The Blood Road: A Novel of the Roman Empire

Praise for the Eagles and Dragons series…

So far these are the best books about ancient Rome. Keep them coming!

Historic Novel Society:

…Haviaras handles it all with smooth skill. The world of third-century Rome…is colourfully vivid here, and Haviaras manages to invest even his secondary and tertiary characters with believable, three-dimensional humanity.

Amazon Readers:

A mythical rollercoaster…in a setting that took me on a trip like no other…

This is an incredible series! …another home run for this incredibly talented and knowledgeable author. This is one series of books that I look forward to more than any other that I read. The characters and it have become like family to me. I heartily recommend this book and the entire series to anyone who enjoys reading about life in Roman times.

Graphic, uncompromising and honest… A novel of heroic men and the truth of the uncompromising horror of close combat total war…

Raw and unswerving in war and peace… New author to me but ranks along side Ben Kane and Simon Scarrow. The attention to detail and all the gory details are inspiring and the author doesn't invite you into the book he drags you by the nasal hairs into the world of Roman life sweat, tears, blood, guts and sheer heroism. Well worth a night’s reading because once started it’s hard to put down.

Historical fiction at its best! … if you like your historical fiction to be an education as well as a fun read, this is the book for you!

Loved this book! I'm an avid fan of Ancient Rome and this story is, perhaps, one of the best I've ever read.

An outstanding and compelling novel!

I would add this author to some of the great historical writers such as Conn Iggulden, Simon Scarrow and David Gemmell. The characters were described in such a way that it was easy to picture them as if they were real and have lived in the past, the book flowed with an ease that any reader, novice to advanced can enjoy and become fully immersed…

One in a series of tales which would rank them alongside Bernard Cornwell, Simon Scarrow, Robert Ludlum, James Boschert and others of their ilk. The story and character development and the pacing of the exciting military actions frankly are superb and edge of your seat! The historical environment and settings have been well researched to make the story lines so very believable!! I can hardly wait for what I hope will be many sequels! If you enjoy Roman historical fiction, you do not want to miss this series!

Goodreads:

… a very entertaining read; Haviaras has both a fluid writing style, and a good eye for historical detail, and explores in far more detail the faith of the average Roman than do most authors.

Kobo:

I can't remember the last time that a book stirred so many emotions! I laughed, cried and cheered my way through this book and can't wait to meet again this wonderful family of characters. Roll on to the next book!

The Blood Road

Eagles and Dragons

Book VI

Adam Alexander Haviaras

The Blood Road and the Eagles and Dragons series

Copyright © 2021 by Adam Alexander Haviaras

Eagles and Dragons Publishing, Stratford, Ontario, Canada

All Rights Reserved.

The use of any part of this publication, with the exception of short excerpts for the purposes of book reviews, without the written consent of the author is an infringement of copyright law.

ISBN: 978-1-988309-38-5

E-Pub Edition

Cover designed by LLPix Designs

*Please note: To enhance the reader’s experience, there is a glossary of Latin words at the back of this book.

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For the Muse, Calliope, who has been with me from the beginning…

Για την Καλλιόπη, τη Μούσα, που ήταν μαζί μου από την αρχή…

The Blood Road

A Novel of the Roman Empire

Adam Alexander Haviaras

Prologus

Rome, A.D. 212

It was the month of Februarius in Rome, the cold still clinging to that eternal city of brick and marble. Winter held on with iron fists as it prepared to gust for yet a little longer, before Proserpina crawled her way out of Hades.

Rome pulsed, as always, at every hour, the silence in places broken by music from taverns, or giddy laughter sweeping out of brothels. The darkness of those ancient streets, when the moon crept behind a sliver of cloud, was broken by torches of the urban guard, or the fires in tripods before temples and shrines where they called for the Gods’ attentions.

But the light was not everywhere. In the shadows along the swift-flowing Tiber, two wolves slinked along the icy shore, pausing to sniff the air when a noise erupted, and then continuing on with a purpose like wraiths on the hunt.

The countryside was their domain, but with the winter months their survival was threatened, and the city needed to be risked.

There were two of them, one of deepest black with violent, yellow eyes, and the other an undecided shade of grey that leaned more toward white and brown in places. The second wolf’s blue eyes followed the first, his eyes darting from side to side as he went, his tongue licking the bits of flesh that yet clung to his muzzle from the gorging they had undertaken in the necropolis outside the city.

Both were still hungry, wishing for more, eager to the point of risking death at the hands of the men of Mars.

The lead wolf paused suddenly and cut away from the cold river water, up an alley that led into the streets toward a hill ahead of them.

A few times did people stumble upon them, but one look at the pair of slavering brethren was enough to send them scurrying behind closed doors.

The wolves walked on, hunting, drawn to that hill, to that high place. Close to walls and in angled shadow they crept, up the hard slopes, until they came to a broad open space and stopped, the start of a growl in the black one’s throat as it observed an enormous man upon a horse.

When the horse did not move at their snarls, they crept closer until they were beneath the legs of the horse and the man sitting astride it with his hand outstretched.

Footsteps echoed in nearby porticoes, and a gentle thrumming voice emanated from the open doors of the great temple before them.

Did Jupiter see them standing there before his shrine? Did he think to strike them down before the damage they might do, the havoc they might wreak on Rome?

No.

Divine laws are stringent, and the Gods themselves must uphold those timeless laws, lest they collapse like a vein bled dry, or like the heart of that ancient metropolis itself.

The wolves looked around, hunger still gnawing at their guts.

And then they saw it, heard the cry.

At the base of the steps of the house of Jupiter, a wounded eagle wept upon the marble slabs, one wing outstretched, but the other broken and bent.

