By Anthony Riches
'A grasp of the style' The Times
The conflict of the misplaced Eagle kept Hadrian's Wall , however the new Roman governor of Britannia needs to stamp out the uprising of the northern tribes or hazard wasting the province. Rampaging south with sword and flame lower than the command in their murderous chieftain Calgus, they've got stretched his forces to the limit.
For Marcus - now easily Centurion Corvus of the first Tungrian cohort - the crusade has turn into doubly harmful. As reinforcements flood into Britannia he's surrounded via new officials without cause to guard him from the emperor's henchmen. demise may perhaps outcome from a slipshod be aware as simply as from an enemy spear
Worse, considered one of them is shut on his heels. whereas Marcus is education centuries of Syrian archers to outlive a barbarian cost after which take the struggle again to their enemy, the hot prefect of the 2d Tungrians has came across his mystery. just a miracle can shop Marcus and the boys who shield him from shame and dying . . .
Anthony Riches once more brings meticulous study including amazing storytelling to seize the real suppose of what existence was once like for the Roman military in a brutal struggle with a remorseless enemy.
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Additional info for Arrows of Fury (Empire 2)
One well-favoured axe-throw from no more than spitting distance and the butchery of a defenceless horse and suddenly he’s One-Eyed Horatius. ’ Marcus shivered at the memory of opening the watertight dispatch rider’s message cylinder and reading a few lines from his father’s message from the grave into the cold dawn air a few days before. ‘By the time you reach Britannia, I expect that Commodus and his supporters will have laid formal charges of treason at our family’s door. I will have been tortured for information as to your whereabouts, then killed without ceremony or hearing … Whatever the ugly detail of their ending, our kindred will be taken and killed out of hand, our honour publicly denounced, and our line almost brought to an abrupt full stop.
More officers were crowding the doorway behind him. ’ Julius clapped a hand on Rufius’s shoulder and manoeuvred past him into the mess, dropping his cloak on to a table and stretching with genuine weariness. He was a head taller than the older man, his build both muscular and athletic while his grey-streaked heavy black beard reinforced the slightly piratical look of his face. Dubnus came through the door behind him, his physique if anything more magnificent, even if he looked less comfortable than his colleagues, still not quite at ease with his exalted status.
The chieftain stepped forward and struck again, slashing the axe horizontally at Marcus’s belly in a backhanded blow that knocked aside his sword and connected solidly with his mail armour, sending him staggering backwards, winded by the blow’s force even though his mail had stopped the blade from penetrating. As he struggled for breath the big man whooped in triumph, raising his weapon for the killing blow that would split the Roman’s helmet and cleave his head apart, only to stagger and fall as an impact of unimaginable force dumped him on his back.