been little Spring rain and the river was slow and sluggish, but it still took two weeks to gather the boats and anchor them in place before the engineers could make the road.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; break-inside: auto; color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.17in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Short-handed or not, one legion had to be left in reserve against a surprise Dacian attack or to exploit a Roman success. Against Valerius’s advice Fuscus decided to leave the Fourth Flavia at Viminacium on the grounds that, as the legion had been based at Singidunum in Moesia, their experiences had left them with too great a respect for the Dacian warriors. Valerius reasoned that a legion that knew the country and the enemy should be at the front where their experience would be of the most use. Fuscus would not be moved and it was the First and Second Adiutrix that crossed the bridge of boats and turned east onto the flat plain that led towards the mountains and Sarmizegetusa.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; break-inside: auto; color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.17in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">As always, auxiliaries made up the van of the marching column - a cohort each of Thracian spearmen and archers, lightly armed and ready to deploy into a skirmish line at the first contact with the enemy. On the far flank </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">Valerius</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">could see the dust </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">that identified </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">the legion</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s cavalry contingent, who would be scouting the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">open country</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">and the route ahead. Next came the camp prefect, responsible for march discipline, accompanied by the junior tribunes who weren</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">t much good for anything but carrying messages. Behind them, the signallers with their curved trumpets.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; break-inside: auto; color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.17in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">His heart beat a little faster as the eagle came into sight - the eagle of the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">First Adiutrix</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">- the golden wings raised and beak open in a scream of defiance. The eagle was a legion</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s pride and a legion</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s soul, presented personally by the Emperor and every man was oath sworn to protect it. It was borne by the aquilifer, a veteran of twenty year</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s service, sweating in the heat beneath his leopard skin, the face a snarling mask over his helmet. Eight men accompanied him, the eagle</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s personal guard, the phalerae that proclaimed their valour on their breasts. There was no greater shame for a legion than to lose its eagle.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; break-inside: auto; color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.17in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">Behind the eagle marched the men who would protect it and die for it. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">In the lead came the elite First cohort, led by its standard bearer and composed of eight hundred men, in five double strength centuries of a hundred and sixty men each. These were the legion’s bravest and best troops, the men who could be relied on to break the enemy line, or hold their own under any pressure.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; break-inside: auto; color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.17in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">Every man wore a polished iron helmet with a neck protector, cheek guards and a reinforced brow. His torso was protected by </span><span lang="en-US"><i>lorica segmentata </i></span><span lang="en-US">armour, a complex arrangement of case hardened iron bands that covered the chest, shoulders and back. He carried a pair of </span><span lang="en-US"><i>pila</i></span><span lang="en-US">, weighted spears designed to punch through shields and light armour, and on his hip he wore a twenty-two inch </span><span lang="en-US"><i>gladius,</i></span><span lang="en-US">the short sword that had almost literally carved out the Roman empire. On his back, he bore the brightly painted </span><span lang="en-US"><i>scutum, </i></span><span lang="en-US">the big shield that he cursed on the march for its weight, but that would save his life in the battle line. It was prone to chafe the shoulders, back and legs, but it was the work of a moment to unsling it and face the enemy ready for battle. They were short, wiry men, with uncouth habits and a soldier’s tendency to complain, but, the</span><span lang="en-US">Fifth</span><span lang="en-US">, those dozy bastards, notwithstanding, they knew that if they maintained their discipline they were invincible.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Behind them by the thousand came the mules of the supply train; no ox carts on this campaign because no roads existed where were going, only precipitous mountain passes and boulder-filled valley bottoms that would snap an axle as if it was a toothpick. The mules were followed by more auxiliaries. Frisians and Tungrians, Vangiones and Nervians from the swamps of Germania, Gauls from every part of that vast land, and lithe, tanned hillmen, blood brothers to Shabolz, from Pannonia and Moetia and Dalmatia.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sixteen thousand men marched into Dacia with Cornelius Fuscus. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was a magnificent sight, but that magnificence and the confidence it inspired faded as they entered the mountains.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’re too strung out,’ Valerius told Fuscus. The </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">mountain</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">valleys were deep, with precipitous tree-lined slopes that it was near impossible to patrol effectively. Hidden gullies might conceal a hundred Dacian warriors. An entire army </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">could</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">hide among the tops. The valley bottoms were narrow and constricted further by rivers and streams </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">with no room for the cohorts to deploy. ‘We should find another way to</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sarmizegetusa.’</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">F</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">uscus wiped his brow, he was not built for campaigning in the heat. ‘No,’ he said, though Valerius could see he was equally concerned. ‘The Emperor seeks a quick victory and our spies say this is the fastest route to the Dacian king. It would take a week to prise us out of here and another three to march round the mountains.’</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius’s premonition of loo</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">m</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ing disaster increased with every mile they marched.</span></span></div>
</div>
Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-35278424627100426152020-04-10T00:27:00.001-07:002020-04-10T02:26:20.708-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 13<script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 13</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">The Dacians had burned the wooden bridge at Viminacium when they retreated over the Danuvius, so Fuscus ordered the creation of a floating bridge from a hundred and more supply barges and a plank road. Fortunately there had been little Spring rain and the river was slow and sluggish, but it still took two weeks to gather the boats and anchor them in place before the engineers could make the road.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; break-inside: auto; color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.17in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Short-handed or not, one legion had to be left in reserve against a surprise Dacian attack or to exploit a Roman success. Against Valerius’s advice Fuscus decided to leave the Fourth Flavia at Viminacium on the grounds that, as the legion had been based at Singidunum in Moesia, their experiences had left them with too great a respect for the Dacian warriors. Valerius reasoned that a legion that knew the country and the enemy should be at the front where their experience would be of the most use. Fuscus would not be moved and it was the First and Second Adiutrix that crossed the bridge of boats and turned east onto the flat plain that led towards the mountains and Sarmizegetusa.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; break-inside: auto; color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.17in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">As always, auxiliaries made up the van of the marching column - a cohort each of Thracian spearmen and archers, lightly armed and ready to deploy into a skirmish line at the first contact with the enemy. On the far flank </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">Valerius</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">could see the dust </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">that identified </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">the legion</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s cavalry contingent, who would be scouting the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">open country </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">and the route ahead. Next came the camp prefect, responsible for march discipline, accompanied by the junior tribunes who weren</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">t much good for anything but carrying messages. Behind them, the signallers with their curved trumpets.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; break-inside: auto; color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.17in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">His heart beat a little faster as the eagle came into sight - the eagle of the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">First Adiutrix</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">- the golden wings raised and beak open in a scream of defiance. The eagle was a legion</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s pride and a legion</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s soul, presented personally by the Emperor and every man was oath sworn to protect it. It was borne by the aquilifer, a veteran of twenty year</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s service, sweating in the heat beneath his leopard skin, the face a snarling mask over his helmet. Eight men accompanied him, the eagle</span></span><span lang="en-US">’</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">s personal guard, the phalerae that proclaimed their valour on their breasts. There was no greater shame for a legion than to lose its eagle.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; break-inside: auto; color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.17in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">Behind the eagle marched the men who would protect it and die for it. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-US">In the lead came the elite First cohort, led by its standard bearer and composed of eight hundred men, in five double strength centuries of a hundred and sixty men each. These were the legion’s bravest and best troops, the men who could be relied on to break the enemy line, or hold their own under any pressure.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; break-inside: auto; color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.17in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">Every man wore a polished iron helmet with a neck protector, cheek guards and a reinforced brow. His torso was protected by </span><span lang="en-US"><i>lorica segmentata </i></span><span lang="en-US">armour, a complex arrangement of case hardened iron bands that covered the chest, shoulders and back. He carried a pair of </span><span lang="en-US"><i>pila</i></span><span lang="en-US">, weighted spears designed to punch through shields and light armour, and on his hip he wore a twenty-two inch </span><span lang="en-US"><i>gladius,</i></span><span lang="en-US">the short sword that had almost literally carved out the Roman empire. On his back, he bore the brightly painted </span><span lang="en-US"><i>scutum, </i></span><span lang="en-US">the big shield that he cursed on the march for its weight, but that would save his life in the battle line. It was prone to chafe the shoulders, back and legs, but it was the work of a moment to unsling it and face the enemy ready for battle. They were short, wiry men, with uncouth habits and a soldier’s tendency to complain, but, the</span><span lang="en-US">Fifth</span><span lang="en-US">, those dozy bastards, notwithstanding, they knew that if they maintained their discipline they were invincible.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Behind them by the thousand came the mules of the supply train; no ox carts on this campaign because no roads existed where were going, only precipitous mountain passes and boulder-filled valley bottoms that would snap an axle as if it was a toothpick. The mules were followed by more auxiliaries. Frisians and Tungrians, Vangiones and Nervians from the swamps of Germania, Gauls from every part of that vast land, and lithe, tanned hillmen, blood brothers to Shabolz, from Pannonia and Moetia and Dalmatia.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sixteen thousand men marched into Dacia with Cornelius Fuscus. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was a magnificent sight, but that magnificence and the confidence it inspired faded as they entered the mountains.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’re too strung out,’ Valerius told Fuscus. The </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">mountain</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">valleys were deep, with precipitous tree-lined slopes that it was near impossible to patrol effectively. Hidden gullies might conceal a hundred Dacian warriors. An entire army </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">could</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">hide among the tops. The valley bottoms were narrow and constricted further by rivers and streams </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">with no room for the cohorts to deploy. ‘We should find another way to</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sarmizegetusa.’</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">F</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">uscus wiped his brow, he was not built for campaigning in the heat. ‘No,’ he said, though Valerius could see he was equally concerned. ‘The Emperor seeks a quick victory and our spies say this is the fastest route to the Dacian king. It would take a week to prise us out of here and another three to march round the mountains.’</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius’s premonition of looming disaster increased with every mile they marched.</span></span></div>