The wolves spotted this noble lord of the skies, and felt their hunger keenly in that moment. They crept forward, their heads low and hackles high. They bared their white teeth as they approached.

The eagle’s mouth opened and closed, his voice lost, though his head was still high, keen eyes looking at the oncoming enemies.

Just as the wolves were about to pounce, the black one stopped, turned sideways and growled with a ferocity that startled the other. Then it leapt, its jaws clamping down on the neck of its sibling.

The eagle flapped its good wing, and stood, its talons scratching on the marble that was now wet with spattered blood.

The wolves twisted and turned, jaws gnashing and claws scratching. Howls and yelps filled the square until the black wolf found his hold once more and bit out the neck of the other.

Blood dripped from his maw as he turned to the eagle. It was a moment, but the eagle knew.

As the jaws opened before it, the eagle’s tallon struck out at the eyes, just as razor teeth tore into it, shook it, sawed at it and crushed it, a memory of mountain clouds and eyries in its wild eyes.

Men were there then, running out of the temple and down the stairs, brandishing weapons at the wolf.

He fled, back to the shadows, and ran away from the hill and the light, and the unfinished meal he had left behind in the blood upon the steps.

The crowds of men and women thickened as he sped downward and came to an open area where fire burned at every turn, and more screams sent him in different directions, desperately searching for darkness.

Voices followed him now, more and more of them. He could smell their anger, hear the clang of their weapons.

Then, a ruffle of feathers ahead drew his eye. His nose flared.

Pigeons in a soft, still mass before him… It was too much to resist. He would grab one and run, sate his hunger one more time.

The wolf ran and lunged, but something bit him and he turned violently, howling.

Another bite, and another…and another.

He lay still now upon the enormous cobbles of that human forum, looking up at the iron teeth of the men who had hunted him.

Then…darkness.

It had been a calm morning on the Palatine hill, the quiet a gift from the Gods that extended throughout the day.

From the high window of her private chambers in the Severan palace complex, Julia Domna had watched the sun rise and soar across the wintry sky until late in the day.

Wrapped in furs, she had lain upon her couch reading over piles of correspondence that had been sent to her sons. She read more slowly now, her eyes tiring easily, even in the light of day.

She sighed, reaching up to touch the tight weave of her hair, wondering as she did so how the sacrificium at the temple of Concord in the Forum Romanum had gone.

The senate had offered to perform the rites to honour her sons, the joint emperors, successors to their father Septimius Severus, whose loss the empress yet felt. However, her grief had hidden in the shadows for long now, for she had been busy trying to bridge the widening divide between Caracalla and Geta.

Rather than working together, pursuing the harmony their father had wished for them, each brother had retreated to a separate wing of the palace under guard at all times, food, water and wine tasted by others before passing imperial lips.

She had to admit that she had had her misgivings, especially with the chaotic jollity of Saturnalia when she had arranged for Geta to be shadowed at all times to ensure his safety.

It was not long before the boys spoke of an empire divided, the East for Geta, and the West for Caracalla.

I too, together with earth and sea, would be partitioned between you! she remembered yelling at Caracalla not three days before.

It had been that moment, that loss of composure, that had, she believed, rattled her son and brought him around. For the very next day, Caracalla had sent word to her that he would accept the senate’s offer to perform a sacrificium before the sacred altar of Concord, that he was willing to sit, as a family, with his mother and brother to find a harmonious solution.

Julia Domna smiled as she felt hope fill her, and she sipped the wine in a golden cup that sat upon the table beside her couch.

There was hope, and yet…all the blood spilled to get to that point still haunted her. She remembered her cousin, Papinianus. She missed speaking with him of home, of their other cousins, of the warmth of family recollections, and memories of Severus.

Her sister, Julia Maesa, spoke little of all that was happening. In fact, she saw her little, and wondered if she, her husband and daughters, Julia Soaemias and Julia Mamaea, had decided to pull back for fear of their safety. If Papinianus, Euodus, and Castor had not survived, then…

Stop this, Domna! she told herself. I must think of the present, of peace between my sons… Oh Goddess Concord, bless this day for me…

She breathed deeply as the saffron curtains of her window blew inward with a gust of wind, and she closed her eyes as the cool wind of winter kissed her face. Are you there, Septimius…watching?

She was startled by a sudden knocking on the door, and waited a moment before speaking.

Enter! the empress said, turning her head to look at the gilded, double doors at the back of the room.

Empress, came the gruff voice of Macrinus, the new Prefect of the Praetorian Guard.

What is it? Julia Domna answered, not bothering to rise. She did not like Marcus Opellius Macrinus. Not only was he lowborn, but he had also been a legal advisor to her old enemy, Plautianus, before becoming director of the via Flaminia and of her husband’s properties. He was boor and upstart, she knew, but she dared not gainsay Caracalla’s choice. Not yet, anyway. What do you want, Macrinus? she asked again as he walked slowly into the room, admiring the gilded furnishings and armour that had belonged to her husband.

Empress, he bowed, the sacrificium at the temple is finished.

And?

The senate seems propitiated.

And did my sons perform their duties admirably?

They would have, I am sure…were they in attendance.

She sat up then. They were not there?

No. They were not. He stood there, hand upon his sword hilt, looking down at her with no regard for her station, for all that she had done for the empire. I suspect they stayed away because of the ill omens last night.

Omens? she asked.

Two wolves crept into the city. They fought on the Capitoline where one of them died. The other fled, but was cut down in the Forum Romanum.

That gave her pause. She tried to abide by the stars more than anything, but such omens could cause a panic among the people, especially on the eve of an important sacrificium.

I will speak with them, Macrinus. Are they still planning on attending me soon? We have much to talk about together, as a family.

