Red Fury Rebellion: Agricola, #3

By JF Ridgley

 

During the Yera of Four Emperors, Rome is destroying everything in its shadow -- including Julius Agricola's goal to return to Britannia to find his son which could include him losing his life. It was a great plan: become a senator, find the right connections, and glean an appointment back to Britannia. What could go wrong? Everything. 

First, Julius watches Nero Caesar commit suicide, so his hopes die with Caesar. Julius' attention shifts to Galba Caesar, a mean dirty old republican whom Julius gladly assists in his overthrow. Then the title of Caesar shifts to the usurper Otho Caesar. Or is it Vitellius Caesar? Or possibly Vespasian as Caesar?  Julius must decide where his loyalties should go. But choosing Vespasian, will leave him a walking dead man before the eyes of Vitellius. Now Julius must fight to save his life, his Empire, as well as his dream of ever finding his son.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JF Ridgley
• Release date: Apr 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9781951269210

JF Ridgley

Blame King Arthur for my interest in ancient Rome. You don't mess with Celts that you don't run into Rome's legions and I got stuck there. It still fascinates me with all this ancient world and its quirks and laws. I still love messing with my Celts  who are equally as amazing. Come join me on this entrapment. 

Book preview

1

Julius looked up from his desk when Milo, his door slave, announced the arrival of Sabinus and Nerva. The scent of ash lingering in the air from Nero’s fire blustered through the front door with his friends. No doubt they had come to escort him to Nero’s execution of Christians. 

I am not going.

Yes, you are, Sabinus asserted as both friends strode in across the atrium with the determination of Jupiter and Mars.

Julius lowered the scroll to the desk and met the determination blazing in their gazes. I will not participate in more of Nero’s insanity. Not after what I saw last night at his little garden party where innocent people were being used as human torches and torn apart by dogs. No. I am not going. 

Blocking the visions of burning flesh and the sound of horrid screams assaulting his brain, Julius focused on his friends’ senatorial togas. You very well know this is nothing more than Nero’s vain attempt to cast blame for Rome’s fire where it does not belong.

We knew you would say that, Nerva quipped. He halted beside Sabinus at the step of the tablinum. 

We could not agree with you more, Julius, Sabinus announced. However, we cannot allow you to die over something this insidious. 

You know, Nerva continued, that Nero issued a ruling that he will label any senator failing to attend his latest fiasco as traitor to the state.

I am no traitor to Rome!

Julius, you have to go, Sabinus pleaded, to protect your family’s name and your standing in Rome.

Nerva’s chin rose. I also do not want to lose a good friend over this.

Julius felt the long, familiar rage ignite in his guts. He desperately wanted to defy another obligation to Rome. However, his friends’ eyes were resolute as granite. Once my attendance is noted, I am leaving.

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The senators melted with relief. Then we best be going, Nerva concluded with a grin. The good seats will be taken by now.

As Julius looked at the gates of Nero’s Circus on the Vatican Hill, the memories of racing Seytan around the sandy racetrack consumed him. He remembered his black stallion fighting him the entire race because he had no choice but to let Nero win. If he had not, Seytan would have been sacrificed as the October Horse. This time, however, Julius was simply another spectator witnessing yet another whim of Rome’s belligerent emperor.

His gaze swept the spina, the island in the middle of the racetrack, where the Praetorian Guard had dropped nets for any Christian who may choose to recant their faith and flee for safety.

With hands on his hips, Valerius Proculus stood basking in the hot August day at the end of the spina. His uncle’s attention was fixed on the imperial box where Nero sprawled on his throne, resting a flabby cheek on his palm and yawning in boredom. Imperial purple and gold decorated the man from his laurel wreath in the curls of his auburn hair down to the sandal bobbing over the armrest. A gold goblet dangling from his fingertips slopped wine to the mosaic flooring as sunlight dappled everything beneath the ornate canopy. Beside Nero sat the Empress Poppaea gossiping with the senators’ wives cooing over her pregnant belly.

To Caesar’s right sat the Vestal Virgins, composed as goddesses in their blazing white robes. To the imperial left, and stacked like bundles of shorn wool, milled the restless array of white senatorial togas filling the first rows of the circus. Julius was one of them. 

Packed tighter than a slave ship, the crowd of spectators were crammed in the remaining seats. Even distant roof tops bulged with onlookers who hoped the Christians would fail to recant their faith and provide a spectacle that they could later share with any who would listen. 