</div>
Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-34648227920183662902020-04-09T01:06:00.000-07:002020-04-09T01:06:18.420-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE Episode 12<script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 12</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The dull, metallic clang tore Valerius from his revery and his left hand swooped to his sword hilt as he whirled to face the threat. A sailor emptying his slop bucket over the side stared open-mouthed at the scarred warrior in the fighter’s crouch.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You didn’t strike me as the nervous type,’ the ship’s master called from his position beside the steering oar. ‘Falco, I’d be a little quieter around our passengers if I was you.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius ignored the jibe and walked across the deck to where Tabitha and the children sat on straw bales playing a version of the soldier’s game on a board etched into the deck. Shabolz was in the bows lying on a folded sail with his eyes closed and a look of serene contentment on his face. Tabitha looked up as he approached. ‘Are you all right, Valerius?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He just surprised me when he battered that bucket against the side.’ Valerius shrugged off the moment of horror that had overwhelmed him. They were on the sixth day of their journey downriver. Valerius would have expected the children to be fractious by now, but there was a mesmerising quality to the rush of the water beneath the ship’s hull that seemed to calm them as they swept past cliffs and forests, forts and settlements in the sunshine. He guessed they were somewhere close to Durosturum, one of the main fortresses on the frontier. Where possible the steersman had kept close to the southern bank for fear of a sudden hail of Dacian spears if they strayed too close to the northern.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was the sound. That sound that would live in his memory until the day he died. The metal bucket against the solid timber of the ship’s hull had precisely the same quality as a Dacian falx meeting the iron of a legionary’s helmet. Multiply it a thousand times and then ten times more, and add the shrieks of the wounded, the maimed and the dying, and you had the insane clamour of a battle between outnumbered Roman legionaries and barbarians wielding the most feared weapon the world had yet seen. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius had witnessed the soldiers of Rome fighting and winning against enormous odds from the heather-clad hills of Caledonia to the deserts of Armenia. They won because a legion fought as a single disciplined organism and because they were the best armed and armoured soldiers in the world. Each man’s head was protected by a helmet of metal or brass, his torso by armour made from polished iron plate or linked mail, and he stood behind a stout wooden shield pushed tight against his neighbours until the gladius, his deadly short sword darted in between. A battle against barbarians wasn’t really a battle at all, just butchery.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Dacians were different, because the Dacians had the falx.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Three feet of curved iron at the end of a two foot shaft, the heavy weapon was shaped like a reaping hook, with an inside edge like a razor, and a needle point. The Dacians wielded them two handed and with enormous strength, giving no thought for their safety as long as they killed their enemy. The point would puncture or, at worst crush, a helmet of the finest quality. Those made of inferior metal could be split in two, along with the head inside. The heavy blade would shear through a shield of oak and kill or wound the man holding it. Valerius, a veteran of more battles than he could count, had seldom seen Roman soldiers suffer wounds like this. Skulls punctured or smashed, faces cut in half, arms and legs sliced off, torsos split open despite the armour that protected them. Even the tightest formation could not hold them back. A Dacian attack was like ten thousand men hewing their way through a forest of flesh.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">King Decebalus was no fool. When Domitian arrived in Pannonia with his legions to avenge Sabinus, the Dacians simply melted away before him and slipped back across the river. Valerius, now part of the entourage of Cornelius Fuscus, had watched as the Emperor struck out like a blind man, sending cohorts and sometimes full legions out at the first whisper of the enemy, however unlikely. Domitian’s commanders silently cursed his ineptitude and Fuscus urged caution, but the Emperor ignored them. After a month he became bored with playing hide and seek in the Illyrian mountains and retired to his tented pavilions to concentrate on entertaining his concubines and complaining about his wife.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius helped the new governor to prepare for the advance into the fractured wilds of Dacia. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d crossed the Danuvius. He’d been fortunate to escape with his life twenty years earlier when he’d been lured into an ambush across the river. His knowledge of the first twenty miles int Dacia and the tribesmen who inhabited those lands gave Fuscus an insight into the dangers he faced. With Domitian’s demands for an advance becoming ever more shrill, he concluded that he needed more legions if he was to destroy Decebalus’s capital at Sarmizegetusa, some six days march into the Dacian heartland.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Domitian refused the reinforcements.</span></span></span></div>
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Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-34513855971436183692020-04-08T00:27:00.002-07:002020-04-08T00:27:41.227-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE Episode 11<div align="left" style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; break-inside: auto; color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.17in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 11</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They reached Oescus on the afternoon of the fourth day and Valerius quickly found an inn close to the port where they could rest. The town was swarming with off-duty legionaries from the Fifth Macedonica which garrisoned the nearby fort and he prayed he didn’t bump into any of his old comrades. Shabolz set off immediately to try to organize passage on a river craft heading east the next morning. Valerius had no doubt Durio would learn of the Pannonian’s inquiries, but there was no helping that. Shabolz returned just before nightfall to report that he’d found places on a trading vessel carrying timber and wine to the port of Tomis on the coast of the Great Sea, a journey that would take twelve and a half days. He carried two large sacks of provisions that should last them the length of the trip and the news that as much wine as they could drink was included in the extortionate price the ship’s owner had negotiated.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius discussed with Tabitha whether they should sell the horses. ‘There’s no knowing when we might need the silver,’ he pointed out. ‘But ...’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha shook her head. ‘If they find us before the boat sails tomorrow and we have no horses we might as well cut our own throats to save them the trouble of doing it. Better to release them at the wharf.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius nodded. It had been a long hard day in baking heat through the hill country south of the river and they were all close to exhaustion. Tabitha and the children took the room’s only bed and he and Shabolz lay on the floor in their cloaks. He eased off the leather stock and oiled his stump, leaving a little oil to drip into the intricate mechanism at the heart of the wooden fist. When he was done, he returned the oil to the leather sack and was asleep within seconds.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The sound of a gentle giggle woke him just as dawn broke. He opened an eye to discover Lucius and Olivia crouched beside him gently pulling apart the strings on the leather sack. Tabitha was nowhere in sight and he guessed she must have gone to draw water from the well. The two children were so focussed on their quest that they jumped away from the bag when he raised himself on his good arm.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’re sorry father,’ Lucius blurted. ‘We were just curious. You keep it so close and whatever is in it is so heavy ...’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Olivia huddled behind her brother her dark eyes wide. There was no doubting who was the leader of this escapade. Curious? How could he not have realised? He blamed himself. Shabolz and Tabitha were both aware of the contents of the sack, how did he believe he could keep them a secret from his children in these circumstances.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He smiled. ‘There’s no need to be creeping about. All you had to do was ask. Take a look.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lucius picked up the bag and reached inside, reverently removing an object wrapped in softer leather than the outer sack. He laid it on the ground and knelt over it. With Olivia peering over his shoulder he peeled back the leather and they both gasped in wonder at the gleaming wonder they’d revealed. Lucius picked it up in both hands, marvelling at the weight.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Is it real gold, father?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It. The length of a man’s forearm from wingtip to wingtip, its feathered chest puffed out, the raptor’s beak gaped in a scream of defiance. Half as high as it was wide, the hooked claws held a lightning bolt in their grasp.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">An Imperial eagle. A legion’s heart and its soul. The symbol of its honour and its vow to the emperor. The eagle of the Fifth Alaudae..</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius shook his head. ‘It is coated in gold leaf, but I would guess it was originally forged from bronze.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Is it ours?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It belongs to its legion, but whether that legion still exists I do not know. I intend to return it to a lady whose father once commanded the Fifth Aludae. She will know what to do with it.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The lady Augusta,’ Olivia squealed.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius laughed at his daughter’s insight. How could she have known?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Yes, her father was the great general, Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo.’ Corbulo had been like a father to Valerius when they had served together in Armenia. Valerius was at his side when he died, a victim of Nero’s insane jealousy.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How did you get it?’ Lucius asked.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">King Decebalus of the Dacians took it as a trophy when he won a great victory over the legions. I took it from King Decebalus.’</span></span></span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-8387184202370228182020-04-06T23:47:00.000-07:002020-04-06T23:47:42.779-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE Episode 10<div align="left" style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; break-inside: auto; color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.17in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 10</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Why should I ally myself to a man I do not trust?’ Tabitha asked.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Josephus pondered the question for a few moments as they passed through the city gate and walked across the bridge to the causeway that led to the high ground of the wagon park. ‘We have a mutual interest in staying alive. As your husband knows better than most, an Emperor’s favour can be a fickle commodity,’ he looked over his shoulder to check that the servant girls were outwith hearing distance. ‘Shall I tell you a story?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As long as it’s not too dull.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Oh, it’s not dull. Not at all. It concerns a ruler, young and vigorous and loved by his people.’ He glanced at her and she nodded to signify her understanding that they were talking about Titus, Domitian’s brother. ‘Despite being in the prime of his life this ruler inexplicably fell ill, took to his bed and died. Naturally, no-one mourned more vocally than the ruler’s heir, soon to take up the burden of the crown. Yet his first task on mounting the throne was not to create a lasting memorial for his brother or hoist him to the pantheon. No, it was to make a list. A list of those who had grieved, offended, or failed him. It was a long list and it contained some surprising,’ his swarthy features took on a reflective look, ‘not to say perturbing, names.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It must have been a difficult time,’ Tabitha agreed. ‘Yet here we are.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Indeed, here we are. Both of us,’ Josephus said meaningfully. ‘And we owe our presence to the enterprise of a certain lady.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I think I understand ...’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">No, you must hear the rest. It became clear to those on the list – for the ruler made no secret of its existence or the purpose for which it had been created – that their continued wellbeing depended on the manufacture of a shield to deflect the inevitable blades that were coming their way. Fortunately, one person close to both brothers had been troubled for some time about the elder’s failing health and had made certain inquiries. These inquiries led her to a woman versed in a multitude ways of preparing mushrooms, sadly by then the victim of one of her own concoctions, and a servant who had disappeared in doubtful circumstances. The servant was a Judaean and she invited a gentleman of resource of the same race,’ Josephus nodded modestly to acknowledge Tabitha’s raised eyebrow, ‘to make inquiries into his whereabouts, or, if necessary his fate. It took many weeks and all his resources, but the gentleman not only discovered the boy was still alive, but also his whereabouts.