Warriors of Seneca: The Seneca Series, #1

By Corrina Lawson

In a world where the Roman Empire thrived long enough to colonize North America lives a woman possessed of unyielding determination

All Dinah wants is a family.

She was sold as a child and trained in the arts of espionage and assassination by her Roman master. But after years of being a weapon, she finally escaped across the Atlantic Ocean to a new world, hoping to build a more peaceful life. Yet even there Dinah will need all the skills and wit she possesses, for her dreams are about to be shattered by war…

Gerhard is the reluctant chief of a Viking tribe devastated by sickness. An alliance with the Mahican tribes against the Romans seems the way to preserve his people until he encounters Dinah, who comes bearing a sign from the Norse Goddess he worships…

As the world around them crumbles, Dinah and Gerhard must find the strength to bind themselves and their people together and forge a way to peace for all, or be crushed underneath the rubble.

Note: This is a revised and updated edition of a novel originally published as Dinah of Seneca.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Corrina Lawson
• Release date: Apr 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386063223

Corrina Lawson

Corrina Lawson is an award-winning former newspaper reporter with a degree in journalism from Boston University. A mom of four, she now writes fiction in a variety of genres, from steampunk to superhero romance to alternate history. She's also written an award-winning erotic paranormal romance. She's currently a freelance journalist who has covered everything from movies to comics to television shows like Wynonna Earp and Snowpiercer and has been a panelist at conventions of all sizes, from Comic-Con in San Diego to her local con, Connecticon, in Hartford, Connecticut.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The area we know as upstate New York, of a different timeline in which the Roman Empire thrived, creating a world both like and unlike our own, circa 900 A.D.

The ring must be perfect.

Dinah had labored for over a year to attract Governor Seneca’s attention. If he was pleased by this signet ring for his grandson, it would be the beginning of a long and valuable patronage.

She bent her head lower over the workbench. The eagle’s wing feathers had to be wispy enough to suggest flight, thick enough to suggest power.

Her wooden front door swung open so hard that it smacked against the far wall. She flinched, almost ruining the feathers, and old reflexes had her reaching for a non-existent knife at her waist.

Dinah, come with me.

Without looking up, she recognized the deep, rumbly voice of Licinius, the Roman garrison’s engineer. Gah. Not now. She was almost done with the ring.

Licinius, I’m busy. Can I come by your office later?

No. It’s an urgent summons from Commander Tabor.

Tabor?

She set aside her engraving tool, looked up, and was shocked to discover that Licinius was wearing his full Imperial uniform, including the chest plate. Behind him stood his young assistant, Ceti, also in uniform.

Dread froze her fingers. What is this?

The commander ordered me to fetch you without delay to our camp near the river. Licinius’s face and voice held no emotion.

Dinah clutched the almost-finished ring tight in her hand. No. Not when I’m so close. This order could only mean Tabor needed the person she used to be. The person she’d vowed never to be again.

Why near the river? What not at the commander’s office in the fort? What’s happened?

The Legion arrived today and camped on the plains near the river, Licinius said. Tabor marched the garrison out there to add to their numbers.

"What? The fort would be safer with the local tribes so restless. Tabor knows that."

Licinius sighed. The Legionary Legate ordered the garrison to come to him. Tabor had no choice. As for the rest, that is a question you must ask him. But, now, we need to go.

There’s nothing I can do that Tabor’s soldiers cannot do better, she lied.

Gods, Tabor, you cannot truly be asking this of me, to become less again now that I’ve worked so hard to become more.

That may be true but I have my orders. Dinah, you’re wasting time, Licinius said.

No, she was stalling for time, hoping to avoid the inevitable. Young Ceti drew his gladius and the sound of the blade scraping the scabbard echoed around her home. Oh, yes, that would make her obey, a soldier who drew his sword so awkwardly.

But she owed Tabor her life and her freedom. She must answer his summons.

No more a slave but she still wasn’t free.

She slid off her stool, trapped by a blood debt. You know why I need to leave my past behind, my friend.

Licinius nodded. Of course. But I’m under orders, the same as you.

Of course.