Oh yes, Empress. They are coming. Macrinus stroked his long beard as he said so, the hint of a smile behind his whiskers, but the empress did not notice, for she could not bear to look upon him for too long.

Very well. Please go and bring them to me.

Without a word, he saluted and went out, casting a backward glance at her as he closed the door.

My lady? asked one of her serving maids from a quiet corner of the room. Shall I have food brought for your conversation with the emperors?

Yes. Do. They will be hungry, I’m sure. They eat so little now.

The slave went away to make arrangements, and Julia Domna settled back down onto her couch to watch as the first stars began to alight in the sky beyond her balcony.

Her eyes closed briefly, and a smile began to play about her lips. She loved the stars, and she knew she could, that very night, turn the fortunes of her sons around for the better.

It was dark in the marble corridors of the palace, the light from the intermittent braziers casting wavering shadows upon the walls and smooth floors outside the empress’ quarters.

Geta approached with one of his men from the east end of the corridor, his eyes searching the dark, but not too much, for he always felt safer near to his mother.

The Gods knew he had done his share of plotting against his brother, but Caracalla, he knew, had done more, and so he hoped this conversation with their mother would be the olive branch they needed to heal the rift, to make sure he would survive to rule from a distance in the East.

It had surprised Geta when Caracalla had sent word that he wanted to talk together with their mother. Such a thing had not happened in a long while.

There he is, sire, his man said beside him.

Geta stopped before the doors of his mother’s chambers and watched Caracalla approach from the western end of the corridor.

There was a sudden gurgling beside him and he turned to see his man with a pugio jutting from his neck, eyes bulging in surprise.

Geta turned to scream, but the heavy fist out of the dark that connected with his check sent him to the floor.

Help! Geta tried to yell through the shock. Help! He looked up and saw Caracalla bearing down on him, a glinting blade in his right hand, his eyes holding a flame of determined fury in them.

Geta kicked out quickly, sending Caracalla back.

A hand gripped at his cloak, ripping it away, and he lunged for the double doors, crashing into his mother’s chambers.

Mother! Geta yelled, his voice cracking with fear. Mother! I’m being murdered! Help me!

Julia Domna felt her heart explode out of chest as she jumped up from her couch to see her younger son running toward her with outstretched arms.

What is happening? she demanded, ready to take Geta into her arms.

Geta stiffened suddenly, and Caracalla’s face appeared over his shoulder.

No! No! NO!!!! the empress cried, but the sound of the dagger plunging into the body of her son would not stop. She fell backward onto the couch, still holding onto her boy as his head slumped against her chest and his blood spattered all around her.

She looked up and saw the face of her son’s murderer, not his brother, nor her son, but that of a cold and bloody fratricide, a distorted theatre mask of hatred.

She began to shake, her face drenched with her boy’s blood, her furs, her stola, the couch…the blood was everywhere.

Caracalla stared down at them, grabbed Geta’s hair and pulled his head back abruptly to ensure there was no life.

Leave him alone! Julia Domna cried, swatting desperately at the murderer’s hands, her son’s hands!

We will not divide the empire! Caracalla roared, before being pulled away by the Praetorian Prefect.

Julia Domna sat there shaking, her mind and soul exploding like a star in its death throes. Her voice came to her then, from deep within, a loud terrible wail that shattered the peace of the Palatine hill, and could be heard across the city.

Part I

PAIN

A.D. 213

I

Vita Amarum

‘The Bitter Taste of Life’

It was a world apart, a place of peace…beautiful and serene, full of life, and of colour…truly, the eye of a great storm that raged without.

Dagon, the lord of his people, a king, sat alone upon the slopes of one of Ynis Wytrin’s hills, beneath the limbs of the tree planted by the strange Christian, Joseph. There he found it easy to think, to remember the hurt, the betrayals, the horrors they had all experienced. There, he could grapple with them, stare them in the face and bring them to their knees for another short period of time.

It has been almost two years since those frightful days when the vipers of Rome had destroyed their lives, murdered his brothers, his people. The god of the sacred sword had not come to their aid then. They had fought alone on foreign fields.

He prayed to Epona that wherever his surviving men were, that they were safe from Rome’s grasp, from Caracalla’s hunters.

Dagon closed his eyes and felt the sun upon his face, its soft, warm light filtered through the misty wall that surrounded the Isle of the Blessed.

Blessed? he thought, shaking his head and feeling his eyes burn. Not for everyone.

Even there, the shadows of the world were able to creep in with fingers of guilt, resentment, anger, lack, and hatred. Even there, among the dancing petals of the apple blossoms and the winking leaves of the ancient oak groves…even there, the poison of the outside world leeched into the Goddess’ veins, or tightened the thorny crown of the Christus. Even there.

And it was his own happiness that tortured him most of all, for even with his brethren scattered to the wind, and the silent torture of his best friends, he still managed to feel joy.

Why did the Gods choose to bless me in all of the chaos? To be angry and bitter would have been easier than all the guilt that accompanies this joy…and yet…I would not change it.

And the Gods multiplied his guilt at this.

Dagon turned to his left and saw Briana walking slowly up the slope of the hill toward him. He could not help but smile.

Their daughter was walking more steadily now, pulling to get away from Briana at every chance, wishing to explore the world around her.

Briana caught his eye and smiled. She bent over to hold the girl’s hand as she wandered in the direction of the steep slope to their left.

Baba! the girl said when she spotted her father and toddled toward him with her arms out.

Dagon stood and knelt to receive her. Antiope! he said as he wrapped his arms about her and picked her up. You’re getting stronger every day!

The child blew at the wisps of sandy hair that danced about her face and placed her tiny hands upon his cheeks.

