Chapter 1
Outside Narbo (Narbonne)
Maxcrossedhisarmsover his chest and took a deep inhale of the air, tinged with the scent of woodsmoke. Chainmail armor laid heavy on his shoulders, but after ten years in the army, he barely noticed its weight.
Tax day was everyone’s least favorite day, from the provincial citizens who had to turn over their hard-earned profits, to the legionaries tasked with the tedious collection. Until a moment ago, the day had been painfully boring but peaceful. Max and five other legionaries had traveled from village to village around the southern reaches of Gallia Transalpina, watching the tax collector tally careful figures and weigh sacks of grain.
Now, a complainer had emerged.Finally, something interesting. A large man, sporting the mane of fair hair common to the provincial natives, approached the tax collector. He braced his weight against a tall walking stick and spoke Latin with a lilting Gallic accent. “I’ll ask again for an explanation. Why have our taxes nearly doubled?”
The tax collector, seated at a table piled high with wax tablets, twirled his stylus between his fingers. “And I’ll tell you again. The tax rate is set by acting governor Gaius Galerius Petronax.”
The man raised a bushy eyebrow. “That’s not an explanation. If we’re to hand over nearly twice a share of our income, we deserve to know why.”
Murmurs of agreement sounded from the crowd behind him. The tax collector fixed the man with a dispassionate stare. “It’s not for you to ask questions. Only to pay the lawful taxes that are due of every man who has the honor of calling himself a citizen of Rome.”
The man glanced behind him, as if gauging the support of the others. He turned back to face the tax collector. His hold on his walking stick changed from a casual grasp to the sort of grip that could wield the staff as a weapon if required. Max tensed, his hand going to the sword hanging at his hip. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the other legionaries making similar moves, chainmail rattling as they shifted.
“I reckon we could go to Narbo and ask Governor Petronax ourselves,” the Gallic man said, the threat clear in his words. The men behind him shifted forward, fanning out at his back.
Metal rasped as the other legionaries drew their swords. Max kept his in its scabbard. He had only the haziest understanding of the intricacies of provincial tax code, but he did understand frustration. And he was no mathematician, but the arithmetic of this situation was clear even to him. There were at least thirty men of the village, against five legionaries. The legionaries had swords, armor, and training, but the villagers had numbers and righteous anger. If this turned to violence, it wouldn’t go well for either side.
Max jumped in front of the tax collector’s table, between the legionaries and the villagers, his hands raised. “Let’s all take a moment before we do anything we might regret.” He used the same tone of voice as when he was trying to calm a skittish horse, and glanced from the other legionaries to the villagers, making it clear that his message was for both groups. “We don’t want any trouble.”
The blond man walked forward to meet him, planting his walking stick in the ground at his side. “All you Romans are is trouble.”
“Insolence,” one of the other legionaries growled.
Max ignored the insult. It wouldn’t help to appear as oversensitive as some of his colleagues. “Listen, I won’t pretend to know exactly how your tax money is going to be spent.” Max hesitated, trying to summon the right words. He had no gift for rousing men with eloquent speeches—that was his politician father’s skill, not his. But maybe this situation didn’t call for an orator. Maybe nothing more than calm, reasonable words could defuse the tension humming between the legionaries and the villagers.
“I do know that the province’s taxes have gone to building many roads here,” Max said. “Travel is safer, and Narbo is connected to Hispania as well as Italy. I bet your wife enjoys all the goods she can buy at the market from around the world at decent prices. And she can visit her mother in the next village over without fearing that her wagon will lose a wheel to a muddy road. All because everyone pays their taxes.”
The man surveyed him. Max wasn’t sure if his words would be enough to avert violence, and his shoulders tensed. He forced himself to adopt a casual, relaxed posture, hands loosely clasped in front of him, as if they were chatting at a tavern. Usually, Max was getting chewed out for looking too casual—“slovenly,” as his centurion was fond of putting it—but today, his natural ease might be useful.
The Gallic man glanced from Max to the other legionaries, their swords still drawn. He must have realized, as Max had, that even if the thirty villagers succeeded in overcoming the handful of legionaries, the might of the entire legion would crush them. It wasn’t fair, but it was true.
The man hefted his sack of grain and dumped it on the tax collector’s table. The legionaries sheathed their swords. Max caught the man’s eye and gave him a small nod, hoping the man could sense his gratitude that he’d chosen peace. It wasn’t right to make people give up their money without explanation, but today, it seemed more important to keep the peace than to question the entire system of government.
An hour later, Max helped load the last of the tax payments into a large cart to be taken back to Narbo. He mounted up on Elephant, his gray mare, and took up the rear of their little caravan.
Elephant was his favorite being, human or animal, in the entire world. His adoptive parents had gifted her to him as a filly when he was seventeen, just before he joined the army. She’d carried him all over the Republic, kept him safe in battle, and was always there to lend a listening ear.
As they left the village behind, riding single file on a narrow road, Max pulled Elephant to a stop and hopped down from her saddle. The legionary riding in front of him noticed and slowed his own horse. “Everything all right, Legionary Maximus?”
Max bent to lift one of Elephant’s hooves, frowning as if concerned. “I think my horse has taken a stone in her hoof. You all keep going, I’ll be right behind you.”
The legionary shrugged. “Don’t forget, we’re expected back in Narbo for the arrival.” He continued on.
Vesta’s tits. Max had forgotten all about the event later today. The province’s new governor was arriving this afternoon, and the legion was expected to assemble to welcome him. Max glanced at the sun’s position in the sky and calculated that he had a bit of time. Worst case, if he was late, he’d just have to sneak into formation without attracting his centurion’s notice.
Max pretended to diligently check all of Elephant’s hooves until the other four legionaries had vanished around a bend in the road. Then he grinned in triumph, mounted back up, and steered Elephant off the road and down a small path between the trees. This was one of many paths he’d discovered that led straight to the beach. A gallop on the beach would be the highlight of his week, and he wasn’t about to give up his chance, even if he was risking another punishment for tardiness.
Soon, Elephant’s hooves pounded on flat-packed sand. A vast expanse of glimmering water shone to their right. Wind whipped at Max’s hair. He let out a whoop of delight as Elephant effortlessly jumped a log of driftwood lying on the beach. Her hooves slammed down on the other side with only a minor jolt, her strong legs absorbing most of the impact. Waves crashed beside them, and flecks of sea spray cooled him.
He'd needed this, needed the freedom, the exhilaration. Army life, though it offered opportunity for adventure, was constricting. He should be grateful that Narbo was peaceful, far from the civil war currently seething in Greece, but sometimes he longed for a bit more excitement. Everything was rules and duty and saluting, and sometimes only the chance to gallop his horse on an empty beach made it worth it.
As the beach began to curve, he gently guided Elephant into a measured trot and lifted a hand to squint at the sky. The sun was much too close to the horizon. Oh yes, he was definitely going to be late.Fuck.
He wheeled Elephant away from the water and found the trail back to Narbo. Elephant snorted at the interruption, but allowed herself to be coaxed back into a canter once they hit the wider road.