She glanced around her home, taking in the shelves of raw stones to her left, the woven chair by the fire, and the hanging oil lanterns near the door. She’d built this. The only home she’d ever had.

She stowed her tools in the drawer of her worktable and pressed a section of the table leg with her foot. A hidden compartment popped open and she slipped the nearly finished ring inside. Maybe this would not take too long, maybe she would be back tomorrow to finish it.

And maybe Augustus himself would come down from his place with the gods to make things right with the Empire that he’d founded.

She retrieved her woolen cloak from a hook near the door, taking a moment to splay her palm over her stained-glass window, letting the chill on the glass seep into her hand.

In her dreams, a crib holding a healthy child sat under the window, the babe looking up to glorious multi-colored light. A child for her to care for, to be loved, and never to be sold, as she had been.

She tied her cloak around her neck, comforted by weight of the knife she always kept hidden in its secret pouch. She pulled the hood over her head as she stepped through the doorway.

Full dark had fallen.

The three of them dismounted in silence at the edges of the garrison’s camp. She grimaced, wincing from the stiffness in her back. She’d never felt these aches and pains a few years ago. But since that awful beating, they returned regularly.

A beating that Tabor had rescued her from, as he’d also rescued her from slavery. She’d been more than grateful. But now he’d called in the debt.

Licinius handed Ceti their horses and the young man led them off.

Where? she asked.

Command tent, Licinius said.

Her boots squished in the mud created by yesterday’s rains as they walked. Darkness hid much of the encampment and clouds covered the moon and stars, blocking their light.

But even without the oil lanterns that illuminated their path, she could have found her way. Memorizing the layout of a Roman encampment had been one of the first lessons from her master. Her final test had been walking through a simulacrum of one, blindfolded.

She’d passed. She’d been all of eight years old.

As she strode the familiar paths, Dinah listened. Rocks scraped against metal as soldiers sharpened their weapons. Hammers pounded on armor to knock out dents. These men expected a fight soon. Her thumb rubbed the hilt of her hidden knife, tracing the great cat carved into the handle.

She’d vowed never to be in a military camp on the eve of battle again.

Licinius’ fast pace brought them to the command tent quicker than she’d expected. The painting of a bald eagle, white head against a blue sky, covered one side of the tent’s canvas. The eagle was Seneca’s symbol, standing in for the family and the settlement named after them. The same design that the elder Seneca had ordered for the signet ring.

The tent guard, another one of Tabor’s tight- lipped and serious soldiers, pulled aside the cloth door and announced their arrival.

Tabor, in full uniform save for his helmet, dominated the space inside. He paced back and forth, tossing out orders to his staff, who were gathered around an oval wooden table in the center. His red woolen cloak swirled around him and his heavy winter boots made deep impressions in the soft ground. Only the sawdust poured onto the dirt prevented the ground from churning into a muddy mess.

Tabor stopped in mid-stride and acknowledged her and Licinius. His cloak settled about his shoulders. The staff officers around the table froze, wary of what might happen next.

You summoned me. Not quite a question, not quite a complaint, but a little of both for Tabor.

Yes. He ordered everyone out, from his scribe to his top aide. The scribe grumbled but shut his mouth in mid-sentence at Tabor’s angry glance.

No one else dared voice an objection. Licinius left first. The staff officers stared at her as they passed. No doubt some assumed their commander wanted sex to soothe his nerves. False. Only men tempted Tabor.

I need your skills, he said when they were alone. As always, his brisk soldier’s words belied his origins as a polished Roman patrician. But like a patrician, he took what he wanted, when he wanted.

So Licinius said. She tensed her arms and curled her fingers around the ivory hilt of her knife, still hidden in the folds of her cloak. For goddess’ sake, Tabor, why call on me when you have an entire Legion at your disposal?

"It is not my Legion. He resumed pacing, the cloak swirling about him again. Papers on the large center table wafted to the ground. He ignored them. I must have a report on an enemy camp. Tell me what supplies you need to spy on them tonight."

"You want me to spy on the Legion?"

No. Or, not yet. What I need is a report on an enemy camp just up the river.