Dread spawned like a disease in Julius’ gut. No part of him wanted to witness the murder of friends who had saved hundreds while Rome burned. They had even saved his life a few years ago. Luke. Paul. Peter. Anastasia. Basilissa. Timothy. To the amazement of many, the Christians’ fearlessness of death amazed most of Rome because they simply had absolute trust in their savior—this Jesus. 

Julius had recently learned that his friend Peter had survived Nero’s fire while in the Tullianum, jailed because the man refused to stop preaching that Rome’s gods were false, that there was only one true God, and that God was not Nero. 

He wondered how many Romans believed that Rome’s gods even cared one lick about saving anyone’s ass but their own. Fewer still failed to share any loyalty to Nero who claimed himself equal those gods. Very damn few. And he was one of them.

Horns sounded, silencing the massive arena. Nero eagerly sat up as the gates opened to soldiers herding a motley crowd of people through the sand. A thunderous explosion of slurs, insults, and tossed garbage filled the air as the prisoners stumbled forward, shoved by the soldiers’ lances. 

Julius started to his feet. In concert, Nerva and Sabinus clamped down on his wrists to keep him seated. Do not move, Julius. Do not even flinch. He is watching, Sabinus whispered. Everyone knows that the Christians are innocent, and I certainly understand your pain. 

Julius glared at him. I cannot stay here and watch this. I cannot!

Julius, think of your son in Britannia, Nerva blurted under his breath.

The prisoners halted before the imperial box as Nero strode toward the railing, his gaze feasting on those gathered below him. You Christians have been brought here because you do not pay tribute to Rome, nor to our gods, the emperor announced to the world. Have we not honored your god? Have we not tolerated your disregard for our traditions? Yet, you set fire to our city! His declaration drew the crowd to their feet, roaring in anger, fists flailing in the air.

We did not start that fire! You did! one Christian yelled.

Ignoring the interruption, Nero continued, But, in my benevolent mercy, I shall forgive you. He waved at the net on the spina where Julius’ uncle and the praetorians stood at attention. Go! Save yourselves! Recant and race to the guards who will lift you up to safety. Stay as you are, and you will die. He waved as if dismissing slaves. Go. Do it now. 

Not one Christian moved. Cheers resounded about the circus. 

Guards began digging a hole just below the imperial box as Nero motioned toward the gates. One opened. An emaciated prisoner stumbled forward under the weight of a wooden cross. 

Peter? Julius gasped. The sound of the crowd’s glee froze him in place. 

This man, Nero bellowed, has insulted Rome with his blasphemy! Yet, should even he recant and honor me this day, I will grant even him my forgiveness. 

He will not, Sabinus grumbled. 

Fool, muttered Nerva.

Silence enveloped the track as the crowd strained to hear whatever Peter was pleading to the guards. Shrugging and shaking his head in disbelief, one guard looked up at the imperial box. He wishes to be crucified upside down. 

Laughter erupted. Nero lifted his eyes to the sky. He shook his head as if receiving heavenly instructions. He then waved dismissively. So be it. 

Feasting on the display, the crowd watched as the soldiers nailed Peter to the wooden beams and dropped the cross into a hole. His screams pierced the arena. Attention shifted to more soldiers shoving a senator through the sand toward Nero. 

Is that Albinus Lako? Sabinus asked.

I believe so, Nerva said as he grinned at Julius, And that would have been you as well, my friend, had you not listened to us. 

Julius swallowed the sudden reality that had spawned in his throat as the soldiers removed the man’s senatorial toga and tunic, leaving him in his loincloth.

Albinus Lako, Nero bawled, you failed to join your peers as I demanded! He waved grandly over the senators who had submitted to his request. Therefore, you have deemed yourself a traitor by defying my imperial command!

I want nothing to do with your murderous insanity! Lako bellowed back. And I am no traitor to Rome!

How dare you defy the gods! Nero snapped. One of the guards immediately slit the senator’s throat and let his body drop to the sand. 

As the crowd howled with amusement, the guards started trotting toward the spina to be hoisted to safety. In that moment, the gates burst open, and everyone’s attention jerked to the lions appearing from the depths. 

Smelling blood, the lions bolted out onto the track. In seconds, a male lion claimed Albinus’ body. Lionesses knocked a few soldiers away from the nets and began mauling them. The remaining soldiers near Peter attempted to flee toward the spina. Only two escaped. One lion tore Peter’s body from the cross and dragged it before the Vestal priestesses. 