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He must have had an interesting story to tell,’ Tabitha didn’t hide her growing respect. ‘If, of course, he could be persuaded to tell it.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Oh, he did, and in time he did tell it, in great detail and in front of two trusted jurists who took down his every word. Later they created four drafts of the testament on the finest parchment which were passed to powerful men who held prominent places on the list. Respected politicians whose word carried weight and whose story would have outraged a Senate which already hated and mistrusted their new ruler. And not just the Senate, but the people who had loved their former, now deceased, Emperor.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That was well done.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Yes, my mistress is wise, as well as beautiful.’ Josephus chose to drop the pretence. ‘She let it be known that multiple copies of the testament existed and that should there be any unexplained deaths or disappearances one would be presented to the Senate. Naturally, her husband is interested to know the locations of these papers that combine to thwart his will. To my knowledge he has tracked down two of the recipients. You will have noticed a substantial portion of the Senate accompany us?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Surely it is the custom for the Emperor to take his to take his closest advisers on campaign?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is,’ Josephus agreed, ‘but these are not his closest advisers. They are the men he trusts least and among them, he is certain, are all four holders of the testament. He cannot act until he is certain of the identity of all four, but when he does ...’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Our shield falls from our hands.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Precisely.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What do you want from us?’ Tabitha demanded.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Judaean’s voice became more urgent. ‘It may be that he will still have a use for either Valerius or myself, but it is unlikely both would be spared. If your time comes I will know quickly enough to provide you with fast horses and supplies to reach a place of sanctuary. All I ask is that you prepare the same for me.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How will you know when that time comes?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A certain person will give you adequate warning.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But won’t she be the first person on his list?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They reached the wagon lines. ‘If that is the case we are all dead anyway.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Josephus bowed and marched off into the growing darkness.</span></span></span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-54539436709538460072020-04-06T00:33:00.000-07:002020-04-06T00:33:14.297-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE Episode 9<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 9</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">On the tenth day of the expedition the Emperor’s entourage descended on Ravenna like a flock of locusts. Domitia’s officials requisitioned a fine house where she could stay the night and prepared a large room for a special banquet on the occasion of her thirty-seventh birthday. Tabitha was invited to attend as one of Domitia’s companions. She had little choice, though she dreaded the thought of being in close proximity to the Emperor who fostered such a visceral hatred for Valerius.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It quickly became apparent as they settled into their couches around an enormous gilt table that Domitian, though he sent his wife the blessings of the day, was too busy to make an appearance. Domitia showed no sign of displeasure at her husband's absence as she accepted the congratulations of her companions. They included two or three young men, the husbands of her particular friends, who took care to keep a chaste distance – Domitian was known to harbour a sometimes fatal jealousy. A couch to Domitia’s right remained empty and Tabitha wondered if it had some kind of symbolism to do with the Emperor. She looked away, and when she looked back she saw it had been filled. Her heart felt as if it had stopped.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">That face. It still had the worn out, tormented nobility she remembered, though the jowls were heavier and the broad forehead lined and creased. He contrived to wear his thinning hair in the Judaean style, tight-curled and an unlikely shade of crow black given the white that shot through his cropped beard. Heavier in the chest and the belly, but that was hardly surprising after fifteen years. The last time she’d seen him was in the Great Temple of Jerusalem with flaming timbers falling around their ears while they tried to kill each other.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Joseph Ben Mahtityahu.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The man raised his head with a frown, as if the name had echoed through the room. Their eyes met and she saw her own shock mirrored there. They ignored each other for the rest of the meal.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As the banquet broke up, Domitia waved Tabitha across.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You have not met Josephus,’ she introduced the man beside her. ‘An exotic in a court of exotics. He was Vespasian’s prisoner, Titus’s pet, and, for some reason that escapes me entirely, he retains my husband’s favour.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Emperor Domitianus treasures me for my wit and charm, as the lady Augusta knows full well,’ Josephus smiled. He bowed. ‘It is an honour to meet a fellow Judaean who has risen high in the Emperor’s favour.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Of course,’ Domitia frowned. ‘I should have introduced you earlier.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Perhaps I could have the pleasure of escorting the lady Tabitha back to her quarters. I long for news of my homeland and we may have acquaintances in common.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha allowed Josephus to drape her cloak across her shoulders, though his touch made her flesh creep. Together they walked through the growing dusk towards the wagon lines, accompanied by two slave girls who hovered just out of hearing distance.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They say it is always the fattest rat that survives, I see that is true.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I prefer to think of myself as the most cunning,’ Josephus showed no resentment at the insult.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’m sure the shades of Gamala’s defenders will be pleased to hear it.’ Josephus had been the commander of a Judaean fort besieged by the Romans and the unlikely sole survivor of a garrison who had all agreed to commit suicide. ‘What do you want of me? Is it my silence or my forgiveness?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is neither,’ Josephus said. ‘Anything you say cannot harm me and your forgiveness means nothing to me.’ He turned to her. ‘The court of Titus Flavius Caesar Domitianus Augustus can be a very dangerous place.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Is that a threat?’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is a statement of fact.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then what,’ Tabitha demanded.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A person cannot have too many friends in this place.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You once stabbed a man who was a friend in the back.’</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">‘<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Allies then. ‘Josephus shrugged, not caring to remember the knife he had plunged into Serpentius. ‘We shall be allies.’</span></span></span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-89120301216508283112020-04-04T02:09:00.000-07:002020-04-18T03:20:25.912-07:00Flight of the Eagle Omnibus<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">CHAPTER 1</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">In the dream, Fuscus spoke to him, but not the Fuscus he had known, fat and jovial and with a wit as sharp as the point of a gladius. This Fuscus had flesh the colour of week old ashes and his pale lips were drawn back from teeth bared in a snarl, or more likely a grimace of agony. Valerius held Fuscus’s severed head in his hand. He knew he was dreaming, but the weight of the head was comfortingly familiar, because this was not the first time he had carried the late governor of Moesia’s skull. His memory drifted idly to another dreamlike day, his feet tethered beneath the belly of a Dacian pony and his fingers twisted in the dark curls of which Fuscus had been so proud. The warriors of King Decebalus’s bodyguard had laughed as they passed among the rotting, naked corpses carpeting the field of sorrow at Tapae, all that remained of the mighty Fifth Legion Alaudae. Cornelius Fuscus had led them, under protest, at the direct command of his Emperor, to ambush and defeat beyond the Danuvius, and, dishonoured by the loss of the legion’s eagle, fought to the last when he could have fled. Gaius Valerius Verrens had fought at his side.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">For a few moments he struggled to understand what Fuscus was trying to tell him. The mangled lips moved, but the sound was faint as a distant whisper and the words blurred together. He might have been talking a different language and not the polished, aristocratic Latin of a former Prefect of the Praetorian Guard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then, as if a curtain had been drawn back, it came to him. ‘Flee, Valerius,’ the gaping mouth screamed. ‘Flee for your life and that of your family. His is a hatred that will never die. He will never stop hounding you.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Titus Flavius Caesar Domitianus Augustus. Emperor of Rome. Master and God. Pontifex Maximus. Murderer. Torturer. Betrayer. Enemy unto death.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Domitian.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lord?’ The dream faded to be replaced by a moment of confusion. A callused hand shook his shoulder. ‘Lord, we must be moving at dawn. They cannot be far behind.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He opened his eyes to find a shadowy figure stooped over him silhouetted by stars that glittered sharply in the inky sky. Other shadows bustled around the tethered horses down by the stream. A little dell surrounded by trees, he remembered, reached by rocky ground and far enough from the road to feel secure. No fire, of course, the flames would invite a spear between the shoulders. With a jolt of fear he realised something was missing.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The lady is preparing our food lord.’ The voice took on a disapproving tone.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">At least she won’t poison us, Shabolz. Unlike one of your stews.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">His words brought a bark of laughter from Shabolz, the man who had carried him from the field of Mons Graupius when Gnaeus Julius Agricola would have left him for dead. The man who had vowed to serve him unto death. They’d been on cold rations for a week or more and would break their fast with stale bread, hard cheese and perhaps a few dried out olives. </span><span style="color: #00000a;"><span style="font-family: "timesnewromanpsmt" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tall and slim with close-cropped sandy hair, serious gray eyes and handsome regular features, t</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he Pannonian cavalryman had barely changed since the day they’d met at Valerius’s villa outside Rome seven years earlier. A warrior born to the saddle, he was all that was left of Valerius’s bodyguard. Shabolz walked off chuckling and Valerius’s spirits rose. For all their peril he could not have been favoured with better companions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius drew back his blanket and pushed himself to his feet, grunting with the ache of half a dozen old wounds. His back felt as if he’d lain on a bed of knives and his twisted left leg shook when he put his weight on it. A stiff cowhide stock over his forearm held in position the oak fist that replaced the right hand he’d lost so long ago in Britannia. In normal times he would have removed it to sleep, but these were not normal times. He untied the laces with the practised fingers of his left hand and pulled the stock free of the arm. From a leather sack at his side he retrieved a clay bottle and uncorked it with his teeth to pour a little of the oil inside on the chafed flesh of his stump. After replacing cork and bottle he massaged the oil into his flesh, resisting the impulse to groan with the pleasure of it. When it was done he slipped the socket back in place and redid the laces.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Another, less bulky figure appeared from the darkness and he didn’t require the gift of sight to be aware of the presence of his wife.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">You should have woken me earlier,’ he said as Tabitha thrust a crust of bread into his hand and bent to buckle a long cavalry sword to his belt. ‘And Shabolz thinks it’s not fitting that a princess of Emesa should have to work like a common serving girl.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz stayed awake on guard all night.’ It wasn’t news. The Pannonian had kept watch every night since they’d been forced to flee Viminacium, sleeping in the saddle during the day to maintain his strength. ‘There,’ she completed her task. ‘You old men need your sleep,’ she continued. ‘Or you become irritable.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Old?’ His mock outrage made her smile, as it always did. ‘If you’d still been under the blanket when I woke I’d have showed you ...’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hush,’ she put a finger to his lips. ‘The children are close.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They stood together, basking in the comfort of each other’s presence, passing the crust between them and taking alternate sips of icy river water from a brass cup. In the pre-dawn silence Valerius could hear Lucius preparing the horses for the day and showing his sister how to secure the various straps and buckles. The boy was at the stage where he seemed to grow a few inches every week. At the age of twelve his head already reached to his father’s shoulder. A good boy, gentle and kind, perhaps too gentle for his own good, but with a keen intelligence and quick mind that undoubtedly came from his mother. Olivia, five years younger, and with Tabitha’s golden skin and raven hair, had a mercurial quality that kept her constantly on the move, and an insatiable curiosity about her surroundings that Shabolz cheerfully satisfied. He heard her yelp of delight as the Pannonian went to help them with the saddles. Six horses, four saddled and two spares that also carried their provisions, what little they had left.