Mahicans? Any attempt to spy on them would be foolish. They know the land better than I ever will.

As if I would be stupid enough to summon you for that. He stopped a few paces in front of her. Remember who I am, Dinah, and listen.

She paled at the implied threat and simply nodded. Tabor’s nickname was Lupus. The wolf. When righteously angered, he gave no quarter.

The camp contains some unknown army, some new player in all this. And it is far too close for my comfort. I must know what it is by morning. I won’t be caught by surprise. You must make your way close enough to them to provide me with a full report of their capabilities.

Impossible. You want me to sneak into the camp of an enemy I know nothing about, located on terrain I know nothing about, evaluate their strength, and report back, all in a single night?

He smiled. Yes.

I’m out of practice. This was suicide. I’ve spent a year trying to forget what I was. I would need to be Laverna, Goddess of Thieves, to do this with my atrophied skills.

I don’t have Laverna, I have you, and you will do. He scowled and pushed her away. You owe me.

I do not owe you a useless death! What purpose will that serve, for either of us?

Tabor grabbed her forearm and began walking, nearly pulling her off her feet. I will show you.

Without looking back, he near-dragged her out of the tent, settling into a stride that gobbled up ground. His fingers shackled her, as strong as any iron. Please, let go, she whispered. I can keep up with you.

See that you do. He dropped her arm. Soldiers melted away at his approach, revealing a high ridge at the end of the path that marked the border of the garrison’s encampment. Tabor halted at the topmost point of the ridge. Her heavy work boots slipped on the wet grass and she nearly ran into him.

Look around down there, he ordered. Evaluate what you see.

Instead of looking, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Sight was not the only sense and not the most important one at night. Smells and sounds would tell her more in darkness. She ignored the garrison soldiers and concentrated on the Legionary camp below. The voices were a mix of several different languages: Latin, Africans, Germanic, and even some Keltic.

But they were too loud for good disciplined troops. The smell of cooking meat mingled with the smell of human waste. They’d not dug proper latrines.

Beyond them, she heard the constant flow of the great Mahicanituck River. Waves slapped against Seneca’s docks. Straining her ears, she heard the faint whisper of voices upstream. That must be Tabor’s unknown camp but it was too far away for her to discern anything useful.

She opened her eyes. The view below confirmed her impression of disorder. The Legionary fires were haphazard. The officers’ tents were clumped together instead of being placed among the troops to keep order. The command tent was also ill-placed at the rear, instead of the center.

The Legion is at half-strength, she noted. She estimated a little over two thousand soldiers rather than the five thousand of a full Legion.

Yes. And what else? he asked.

That is the most disorganized camp I’ve ever seen. She wrinkled her nose. It also reeks.

Tabor snorted. You see why I can’t rely on this so-called Legion. These soldiers are not ready to fight. Much like the Empire is not ready to fight anymore.

She nodded and pulled the cloak over her head to block out the rain. You would know more about the Empire’s situation. Tabor, the Emperor’s close cousin, kept an eye on Imperial politics, especially since those politics had resulted in his current exile in far-flung Seneca, putting an ocean between him and his ambitions.

Why not march the Legion and the garrison back to the fort and buy time to scout this unknown enemy? she asked.

That was my first option but the Legate doesn’t trust me and will not station his soldiers in my home fort.

He should know better than expect you to attack a guest.

I know. But the dark rumors of my reputation precede me. Tabor slapped the scabbard of his gladius and curled his lip. Tell me, how much did you hear upstream?

Enough to know a camp is there but little else. How did an enemy get so close?

They came before dawn under the shroud of heavy fog. My advance scouts saw vague images of warriors, possibly hundreds, but they could not identify the ships. But these were larger than the canoes the Mahicans generally use.

So. An unknown army had decamped quietly in fog. That meant someone organized and well-led.

Could the Legate be hiding part of his Legion? she asked.

I thought that at first. Then I watched the Legate make camp. He hasn’t the brains to be this clever. Tabor smacked his right fist into the open palm of his left hand. We are defenseless out here, unless I know what I face.

