Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles) by James Mace Page A

have told me.”
    “I understand,” Marcia said, her eyes downcast and wet with tears.
    “Does Marcellus know you came to see me?” Artorius asked.
    “Only if he has eyes that can see from Tartarus,” Marcia scoffed. “For if my mother is where good spirits go in the afterlife, then he is surely where they are punished. He went mad years ago and, mercifully, left us last year.”
    “I heard he was a wealthy man,” Artorius conjectured. “I take it that he left you well off?”
    “He had a lot of debts,” the young woman replied. “I was forced to sell the house, along with many other things, in order to cover them. But yes, I was left with enough that I will not starve in the gutter. Forgive me, sir, for my intrusion.”
    Clearly upset that her lifelong dream had been so abruptly shattered, s he quickly made ready to leave and as she turned, she almost stepped into Metellus, who was walking through the open doorway.
    “Beg your pardon, miss,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her as she stumbled. “Not int errupting anything, I hope.”
    “Not at all,” Artorius said quickly. “Marcia is the daughter of an old friend. Marcia, may I present my son, Metellus.”
    “Honored,” she said with a short curtsey before looking up into the face of the well-built and handsome centurion.
    “Please, the pleasure is all mine,” Metellus replied taking her hands in his.
    “Metellus, be a good man and escort her home,” Artorius directed. “She has had a bit of a rough morning and doubtless could use some company.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” Marcia replied awkwardly, her voice shaking.
    “Nonsense,” Metellus said, noting the look in his father’s eye. He then linked his arm in hers. “It would be a privilege. Come, we’ll follow the path along the shore. The sea air will do you good!”
    Artorius smiled as the two left, then collapsed into his chair and let out a deep sigh. After a few minutes, he was feeling cramped in the office he was soon to vacate, and so he stepped out onto the balcony as the cool breeze off the Mediterranean gusted into his face. In the distance, off to his left, he could just see Metellus walking with Marcia along the beach. He couldn’t tell for certain, but it almost looked as if he was holding her hand. Artorius nodded in approval and looked up to the heavens.
    “Dear Camilla,” he said. “Your spirit lives through her. If only I could have called her ‘daughter’.”
     

     
    It had been a long journey for Alaric as he stepped onto the shores of the southern coast of Britannia. As there were no direct passages available from Caesarea in Judea to the isle, he had had to gradually make his way west, stopping off in whatever port the ship he was on was bound for and then trying to bribe his way onto the next vessel. His years of experience as a mariner allowed him to sometimes offer his skills in lieu of payment. Still, it had taken several months for him to get as far as northern Hispania. And when no other ships could be found that were heading north, he made his way on foot to Burdigala 1 , a port city in Gaul. Here he had found a trireme bearing wine casks bound for the southern coast Britannia. Though he would have preferred finding a ship that would take him to the eastern shores near the Kingdom of the Brigantes, he was happy simply finding any ship that got him closer to his journey’s end. His offer to man an oar was readily accepted by the sailing master, and a week later he found himself standing on the shores of the isle he’d left seventeen years prior.
    Though a German by birth, he had been raised in the house of King Breogan of the Brigantes, many miles to the north. As one of the largest kingdoms in the land, their size and power alone ensured a relative sense of peace for their people. They were too large for other tribes to risk quarreling with them; they also did not bother their neighbors, as their lands were ample to the point