Thorne and Miranda: A Tale of Roman Brittania

Prologue

Thorne reined his horse around a tree in order to peer sideways, as if he could see the advancing Roman troops through the trees. He knew that any of his clan who were caught by the soldiers would be taken to the nearest Roman settlement as slaves. Thorne meant to see that none of his companions fell to such a fate. "Kennan," he hissed, urging his horse forward and abreast of his brother's mount.

Fear etched thirteen-year-old Kennan's face when he turned his attention from his horse to his older brother. "They're coming for the village, aren't they?" the boy asked. A short sword hung from his belt, stolen from a Roman soldier's corpse.

"They will be if we dinnae stop them. Give me yer sword." Thorne removed his own sword and buckler, the knife strapped to one calf and the sporran hanging from his belt in order to hand them to his brother, accepting the Roman short sword in return.

"Father always said that the Ewyn must protect his clan." Thorne told the boy. "I mean to stop those soldiers from coming any farther. At the very least, I may be taken south. Give me a year or so. If I dinnae return, you will be Ewyn. Remember what I taught you; tell the truth, be firm, ask the elders for wisdom. And dinnae let Mhaer be Ewyn. You be Ewyn." The boy nodded.

"Ewyn, what be ye doing?" asked an older man when Thorne stopped his horse and dismounted.

"'Tis me duty to protect ye, Kaelan. As the Holy Writ says, 'greater love has no man than that he give up his life for his friends.'1 'Tis what Fhar would have done, not so?" Thorne glanced at his father's old friend fondly. "Take care of the boy, aye?"

"With me life, ye know that. Yer fhar was no fool, Ewyn MacEwyn. Dinnae you be one either. Send another to do this." The old man's words were biting but there was affection in his tone. He held his hand on the hilt of his claymore habitually, ready for any trouble that might arise.

"I be the best swordsman in the village," Thorne reminded him. "And Fhar would ne'er hae sent another in his stead, were it his to decide. I'll not fail."

"Fine words for a boy," scoffed another of the small group of armed Scotsmen. "If you fail, Ewyn MacEwyn, it'll be left to us to keep those men from reaching the village."

"Take me horse, Donardo. Keep him safe fer me. He be a good lad and I'll be wanting him back." Thorne held his horse's reins in order for the other man to mount. As soon as Donardo was safely astride the horse's back, Thorne handed his friend the reins and drew his brother's sword. "Now get along, all of ye. See that the village has good walls such as we've seen, and see to it before the Romans take ye."

Thorne watched as the motley group of village men rode or ran with his younger brother north toward their home, some three days' ride. He'd known all of them since he was a small boy riding atop his father's shoulders. Kennan was over a decade younger than Thorne, born only a few years before the death of their father, the clan's chieftain.

As chief, Thorne had undertaken to follow his father's teaching as best he could. He'd had to learn to lead his clan at a young age while raising his youngest brother in his father's stead. Thorne only hoped that young Kennan MacEwyn would remember everything his brother had endeavored to teach the lad.

When the others were out of sight, Thorne headed south toward the advancing party of soldiers, brushing all evidence of his party's passing away as he went. There were but ten in the pursuing band of Romans, a small knot of men once part of a larger force. Thorne knew very well he could never defeat so many on his own; he also knew that the tired, ill-equipped men he'd been leading would never survive another skirmish with Roman soldiers.

The village needed every man possible if the women were to survive the coming winter. Peat needed to be gathered and dried to burn, fields needed working and always, someone would have to hunt for game. None of those things would be accomplished if the men of the village lay dead; slaughtered by merciless, Roman soldiers from the south.

When Thorne was sure that the Romans would never find the trail of his clansmen, he found a place to lay in wait, resting and praying until he should ambush the soldiers who threatened his people.

+

"Once she weds, everything will belong to her husband, that's why!" Standing chained on the high auction platform, Thorne's attention was caught by the urgent tones of the conversation below him. Two men stood nearby, their heads together in intimate fashion.

The speaker was the oldest of the pair and dressed in an ornate fashion, in direct contrast with his companion. "I will have nothing and therefore, neither will you. That is, if I am allowed to keep you at all."

"What if no one will have her, Master?" asked the younger man. He raised his brow suggestively and batted his lashes at his master.

"Why would any man turn her down?" scoffed the master. "She will make her husband wealthy, and there is no flaw in the woman, aside from her fascination with that odd cult of hers." He snorted his disgust. "Christians! They are like rats, going wherever they are least wanted and spreading disease."

"Disease?"

"Disease of thought, Dmitri. Use the brains the gods gave you for more than something to keep your pretty skull from collapsing.

"Disease . . ." The slave Dmitri obeyed his master and thought on the matter. "Well, what if she were ruined? Would any have her then?" Thorne found himself worrying over the unnamed girl, a Believer like himself who was apparently in grave danger from the obese man who plotted with his epicene slave.

"I don't suppose they would, but how would such a thing be accomplished? I have no wish to hang for such a thing. Her father was well-beloved of the senator, after all."

Dmitri watched the slave dealer touting the exceptional skills of a woman on the block and looked curiously at the rest of the slaves for sale. His gaze fell on Thorne, who looked away rather than be caught eavesdropping.

Still, Thorne hadn't looked away fast enough to miss the slave's approving grin as he eyed Thorne's physique. Thorne's stomach rolled. "Why not buy her a slave, Master? A  bodyguard, perhaps? One who must remain with her at all times."

The master smiled lovingly at his favorite slave. "How could a boy so beautiful concoct such a devious plan?"