Sometimes a sentence will tantalize my authors imagination. Such a sentence did that a few years ago. I was helping a college student research a project (by day I'm a semi-mild-mannered librarian) and I came across one sentence that started me on a journey into ancient history. I don't remember it exactly, but paraphrasing the sentencet went something like, "History does not say what exactly caused the change of events that lead to this second war between Rome and Dacia." I used every tool in my librarian arsenal to try to find an answer, but didn't. So, the overzealous fiction writer that lives within me, took over, and The Granite Rose was born.
Sianna is the princess of Dacia, a real historical kingdom that is modern Romania. Rome and Dacia had been at odds with each other for many years, mainly because Rome wanted the abundance of Dacian gold, and Dacia wanted independence from Rome. Their final confrontation lead to the complete annihilation of Dacia and its incorporation into Rome. History does note that some Dacians escaped, some blended into Roman society and some, well, you have to read the book!
Here' an excerpt: (The first chapter is also available on my website.)
Scene: Sianna has escaped from her captor General Marcus Alexius. While sneaking through a Roman city, she happens on a crime taking place. In saving the victim, she may very well have sacrificed her chance of escape.
Cobblestone roads between the houses made the horse's hoofs echo horribly loud in the quiet morning hours. The faint glimmer of dawn hovered in the eastern sky. Sianna knew she had to ride on quickly before the town woke.
Her stomach growled. She was ravenously hungry. The rationed food had not lasted as long as she'd hoped. The mare snorted, pulling to one side, fidgeting. Sianna scanned the area, but it was still too dark to see much. She untied the bow from her saddle, laying it in her lap, tying the packet of arrows to her right leg for easy access.
Nudging the mare slowly forward, the city street curved to the right. Wind whipped between two buildings, giving her a sudden whiff of fresh baked pastries. How she hoped an opportunity might present itself to steal some of the sweet smelling pastries.
Two horses approached. She backed the mare into a dark alley. She stroked the animal's neck, keeping her quiet. The riders passed slowly, quietly. They rode too quiet. They were searching, probably for her. Sliding from the saddle, stroking the mare's head, Sianna lead her quietly down the alley.
"Well, well, what a rich patrician we have here, eh, Clodium?" a man's voice broke the silence in the darkness ahead. "Out all by herself."
"Where do you think you're running to?" A second male voice laughed.
"She's got a nice set of tits, bet they haven't been stroked in a while, eh?" The laughter of several men carried into the alley.
Sianna peered around the corner of the building. Mist rose from the street. She saw barrels, bins, and garbage along the back of a building, and the shadows of four men. The voices grew raunchier, coarser, and more threatening.
The men pushed a small, terrified woman into a doorway. One had a hand over her mouth, muffling her screams, another was ripping the toga from her shoulders, and the other two were pinning her arms and spreading her legs.
Sianna turned, feeling nauseous. She leaned her head against the mare's neck. A small whimper escaped from the woman, a pitiful sound of desperation. She heard clothes rip.
She pulled an arrow from the pack on her leg, loading it into the bow, hesitating. If she helped the woman, she might be sacrificing her only chance for escape. The arrow trembled in her hand. Just walk away, she told herself.
"I want her first," one of the men cried out.
Psst. The first arrow flew and one man fell. Psst. The second arrow flew and a second man fell. The two remaining attackers scanned the darkness, crouching and releasing the woman. The woman made a shrill horrible scream, a scream that would bring every Centurion in Volsinni to that alley. Psst. The next arrow found the heart of the third man. The fourth man spotted her, running toward her like a mad beast. Psst. The fourth arrow sailed and missed.
Holding the bow poised, she reached into the packet. Empty. She was out of arrows. Her hand went to the dagger in her sandal. There was little hope of her besting the large man. His hands were outstretched, eyes blazed with hatred. Gods, this man was going to kill her. What had she done? She and a small dagger would be no match, and there was no time to jump on the horse. Why did she stop? She held the dagger tight. Sweat trickled down her arm, slithering down her neck, and time stopped.
He ran toward her in a blur of anger, ragged clothes, and misty morning fog. Was this how she would die, in the back alley of a small Roman city, where no one knew or cared who she was? The man was nearly on her when he fell to the ground in mid-stride. A dagger protruded grossly from his back.
The large man who had thrown the dagger gave a nod to her from across the alley, and then turned to comfort the sobbing woman. Sianna considered the darkness and the distance of his dagger throw. He was either very good or very lucky.
A hazy, blue dawn rolled in from the east. Sianna pulled the hood tight, lowered her bow, and mounted the horse, praying she could escape.
"No, wait," the large man called, running toward her.
Sianna spurred the horse, as the man grabbed the bridle, stopping her.
"Come down from that horse at once," he demanded.
"I only wish to leave." She strained to sound masculine.
The man pulled her easily from the saddle. "Do you know what you've done, man? Who are you?" He ripped the hood off her head, staring dumbfounded.
He was a stocky, muscular man with auburn hair, blue eyes, and a full beard that showed a large warm smile behind it.
"By the gods it's a woman!" he shouted, causing the group of Centurions and gawkers that had come to screaming woman's aide to turn and stare. He laughed hard. "I don't believe it and a very beautiful woman as well." He bowed to her. "I have never seen a better marksman, dear lady."
"I have," she replied, nodding toward the man with the dagger in his back.
"That's quite a compliment coming from you." He put his hands on his hips, looking her over like a general inspecting his troops. "What is your name?"
She hesitated. "Mariella." She tied the empty packet around the horse's saddle.
"Well, Mariella, you have just saved the life and virtue of Plotina, wife of Emperor Trajan."
Were the gods really this cruel? Of all the people in Rome, the Empress?
"Come." He took her hand, leading her toward the empress.
Sianna scanned the area for any sign of Marcus.
"Empress, this is your savior, Mariella."
The empress stood up, giving her a big, long hug, much to Sianna's surprise.
"Thank you," she said pulling away, "I would be dead or worse had it not been for you, thank you."
Sianna thought she was a pretty woman, despite the torn clothes and some bruises on her face.
She kissed Sianna's hands, tears streaming down her face. "Where did you learn to handle a bow like a man?" she asked, squeezing her hands.
Sianna didn't answer. She wanted to leave, words were useless and would only keep her there longer.
"Please, Hadrian, see that she gets anything she wishes, nothing is too great, do you understand?" Plotina ordered.
Sianna looked up at the handsome man. "Hadrian?" she said aloud, hoping she'd heard the name wrong.
"Publius Aelius Hadrianus, at your service." He bowed, smiling. The great-nephew of Emperor Trajan. Oh, the Fates were playing cruel jokes on her.
The Granite Rose
Available: Desert Breeze Publishing
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