I will never let anything happen to you, he thought.

Are we disturbing you? Briana said, coming to his side and kissing him.

Never. He smiled, but then sighed deeply, one arm holding his child, the other around Briana. The flowering thorn beside them whispered in the wind that blew across the levels from the sea, and the two of them felt the longed-for calm that they always got when they were alone in that spot.

Briana looked up at her husband and felt the weight of his worries again, the great guilt that chained him to the world outside of Ynis Wytrin.

How are they today? Dagon asked her.

Phoebus and Calliope are helping Father Gilmore, Rachel and Aaron with the lambing… It is keeping them busy.

I’m glad to hear it. Dagon felt his heart tighten. Those children…they’ve been through so much. The last months have been a trial for them.

For everyone, Briana added. She looked at her husband’s eyes as they strayed to the slopes of the Tor and the hill of the Chalice beside it.

From where they stood, they could see the roof of the lone roundhouse where the three of them lived peacefully together beyond the apple orchards, alone, away from the others.

That too was a source of guilt.

Antiope gazed into her father’s eyes and her little hand reached up to wipe away the tear that wended its way down the creases of his face and into his beard.

The Gods, it seemed, had turned their backs fully upon the Dragon’s family, and now that they all knew the truth, a great distance had opened up in the earth between them, a gulf no horse and rider could leap over.

Come, Briana said. Let us show Antiope the children at work.

Together they walked back down the slope of the hill, past the chapel and the orchard, now in full bloom, and made for the animal pens.

Dagon and Briana looked toward the great oak and saw her, Adara Metella, sitting alone as she seemed always to be, gazing out at the dark lake waters, the mist. She had not spoken for so long, and yet now, the truth, the reality of it all, seemed to have sealed her voice and soul up more tightly.

You go ahead, Briana said. I will try.

Dagon nodded and took Antiope’s hand. I love you, he said.

Briana smiled, and then turned to walk away as her husband and daughter joined the others. She watched them for a moment, saw Antiope run to Phoebus and Calliope who both knelt to hug her, to welcome her with their open arms, desperate for affection.

She wanted to weep, but knew it would not help things in that moment. Briana turned back toward the oak and the black-cloaked figure of her friend. She would not give up on her. She would be there for her no matter what, no matter the resentment.

Adara Metella felt cold as she sat upon one of the stumps beneath the broad, ancient limbs of the oak, the thick wool of her cloak doing very little to shield her body from the breeze that blew from across the lapping water before her. Every day, she sat there, watching the reeds and rushes sway, and the birds skirting the surface about the silent, wading herons.

There was life all around her and yet, she felt a loneliness she had never felt before, a loneliness of such brutal strength that she could not break free of its grasp. Even with Phoebus and Calliope behind her, the sweet sound of their young voices joining with the other children, trying to move on, she could not withdraw from the dark, choking cloud that surrounded her.

Her hand instinctively reached beneath her cloak to the ugly scar across her abdomen, that talisman of bitter memory and loss.

So much loss...

She could not shake the memory of Death standing before her, reaching out to rip her child from her hands as she lay beaten and bleeding. Her life had burned down all around her, and she had felt helpless to do anything but weep.

And she had wept. During her weeks in the healing houses of Ynis Wytrin, she had wept in her sleep, and while awake. Her sadness had known no end, but there had been a ray of light through the dark that she had clung to.

Phoebus and Calliope had survived the chaos of that night of fire and death, even as so many had perished.

And Lucius… Lucius…

His light had fallen and faded before her eyes, plunged into an engulfing darkness.

She could still see it clearly, her love plummeting, hear the crack of his body upon the earth like a god tumbling out of the sky.

He had died before her, for her, and she had not known…none of them had known. Not Dagon or Einion, Briana, Weylyn, Gilmore or even Etain.

Adara Metella had shed her tears for her lost infant when she had come out of her tortured and healing sleep, drawn by the voice of her daughter and son at her side - the three had wept together - but those waterways had run their course over the months since. Now, they had opened up again, but only when the tide of anger and betrayal ebbed away.

It was easier to shutter the soul at that point.

Adara?

Briana’s voice invaded her thoughts, but she did not turn her gaze from the dark water in the distance, the depths she had considered joining permanently at times.

She felt a hand upon her shoulder and fought the temptation to lean into its possessor beside her.

Please Adara…look at me, Briana said.

Please leave me alone, Adara whispered.

No. I won’t, because you are not alone. You are surrounded by friends, people who love you.

Adara was silent.

You’ve come so far. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but the Gods have watched over you. In the ways of nature, neither of you should have survived, but you did. And you have a purpose - your children.

Adara turned slowly to face the Briton. Not all my children.

Briana looked down, unable to face that angry gaze. Please…don’t. I have wept with you and for you. It is not my fault, nor anyone else’s but the evil man you slew. He is gone.

Do not speak of him, or of my slain child.

I won’t, Briana said, removing her hand. But I will speak of the living. Briana turned to kneel in front of Adara and look up at her pale face beneath the cowl of her cloak.

Adara’s once-brilliant green eyes were shot and faded now, the strands of her long dark hair streaked with grey. The tightly clenched hands were thin and pale too, the ring of intertwined dragons loose about her finger.

Briana pried the hands open to hold them and held Adara’s gaze.

Phoebus and Calliope need you! They need your love. No one else is their mother. Do you know what they have been through? Have you pondered that? They watched you lingering on the verge of death for weeks. They watched their father die before them as his body sank to the bottom of the red waters of the chalice…

Even Briana wept at the memory then, of what they had all seen as Aaron and Rachel had reached in to pull the Dragon out.