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The sun rose in the trees behind Valerius and the dappled light fell on Tabitha’s face. Her slim figure hidden beneath a baggy peasant’s tunic and green braccae, she was as beautiful as she had been on the day he had saved her life on the road to Apamea. True, tiny lines etched the skin at the corners of her eyes and her dark hair was shot with silver. But old? They didn’t feel old or, when the opportunity arose, act it either, but they were certainly getting older. Valerius was close to fifty now, and his once dark hair was almost white. Yet, his wounds apart, he was still vigorous and his mind remained as sharp as it had ever been. It needed to be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Their eyes met and he knew Tabitha’s thoughts precisely mirrored his own.</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="__DdeLink__5883_28194429"></a><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How could everyone act so normally when they could all be dead by the time the sun went down?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They would probably have been dead already if it hadn’t been for Shabolz’s skills and knowledge of the country. It </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">wasn’t</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>his</i></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">country. Pannonia lay far to the west behind them. He’d somehow kept them on a course parallel with the Via Militaris, the road that carried official traffic between Singidum and far off Byzantium. As far as Valerius could tell they were somewhere in the east of Moesia, perhaps even in Thrace, two day’s ride or more south of the mighty Danuvius river. A land of towering, precipitous mountains where eagles soared on the breeze, deep above shadowed tree-lined gorges filled with tumbling streams and sometimes impassable rivers. Yet Shabolz always seemed to know when a river valley would have a potential escape route instead of a dead end. He never hesitated when they came to a fork in the forest track and he understood the ways of the animals and birds and every subtlety of their alarm signals. A jay’s cry was different if it had been disturbed by a weasel or a badger. A fox gave a different bark if a bear or a wolf was close. Each of them had a specific cry for man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Those skills had never been more vital than in the forest. Four days earlier the Pannonian had sensed some presence in their wake. He’d waited until they’d reached an area where they could dismount and lead their horses up a rock incline away from the track and into hiding in the forest above. Twenty minutes later Valerius watched from a crag as a well-armed column of twenty men in black cloaks passed on the track below, so close he could hear the sound of their mounts’ hooves. They had a wariness and a sense of purpose that Valerius understood all too well. Not soldiers, hired killers. When their leader turned to scan his surroundings with flat, dead eyes, Valerius had recognized the pale features with a shiver of dread. Claudius Durio, Domitian’s most feared torturer and assassin. He’d vowed there and then that Tabitha, Lucius and Olivia would never be allowed to fall into Durio’s hands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The ruse that had taken them to the crag, and the diversion that followed, bought them time and space, but both were now running out. At the start of each day a decision must be made.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">As the children finished preparing the horses, Valerius, Tabitha and Shabolz crouched over a patch of dry earth. Valerius drew a dagger from his belt and scratched three lines in the dirt. ‘North, south or do we continue due east?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">East,’ Tabitha said firmly. ‘We agreed that only in Emesa will we be safe.’ Emesa was the Syrian city where she had been brought up. They would be under the protection of her uncle, the king. ‘Whatever we do to put them off our scent we must always move east.’ She saw the doubt on Shabolz’s face. ‘We can make a feint to north or south once we are on the move. They’ll be expecting a change of direction. We can use that to our advantage.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The only reason for going north is to take ship on the Danuvius. If we do it, we have to be certain of a boat. That means a big town, Oescus or Novae. They’re busy ports, places where tongues wag. We will only have one chance. No boat and we risk being trapped against the river and taken.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’d also have to sell the horses,’ Valerius said thoughtfully ‘But if we can reach the river, we can be on the Great Sea within days instead of weeks. The Great Sea will carry us to Trezibond. From Trezibond it is only a three day ride to the Euphrates Valley and the Euphrates will carry us as far south as Zeugma. From Zeugma I can lead us to Antioch blindfolded,’ he smiled at Tabitha. ‘And from Antioch you will guide us home.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not south, lord?’ Shabolz wondered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">If they turned south they could reach the Mare Adriaticum in less than a week, perhaps at Phillipi, where they could take ship directly to Syria. But the man who wanted them dead would know that too. The authorities at every port on the coast between Thesssalonica and Neapolis had likely already been alerted.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">No,’ Valerius decided. ‘That would make it easy for them. Tabitha is right. We will continue east for the moment.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Olivia – a miniature replica of her mother in tunic and braccae - and Lucius were already in the saddle, holding the reins of the remaining horses. Before he mounted, Valerius secured the leather sack to his saddle pommel. The misshapen object inside made it awkward and he wondered, as he did each morning, whether it would be better to throw it in the nearest river or bury it deep where it would never be found.</span></div>
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CHAPTER 2</div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It took two months after the battle at Mons Graupius for Valerius’s injuries to recover sufficiently for him to resume his duties as</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>legatus iuridicus </i></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">at the governor’s palace in Londinium, though his shattered leg had never properly healed. Julius Agricola, whom Valerius suspected of sacrificing Valerius and his group of trusted bodyguards and friends, stayed in the north hunting down bands of rebel Celts, obsessed by Calgacus, the mighty Caledonian war chief whose body had never been found.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Though outwardly their lives returned to normal, Valerius and Tabitha were never able to relax. Emperor Domitian, though he basked in the glory of Agricola’s victory, had more than one reason to wish Gaius Valerius Verrens dead, and Domitian was a vengeful man. Every meal, however carefully prepared, might contain the potential for a painful death. Every dark passage could conceal the glint of an assassin’s knife. Valerius had finally allowed himself to believe they might yet survive when the news came. They were ordered to Rome immediately.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Run? What chance would they have when he was certain Domitian and Agricola were watching their every movement? No, they had no option but to return. Logic dictated that even a man as twisted as Domitian must have a reason for wishing to look Valerius in the eye. In that reason he might find some sort of salvation. Another cause for hope lay in Valerius’s friendship with the Emperor’s wife, Domitia Augusta. In her most recent communication Domitia had hinted that she held some power over her husband, and as long as that should be the case Valerius had nothing to fear. Valerius suspected her influence had something to do with the sudden and unexplained death of the Emperor’s predecessor, his brother, Valerius’s friend Titus.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">An anxious three week journey, each day mired in doubt and the children never allowed even an arm’s length away. By sea to Gesoriacum, a fast galley through Gaul on the Sequanna, overland to the Rhodanus, the port of Massilia and another ship across the Mare Nostrum to the capital. And confusion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not a death sentence, as it turned out, but a welcome. Summoned to Domitian’s palace on the Palatine Hill, Valerius entered a court bustling with preparations for war. A Dacian army had swarmed across the Danuvius frontier and attacked the province of Moesia. Sabinus, governor of the beleaguered province, had been butchered and his legions defeated by the barbarians.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The emperor praises your valour and your achievements in war,’ Domitian’s freedman Lucianus told him. ‘He wishes you to act as military adviser to the Praetorian Prefect Cornelius Fuscus when he pushes the Dacians back beyond the Danuvius. The Emperor himself will command the first stage of the campaign and it is his desire that your wife accompany you as companion to the Augusta. You will have all the honours and facilities that accompany your current rank.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fuscus would lead a force of three legions, First and Second Adiutrix and Fourth Flavia. Their commanders quickly accepted Valerius as one of their own, but Tabitha summed up their position best.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">If he cannot kill you,’ she whispered as they walked along a marbled corridor to the quarters they’d been allocated, ‘he wants you close enough to touch, for when the time comes. And it will come. He will try to lull us with soothing words, but we have never been in greater danger.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We have to find fodder for the horses,’ Shabolz </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">pointed out the blindingly obvious</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. Sweat ran down his face in the midday heat and he took a sip from his waterskin. ‘We riders can get by on the little we have, but they need full bellies, especially if we have to run.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius swatted vainly at the cloud of flies that buzzed around his face and over his mount’s bobbing head. They’d </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">rationed</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the hay they’d gathered in the rush to flee Viminacium as long as they could. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Now t</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">here as no avoiding it. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After days of keeping to</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">rough cattle tracks far from the main road </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">igns of habitation were few and far between, but Valerius had no doubt Shabolz would be able to find a farm or a charcoal burner’s camp relatively close by.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">‘When we reach the next farmstead you can go and barter for what we need,’ he held out a few silver pieces.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">You don’t know these people, lord.’Shabolz laughed. ‘They’re wolves down here. Like as not they’d take the silver, steal the horse, cut my throat and feed me to their pigs. Waste not, want not, is their way. They trust no-one. It’s not so long ago that the Dacians burned and butchered their way through this valley. The farms will only just be recovering and the farmers will be keeping what they have, just in case.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">So it has to be a town?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I doubt we can avoid it, lord.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then it must be Trimontium.’ Trimontium, the place of the three hills, was the next </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">substantial settlement</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">on their route, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">an important trading place.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius had hoped to avoid the centre of the city, but there was no helping it. Once they reached Trimontium </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">would finally have to take the decision he’d been avoiding. ‘How far do you think?’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz shrugged. ‘We could be there before nightfall, but best we arrive when they’re still waking up. We can be in and out of the city before anyone realizes we were there.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They camped for the night within sight of the torches on Trimontium’s walls. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Farmers began queuing at the gates in the loom of the highest of the city’s three hills well before first light. As dawn broke Valerius and his companions slipped </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">slipped in amongst </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the carts taking their produce to market.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He’d hoped to find some trader with</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">fodder </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to sell and save them entering</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, but </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he hoped in vain. Instead, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz bartered for a squealing suckling pig on a rope that would help them blend in with the crowd.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius led the way</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">through the central arch </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">of the gateway </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">without incident and </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">they found themselves in</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a street that was already </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">crowded. Trimontium was a typically Roman city, laid out on an orderly grid system, with soaring three storey apartment buildings that blocked out the light and open-fronted shops at ground level. At this time of day the shopkeepers were laying out their wares on wooden tables. Bolts of cloth in a dozen different colours, jugs, bowls and pots, leather shoes and jerkins, amphorae of wine stacked against walls. Already the scent of simmering stews and freshly baked bread hung in the air, tantalising the nostrils and reminding Valerius that it wasn’t only the horses that needed resupply. Yet look a little closer and </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">it</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">wasn’t really Roman at all. The people who thronged the streets even at this early hour were dressed in tunics and dresses that would look more at home in the east. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">To a tutored eye, like Tabitha’s, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the detail of the buildings was recognizably </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hellenic</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, which wasn’t surprising, because not so long ago Trimontium had been Philippopolis. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">T</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">inhabitants</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">still considered themselves Greek and </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">conversed among themselves in a language that was more Greek than Latin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They led their horses at a walk, with Shabolz and Valerius in the lead and Tabitha following with the children. The squealing suckling pig dug in its heels in on the cobbles and Lucius had to pick up the squirming animal and tuck it under his arm.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We need to find a stables,’ Valerius said.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then we should look for an inn,’ Tabitha called. ‘And the best place to find an inn is close to the forum.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The street they were on proved to be the Decumanus Maximus, one of the city’s two main thoroughfares, which meant it would lead directly to the forum. They pushed their way through the growing throng until they reached a broad open space surrounded by a colonnaded walkway on three sides and dominated by a complex of massive public buildings to the north.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">More</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">streets</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">led from the paved forum and on one of them Valerius spotted the sign for an inn, which </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">fortunately</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">proved to have an ostler’s yard attached. They tied the horses to a rail and allowed the </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">animals</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to drink from a trough while Shabolz strode off to negotiate with the owner for a dozen bags of hay. In the meantime, Tabitha went in search of food while Valerius watched the horses from a corner of the courtyard and the children played nearby, taking turns at chasing the</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">bemused</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">piglet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">His attention was so focussed on their antics it never occurred to him that they might be being watched.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Two men stared out from the shaded entrance to an alley on the other side of the street from the ostler’s yard where they’d spent many bored hours since receiving their orders two days earlier. One older, with a bald head and a cast to his right eye, the other, an almost girlishly handsome young man with dark hair, they’d been told to look out for a specific group. Two men, a woman and two children, a boy and a girl. Every inn and stables in the centre of Trimontium was being similarly observed, because their leader believed his quarry must pass through this busy crossroads city and they would take the opportunity to rest their horses and replenish their supplies. Only one more vital detail was needed to prove them correct.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As the day warmed, Valerius pushed his cloak back from his shoulders and allowed it to fall on the stone wall of the trough beside him. The younger man, whose sharp eyesight had given him the name </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">T</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he Hawk, whispered to the older with an authority that would have surprised anyone who didn’t know him and the bald man nodded and slipped away silently up the alley. The Hawk felt his excitement grow as he watched the children play. His commander had offered a reward for the hunter who first identified his prey, and he’d already decided what that reward would be. His pretty features hid a pitiless depravity that sickened even the most merciless of his comrades. The handsome woman who’d accompanied the children had excited him and it excited him more to picture the entertainment she would provide when she fell into his hands. It was amazing what tricks even the bravest of women could be persuaded to perform when her daughter was chained naked to the wall with a glowing brazier and a pair of red hot shears in front of her. The possibilities were endless, and the young man had an unlimited imagination. He smiled and continued his surveillance. Not long now. As long as they didn’t move on too soon.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That’s enough play for the moment,’ Valerius warned his children.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lucius had the piglet on its rope as he ran around the stable yard pursued by Olivia, but as he neared the open gate for the last time, the little animal slipped the noose and ran for freedom, with Olivia in its wake.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">No,’ Valerius shouted as she ran into the roadway.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But in her excitement Olivia was beyond hearing.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The piglet darted this way and that, suddenly seeing its opportunity in the darkened opening opposite the gate. Olivia instinctively gave chase. As she entered the alley she was halted abruptly by a hand that darted out and took her by the shoulder. Before she could cry out, she was spun round to face her father and she froze at the sting of a blade at her neck.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Don’t struggle, girl,’ an almost gentle voice instructed, ‘or you’ll cut your own throat.’ </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Hawk stepped into the sunlight at the alley’s entrance. Two or three people passing nearby gaped in astonishment and fear at the sight of the knife at the girl’s throat. ‘This is Imperial business,’ he snapped. ‘Anyone who interferes will regret it. You,’ he called to Valerius as the street cleared, ‘stay where you are, and the boy.’ </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Don’t move, Lucius,’ Valerius ordered. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Father,’ Olivia cried.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shut it, girl.’ The voice was no longer gentle.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Stay quiet, Olivia.' Fear, desperation and helplessness made Valerius's voice as brittle as an old man's. 'Don’t hurt her, please.’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Nobody’s getting hurt as long as you stay just where you are,’ the young man smiled. ‘But if you or the boy moves, I’ll cut her. I’m not sure whether to take her nose,’ the knife flickered upwards and Olivia let out a squeal, ‘or one of her eyes. Don’t make me decide which.’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Nobody will move,’ Valerius assured him. ‘What is this all about?’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I think you know that already, friend. Someone important wants to have words with the one-handed man and is willing to pay handsomely for it. A few of my friends will be along soon to make sure it happens.’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then you only need me,’ Valerius tried to keep his tone conversational. He needed to make sure the man holding the blade at Olivia’s throat stayed calm. ‘I wont give you any trouble. The children are of no use to you. You can just let them go.’</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;">‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I might have other ideas,’ The Hawk grinned.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">From the corner of his eye and just out of the knife man’s vision, Valerius could see Tabitha edging cautiously along the front wall of the adjoining building.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">One part of Valerius’s mind screamed at his wife to go back before she killed Olivia and herself, while the other applauded her courage and ingenuity as he stood helpless and frozen to the spot. He looked at the knife man for some sign of insecurity, but the youth appeared entirely in control. Why should he not with the empty alley at his back and his flanks partially covered by the walls on either side?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Inch by precarious inch, Tabitha eased herself along the stuccoed wall, a look of the utmost concentration on her face, though her wide eyes reflected her terror for Olivia and her burning hatred for the man who held her. A leopardess intent on protecting her brood. But a leopardess without claws, for she was completely unarmed.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I think there has been some kind of mistake.’ All Valerius could do was fight to keep the attention of Olivia’s abductor.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">You’re the one who made the mistake when you annoyed our powerful friend,’ the accompanying smile was as steady as the blade at Olivia’s throat. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to think about that while you’re being transported back to Rome in a stinking cage. Meantime I’ll be entertaining your family, in a manner of speaking. I have quite broad tastes. I don’t mind where it goes. I’m particularly looking forward to your wife. Shouldn’t she be back by now? She’s missing all the fun.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius bit the inside of his lip to stop himself glancing to his right, so hard his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. Tabitha was less than three short paces from her quarry, her back pressed hard against the wall. What would she do? What could she do without a weapon? She’d go for the knife hand, but all it would take was one stroke and Olivia would be gone. Valerius had seen it before. The look of astonishment, the sheet of red, and the obscene gurgle of someone drowning in their own blood. He tensed. Somehow he had to distract the knife man. But how? No chance of a mad rush with a fence between them. He tried to remember if there was something close he could throw. His pack. That was it. It had enough weight to stun a man. But where was it? He had to pick it up and launch it in a single movement. He allowed his left hand to drift down towards the bench. Tabitha inched ever closer and his mind screamed with despair. He was going to lose them both.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Don’t think you ...’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Hawk’s words were punctuated by a meaty crack and his head jerked back. A short feathered shaft appeared between his eyes and, with a sharp squeal not unlike the fugitive piglet, he toppled backwards taking Olivia with him. Lucius let out a cry of terror. Tabitha darted round the corner of the alley and stared at the fallen bodies. Valerius ran across the road to where Olivia lay with her eyes screwed shut and the knife edge still tight against her throat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Slowly she relaxed and the eyes opened one at a time. ‘Am I still alive, father?’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius bent and gently removed the hand with the knife and Tabitha stooped to take her daughter in her arms.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Amateurs,’ Valerius turned to where Shabolz was vaulting the fence. ‘They never learn when to keep their mouth shut.’ The auxiliary put his booted foot against dead man’s throat and grunted as he pulled the little weighted Pannonian throwing dart from his skull. ‘It’s time we were moving, and you,’ he turned to Lucius, ‘will have to find us supper. I was looking forward to that pig.’</span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 10);">CHAPTER 3</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They headed north out of the city as soon as the horses were loaded with the supplies Tabitha and Shabolz had bought, crossing the bridge and taking the Via Claudia, the road through the mountains to the Danuvius. Normally, Valerius would have avoided the main road, but now, as he explained to Tabitha, his fear of Durio and his men reaching Oescus ahead of them meant the necessity for speed outweighed that for stealth.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’ll only truly be safe when we are on the ship taking us to the Great Sea,' he said. 'Durio will be hunting us, but he can’t be sure we haven’t continued on the Via Militaris heading for Byzantium, or even turned south towards Greece.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz dropped back to cover their rear. Whatever his final decision it was clear the Emperor’s assassin would send fast riders to check if they’d used the northern road. Sure enough, an hour into their journey, the Pannonian’s sharp whistle gave them warning to get off the road into hiding in a stand of trees while two riders galloped past.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">What happens if they come back?’ Lucius asked.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hopefully the same trick will work again,’ Shabolz said as he rode past to take the lead. ‘If it doesn’t we’ll think of something.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha rode with Olivia close on one side and Lucius on the other. Her head still reeled from the shock of what had happened only a few hours earlier and she wanted them close. She’d had no idea what she was going to do when she reached the man with the knife. It made her nauseous to think what might have happened to Olivia if Shabolz hadn’t been so certain of his ability with the throwing dart.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mama, do you ever wish we were back with the lady Augusta?’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Despite her troubled thoughts Tabitha managed a smile. The memories came tumbling back of the weeks and months they’d spent at the beating heart of the Empire in the company of a woman Valerius, by his own admission, had once loved, and her all-powerful husband who would have killed them all without the slightest qualm.