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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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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The Mob is Rome, by Chris Bones and Paul L. Mathews

The Mob is Rome, by Chris Bones and Paul L. Mathews

Marcus Scribonius Furius stood upon the rostra, gazing upon the crowd as they gathered before him in the Forum. His bald pate burned in the midday sun, brow tickling as sweat gathered on his face and soaked into his toga. Not that the heat is uniquely responsible for my perspiring so heavily, he thought as his nervous gaze flicked back and forth between the nefarious individuals which lurked on the periphery of the crowd.

He recognised them as street enforcers of the Hostilii clan. He bit his lip. How could he not recognise them? Their notoriety proceeded them by miles since they’d so brutally and so brazenly butchered Laelius, And the deeds since attributed to their leader, Hostilius; would they not shame even Orcus and his issue?

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Domina, by Chris Bone and Paul L. Mathews

Domina, by Chris Bone and Paul L. Mathews

Flavia Graecina Flacus cast her gaze around the triclinium. This evening’s dinner party—and the smooth running thereof—was of the utmost importance. There were important guests to flatter and impress. Her friend the orator Furius, for example, was bringing some key players, including both the plebeian aedile candidate Titus Aufidius Orestes, and his father, the noble senator Gnaeus Aufidius Bassus. These were good men. No … great men. Men who could help her turn back the tide. She ground her teeth. Men who could do something to counter the rampant criminality and corruption that continued to drown Roman society.
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