Julius noticed the Christians were easing toward the abandoned cross while recovering the gladiuses now laying in the sand. Women and children began plying the nails from the wood and breaking the cross into bludgeons to pass to their men—the butchers of the Subura. Obviously, this was not going to be a quick blood feast after all, which thrilled the spectators into madness. 

Do something, you fools! Nero demanded from his guests in the imperial box. Nerva and Sabinus smiled as did many other senators. Even Julius felt pleasure watching each male guest fret beneath Nero’s tirade. His little play was not going as planned, and the audience loved it. 

Soon, four wagons drove through the gates. Meandering halfway onto the track, the carts reversed direction as if to flee. Tailgates dropped open to release a load of massive, grunting boars that charged toward the bloody feast. Two boars died at the hands of the Christians, while the other boars dared to claim the lions’ banquets. They failed.

Chants of Live! Live! Live! began echoing in the stands. The unexpected demand reverberated throughout the arena as thumbs lifted toward the clear, hot sky. Like all the other senators, Julius remained stoic due to protocol, yet every eye feasted on the reactions exploding in the imperial box. 

Radiating with anger and disbelief, Nero braced on the railing, trying to ignore Poppaea who was helpless with laughter. In an instant, he grabbed her by the hair, threw her to the mosaic floor, and began kicking her. The crowd gasped and then burst with even more delight.

As attendants carried the lifeless Poppaea away, Nero confronted his guests again, expecting an explanation. No one offered anything but confusion. Tigellinus, the first centurion of the Praetorian Guard, leaned in to mention something. Nodding, Nero urgently waved the man away.

An eternity passed until the gates burst open to a large unit of Batavian archers on horseback thundering into view. As the riders circled the track, bows were drawn, and arrows flew. Lions and boars dropped along with the men, women, and children. 

The crowd roared because Nero had the audacity to ignore their demand that the Christians live. Raging and booing, the onlookers began throwing apples, fruit, and bread loaves at the imperial box, leaving Nero to dodge the objects. 

The archers disappeared through the gates as Rome’s massive attack dogs dashed into the arena at a mad run. As trained, the black, spike-collared packs began ripping apart anything still living on the sand.

A strange movement in the stands drew Julius’ attention. Furious at Nero’s merciless disregard for tradition, the Vestals were leaving. That meant the Senate could leave as well. Senators all around Julius stood and began evacuating their seats, some of them smiling as if they had witnessed a most pleasant display. 

I say it was worth coming, Nerva announced as he joined the retreating senators, if only to see Nero pummeled with rotten fruit.

I totally agree, another senator said with a grin. His little charade did not work out so well as he had planned.

More senators agreed. Who would have thought that the Christians would put up such a fight? Not only that, but Nero never expected the crowd to side with them! 

Another senator snorted, They made him look like the ass that he is. 

Nerva nodded toward the vacant imperial box. Look. Nero has already escaped! Sneering, the senators turned their backs to the bloody banquet that was left in the sand. 

2

Days later, Julius walked briskly past the Rostra in the Forum that had been removed of all burn scars and soot. Unlike the rest of the city, the imperial platform gleamed pure and white. Fortunately, Julius’ game of harpastum had provided a welcomed escape from the memory of the murder of the Christians.

He needed that physical outlet even if it had turned into a rout for Nerva’s team. The game had also distracted Julius from his insane decision to purchase a burned apartment building near his townhouse, which was already putting the screws to his finances. The people of his district were still living in the streets after Nero’s fire. Rape, murder, and theft were rampant, and winter was quickly approaching. Hopefully, the rental income would be enough to eventually replenish his treasury and fund the upgrades to the townhouse that Domitia wanted if and when she returned to Rome. The thought was painful.

After all, she and his mother had eyes set on keeping up with the other senators’ wives who saw the destruction of Nero’s fire as a perfect opportunity to indulge in a new competition: redecorating. He could care less about that indulgence.

Lugh, how is the apartment building coming along? Julius asked in Rhianna’s tongue, Iceni.

That be goin’ well. The domina Elyana be rulin’ with a fist that even Nero be fearin,’ the beloved slave informed him, also in Iceni.

Julius smirked at the red-headed man from Hibernia who could coo the fur off a cat. Any idea when the building can be full of tenants?

Lugh’s green eyes brightened. Most of the rooms be rented now, but more be openin’ on higher floors soon enough.

That is good news. Julius turned to his other trusted slave that he had purchased in Ephesus. Akim, how are the villa’s finances? he asked in Latin.

