Crimson and Steel Read Free Page A

tomorrow, or I will see to it that you will be banished from this town and that you will leave here with nothing! Am I understood?”
    “Yes, Lord Praetor, understood, very clear. Thank you, Lord,” Javad replied in utter obeisance.
    With that Marcus whirled about and trod into the opposite direction. Quick to his elbow was Lucian, his secretary and personal assistant. A man of about twenty, Lucian wore the military uniform of an officer complete with lorica musculata. He bore a wax tablet and walked in double time to keep up with his superior’s long strides. Traveling with the men were six bodyguards that accompanied the praetor everywhere he went. They wore white tunics under red togas and carried long bundles of rods with small ax blades in the center. In the midst of this entourage, at the heels of Marcus, was the tall, blonde girl named Kell.
    Kell’s cheeks burned as she became aware of her new owner’s power and prestige. The smells and sights of the city were so exciting and new, yet frightening. All around her was noise, but not a natural noise. Not the sound of tree limbs giving way to the weight of snow in winter. Not the din of the sea crashing against the rocks during a storm. Not the cracking of lighting in the sky and the resounding thunder as Thor felled a frost giant in the high mountains. No, this sound is much different, she thought. This sound was alive, and it writhed and wriggled about as a serpent. Yet her new master cut through it as a longboat skims atop the frothing sea, his men acting as a prow and she a passenger trailing in his wake. Her long legs allowed her to keep up easily, and she listened in as Lucian spoke to the praetor.
    “Intelligence from the North is that the Alamanni may be migrating, Praetor,” Lucian reported, bumping into a ragged fishmonger the lictors had failed to wrangle aside. They quickly made up for their error.
    “The Germans are always on the move,” Marcus replied drily, not slowing his purposeful pace. “What else?”
    “There are more whispers from Eastern travelers mentioning wild horse tribes pushing westward.” The young officer’s tone was subdued as he erased that bit from the wax tablet with the flat of his stylus as though he could stamp out the reality of those words with so simple an act.
    “Yes,” the praetor noted grimly. He knew well that horse tribes driving west would displace the Goths, the Goths would displace the Vandals, and so on and so on. In fewer winters than he would like to imagine the Germanic nations would be spilling over the Rhine and Danube, and he was sure that the bickering leadership in Rome was wholly unprepared to deal with it. Frontier generals like himself had been dealing with the barbarian tribes since they were young men. In his heart he knew he’d lead a campaign against a massive uprising before his time was through.
    No words were spoken for a moment as they walked on.
    “Oh, the guard was changed on the walls on time as per usual, and all weapons in the arsenal were accounted for in the audit,” Lucian said, happy to change the subject, “however, there was a considerable irregularity in the amount of meat in the cook’s storehouse when a surprise inventory of the kitchens was performed.”
    “Oh?” Marcus stopped in his tracks and arched an eyebrow. The entourage ground to a halt. “You don’t suppose the old cook has been selling out the back door, do you?”
    “Possibly,” answered the assistant impartially. “Or perhaps a slave has taken off with it while the old man was in his cups. He is a lover of the grape. Or maybe Braxus and his ruffians have him in debt over a wager. Any number of things, really. I have him waiting to meet you in your office presently.”
    “And I shall see him presently, but first…you.”
    The praetor turned and faced Kell, who instinctively lowered her face and looked at the cobbles under her feet. Without realizing it, lost in eavesdropping as she was, they had left