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I miss the soft beds and rich food,’ she admitted. Domitian had travelled from Rome to Moesia at the head of the Empire’s entire apparatus of state, protected by his Praetorian Guard and a full legion. The never ending column had eaten and drunk its way up the length of Italia and crawled sedately across the broad plains of Pannonia and Dalmatia like a giant caterpillar, leaving a swathe of empty storehouses and dismayed landowners twenty miles wide behind it. Naturally, the Emperor’s palace household took pride of place at the head, preceded only by two cohorts of infantry and surrounded by a screen of cavalry close enough to act quickly but far enough away so the Imperial party didn’t have to eat their dust. Valerius and Tabitha were allocated a luxuriously appointed sprung wagon a few places behind that of Domitia Augusta, but Valerius preferred to travel with Shabolz and the men of his bodyguard who had accompanied him from Britannia. Tabitha spent most of her time with Lucius and Olivia, trying to keep them occupied, but she dined often with Domitia, sometimes alone, but mostly with the ladies of the court.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Domitia must have been close to forty, but with a dark, ageless beauty and a carriage and an authority that was a testament to her noble status. At first Tabitha had considered the Augusta haughty. She’d been prepared to dislike her, particularly given her past attachment to Valerius, but gradually she realized Domitian’s wife spent much of her time preoccupied and tense. She never knew when she might receive a summons from her husband, or what that summons might entail. Domitia in her turn made it plain she enjoyed Tabitha’s company and conversation, but preferred that they did not become close. Only once, when they were alone, did she unburden herself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">She summoned Tabitha when the dishes had been cleared after dinner and said very softly. ‘It is not in your interests to appear to be in my favour, nor in mine to be too friendly with you, but know this Tabitha, I have a fondness for you, and an obligation – only an obligation, I assure you – to your husband.’</span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-80874606043207287332020-04-03T01:34:00.000-07:002020-04-03T01:34:01.640-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 8<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">8</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They headed north out of the city as soon as the horses were loaded with the supplies Tabitha and Shabolz had bought, crossing the bridge and taking the Via Claudia, the road through the mountains to the Danuvius. Normally, Valerius would have avoided the main road, but now, as he explained to Tabitha, his fear of Durio and his men reaching Oescus ahead of them meant the necessity for speed outweighed that for stealth.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’ll only truly be safe when we are on the ship taking us to the Great Sea,' he said. 'Durio will be hunting us, but he can’t be sure we haven’t continued on the Via Militaris heading for Byzantium, or even turned south towards Greece.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz dropped back to cover their rear. Whatever his final decision it was clear the Emperor’s assassin would send fast riders to check if they’d used the northern road. Sure enough, an hour into their journey, the Pannonian’s sharp whistle gave them warning to get off the road into hiding in a stand of trees while two riders galloped past.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">What happens if they come back?’ Lucius asked.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hopefully the same trick will work again,’ Shabolz said as he rode past to take the lead. ‘If it doesn’t we’ll think of something.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha rode with Olivia close on one side and Lucius on the other. Her head still reeled from the shock of what had happened only a few hours earlier and she wanted them close. She’d had no idea what she was going to do when she reached the man with the knife. It made her nauseous to think what might have happened to Olivia if Shabolz hadn’t been so certain of his ability with the throwing dart.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mama, do you ever wish we were back with the lady Augusta?’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Despite her troubled thoughts Tabitha managed a smile. The memories came tumbling back of the weeks and months they’d spent at the beating heart of the Empire in the company of a woman Valerius, by his own admission, had once loved, and her all-powerful husband who would have killed them all without the slightest qualm.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I miss the soft beds and rich food,’ she admitted. Domitian had travelled from Rome to Moesia at the head of the Empire’s entire apparatus of state, protected by his Praetorian Guard and a full legion. The never ending column had eaten and drunk its way up the length of Italia and crawled sedately across the broad plains of Pannonia and Dalmatia like a giant caterpillar, leaving a swathe of empty storehouses and dismayed landowners twenty miles wide behind it. Naturally, the Emperor’s palace household took pride of place at the head, preceded only by two cohorts of infantry and surrounded by a screen of cavalry close enough to act quickly but far enough away so the Imperial party didn’t have to eat their dust. Valerius and Tabitha were allocated a luxuriously appointed sprung wagon a few places behind that of Domitia Augusta, but Valerius preferred to travel with Shabolz and the men of his bodyguard who had accompanied him from Britannia. Tabitha spent most of her time with Lucius and Olivia, trying to keep them occupied, but she dined often with Domitia, sometimes alone, but mostly with the ladies of the court.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Domitia must have been close to forty, but with a dark, ageless beauty and a carriage and an authority that was a testament to her noble status. At first Tabitha had considered the Augusta haughty. She’d been prepared to dislike her, particularly given her past attachment to Valerius, but gradually she realized Domitian’s wife spent much of her time preoccupied and tense. She never knew when she might receive a summons from her husband, or what that summons might entail. Domitia in her turn made it plain she enjoyed Tabitha’s company and conversation, but preferred that they did not become close. Only once, when they were alone, did she unburden herself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">She summoned Tabitha when the dishes had been cleared after dinner and said very softly. ‘It is not in your interests to appear to be in my favour, nor in mine to be too friendly with you, but know this Tabitha, I have a fondness for you, and an obligation – only an obligation, I assure you – to your husband.’</span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-70732727618012586202020-04-02T02:29:00.002-07:002020-04-03T01:27:41.107-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE Episode 7<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 7</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">One part of Valerius’s mind screamed at his wife to go back before she killed Olivia and herself, while the other applauded her courage and ingenuity as he stood helpless and frozen to the spot. He looked at the knife man for some sign of insecurity, but the youth appeared entirely in control. Why should he not with the empty alley at his back and his flanks partially covered by the walls on either side?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Inch by precarious inch, Tabitha eased herself along the stuccoed wall, a look of the utmost concentration on her face, though her wide eyes reflected her terror for Olivia and her burning hatred for the man who held her. A leopardess intent on protecting her brood. But a leopardess without claws, for she was completely unarmed.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I think there has been some kind of mistake.’ All Valerius could do was fight to keep the attention of Olivia’s abductor.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">You’re the one who made the mistake when you annoyed our powerful friend,’ the accompanying smile was as steady as the blade at Olivia’s throat. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to think about that while you’re being transported back to Rome in a stinking cage. Meantime I’ll be entertaining your family, in a manner of speaking. I have quite broad tastes. I don’t mind where it goes. I’m particularly looking forward to your wife. Shouldn’t she be back by now? She’s missing all the fun.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius bit the inside of his lip to stop himself glancing to his right, so hard his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. Tabitha was less than three short paces from her quarry, her back pressed hard against the wall. What would she do? What could she do without a weapon? She’d go for the knife hand, but all it would take was one stroke and Olivia would be gone. Valerius had seen it before. The look of astonishment, the sheet of red, and the obscene gurgle of someone drowning in their own blood. He tensed. Somehow he had to distract the knife man. But how? No chance of a mad rush with a fence between them. He tried to remember if there was something close he could throw. His pack. That was it. It had enough weight to stun a man. But where was it? He had to pick it up and launch it in a single movement. He allowed his left hand to drift down towards the bench. Tabitha inched ever closer and his mind screamed with despair. He was going to lose them both.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Don’t think you ...’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Hawk’s words were punctuated by a meaty crack and his head jerked back. A short feathered shaft appeared between his eyes and, with a sharp squeal not unlike the fugitive piglet, he toppled backwards taking Olivia with him. Lucius let out a cry of terror. Tabitha darted round the corner of the alley and stared at the fallen bodies. Valerius ran across the road to where Olivia lay with her eyes screwed shut and the knife edge still tight against her throat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Slowly she relaxed and the eyes opened one at a time. ‘Am I still alive, father?’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius bent and gently removed the hand with the knife and Tabitha stooped to take her daughter in her arms.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Amateurs,’ Valerius turned to where Shabolz was vaulting the fence. ‘They never learn when to keep their mouth shut.’ The auxiliary put his booted foot against dead man’s throat and grunted as he pulled the little weighted Pannonian throwing dart from his skull. ‘It’s time we were moving, and you,’ he turned to Lucius, ‘will have to find us supper. I was looking forward to that pig.’</span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-48694748296183421982020-04-01T02:22:00.002-07:002020-04-01T03:53:49.491-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE Episode Six<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
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Episode 6 of FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE. The Hawk swoops in Trimontium.
FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 6
Two men stared out from the shaded entrance to an alley on the other side of the street from the ostler’s yard where they’d spent many bored hours since receiving their orders two days earlier. One older, with a bald head and a cast to his right eye, the other, an almost girlishly handsome young man with dark hair, they’d been told to look out for a specific group. Two men, a woman and two children, a boy and a girl. Every inn and stables in the centre of Trimontium was being similarly observed, because their leader believed his quarry must pass through this busy crossroads city and they would take the opportunity to rest their horses and replenish their supplies. Only one more vital detail was needed to prove them correct.
As the day warmed, Valerius pushed his cloak back from his shoulders and allowed it to fall on the stone wall of the trough beside him. The younger man, whose sharp eyesight had given him the name of The Hawk, whispered to the older with an authority that would have surprised anyone who didn’t know him and the bald man nodded and slipped away silently up the alley.
The Hawk felt his excitement grow as he watched the children play. His commander had offered a reward for the hunter who first identified his prey, and he’d already decided what that reward would be. His pretty features hid a pitiless depravity that sickened even the most merciless of his comrades. The handsome woman who’d accompanied the children had excited him and it excited him more to picture the entertainment she would provide when she fell into his hands. It was amazing what tricks even the bravest of women could be persuaded to perform when her daughter was chained naked to the wall with a glowing brazier and a pair of red hot shears in front of her. The possibilities were endless, and the young man had an unlimited imagination.
He smiled and continued his surveillance. Not long now. As long as they didn’t move on too soon.
‘That’s enough play for the moment,’ Valerius warned his children.
Lucius had the piglet on its rope as he ran around the stable yard pursued by Olivia, but as he neared the open gate for the last time, the little animal slipped the noose and ran for freedom, with Olivia in its wake.
‘No,’ Valerius shouted as she ran into the roadway.
But in her excitement Olivia was beyond hearing. The piglet darted this way and that, suddenly seeing its opportunity in the darkened opening opposite the gate. Olivia instinctively gave chase.
As she entered the alley she was halted abruptly by a hand that darted out and took her by the shoulder. Before she could cry out, she was spun round to face her father and she froze at the sting of a blade at her neck.
‘Don’t struggle, girl,’ an almost gentle voice instructed, ‘or you’ll cut your own throat.’
The Hawk stepped into the sunlight at the alley’s entrance. Two or three people passing nearby gaped in astonishment and fear at the sight of the knife at the girl’s throat.
‘This is Imperial business,’ he snapped. ‘Anyone who interferes will regret it. You,’ he called to Valerius as the street cleared, ‘stay where you are, and the boy.’
‘Don’t move, Lucius,’ Valerius ordered.
‘Father,’ Olivia cried.
‘Shut it, girl.’ The voice was no longer gentle.
‘Stay quiet, Olivia.' Fear, desperation and helplessness made Valerius's voice as brittle as an old man's. 'Don’t hurt her, please.’
‘Nobody’s getting hurt as long as you stay just where you are,’ the young man smiled. ‘But if you or the boy moves, I’ll cut her. I’m not sure whether to take her nose,’ the knife flickered upwards and Olivia let out a squeal, ‘or one of her eyes. Don’t make me decide which.’
‘Nobody will move,’ Valerius assured him. ‘What is this all about?’
‘I think you know that already, friend. Someone important wants to have words with the one-handed man and is willing to pay handsomely for it. A few of my friends will be along soon to make sure it happens.’
‘Then you only need me,’ Valerius tried to keep his tone conversational. He needed to make sure the man holding the blade at Olivia’s throat stayed calm. ‘I wont give you any trouble. The children are of no use to you. You can just let them go.’
‘I might have other ideas,’ The Hawk grinned.