The Arab nodded, his curly black hair gleaming as bright as his dark gaze. Tight, dominus. All the villas in Cemenelum feel the pain of Nero’s taxes, the man answered in Iceni, however, your income remains sufficient for now.

Stunned that Akim had picked up Iceni so quickly, Julius continued to communicate in Rhianna’s language. That, too, is good news! he announced to the two men he trusted with his life.

The men maneuvered their way through the thick village of tents still carpeting most of the Forum. Soldiers from the Vigils and Urban Cohorts patrolled about, attempting to keep some measure of control over the wretched mass. But there would never be enough soldiers to keep the peace.

Hopefully, the apartments will be profitable enough to fund a way back to Britannia, Julius mused as he nodded greetings to those lingering along the store fronts. The simple greetings were reciprocated.

They continued up the street to what was left of Julius’ charred townhouse on the Viminal Hill. The fire had gutted his townhouse; the main structure had remained sturdy and undamaged, but it was still unlivable for Domitia and Julia.

However, Elyana, who managed the apartment building, had salvaged enough of his townhouse to care for the homeless women and children who needed to escape the dangers of the streets. Under Elyana’s direction, the women had cleaned his townhouse enough for him to live there. In return, he had allowed Elyana to use his kitchen to cook food for Arri’s taverna across the street, until the man’s kitchen was repaired.

To his astonishment, Elyana had even found Rhianna’s pendant in the ashes of the staircase. He had thought it was permanently lost after Nero’s fire. Each time he gazed at the Iceni horse on Rhianna’s pendent, he was transported back to her and to their son Gnaeus who lived somewhere in Britannia. His only goal now was to find a way to return to that province and find his son and kill the man who had kidnapped him.

Retrieving the treasured pendant from beneath his senatorial tunic, Julius kissed it, and then noticed an unexpected activity on Nerva’s neighboring hill—the Esquiline. It was swarming with workers like an upset anthill. Nerva had not said anything about rebuilding so soon.

Julius figured that he would find out what was going on when Nerva and Sabinus joined him at Arri’s taverna later that night. With no further thought, Julius walked into his townhouse to find Domitia railing at Elyana.

"My husband gave you free rein to do as you please with my house?" Domitia’s plain yellow stola and brown hair shook as she bellowed with rage.

With arms crossed over her green, plebeian tunica, Elyana’s blue eyes never flinched. Apparently so, domina.

Fingers curled into fists as his wife drew up like a cat and snarled, Well, no longer! This is my house! I will order the paint!

Paint? Elyana asked in shock. Then, I suggest that you get it now. There will not be much left once Nero begins his grand designs. She noticed Julius. Dominus, welcome home.

Domitia spun on her heels. I cannot believe you allowed this woman to take over my house!

You were not here, Julius stated as Akim removed the weight of the blue tunic. Elyana has done an excellent job of making this place livable enough for me.

This is my— Domitia noticed Rhianna’s pendant that he had forgotten to hide from view and pulled away.

Domitia, Julius demanded to redirect her attention, before you purchase any paint, ask Akim if there are enough funds for it. Understood?

Horror flooded her face. "I will not ask a slave for permission to buy anything."

Then ask me, and I will ask Akim, Julius offered. But do not purchase anything until it is approved. Is that clear . . . wife? He studied her. Why are you here anyway?

Domitia drew up like Juno herself. "I came to find out what is going on in my house. And I find this!" She pointed at Elyana.

Of whom I am grateful, Julius replied. He looked at the freed woman. You have done well, Elyana.

Gratitude, dominus, Elyana answered with a smile. The women are grateful for your protection. Most of them have already moved into the apartments or returned safely to their homes, dominus.

Is Arri still in need of the kitchen? Julius asked, disregarding Domitia’s stunned reaction.

Yes. His kitchen is almost completed, Elyana answered. She glanced at Domitia. So, Arri will be out of your kitchen very soon.

There is no hurry, Elyana, Julius assured her. As you once said, everyone needs to eat.

Again, gratitude, dominus. You have kept us alive. Many senators have failed to show any concern for their people. Elyana sighed, avoiding Domitia’s seething fury. I beg your dismissal. I must see to your apartments.

Julius nodded approval, and she left. Domitia wheeled on him. Apartments?

Yes. The nearby building became available, so I bought it. Elyana is restoring it for me. Where’s Julia?

With my mother. Domitia turned to her slave girl. Zuri, have the slaves prepare to bring dinner to the triclinium.

Yes, domina. The little African girl bowed and retreated to the kitchen.

Dinner? In our triclinium? Julius asked, almost laughing.

