Free Wounds of Honour: Empire I by Anthony Riches

instilled by years of patient teaching, would only have tripped you before you could fly. Our conversation on the night of your sister’s birthday proved to me that you had no comprehension of the fate looming over our proud house. I chose therefore to make your flight one that required no such understanding.
So now you are in Britannia, if all has gone well. You must think hard now, despite your sorrow, and act with decision and courage. You are the last of our line, the only blood left unspilt from a once distinguished family. Your task now must be to preserve that blood, to hide it from the hunters until the chase is abandoned, perhaps even until the man on the throne has changed. You alone must judge the right time to emerge from hiding, and how much vengeance to seek at that point, depending on your circumstances. Remember, my son, revenge is a morsel best savoured at leisure, rather than hot from the oven, lest you burn your own mouth. In truth, it would be enough for me to know that our blood will be passed on to later generations. For our honour to be restored would be more then I could expect.
I only ask, for your grandfather’s sake if not for mine, that you do not despair of this last request. I know that you loved the old man, and would like you to know that your military training and position were mostly at his request, a promise I gave him on his deathbed. Certainly I had no will to resist the last desire of a dying man, as I hope will now be the case with this request I make of you, since I am most certainly doomed.
I wish you, and the future of our line, the best of luck. May Mercury guide your steps and Mars strengthen your sword-hand.
Your father, Appius Valerius Aquila
    Marcus looked up from the scroll and stared bleakly at the older man. Rufius took a deep breath before speaking again.
    ‘Sollemnis tells me that your father had the misfortune to be both wealthy and a man of honour and intelligence at a time when both made him a target. No emperor can afford to leave any survivors when he removes a perceived threat to his greatness, for the fear of their becoming a rallying point for discontent. Worse, most guard commanders will tell you that almost anyone can be killed, if the assassin has no concern for his escape once the deed is completed – if he has nothing left to live for. It’s a usual precaution for the emperor to order the death of all males in any family he moves against, an essential task of the praetorians, I’m afraid … I’m sorry, but your father is almost certainly dead. Did you have any brothers?’
    The younger man nodded, swallowing painfully.
    ‘A younger brother. He’s … was … ten …’
    ‘I’m sorry … So you see, this is that moment of which I spoke. You are the only surviving male of your family, the last of your bloodline. If you die, your father and grandfather’s line will be snuffed out for ever. But you’re going to have to take a part in your own protection. Neither I nor Dubnus can run around looking after you for the next ten years, and so …’
    Marcus nodded his understanding, took a deep breath and got to his feet, stooping to pick up the razor-sharp cavalry sword.
    ‘And I certainly won’t knowingly endanger either of you any further. You’ve both already done more than enough. I’ll find some way to escape the pursuit …’
    Rufius looked up at him with a gentle smile, shaking his head in bemusement.
    ‘Brave enough talk, my lad, but likely to see you dead before dusk tonight. What’s needed now isn’t nobility, but mobility . You need to be somewhere else, as far from here as can be managed. And, much as it pains me to tell you this, you must also become someone else, another man entirely, and take on a name as far removed from the one you’ve used with pride all these years as possible.’
    Dubnus turned to face them across the grove. Marcus met his frank stare with a shrug.
    ‘You’re right. This is your country, not mine. So tell me,