From the corner of his eye and just out of the knife man’s vision, Valerius could see Tabitha edging cautiously along the front wall of the adjoining building.</div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-44254755644107801572020-03-31T01:22:00.000-07:002020-03-31T01:22:12.705-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE episode 5<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 5</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We have to find fodder for the horses,’ Shabolz </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">pointed out the blindingly obvious</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. Sweat ran down his face in the midday heat and he took a sip from his waterskin. ‘We riders can get by on the little we have, but they need full bellies, especially if we have to run.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius swatted vainly at the cloud of flies that buzzed around his face and over his mount’s bobbing head. They’d </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">rationed</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the hay they’d gathered in the rush to flee Viminacium as long as they could. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Now t</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">here as no avoiding it. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After days of keeping to</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">rough cattle tracks far from the main road </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">igns of habitation were few and far between, but Valerius had no doubt Shabolz would be able to find a farm or a charcoal burner’s camp relatively close by.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">‘When we reach the next farmstead you can go and barter for what we need,’ he held out a few silver pieces.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">You don’t know these people, lord.’Shabolz laughed. ‘They’re wolves down here. Like as not they’d take the silver, steal the horse, cut my throat and feed me to their pigs. Waste not, want not, is their way. They trust no-one. It’s not so long ago that the Dacians burned and butchered their way through this valley. The farms will only just be recovering and the farmers will be keeping what they have, just in case.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">So it has to be a town?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I doubt we can avoid it, lord.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then it must be Trimontium.’ Trimontium, the place of the three hills, was the next </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">substantial settlement</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">on their route, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">an important trading place.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius had hoped to avoid the centre of the city, but there was no helping it. Once they reached Trimontium </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">would finally have to take the decision he’d been avoiding. ‘How far do you think?’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz shrugged. ‘We could be there before nightfall, but best we arrive when they’re still waking up. We can be in and out of the city before anyone realizes we were there.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They camped for the night within sight of the torches on Trimontium’s walls. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Farmers began queuing at the gates in the loom of the highest of the city’s three hills well before first light. As dawn broke Valerius and his companions slipped </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">slipped in amongst </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the carts taking their produce to market.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He’d hoped to find some trader with</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">fodder </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to sell and save them entering</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, but </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he hoped in vain. Instead, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz bartered for a squealing suckling pig on a rope that would help them blend in with the crowd.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius led the way</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">through the central arch </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">of the gateway </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">without incident and </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">they found themselves in</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a street that was already </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">crowded. Trimontium was a typically Roman city, laid out on an orderly grid system, with soaring three storey apartment buildings that blocked out the light and open-fronted shops at ground level. At this time of day the shopkeepers were laying out their wares on wooden tables. Bolts of cloth in a dozen different colours, jugs, bowls and pots, leather shoes and jerkins, amphorae of wine stacked against walls. Already the scent of simmering stews and freshly baked bread hung in the air, tantalising the nostrils and reminding Valerius that it wasn’t only the horses that needed resupply. Yet look a little closer and </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">it</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">wasn’t really Roman at all. The people who thronged the streets even at this early hour were dressed in tunics and dresses that would look more at home in the east. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">To a tutored eye, like Tabitha’s, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the detail of the buildings was recognizably </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hellenic</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, which wasn’t surprising, because not so long ago Trimontium had been Philippopolis. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">T</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">inhabitants</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">still considered themselves Greek and </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">conversed among themselves in a language that was more Greek than Latin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They led their horses at a walk, with Shabolz and Valerius in the lead and Tabitha following with the children. The squealing suckling pig dug in its heels in on the cobbles and Lucius had to pick up the squirming animal and tuck it under his arm.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We need to find a stables,’ Valerius said.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then we should look for an inn,’ Tabitha called. ‘And the best place to find an inn is close to the forum.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The street they were on proved to be the Decumanus Maximus, one of the city’s two main thoroughfares, which meant it would lead directly to the forum. They pushed their way through the growing throng until they reached a broad open space surrounded by a colonnaded walkway on three sides and dominated by a complex of massive public buildings to the north.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">More</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">streets</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">led from the paved forum and on one of them Valerius spotted the sign for an inn, which </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">fortunately</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">proved to have an ostler’s yard attached. They tied the horses to a rail and allowed the </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">animals</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to drink from a trough while Shabolz strode off to negotiate with the owner for a dozen bags of hay. In the meantime, Tabitha went in search of food while Valerius watched the horses from a corner of the courtyard and the children played nearby, taking turns at chasing the</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">bemused</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">piglet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">His attention was so focussed on their antics it never occurred to him that they might be being watched.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 4</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It took two months after the battle at Mons Graupius for Valerius’s injuries to recover sufficiently for him to resume his duties as</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>legatus iuridicus </i></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">at the governor’s palace in Londinium, though his shattered leg had never properly healed. Julius Agricola, whom Valerius suspected of sacrificing Valerius and his group of trusted bodyguards and friends, stayed in the north hunting down bands of rebel Celts, obsessed by Calgacus, the mighty Caledonian war chief whose body had never been found.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Th</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ough outwardly their lives returned to normal, Valerius and Tabitha were never able to relax. Emperor Domitian, though he basked in the glory of Agricola’s victory, had more than one reason to wish Gaius Valerius Verrens dead, and Domitian was a vengeful man. Every meal, however carefully prepared, might contain the potential for a painful death. Every dark passage could conceal the glint of an assassin’s knife. Valerius had finally allowed himself to believe they might yet survive when the news came. They were ordered to Rome immediately.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Run? What chance would they have when he was certain Domitian and Agricola were watching their every movement? No, they had no option but to return. Logic dictated that even a man as twisted as Domitian must have a reason for wishing to look Valerius in the eye. In that reason he might find some sort of salvation. Another cause for hope lay in Valerius’s friendship with the Emperor’s wife, Domitia Augusta. In her most recent communication Domitia had hinted that she held some power over her husband, and as long as that should be the case Valerius had nothing to fear. Valerius suspected her influence had something to do with the sudden and unexplained death of the Emperor’s predecessor, his brother, Valerius’s friend Titus.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">An anxious three week journey, each day mired in doubt and the children never allowed even an arm’s length away. By sea to Gesoriacum, a fast galley through Gaul on the Sequanna, overland to the Rhodanus, the port of Massilia and another ship across the Mare Nostrum to the capital. And confusion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not a death sentence, as it turned out, but a welcome. Summoned to Domitian’s palace on the Palatine Hill, Valerius entered a court bustling with preparations for war. A Dacian army had swarmed across the Danuvius frontier and attacked the province of Moesia. Sabinus, governor of the beleaguered province, had been butchered </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and his legions defeated by</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the barbarians.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The emperor praises your valour and your achievements in war,’ Domitian’s freedman Lucianus told him. ‘He wishes you to act as military adviser to the Praetorian Prefect Cornelius Fuscus when he pushes the Dacians back beyond the Danuvius. The Emperor himself will command the first stage of the campaign and it is his desire that your wife accompany you as companion to the Augusta. You will have all the honours and facilities that accompany your current rank.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fuscus would lead a force of three legions, First and Second Adiutrix and Fourth Flavia. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">T</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">heir commanders quickly accepted Valerius as one of their own, but Tabitha summed up their position best.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">If he cannot kill you,’ she whispered as they walked along a marbled corridor to the quarters they’d been allocated, ‘he wants you close enough to touch, for when the time comes. And it will come. He will try to lull us with soothing words, but we have never been in greater danger.’</span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-24143476268844507502020-03-27T01:52:00.002-07:002020-03-27T01:52:18.744-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 3<div align="left" class="western" style="color: #00000a; direction: ltr; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 3</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They would probably have been dead already if it hadn’t been for Shabolz’s skills and knowledge of the country. It </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">wasn’t</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>his</i></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">country. Pannonia lay far to the west behind them. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He’d somehow kept them on a course parallel with the Via Militaris, the road that carried official traffic between Singidum and far off Byzantium. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As far as Valerius could tell they were somewhere in the </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">east</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">of Moesia, perhaps </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">even in Thrace, two</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">day’s ride or more south of the mighty Danuvius river. A land of towering, precipitous mountains where eagles soared on the breeze, deep </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">above</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">shadowed </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">tree-lined</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">gorges filled with tumbling streams and sometimes impassable rivers. Yet Shabolz always seemed to know when a river valley would have a potential escape route instead of a dead end. He never hesitated when they came to a fork in the forest track and he understood the ways of the animals and birds and every subtlety of their alarm signals. A jay’s cry was different if it had been disturbed by a weasel or a badger. A fox gave a different bark if a bear or a wolf was close. Each of them had a specific cry for man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Those skills had never been more vital than in the forest. Four days earlier the Pannonian had sensed some presence in their wake. He’d waited until the</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">y’d reached an area where they could </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">dismount and lead their horses up a rock incline away from the track and into hiding in the forest above. Twenty minutes later Valerius watched from a crag as a well-armed column of twenty </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">men</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">in black cloaks passed on the track below, so close </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">could hear the sound of their mounts’ hooves. The</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">y</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">had a wariness and a sense of purpose that Valerius understood </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">all too well</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not soldiers, hired killers. When t</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">heir leader turned to scan his surroundings with flat, dead eyes, Valerius had recognized </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the pale features</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">with a shiver of dread. Claudius Durio, Domitian’s most feared torturer and assassin. He’d vowed there and then that Tabitha, Lucius and Olivia would never be allowed to fall into Durio’s hands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The ruse that had taken them to the crag, and the diversion that followed, bought them time and space, but both were now running out. At the start of each day a decision must be made.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">As the children finished preparing the horses, Valerius, Tabitha and Shabolz crouched over a patch of dry earth. Valerius drew a dagger from his belt and scratched three lines in the dirt. ‘North, south or do we continue due east?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">East,’ Tabitha said firmly. ‘We agreed that only in Emesa will we be safe.’ Emesa was the Syrian city where she had been brought up. They would be under the protection of her uncle, the king. ‘Whatever we do to put them off our scent we must always move east.’ She saw the doubt on Shabolz’s face. ‘We can make a feint to north or south once we are on the move. They’ll be expecting a change of direction. We can use that to our advantage.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz?’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The only reason for going north is to take ship on the Danuvius. If we do it, we have to be certain of a boat. That means a big town, Oescus or Novae. They’re busy ports, places where tongues wag. We will only have one chance. No boat and we risk being trapped against the river and taken.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’d also have to sell the horses,’ Valerius said thoughtfully ‘But if we can reach the river, we can be on the Great Sea within days instead of weeks. The Great Sea will carry us to Trezibond. From Trezibond it is </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">only</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a three day ride to the Euphrates Valley and the Euphrates will carry us as far south as Zeugma. From Zeugma I can lead us to Antioch blindfolded,’ he smiled at Tabitha. ‘And from Antioch you will guide us home.’</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not south, lord?’ Shabolz wondered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">If they turned south they could reach the Mare </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">driaticum in less than a week, perhaps at Phillipi, where they could take ship directly to Syria. But the man who wanted them dead would know that too. The authorities at every port on the coast between Thesssalonica and Neapolis had likely already been alerted.</span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 12pt;">No,’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">decided</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">‘</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">T</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">hat would make it easy for them. Tabitha is right. We will continue east for the moment.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Olivia – a miniature replica of her mother in tunic and braccae - and Lucius were already in the saddle, holding the reins of the remaining horses. Before he mounted, Valerius secured the leather sack to his saddle pommel. The misshapen object inside made it awkward and he wondered, as he did each morning, whether it would be better to throw it in </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">river</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">nearest river or bury it deep where it would never be found</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-23415967375821727422020-03-26T02:14:00.002-07:002020-03-26T02:17:39.450-07:00FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 2<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="dv555" data-offset-key="4h4if-0-0" style="caret-color: rgb(28, 30, 33); color: #1c1e21; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span data-offset-key="4h4if-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Herewith the second part of my Authors Without Borders story. Enjoy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">2</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius drew back his blanket and pushed himself to his feet, grunting with the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ache</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">of half a dozen old wounds. His back felt as if he’d lain on a bed of knives and his twisted </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">left</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">leg shook </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">when he put his weight on it</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A stiff </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">cowhide</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">stock</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">over his forearm </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">held in </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">position</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the oak fist that replaced </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the right hand he’</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">lost so long ago in Britannia</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. In normal times he would have </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">removed it to sleep</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">,</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">but these were not normal times. H</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">e untied the laces </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">w</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ith the practised fingers of his left hand </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and pulled the stock free of the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">arm</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">From a leather sack at his side he retrieved a </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">clay bottle </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and uncorked it with his teeth to pour a little of the oil inside on the chafed flesh of his stump. After replacing cork and bottle he massaged the oil into his flesh, resisting the impulse to groan with the pleasure of it. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When it was done he slipped the socket back in place and redid the laces.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Another,</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">less bulky </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">figure appeared from the darkness and he didn’t require </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the gift of </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">sight to </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">be aware of </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the presence of </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">his wife.</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You should have woken me earlier,’ he said as </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">thrust a crust of bread into his hand </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and bent to buckle a long cavalry sword to his belt</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. ‘And Shabolz thinks it’s not fitting that a princess of Emesa should have to work like a common serving girl.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shabolz stayed awake on guard all night.’ It wasn’t news. The Pannonian had kept watch every night since they’d been forced to flee Viminacium, sleeping in the saddle during the day to maintain his strength. ‘</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There,’ she completed her task. ‘</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You old men need your sleep,’ she continued. ‘Or you become irritable.’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Old?’ His mock outrage made her smile, as it always did. ‘If you’d still been under the blanket when I woke I’d have showed you ...’</span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hush,’ she put </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">finger to his lips. ‘The children are close.’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They stood together, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">basking in </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the comfort of </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">each other’s presence, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">passing the crust between them and taking alternate sips of icy river water from </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a brass cup. In the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">pre-dawn</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">silence</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valerius</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">could hear Lucius preparing the horses </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">for the day </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and showing his sister how to </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">secure the various straps and buckles. The boy was at the stage where he seemed to grow a few inches every </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">week</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. At the age of </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">twelve</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">his head already reached to his father’s shoulder. A good boy, gentle and kind, perhaps too gentle for his own good, but with a keen intelligence and quick mind that </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">undoubtedly</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">came from his mother. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Olivia, five years younger, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and with </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tabitha</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’s golden skin and raven hair, had a mercurial quality that kept her constantly on the move, and an insatiable curiosity </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">about her surroundings that Shabolz cheerfully satisfied</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">H</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">e heard h</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">er yelp of delight as the Pannonian </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">went to help them with the saddles. Six horses, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">four saddled and two spares that also carried their provisions, what little they had</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">left</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The sun rose </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">in the trees </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">behind Valerius and the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">dappled</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">light fell on Tabitha’s face. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Her slim figure hidden beneath a baggy peasant’s tunic and green braccae, she </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">was as beautiful as she had been on the day he had saved her life on the road to Apamea. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">True,</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">iny lines etched the </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">skin at the corners of her eyes </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and her dark hair was shot with silver. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But o</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ld? They didn’t feel old or, when the opportunity arose, act it either, but they were certainly getting older. Valerius was close to fifty now, and his once dark hair was almost white. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Yet,</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">his wounds apart, he was still vigorous and his mind remained as sharp as it had ever been. It needed to be.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Their eyes met and he knew Tabitha’s thoughts precisely mirrored his own.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How could everyone act so normally when they could all be dead by the time the sun went down?</span></span></div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-65077268397810071502020-03-25T02:03:00.005-07:002020-03-25T02:03:50.415-07:00<div style="caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41); color: #1d2129; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
This s the first segment of my Authors Without Borders story Flight of the Eagle, which tells the story of Gaius Valerius Verrens adventures in Dacia and the Roman east during the campaigns of the Emperor Domitian. I'll post another part of the story here and on my personal Facebook page every weekday for about the next three or four weeks.</div>
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FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 1</div>
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In the dream, Fuscus spoke to him, but not the Fuscus he had known, fat and jovial and with a wit as sharp as the point of a gladius. This Fuscus had flesh the colour of week old ashes and his pale lips were drawn back from teeth bared in a snarl, or more likely a grimace of agony. Valerius held Fuscus’s severed head in his hand. He knew he was dreaming, but the weight of the head was comfortingly familiar, because this was not the first time he had carried the late governor of Moesia’s skull. His memory drifted idly to another dreamlike day, his feet tethered beneath the belly of a Dacian pony and his fingers twisted in the dark curls Fuscus of which had been so proud. The warriors of King Decebalus’s bodyguard had laughed as they passed among the rotting, naked corpses carpeting the field of sorrow at Tapae, all that remained of the mighty Fifth Legion Alaudae. Cornelius Fuscus had led them, under protest, at the direct command of his Emperor, to ambush and defeat beyond the Danuvius, and, dishonoured by the loss of the legion’s eagle, fought to the last when he could have fled. Gaius Valerius Verrens had fought at his side.</div>
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For a few moments he struggled to understand what Fuscus was trying to tell him. The mangled lips moved, but the sound was faint as a distant whisper and the words blurred together. He might have been talking a different language and not the polished, aristocratic Latin of a former Prefect of the Praetorian Guard.<br />Then, as if a curtain had been drawn back, it came to him. ‘Flee, Valerius,’ the gaping mouth screamed. ‘Flee for your life and that of your family. His is a hatred that will never die. He will never stop hounding you.’<br />He.</div>
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Titus Flavius Caesar Domitianus Augustus. Emperor of Rome. Master and God. Pontifex Maximus. Murderer. Torturer. Betrayer. Enemy unto death.</div>
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Domitian.</div>
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‘Lord?’ The dream faded to be replaced by a moment of confusion. A callused hand shook his shoulder. ‘Lord, we must be moving at dawn. They cannot be far behind.’<br />He opened his eyes to find a shadowy figure stooped over him silhouetted by stars that glittered sharply in the inky sky. Other shadows bustled around the tethered horses down by the stream. A little dell surrounded by trees, he remembered, reached by rocky ground and far enough from the road to feel secure. No fire, of course, the flames would invite a spear between the shoulders. With a jolt of fear he realised something was missing.<br />‘Tabitha?’<br />‘The lady is preparing our food lord.’ The voice took on a disapproving tone.<br />‘At least she won’t poison us, Shabolz. Unlike one of your stews.’<br />His words brought a bark of laughter from Shabolz, the man who had carried him from the field of Mons Graupius when Gnaeus Julius Agricola would have left him for dead. The man who had vowed to serve him unto death. They’d been on cold rations for a week or more and would break their fast with stale bread, hard cheese and perhaps a few dried out olives. Tall and slim with close-cropped sandy hair, serious gray eyes and handsome regular features, the Pannonian cavalryman had barely changed since the day they’d met at Valerius’s villa outside Rome seven years earlier. A warrior born to the saddle, he was all that was left of Valerius’s bodyguard. Shabolz walked off chuckling and Valerius’s spirits rose. For all their peril he could not have been favoured with better companions.</div>
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</script>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7146862549146540514.post-68605062872122426752014-06-08T23:42:00.001-07:002014-07-04T03:37:45.925-07:00Juggling the genresI'm back.<script type="text/javascript">
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My excuse for the prolonged absence is that I've been struggling for a while with family and work commitments, but hopefully this is the start of regular contributions again. I plan to do a series on my favourite parts of my books, why and what I felt when I was writing the passages.</div>
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First though, a new departure. I've just self-published a book called <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/War-Games-Glen-Savage-mystery-ebook/dp/B00KRDY7F4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1402294176&sr=1-1&keywords=war+games" target="_blank">War Games</a> on Amazon Kindle. It's a crime novel and why, I hear you ask, would I be straying into another genre when I already write historical fiction as myself and thrillers as James Douglas? The simple reason is that the book existed, in fact there are two of them.</div>
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When I wrote The End of The Emperor's Elephant (which went on to become Caligula and Claudius), I had no idea if it would ever be published and I had no idea where to go next. The answer was to write another book. I knew I could write historical fiction, so why not try something else? That very night I came up with a character who created himself in my sleep and talked to me in a voice that I knew would be a great backdrop to a novel. His name was Glen Savage and he was a Falklands War veteran who'd repressed an intermittent psychic gift for thirty years. Now he uses the gift to help the police find the bodies of missing murder victims: the last resort after all the other last resorts have struck out. I wrote the book in the first person and the effect was like a Sam Spade voiceover for one of those Fifties noir movies.</div>
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I offered the book to my publisher, but I already had two parallel strands going with them and they declined. What's the point of writing a book if nobody can read it? Transworld said they were happy for me to self-publish it and Amazon provided the means. Obviously, there's also a financial incentive. Amazon offers royalties of between thirty and seventy percent, against the publisher's twenty five, that allows me to price the book low, but still make a reasonable return. Hopefully, the low price will attract more readers who'll be impressed enough to buy the second book when I publish it later in the year.</div>
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There are obvious drawbacks to self-publishing. You don't have the back-up of big publishing resources, editors, copy editors and proof-readers, and the only promotion the book will get is on blogs like this and through word of mouth, so it's basically flying solo. Fortunately, I've had help from my agent and I'd like to thank my friend, and veteran self-publisher, Simon Turney, (The brilliant <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Marius-Mules-I-Invasion-Gaul-ebook/dp/B004EYT3N8/ref=sr_1_7?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1402295801&sr=1-7&keywords=turney" target="_blank">Marius Mules</a> series) for his patient advice as I struggled with formats and uploading.</div>
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The upside is that you have the flexibility to publish what you want, when you want and get an immediate return for your efforts. Hopefully, you'll like Glen Savage as much as I do. Give him a try for less than the price of a skinny latte for a limited period only!</div>
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Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10909280645811414303noreply@blogger.com3