Clean

Clean

He stood in the centre of the pool, the copious hair on his thick torso plastered to his wet, glistening skin. She studied him. Aelius; Mestrius’ right-hand man and confidante since the dominus was but a youth. Grey hair and expanding girth hinted at Aelius’ age, but his broad shoulders and thick arms also betrayed his strength; not for nothing was he rumoured to have killed at least three men—Mestrius’ rivals all—with his bare hands and whatever blunt objects lay to hand.
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Summoned

Summoned

A streak of silver flashed from the folds of Leontine's tunic as she threw a dagger toward Valeria. The knife clattered harmlessly off a wall as Valeria ducked under its trajectory. With a dive and a roll, Valeria closed the gap between herself and Leontia before springing to her feet and seizing the startled Leontia by the throat. Gone now was Valeria’s denarius, and instead she held a dagger. Knuckles white as she clutched her weapon, she drew back her hand, ready to thrust her blade into Leontia.

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At the Pomegranate

At the Pomegranate

“Only four of you this time?” Bruttia said as she put down her cup and wiped muslum from her mouth. “Your boss is either getting soft or running out of men.”

The four gangers paused and looked at one another, frowning. Then they looked at the assembled mass of drunks, whores and ne’er-do-wells that constituted the Pomegranate’s clientele. Maybe now, thought Bruttia, as they stand in one of the Subura’s most infamous tavernas whilst surrounded by the worst scum and villainy Rome has to offer, they realise they’ve bitten off more than they chew.

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The Price of Failure, by Paul L. Mathews

The Price of Failure, by Paul L. Mathews

Valeria had been fighting on the streets of Rome since she was a child and she did not consider herself squeamish. But Talavus scared her. Having failed to safeguard the statue of Apollo at Senator Caius’ temple to the sungod, the Gaul had been castigated by the senator and discharged from his employ … only to be snapped up by Hostilius. The Gaul now acted as the dominus’ bodyguard and enforcer. Her throat tightened and a pit opened in her stomach as she watched the Gaul seize the imploring Durio by the arm.
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A Long Walk Home, by Paul L. Mathews

A Long Walk Home, by Paul L. Mathews

Durio staggered through the Subura, breathing as best he could with a broken nose and a throat full of blood. He cursed under his breath as—seeking some respite from the blazing sun—he leant against a wall beneath a balcony, grateful for the shade. How stupid to underestimate Eurysaces, he thought. Everyone knows him to be a big man, more than capable of defending himself.
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The Warning, by Paul L. Mathews

The Warning, by Paul L. Mathews

The Subura’s plebeians claimed the smell of Eurysaces’ freshly baked bread made the sun rise, Apollo himself eager to savour the baker’s new loaves. Indeed, Eurysaces—aware of this local legend and eager to please the deity—made a ritual of leaving one of his new loaves on his bakery’s doorstep every morning as an offering to the god. Granted, he wasn’t entirely sure Apollo took it, but it always vanished, nonetheless.

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