Adara had not seen it, but she had imagined it over and over again, tried to make sense of it all.

Now, with the truths she had recently learned, it made sense. It made her angry.

I have failed my children, Adara whispered, her guilt so very heavy upon her hunched shoulders. I know I have.

No! You haven’t! Briana snapped. You survived. You fought so that they could escape fire and death.

By sacrificing my baby.

Briana could feel her desperate frustration, but she reined it in. By living, Adara. You are still here for them. No one else can be what you are for them.

Adara could feel the tears stinging her eyes, and her head sank a little lower into her trembling hands.

Briana leaned forward to wrap her arms about her friend, to hold her.

This time, as had happened so many times before that moment, Adara did not push her away in disgust or jealousy. Briana held her quivering body tightly, making her feel that she was not alone.

After a time, Briana stood, pulling Adara to her feet, wanting to take her to her children. But she had to say it. She could not stop herself.

He…he needs you too.

He lied to me! Adara snapped, pulling away. After all that happened to him in Dumnonia…all that he learned!

Briana could see the anger flaming up again in Adara’s eyes, burning away the tender tears she had wept for her children, to be replaced by the feelings of anger and betrayal she had pinned upon the man she had loved so very deeply.

The man I knew is gone. Dead.

But he’s not! He lives, Adara! Briana pointed up to the high slopes of the Tor beyond to the lonely, black silhouette against the sky. Lucius is there! He is the same man who loved you. He is the father of those two blessed children behind us. And he needs you more than ever. Briana felt her patience waning quickly, and pulled back before she said things she did not mean, things she would regret having uttered. He hid things to protect us all, truths he could not fathom because the Gods had kept him in the dark. Think of the burden he carried before the flames took him. He fell trying to keep us all safe, to make the world better.

Out of selfishness, Adara said bitterly, though she knew it was false.

No, Adara. Out of love and a belief in something greater. And that something has turned to ash all about him. He fell harder than any man has…and he needs you to help him rise again.

Briana walked away, back to her husband and child, to the light of life that pulsed in the Isle of the Blessed, leaving Adara alone again.

For some time, Adara stared up at the Tor to where Lucius stood gazing out at the world, wrestling with his own darkness.

Gods…do not forsake us again, she demanded now. We have put our faith in you, and lost so much. Do not repay it with silence.

I died… This was my choice…my choice…

As he stood beneath the sky at the top of the Tor of Ynis Wytrin, Lucius Metellus Anguis’ arm reached out slowly from beneath his long black cloak and the loose sleeve of his tunic. He held it up, and observed the molten hand and arm, and he did not recognize it.

Most men would recognize their hands, every scar, every oddly-shaped knuckle, every path that criss-crossed the palm. But Lucius Metellus Anguis, the one-time ‘Dragon of Rome’, now felt like a stranger to himself, a misshapen horror who no longer recognized his own hands.

Frustrated and feeling the anger rise again, he lowered his arm and closed his eyes, trying to remember how he had once felt, to feel the kiss of the wind upon his skin, rustling his hair. It was not to be. He felt only the tight pull of his body, his mottled, drum-tight skin, the pain in his muscles, and the spotted vision in his eyes.

Apollo…Father…why didn’t you tell me? Lucius found himself whispering.

I did, my son. I did. You chose this pain…

The god’s response was cut off, as if the memory of that moment on far-off Olympus was too painful, the moment when Lucius had rejected his place among the immortals, opting for unimaginable pain.

And it had been unimaginable…a pain like no other.

Lucius remembered more and more as he emerged from the months and months of horrific semi-consciousness in which he had been harassed by dreams of fire and of death. He had wandered alone through the dark wood of his psyche, lost, angry and shouting. Then, one day a few weeks ago, his eyes had opened wide to see worried and scared faces hovering above him in a dark, candlelit room in the healing house.

Etain, the priestess of Ynis Wytrin was the first person he saw and heard speaking, but she had not been speaking to him. Her voice reached to somewhere farther afield.

Lucius remembered his newly-opened eyes swimming in the fire-lit dark, seeing the druid, Weylyn, mixing something as he looked down at Lucius’ body. There had been a tang of vinegar and resin in the air, a scent that followed Lucius around still, in addition to another mixture of wine and myrrh.

Welcome back to us, Lucius Metellus Anguis, Etain’s soft voice said as she had looked down at him, her eyes meeting his. You are alive and with us, but you cannot move, or go outside. Not yet.

Lucius’ eyes had sought the sunlight at the window, but it burned him, adding to the pain that laced his body.

Drink this, Anguis… Weylyn had said, putting a cup to Lucius’ lips. It will help with the pain.

In truth, nothing had helped with the pain since the moment Lucius had tumbled from the heights of Olympus and emerged from the blood-red waters of the Well of the Chalice, gasping and screaming in agony, his mind exploding in confusion as he looked up to see the familiar faces of men, women, and weeping children.

He remembered little of the months of standing at Death’s gates, little of the bitter and resinous skin salves the priestesses had spread daily over his burned body. He did remember, however, the short visits by Father Gilmore and his two charges, Rachel and Aaron. Lucius had not seen his own family for so long, his wife and children, but the faces of those two dark youths were clear and radiant to him in moments of darkness. Their faces lingered over his as they prayed with words he did not understand, as they laid their soft, healing hands upon his brow, his heart, and his eyes.

Those had been moments of relief, a light to pull him back from the dark depths he felt himself plunging toward.

Those moments still confused him.

The faces he had wanted to see were Adara’s, Phoebus and Calliope’s. Lucius had not known that Etain and Weylyn insisted it was crucial that the number of people who visited Lucius was limited to prevent infection, and so the days and long months had turned into a sort of waking coma from which he had emerged only a short time ago.

