Britannia, AD 59.
Decimus is a long-serving senior centurion who dreams of retirement in Rome. Luciana is a Cornovii princess devoted to the freedom and survival of her tribe. Connected only by a passion for horsemanship, the pair could not be more ill-matched. After a deadly conflict thrusts these enemies together, each is determined to fight their desires and triumph over the other. Who will ultimately control the other’s heart?
But Decimus and Luciana are not the only ones on the hunt for supremacy; a desperate struggle over the province is beginning to simmer to a boil. There are whispers of mysterious Druids fomenting unrest among the western British tribes, whose inter-tribal divisions threaten to subsume them. The future of the Roman legions in the province is suddenly thrown into doubt as casualties begin to mount. Decimus and Luciana find themselves entangled within a web of characters, Briton and Roman, playing with Britannia’s destiny to serve their own ends.
The hunt for power is on, where only one side can emerge triumphant. But just who among these hunters will end up hunted?
Book Title: Venator
Series: Roman Equestrian Series
Author: A. M. Swink
Publication Date: July 16th, 2024
Publisher: Historium Press
Page: 464
Genre: Historical Romance
Excerpt
‘There we are.’ Julianus Titianus pushed Livius away as soon as he’d poured the wine. He lifted his glass at Decimus. ‘Your health, Centurion.’
Decimus begrudgingly sipped his drink. With a grunt, he leant forward and slammed his beaker back on the tribune’s marble table. ‘What do you want, Titianus?’
‘My, my! So very direct!’ The tribune chuckled, narrowing his beady eyes at the centurion over the rim of his glass. ‘Not even a word of thanks for your gracious host?’
‘I’m not fond of lies. They tend to stick in my throat.’ Decimus scowled.
He glanced around uncomfortably at his surroundings. Though as primus pilus he’d spent long hours in the war room discussing campaign strategies with the legate, Decimus had never felt entirely at ease within the ornate praetorium. The high, vaulted ceilings, painted walls, and mosaic floors seemed far too excessive for his tastes. Did all men of such high rank have to make their homes in opulent palaces?
He shuddered. Perhaps he wasn’t cut out for belonging to the equestrian class.
Across the table, Titianus sat before a mural depicting Pluto leading Proserpina into Hades; the mouth of the cave to the underworld loomed directly behind the tribune’s head. ‘Words were never your strong suit, were they, Maximus?’ Titianus smirked. ‘You’ve always been a man of action.’
‘Get to your point!’ Decimus barked, sitting on the edge of his chair.
‘So impatient!’ Titianus reclined against the back of his seat and tutted softly. ‘I do hope you aren’t considering the mercantile trade when you leave the army, old boy. You’re a pretty poor negotiator.’
‘Luckily enough, Tribune, I have no plans of the sort.’
‘Oh, really?’ Titianus coolly pulled out a tool to begin picking at imagined flecks of dirt beneath his spotless fingernails. ‘I thought I’d been reliably informed you plan to spend your retirement in the capital.’
Decimus shifted in his seat uncomfortably. ‘And why is it any of your concern?’
‘Just wondering if our paths shall cross again.’ Titianus smirked. ‘I’ll be heading back to pursue a quaestorship come spring. And my promotion is assured. I don’t have to bother telling you who my connections are. Let’s just say that I would be quite the valuable ally or quite the powerful enemy.’
‘Your connections are too rich for my blood; I think I’ll remain neutral.’
‘I hardly think you can value neutrality when it comes to me, Centurion.’
Decimus impatiently drummed his fingers on the table. ‘You know nothing about the business that interests me,’ he said at last.
‘Hmm…’ Titianus pretended to mull over Decimus’s words. ‘I don’t know about that. I do know that if you want to breed nags for the imperial army, you’re going to need a contract. One taken out with the palace.’
Decimus abruptly stopped drumming his fingers. He eyed the tribune suspiciously. ‘And?’
‘Well, I’m hardly one to brag, but…I do have friends in high places.’ Titianus shrugged. ‘Ones that have the ability to push for or against the success of such a petition.’
Decimus felt a cool chill from the smile Titianus gave him. He forced himself to bark out a laugh. ‘You’re bluffing.’
Titianus picked up his beaker and idly swirled its contents. ‘Find out at your peril, Centurion.’
‘I value my time, Tribune. And you are wasting it.’ Decimus pushed his chair back and stood.
‘Hold on!’ A note of alarm entered Titianus’s voice. He lifted a hand in protest. ‘Aren’t you curious as to what I’ve got to say?’
‘No.’ Decimus picked his helmet off the table and turned to leave. ‘I’ve played in this little farce for long enough!’
‘It concerns the princess.’
Decimus froze. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. ‘What about her?’
Titianus gestured to the vacant seat. He smiled as the centurion reluctantly sat back down. ‘Good, good. Now, let’s discuss this properly.’ He linked his fingers together on the tabletop, twiddling his soft, doughy thumbs. ‘I understand from our quartermaster that you purchased the princess from the legion two months ago for the sum of five hundred denarii. Is that correct?’
Decimus curtly nodded.
Titianus met the centurion’s gaze. He paused for a long moment, leaning over the table. ‘I’ll give you a thousand denarii for her.’
‘I’m sorry, Tribune.’ Decimus quickly stood again. ‘My slave is not for sale.’
‘Twelve hundred denarii!’
‘Not for that price. Not for any price.’ He clapped his helmet back on his head and began making his way towards the door.
Titianus stood and followed him down the hall. ‘Fifteen hundred denarii!’
‘At any price, Tribune!’ Decimus called warningly, refusing to break stride.
‘All right, all right!’ Titianus grabbed at the centurion’s shoulder. Decimus halted and whirled around to face him with a snarl. The tribune backed away, holding his hands up defensively. ‘Eighteen hundred denarii for one night. Just one night with her. Otherwise, she’s yours. Eighteen hundred denarii. One night. My final offer.’
Decimus’s face darkened. He loomed over the cowering tribune and grabbed hold of his neckerchief. ‘Do I look like a pimp to you?’
‘I…I just…’ Titianus choked.
‘Do I look like a pimp to you?!’ Decimus shook Titianus, lifting him onto his toes. With a contemptuous grunt, he tossed him onto the tiled floor. The man skidded roughly against the tesserae before slowing to a halt before his gilded lararium.
‘Stay away from my property, Tribune. Consider this your final warning.’ Decimus turned and stalked out the door.
Livius materialised in the hall and hastened to his master’s side.
‘Get off!’ Titianus kicked at Livius when the slave stooped to help him up. He panted, lifting his head to watch the centurion march away towards the barracks. Hate glistened in his beady dark eyes.
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A native of Dayton, Ohio, A.M. Swink grew up obsessed with two things: books and horses. After a childhood of reading, writing, showing, and riding, she moved to Lexington, Kentucky to complete a degree in equine science and management and a degree in English literary studies. She now works in Lexington as a college professor of reading and writing. In her spare time, she has travelled extensively around the UK and Ireland, exploring ancient sites and artefacts, as well as tracing her own ancestry. She is proud to be descended from County Cork’s Callaghan clan.
When not writing, she can be found collecting and showing model horses or enjoying her favourite British comedy programmes.
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Thank you so much for hosting A. M. Swink today, with an excerpt from her fabulous novel, Venator.
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Cathie xx
The Coffee Pot Book Club
Thank you so much for hosting my novel on your blog! I really appreciate it!
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