Yes. And why not? I brought the rest of the slaves with me. They are driving mother insane with nothing to do. At least, here, they can help that woman.

Julius had barely breathed when his mother, Julia Procilla Valeria, blustered into the atrium in a whirlwind. She halted to scan the room. By the gods, Julius, the place is horrid. No paint. No one is working on the murals. Where are the curtains? And the furniture?

Welcome, Mother.

Julius, this is deplorable. Domitia, you must see to these matters. Obviously, my son cannot handle the necessary repairs.

Actually, I have the repairs under control, Mother. However, the city demands most of my attention. Julius studied the woman who stood before him regal in her blue stola, palla, and jeweled sandals as if all were perfectly normal in the city.

Motioning for her slave to brush nothing from one of the two atrium couches, Procilla turned expectantly. Wine, Julius. Are the slaves asleep? I am thirsty.

Julius reclined across from her. I thought you were at your villa.

She smiled like a contented cat. "Yes, I should be at my villa, but I have returned to Rome to see for myself what has happened to our beloved city. The devastation is unbelievable. I hear those responsible for it have been executed."

Julius bit his tongue as she continued. I even heard Nero was so angry that he kicked Poppaea’s belly. If that child lives, it will be an idiot, I am sure. Wine arrived, and she settled back in the cushions. So, tell me, Julius. How are you?

I have no idea. Ask Rome. Julius accepted a goblet from a slave. I had not heard about Poppaea, he lied, even though he had witnessed the event.

Well, Julius, I just do not know how the city will ever recover from this. I cannot believe the number of townhouses that are gone. Your friend, Nerva. His is completely destroyed, so I hear?

His and Sabinus’ townhouses.

She shook her head with pity. Two different hills in absolute ruins. It is horrible. Procilla sipped wine and watched Domitia stroll about the remains of the rear gardens.

What are your plans now, Mother? Will you stay in the city, or go home?

She cleverly glanced at him, Oh. I do not have any idea. Since there is little here for me, I will likely go with Domitia to her father’s villa tonight and possibly return to my villa on Decidianus’ galley when it sails for Cemenelum. I just cannot stand riding that long in a carriage.

Domitia exploded into the atrium, pointing behind her as if some demons were chasing her. Julius! There are no dining couches in the triclinium! Where are we to eat?

Arri’s taverna across the street.

The women sucked the air from the room.

I will not be seen there! his mother exclaimed. Of all places!

Nor will I! Domitia spat. You must be insane, Julius! Lifting her chin, she looked to his mother. I will be going back to father’s villa immediately. Procilla, you can join me if you wish.

Of course.

The shell of a townhouse had sighed with relief after Domitia and his mother departed. Fortunately, Nerva and Sabinus had no objection to eating at Arri’s. Elyana’s soup was wonderful, and the company was enjoyable.

You should have seen Domitia’s face when she discovered there were no dining couches! Julius laughed as another round of wine filled their clay cups.

Sabinus raised a toast. To my great relief, Plautilla has not even considered returning until all the shops in the Forum are fully restored.

Nerva waved a toast to everyone. May the shops never return!

All three tapped cups and drank. Julius noticed Nerva’s sudden downcast expression. What is it? The loss this afternoon to Cletus’ team?

Hardly, his friend grumbled. Have you not noticed all the unusual work on my hill? Well, Nero has confiscated it and all my property. Most of it anyway. The imperial bastard demands me to forfeit the land that has been in my family for six generations. If the loss of my home to the fire were not enough, now this! Nerva toasted everyone with a snarl.

He intends to take mine as well, Sabinus grumbled.

Stunned, Julius sat his cup on the table. When were you notified about this?

Both men looked at each other, then turned their attention to Julius. Today, they both answered.

Why? For what?

Nerva lifted his cup for a refill. I hear our illustrious Caesar has plans for a house more fitting for his imperial ass. He turned to Sabinus. Do you believe the rumors about this so called Domus Aurea that may take up the whole south end of the Forum?

I have, and I do not believe it. The treasury will not sustain such a proposal. Sabinus lifted his cup for a refill.

That leaves us to live in tents, Nerva retorted. They tapped cups as Julius watched in total disbelief.

Or, Sabinus offered, we could move in with Julius! Yes. We could live with him and leave the women in the villas to rot. Visit them when we need ’em and come back. He looked at Julius for approval.

By all means, yes. Julius toasted his friends. Since both men were quickly draining their cups, he thought he should help and ordered more wine.