Now that Lucius was awake and finally able to move, he felt his anger more acutely. He knew that his self-pity, and self-loathing was unfair to all those around him, but he could not stop himself. It was easier to lock oneself in the dark, to be alone upon that windswept hill where he wandered painfully every day since he had regained movement in his limbs.

As he lay upon his back staring up at the sky and ravens soaring in the wind, he felt horror at the shocked look upon his children’s faces when they had seen him, or Adara’s quiet, grief-stricken gaze when she had told him their child was lost.

Daily, Lucius thought on that loss, remembered the faces of the dead - his men scattered to the winds, hunted…Barta…the child he would never know…

He thought bitterly of his own hubris that had brought them all to that place and time, that life of pain.

He thought of Apollo, his true father, and chewed on the resentment of his own godhood which had not allowed him to stop all that had happened. Lucius decided that he deserved all of the pain that was a part of him now, for all that he had done to his friends, and to his wife and children.

So many have been trying to help me… I don’t want it, he would tell himself. I don’t deserve it. I need to make things right again. I want my life back!

Only days before, he had sat with Adara beneath the oak, in an effort to comfort her, and it had only caused further pain for them both.

Adara looked at him differently now, and in those once-brilliant and loving eyes, Lucius saw only disappointment and loss, and it was caused by him.

For so long, he had wanted to tell her the truth he had learned in Dumnonia, in the realm of Annwn, but he had not been able to. However, beneath the leaves of Ynis Wytrin’s oak, he had finally told his wife, his true love, who he was.

She had stared at him in that moment, and wept. She had accused the Gods of toying with them, Lucius of lying to her. She would not hear his pleas, his explanations, the confession of the painful weight that knowledge had heaped upon his shoulders.

Neither of them had been able to reach each other through the flames of the fire that had burned their lives down.

They had not spoken since.

So, every day, Lucius Metellus Anguis made his way to the top of the Tor, alone, his mind searching for a way to win his life back, to make the pain stop.

From the valley below, Etain, Weylyn, and Father Gilmore watched the Dragon descend the spine of the Tor, alone, a shadow in Elysium.

He cannot stay here, Father Gilmore said.

He must stay here, Weylyn countered, rubbing his white beard. He has much healing to do still.

You cannot chain a dragon, Etain said, stepping forward to watch Lucius more keenly. She had suspected the truth they now knew for some time, though it had been hidden from her sight. I feel that he is not yet ready, that something stands in his way.

Weylyn stepped to her side.

His inner physical healing has been…miraculous, Father Gilmore said, shaking his head. He seems ready, Etain. Our ministrations have healed him, and kept infection at bay. The Metelli can go home now.

Etain turned on her long-time friend, disappointment in her eyes. I was not speaking of his physical being, she began to walk toward the apple orchard where white petals were tumbling gently to the grass beneath. Lucius Metellus Anguis is the son of a god…he is a dragon… she sighed, …and both of those carry a weight we cannot imagine.

I disagree, Gilmore said. All of us carry a weight. He stopped to look to where Rachel and Aaron played with the Roman children. Ever since they had come here in dire need, the four of them had grown too close for his liking, developing a bond that made him uncomfortable. He knew his charges had played a key role in healing the Dragon and his family - they still did - but that came with repercussions. Rachel and Aaron had to be his priority. They were his duty, and they needed the proper guidance. He felt Etain’s hand upon his shoulder.

Do not let your worries for the children close your heart to kindness, my friend, Etain said. Did not the Christus have a world of worries upon his shoulders and yet seek to help others, to love?

Father Gilmore was silent, looking down at the grass like a child who knows they have done wrong.

You are right, I know. I just feel that this will all come to no good.

This land needs them, Gilmore, Weylyn reminded him. Etain has said it for some time. It is our duty to help them, for in helping them, we help this land, we help Ynis Wytrin, and we help Rachel and Aaron.

They did not shy from the horrors of what they saw when the Metelli arrived here, their bodies, home and lives consumed by fire. God urged them to help, as did our gods. We must trust in that, Etain said to Gilmore.

Weylyn was quiet, watching for Lucius who had disappeared in the darkness of the trees at the foot of the Tor.

Be strong, Dragon…we need you.

When Lucius reached the bottom of the Tor, he found Adara standing in the middle of the shaded path, waiting for him. He pulled his cowl lower over his face so as to hide it.

Don’t do that, Adara said, and she reached up to gently lift back the wool. She tried not to weep as she looked upon him. His hair was thin like a newborn child’s, only just recently beginning to grow back. His once-smooth skin was now scale-like and mottled, constantly glistening from the resins and oils the priestesses put on him.

She was afraid to hold Lucius, to squeeze him as tightly as she wanted, for fear of damaging the muscle and bone that had once been as iron beneath his skin, but were now brittle and emaciated.

It was Lucius’ eyes, however, that filled Adara with fear, for she could not see the man she loved in those eyes, she could not see him past the bitterness and resentment and angry emotions.

I wish you had told me, Lucius…everything…before…before all of this.

I wanted to…I… He closed his jaundiced eyes and felt the shame coming upon him again, fought the urge to hide away from the world.

Come, she said, taking his hand in hers.

Together, they walked along the avenue of yew trees until they reached the Well of the Chalice.

The familiar gurgle of the healing pool filled Lucius’ ears as they sought the bench beside the pool and sat together.

Lucius gazed at the red waters, the pool from which he had come back into the world, and he grunted at the remembered pain he had felt in that moment.

He told me this would happen, he said.

Who did?

He turned stiffly to look at her. My father…Apollo… Lucius looked back at the water, felt Adara’s hand leave his. I was on Olympus, Adara. I was there. They said I could live there, that I could be free of pain and of suffering. I had to chose.