Can you set up the cannons the Legion brought on this hill, as a defensive measure? she asked.

They brought no cannons.

She swore.

I agree with the sentiment. Tabor turned in the direction of the unknown camp. I fear a trap is closing around us. We direct our attention to these new arrivals—Caledonius is fool enough to charge them rather than keep to high ground—and then the Mahicans—wherever they are hiding-- will come in from our flank. It’s what I would do.

She could see it all in her inner vision. The Legion and garrison attacked from two fronts, surrounded and perhaps outnumbered, with no way to retreat. Tabor was right. Everything could be lost. The Legion, Tabor, his garrison, Seneca. Her home. Her future.

The only way to escape the trap is to know what it is, Tabor said. I need my spy.

She lowered her head, ashamed now of her weakness. I’m not sure that I can do it.

Tribune!

The bellow came from behind them. Tabor gritted his teeth but did not turn around.

You will do this, Dinah, he said. And you will succeed.

Tribune, I commanded you to come to my tent, the voice said.

Legate Caledonius, Tabor turned, his voice dripping with contempt. I have work to do. As do you.

Dinah hovered at Tabor’s elbow, curious to see this legate who commanded a poorly prepared Legion and yet treated Tabor with such disdain.

Tabor stepped in front of her, blocking her from the Legate’s view and effectively shielding her from his anger as well. Tabor protected all his soldiers, which was why he was so popular with them.

Abuse them, no. Ask more than they could give, yes.

You are disobeying a direct order, Tribune. Caledonius set his fists on his hips, posturing. The legate was a short, stout man who wore the uniform badly, with ill-fitting and tarnished chest armor. He was flanked by several centurions, all of whom presented a far better appearance than their commander.

Tabor brushed nonexistent dirt off his cloak.

I disobeyed no orders. You said to prepare my garrison for a fight.

I said to come to my tent to hear my commands. But he dropped his arms to his side and glanced at his centurions, uncertain, only now realizing his small party had been surrounded by Tabor’s men.

How nice of you, then, to come to me, Tabor drawled.

Caledonius looked at his centurions, perhaps for rescue. A short, dark-haired soldier with coloring that marked him of Eastern Roman descent curled a lip in disdain at his commander.

You’ll come with me now, Tribune, Caledonius said. Or I’ll arrest you.

Tabor waved back his men. Gods be damned, she thought. Tabor was going to follow this legate’s orders. She knew why. If Tabor openly opposed Caledonius, the Legion and the garrison might fall to fighting. That would win the battle for the enemy.

She tapped Tabor’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.

I’ll do what you wish. Rather, try. Her stomach erupted, sending the taste of acid in her mouth. Odds were stacked against her success.

Really, Tribune. You delayed obeying my orders for a woman? She’s not even that young or that pretty. Caledonius laughed.

She flinched. She was not older than twenty-five. If she looked worn, men such as Caledonius were to blame, for burning up her lifeblood up in their useless wars.

Tabor clasped her forearms, urgency in his hold.

Tell Licinius what you need and he will get it for you. He cleared his throat and smiled. You are not old. And some men still see your charm.

Enough with the flattery. You will make Senan jealous. She smiled back, false bravado. I’ll see you in the morning.

Good!

Tabor finally focused on Caledonius. I’ll come with you, Legate. If only so I know what to report to my cousin the Emperor about your performance.

Caledonius snarled but his face went white. Tabor brushed past him, taking the lead and forcing Caledonius to keep up with him. The centurions followed several steps behind.

Licinius appeared beside Dinah. She rattled off a list of things she needed for creeping into an enemy camp, emphasizing soft boots to hide her footfalls and a dagger to slip in those boots.

What she needed most was time and preparation, things she would not get.

I do not know who you are, enemy, but already I hate you.

Chapter 2

Dinah crouched low on the bank of the stream, visualizing the task ahead. According to Tabor’s scouts, the enemy camp was across this stream, in the V between it and the river. An excellent hiding place. The stream would provide warning of an approach from two sides and the forest hiding the camp would slow down any surprise attack from that direction.