The night lingered, leaving Nerva passed out on the table, while Sabinus stared off into nothing. Julius nodded to Lugh and Akim, who nudged his friends’ slaves awake.

As they stumbled toward his townhouse, Julius caught sight of two shadows lurking not far from his front door. They moved close enough for him to recognize the round frame of Baskus and the tall stature of Murio in the torchlight of the taverna. Dominus, we need to speak with you.

There was nothing left of the legionary façade in either of these ex- soldiers now. Both wore dark brown hair down to their shoulders and full beards covered their somber faces.

The delicious feeling of wine drained from Julius. Yes. Of course.

Again, Julius found himself seated at Arri’s, across from the two Christian men who were once Roman soldiers. He had met them at Basilissa’s villa the same night he had met Paul and Peter and other Christ followers.

Both had been guards at their Christ’s tomb when the man had risen from the dead. Murio also stated that he had watched this Jesus perform miracles in Jerusalem and had heard this Jesus’ speeches while standing guard about Jerusalem. They had become followers of The Way and hoped that by some miracle, Jesus would blind the legions of the fact they had fled when he arose from the tomb that they had been responsible for. Rumors were that those who did not flee were executed for failing guard duty.

Wine was offered, but both men refused, which told Julius this was no ordinary problem. What is wrong? he asked.

Baskus glanced around for the nearest set of ears and leaned over the table. Anastasia and Basilissa have been arrested.

Impossible. Both women are Roman dominas. Citizens! Julius seethed quietly.

Yet, Caesar’s spies found them helping us bury the ones he massacred, Baskus snarled.

Murio crossed his arms on the table. Last night, we were looking for more bodies of our brothers and sisters, so we could bury them properly. We, he motioned to Baskus, had taken as many as we could to a follower’s villa northeast of town. When we returned, the Urban Cohorts had taken both women to the Tullianum.

Caesar is going to execute them, Baskus added bitterly.

Julius slumped back against the wall. Neither of those women deserved this any more than his own mother. Can I do anything?

Both men shook their heads. We wish you could, but no, Murio said, unless you wish to join them.

Are they looking for you? Julius asked.

So far, no. But we think it best to not be seen, Murio answered.

Baskus huffed. Especially since Nero has begun to use us as torches. Seems that if a Christian is found in the streets, he is hung, bound, dipped in oil, and set fire as an example to the city.

Then, stay with me until I find a way to get you back to Basilissa’s villa.

Murio scowled. The fat imperial prick has stolen that, too.

Would this nightmare ever end! First, Paul. Then, the Christians. Now, Basilissa and Anastasia. Shaking his head, Julius closed his eyes, trying to find some answer to the chaos. Decidianus has one of his merchant galleys leaving for Cemenelum out of Ostia in a few days. I will write a note to tell him take you to my mother’s villa.

3

Cyan pinned Colin to the ground and then plopped down on his friend’s belly with both hands on the torn shoulders of his tunic. Submit, you freak! You’re mine.

Colin squirmed helplessly. Get off me, you red-headed freak.

The instant Colin felt Cyan’s weight shift, he rolled and slammed his fist into his friend’s throat. As Cyan grabbed for his neck, Colin wheeled and dropped onto his friend’s belly, pinning him to the ground. Submit, you fr—

Get off my brother!

Colin didn’t see Shiel closing the short distance between them. Cyan’s sister kicked him into the grass with the force of a horse. Cyan submits to no one, especially a Roman freak, Shiel spat. Unlike the other girls, she wore tunic and trousers and stood there with her hands on her hips ready to fight anyone.

Cyan lurched to his feet and shoved his sister aside. Don’t you call Colin a Roman freak. Freckles popped on his friend’s face as Colin climbed to his feet.

You did.

I can, Cyan snarled back.

And why can’t I? Shiel demanded as she leaned into to her brother’s face.

Because, if I’m a Roman freak, Colin yelled, that makes you a girl freak.

Shiel’s muscled body slowly turned toward Colin. What did you call me?

Girl freak.

Shiel had taken no more than a step toward Colin when Cyan tackled her. Once on the ground, Colin joined him and held Shiel’s thrashing legs while Cyan pressed her face into the grass. Curses filled the air.

Meria walked toward them. As usual, the black-haired girl had a toddler on her hip. This time, it was Gwinear’s two-year-old girl Ilick who had blonde hair and blue eyes like Calgacus. Brigh said you all have to come in to get ready for Beltane.

Colin started to argue, but behind Meria, in the far distance, he