Why didn’t you stay then?

He stood and stepped to the edge of the pool, gazed into its depths, a part of him wishing he could dive in and return to Olympus, if only to be free of the pain and guilt and torment he felt and was putting others through.

Because I chose you and our children, my love. Lucius looked at her, at the tears that streamed down her cheeks, the angry expression of utter loneliness she felt. He walked toward her and slowly knelt upon the ground, though it tore the skin of his knees.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there soon enough, that I was not really here for you since the fires. He placed his hand upon her belly where their child had grown. I…I wanted to make this world better, for all of us. And yet… he looked her in the eyes, worried she would recoil, but she did not. I failed you and our children, my love.

There was so much Adara wanted to say, but could not. A part of her wanted to hold him tightly and wish it all away, and another part of her wanted to slap him across the face and tell him he was not the only one who suffered. Her anger at herself and him, merged into one, leaving her numb.

We’ve been through so much, Lucius, and yes, I wish you had been there, that you had not left for war, or decided to take the world on your shoulders without speaking to me. Gently, she pulled away from him and stood, unable to look into his eyes any longer.

Lucius pulled his cowl over his head again as he stared at her back.

We have lost our child, Lucius. I have had over a year to think on that loss by myself. But what torments me now, perhaps even more so…is that I have lost you! She turned to face him. I don’t even know you. You went into Dumnonia a man, and you came out wounded and full of torment, and you didn’t even tell me. Why?

Lucius shook his head. It seemed like another lifetime, another man. I…I didn’t want to frighten you. My world had turned upside down.

The son of Apollo? she asked. I married a man, a man I loved with all my being.

Lucius felt his heart tighten painfully. I understand if you don’t love me, especially now. How could you love this? he raised his arm to show the melted, red and angry skin.

When we were married, we swore to journey through this life together, Lucius. Through all things. But it’s time for you to decide who you are. How are you going to make things right again?

It was the very question Lucius had been asking himself since he awoke.

Suddenly, the shield wall of Adara’s emotions broke, and she wept as she fell to her knees beside the red waters of the pool.

Lucius went to her side. I am your husband still, if you’ll have me, and I would continue to suffer this pain if it meant I could stay with you.

Adara looked up. We are better than this, Lucius.

I will make it right, somehow…

Mama? Baba?

Lucius and Adara turned to see Phoebus and Calliope standing beneath the arch of ivy at the end of the path, holding hands as they watched their parents. It was as if they were seeing them for the first time in a long while.

Phoebus and Calliope both looked older now, taller and stronger, but more world-weary behind the eyes, as if they had now been fully robbed of their childhood, sent adrift upon a raft, alone with no captain.

Adara wiped her eyes and stared at them, felt such sadness and guilt at her neglect of them. But those feelings were nothing compared to the gratitude she felt that they were alive, and she opened her arms to them as she struggled to her feet.

The children came to her and their arms held her fast, as if taking advantage of the minute crumbling in the hard wall that had been mortared up around her since the destruction of their home and the loss of the baby.

Together they wept and held each other in the calm, green quiet of that healing place.

Lucius, however much he wanted to join that familial embrace, to allow that love to sooth his burned soul, could not bring himself to go near. He pulled his cowl closer about his face and turned away, unable to weep. Instead, he only felt anger at all that he had been robbed of.

His enemies had come to kill his family, and somehow, they had survived, but their family had been wounded beyond recognition, and that attack upon them all would not let him rest, for every painful movement of his body, every terrifying memory, reminded him of the loss and betrayal.

Baba? Calliope’s soft voice reached out to him, and Lucius felt her fingers upon his.

He pulled away. Don’t look at me, my girl. Please.

I want to, she insisted, sniffing as she wiped her sodden eyes. The Gods told me I can help you, and I shall.

The Gods? Lucius muttered. Help us?

We are all here, Phoebus added, coming to his sister’s side, staring at his father’s back. He held his sister’s hand tightly beneath the folds of their cloak. Please look at us, Baba.

Lucius felt desperate to walk away. But how can I turn my back on them? They fought and lost too. Finally, slowly, he lowered his cowl to reveal the rough skin of the back of his head, and turned slowly to face them.

Phoebus gripped Calliope’s hand tightly but he kept his eyes upon his father’s face, forced the tears back as he looked upon the wasteland of Lucius’ visage.

Calliope stepped forward and stood before Lucius, taking both his hands in hers and kissing them. She stood to the height of his chest now as she placed the palms of her hands upon his face.

For a moment, Lucius’ eyes closed, and his burning skin felt soothed, but it only lasted a moment until he was overcome with the feelings of self-loathing that had become a part of him.

They are beautiful…and I am a monster.

Lucius slowly removed his daughter’s hands from his face, and Calliope stepped back, afraid to hug him tightly for fear of hurting him.

They’ve even robbed me of my children’s embrace, he thought bitterly, the faces of his enemies floating at the back of his mind.

Come, Adara said as she approached the children. It is getting late, and we should eat. I want you to tell me about the lambing.

They began to walk away, hand in hand, but turned to look back.

Lucius, Adara said. Will you come home with us?

There it is, Lucius thought as he observed the tenderness he so loved, beginning to break free from behind the shades of Adara’s eyes.

You go ahead. I will come later.

Adara nodded sadly, and the three of them left Lucius there, alone beside the pool.

He stared at the red water, that gateway from which he had emerged. It looked soothing, cool, and as he gazed upon it, he let his cloak fall to the ground so that he stood only in his loose tunic and sandals. He slipped off the latter, and stepped slowly into the water.

