Gradarius
Roman Equestrian Series
By A.M. Swink
WAR IS ON THE HORIZON
Sworn enemies turned lovers, Decimus and Luciana face new challenges that put their love to the test. Decimus, haunted by his past, struggles with his feelings in the present. Luciana, when confronted with her old friend Boudicca's struggles, questions which of her loyalties is more important: her loyalty to Decimus, or her loyalty to her people? When sent to investigate a Roman traitor in Decimus's legion, both will have to decide which side of the coming battle they'll be on.
Rome and Britannia are hurtling toward a reckoning. Will Decimus and Luciana find a way forward together before war tears them apart?
Publication Date: October 18th, 2025
Publisher: Historium Press
Pages: 364
Genre: Ancient Historical Fiction / Historical Romance
Excerpt
‘Luigsech of the Cornovii?’ Boudicca stopped short, shock widening her bright eyes. ‘What in the name of Andraste are you doing here?’
She smiled ruefully. ‘I could ask you the same. We’re a long way from the lands of the Iceni.’
Boudicca’s face darkened. ‘We were bringing the tribe’s yearly tribute to the Roman scum.’ She gestured to the water. ‘It belongs to the gods now.’
Luciana frowned, regarding the woman. Boudicca, her childhood foe in the Beltane chariot contests, had always been a proud, fearsome woman. She’d refused to admit that her tribe’s horses could ever be bested, even when Luciana and her plucky mare, Belena, had done exactly that. She’d also been held up by Luciana’s parents as a shining example of everything that Luciana ought to be. Boudicca, they’d pointed out, had married for the sake of strengthening cross-tribal alliances. She’d borne children and risen to tribal leadership alongside her husband. She’d used her knowledge of the Romans to avert further retribution after a failed Iceni insurrection had stripped the tribe of their weapons. She had it all, and she still had time to breed and race ever-swifter ponies. If only Luciana, who’d resisted such a fate, could have done the same.
Looking at Boudicca now, Luciana felt vindicated in her choices. Though of roughly the same age as Luciana, the Iceni queen looked far older. Her noble features had creased with worry, her skin frighteningly pale and clammy. Her form looked a bit hunched bundled in its furs and woollen finery, despite the gold glinting from her thin hands and the beautifully struck fibula in the shape of a hare that held her cloak in place. Her long, bright red tresses, neatly coiled at the nape of her neck, showed streaks of silver amid their gold. The once fierce warrior she’d raced in her youth seemed a shadow of her former self.
Boudicca heaved a broken sigh, choking down her sobs. 'You did what you could, I suppose.’ She spun on her heel. ‘Come. I need to make sure my husband’s all right.’
Luciana and Tor fell into step with Boudicca. The trio fought the bustling crowds eyeing up trinkets and fresh-caught oysters hawked by merchants on the quay, heading west. Boudicca sharply veered when they reached the Walbrook’s marshy banks, clattering up cobbled Roman paths.
‘I hope the gods enjoy their bounty, for it means our demise,’ Boudicca said bitterly.
Luciana matched her strides, frowning thoughtfully. ‘Surely, you can explain to the procurator and ask for an extension?’
Boudicca laughed. ‘Hardly! We’re already trying to pay off last year’s back taxes. The Romans won’t give us yet another extension.’
Luciana cocked her head. ‘Have things been so bad?’
Boudicca lifted her set chin, glaring straight ahead. ‘Do you have any idea how being unable to hunt has crippled us? With the droughts, we can hardly grow enough grain to feed ourselves, let alone set any aside to pay the Romans.’ She lowered her voice as they passed a group of uniformed legionaries in the street. ‘Too many have starved to death, and more still won’t survive the winter.’ She glanced at Luciana’s drawn brows. ‘I’m sure the Cornovii have been well-fed with the forests you have to hand.’
Luciana grimly shook her head. ‘The Cornovii are no more.’
‘What?’ Boudicca checked her step, bumping into a dark-complexioned sailor toting a heavy sack. ‘But old Suliac brought us word of a Cornovii troupe staying among the acolytes on Mona.’
‘That would be my brother and the warriors.’ Luciana ducked underneath a line of washing strung across the path. ‘The Romans killed the old men and the boys, including my father. The women and children live for now, locked in the prison of the Viroconium fort.’
‘How did you ever escape?’
‘I didn’t.’
When Boudicca stopped and turned to her, Luciana sighed. ‘I’m enslaved to a Roman officer.’
Sadness glittered in Boudicca’s pale green eyes. Her hand clasped Luciana’s. ‘It seems we have both fallen victim to their tyranny.’
‘My lady!’ A man with dark mustachios and a gaunt, wild-eyed look, gestured frantically from further up the street.
Boudicca dropped Luciana’s hand and raced towards him. ‘How is he?’
Luciana whistled a wandering Tor to her side and followed Boudicca’s billowing yellow and black cape. She stopped just behind the queen’s shoulder and gasped. There, stretched out upon the ground and supported by his warriors, lay the mighty Prasutagus, chieftain of the Iceni.
‘Husband!’ Boudicca knelt, gently palpating the bruise at the back of Prasutagus’s head. The Iceni men closed ranks around her, nearly blocking the scene from Luciana’s view. She stepped forward and muscled in beside the wild-eyed man. She regarded the pair in shock, dumbfounded by the profound change time had wrought.
Luciana remembered Prasutagus as a tall, hulking figure, taller even than his formidable wife. There had been a power about his stern glare and deep voice, one that could intimidate his listener even when he spoke words of peace. As amenable as he was to Roman rule, Prasutagus hadn’t been a man you’d choose to cross. And yet, the figure before her was a frail, shrivelled old man. He was small, bent, having lost all semblance of bulk or muscle. The skeletal fingers that clutched at his fur cloak repulsed her as much as they fascinated her. The flesh had fallen from his face, leaving his eyes and cheeks sunken into his withered, wrinkled skin. His raven hair had greyed and receded from his brow, hanging in lank, thin strands down his stringy neck. A rheumy film had cascaded over his eyes; they gazed sightlessly beyond his wife’s shoulder, staring through Luciana into the sky.
His thin, dry mouth opened to reveal a largely toothless maw. ‘The…money…?’
Boudicca shook her head, taking one of his claws between her hands. She bent her head over it, holding his knuckles against her cheek. ‘We are doomed, my love.’
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A. M. Swink
A.M. Swink, the author of the award-winning Roman Equestrian series, grew up in Dayton, Ohio, obsessed with two things: books and horses. After a childhood of reading, writing, showing, and riding, she moved to Lexington, Kentucky to complete three degrees and work as a college professor of reading and writing.
She’s travelled extensively around Europe, exploring ancient sites and artefacts relating to the Iron Age and Roman era. She is fascinated by our connection to the past and the ancestral tether that draws us back into the mists of time.
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