But the trees would also provide cover for her, if she could sneak through the clearing on the other side of the stream without being caught. Unfortunately, the clouds had parted, not only revealing stars but a full moon, increasing the difficulty of her task from impossible to it would take an act of the gods to succeed.

But at stake was her home and her future. Her heart thudded in her chest and her sweaty palms betrayed her nerves. She would trust the gods, especially Laverna, to help, then.

Taking a deep breath, she skipped across the stream over rocks that jutted above the surface. Her right foot slipped and splashed the water. She swore under her breath, regained her balance, scrambled to the slanted bank, and collapsed on the dirt, listening for any sign she’d been heard.

Her clothes soaked up the mud and her body soaked up the cold while she listened. A faint but constant thud grew louder. Footsteps, coming steadily closer. Panic told her to run, to go back. Training kept her still. She’d done this a thousand times.

Count the footsteps, slave! Know the routine of the guards!

She heard old Gracchus’ instructions from long ago echo in her head, stilling fear, allowing her to focus.

After twenty steps, the footsteps stopped just a body length from where she huddled cloaked in shadow.

Should she leap forward, take him, and question whoever it was? No, too risky. Even if she could prevent him from crying out, they might speak different languages. And if she slit his throat, he would be missed and that would also raise the alarm.

More footsteps started, stronger and heavier than the first set. She fought a flinch, her nerves close to breakpoint.

Gerhard!

The guard’s feet snapped together. She concentrated on sending a conscious message to every muscle to be still.

Gerhard, the second man, spoke in a low whisper to the guard, using a guttural language that sounded a little Germanic but also had a sing-song quality she could not place. He had a pleasant voice, low and deep, and full of some humor, despite the hour and the coming battle.

The guard answered in one-syllable words which sounded like an acceptance of orders. Gerhard clapped the guard on the shoulder, approval from superior to scout.

Both men started walking again, the guard to the left to complete his rounds, following the stream, and Gerhard to the stand of trees and, presumably, to the camp. She rose to her knees. Gerhard’s silhouette was visible against the moonlight, tall and dark.

Here was an opportunity. She rose and followed Gerhard at the same pace. The sound of their footsteps blended together, and his heavy boots drowned out her softer steps.

Her breaths grew shorter and her chest tighter as she followed him into the trees. The scent of pine filled her nostrils. She brushed a hand against one of the trees and her fingers came away sticky with sap.

Her quarry’s long, easy strides were graceful, keeping a quick pace with seemingly no effort.

Another wolf, like Tabor.

After a few moments, Gerhard stepped out of the trees and into the edges of his camp. She caught a glimpse of him against the light from the campfires. A warrior’s body, powerful arms, legs, and shoulders, along with a broad chest.

She took a deep breath and left the sparse safety of the wood to follow him into the heart of the enemy camp.

She sniffed, inhaling the smoke from the fires. These flames were fed by wood, leaves, and moss, the same kind of fuel used by Mahicans. Many low voices spoke, all in the same language that Gerhard had used.

A single people, then. And, oddly, all male voices. Rome never used female soldiers but other people did, including the Kelts, the Germans, and the Mahicans. Strange to find a non-Roman camp of only men.

She counted the fires as she crept closer, stepping carefully to avoid the light of the flames. Perhaps eight hundred warriors? That was less than half the Legion but if they combined forces with the Mahicans, Tabor would be outnumbered, as he feared.

Gerhard shouted something. She froze. Gerhard barked orders at the warrior who’d run up to him.

Now that her quarry was completely within the fire’s light, she could see he was beardless, like the Mahicans, though she couldn’t tell if that was natural or from shaving. Blond hair brushed the tops of his shoulders. His face was angular: strong jaw, high cheekbones, and smile lines around the eyes. His manner, his voice of authority, and the way people treated him, spoke leader to her.

This barbarian seemed to be a respected leader. The worse kind of enemy.

She rubbed her thumb over the carved cat on her knife. Perhaps the best way to save her home was to kill Gerhard with one swift throw. Cut off the head of the snake and sow confusion.

No, not yet. His death would spark an uproar and might even cause these people to