Lucius sighed as he lowered himself and leaned back so that the water covered his body.

There is no going back, he heard Apollo say.

But Lucius ignored his immortal father, and focused on his pain, and on his anger.

II

Ignis Memoria

‘A Memory of Fire’

The weeks slipped by, and time began to heal for some in the isle, that misty place of peace, hidden from the brutal world without.

The bonds of family and of friendship began to mend, if not quickly, then surely.

Adara spent more time with Briana, Dagon and their child without bitter jealousy invading her heart. She began to be a mother once more to her son and daughter too.

Etain, Weylyn, and Father Gilmore all watched the transformation and smiled gratefully among themselves. However, they worried for Lucius, for he only seemed to grow more distant, nursing a secret anger which they knew could come to no good.

We need to move him out of the healing house and back with his family, Etain said one day. We have done all we can for him.

Weylyn nodded, but Gilmore shook his head, still determined that the Metelli should leave Ynis Wytrin.

I will speak with him, Etain said, looking up at the leaves of the oak under which the three of them sat that morning.

Etain knew where to find Lucius. He lingered often at the gateway to Annwn, as if drawn to it, longing for the forgetfulness of the Otherworld. She began the slow ascent along the sacred path that led to the top of the Tor on an afternoon filled with birdsong and sun.

She enjoyed the walk, moving slowly and reaching out to touch the boughs of oak and yew, rowan and ivy as she went, feeling her connection with them, with the earth at her feet.

It had been a strange night.

In her dreamless sleep, the Gods had asked for her help with the Dragon.

She had gazed into the star-whirling eyes of Apollo and Venus for the first time, and it had left her with a calm purpose, but also a weight.

And the Dragon has felt that gaze the whole of his days…

She felt pity for Lucius as she wended her way up to the top of the Tor where she found him standing alone in the wind, crows diving in the sky above. The sight filled her with a little dread, for in that moment, she thought she spied the Morrigan standing in his place. But she was wrong.

It was the Dragon. Though she and her priestesses had helped him to heal muscle, sinew, and bone, they had not managed to get at the root of the pain he still felt. None but he could do that.

And that was worrisome, for as Etain stared at Lucius where he gazed across the levels to the ruins of the hillfort, she knew he was nursing a darkness that had no place in Ynis Wytrin.

I feel your thoughts, Lucius Metellus Anguis, she said, her voice reaching out with the kindness she knew he needed. You are not alone.

Lucius was silent for a moment. We had thought to make our home there. We did…and it was beautiful…

Etain walked slowly to Lucius’ side, her fingers reaching up to touch the crescent moon that hung about her neck, wisps of her red hair blowing sideways across her brow.

I can’t feel the wind upon my skin, Lucius said to her.

That will return in time.

I feel little of anything.

Etain’s green eyes looked at him.

That’s wrong, he added. I do feel… I feel anger and hate…toward those who did this to us…toward Rome…

Anger and hate will not serve you now, Lucius Metellus Anguis.

Lucius turned his burned face to her.

She did not flinch, but gazed back with kindness in her brilliant eyes.

I hate myself too.

She shook her head, but could not answer, for she could indeed see and feel that he meant what he said.

I did this, lady. Me. I had hubris enough to believe that I could change the world, that I could make it a better place for all of us-

And you did! Etain took Lucius’ hands, and even though he tried to pull away, she held them fast. That home you built on the sacred hill of our ancestors had lain dead and dormant for three generations before you came, before you brought life back to it. The Britons who dwelled about it were practically slaves before you arrived, forgotten by the Gods. But then you built that temple and allowed them to honour all the Gods.

It was a little thing, Lucius said, pulling his hands away slowly.

No. It was not. It was a great thing, and so much so that they risked their lives to help you and your family when you were in need. Such sacrifice is not given lightly or for no reason.

And now the hillfort is destroyed forever.

No. It only sleeps now, but I have had a vision of it alive again, a place of beauty and inspiration, a home of dragons once more.

You dream, lady, Lucius said bitterly. Just as I dreamed, just as I thought I could be emperor and right all the wrongs of this world.

You are so blessed. You have no idea.

I was blessed.

You are! Etain said, her voice more stern. You are blessed in that you did not perish in the flames. You are blessed by the Gods-

Pfft!

You are blessed in the wife and children who have survived along with you and who love you.

Lucius was silent. I’ve failed them most of all, he thought.

Then be there for them! Etain answered, having heard his thoughts.

Lucius stepped away from her in surprise, but she remained with him, close, intent.

Your wife and children need you more than ever now, and you need them!

Lucius had no answer, no angry retort. He knew that if there was any goodness left in the world, it was them.

I don’t know how to be there for them, he said sadly, his hand reaching up to touch his burned face.

Etain reached up to take his hand away. Go to them. It has been well over a year. It is time to leave the healing houses. Live together as the Gods intended.

The Gods? Lucius said, the angry edge returning to his voice.

Yes, Etain answered him. For they are your family too. She began to go back down the spine of the Tor and leave Lucius with his thoughts. We are all here for you, Dragon. You are not alone.

With those parting words, Etain turned and began the long walk down, leaving Lucius alone at the top to think on what she had said.

She had tried, and she would continue to try for she knew in her heart that Lucius Metellus Anguis and his family still had an important role to play in the future of Ynis Wytrin and all who dwelled there, though she did not yet know how.

Three days later, Lucius was moved from the sterile world of the healing houses to the large guest house where Adara and the children had been living for over a year.

It felt strange to be a family again, to try and move on after the trauma they had all experienced. Each of them was quiet, wary of happiness.

However, the silent, soft embrace each of them gave to Lucius as he stepped through the threshold of their small dwelling was the first step in a long process of