Free Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two by Nick Morris

colour hard to discern beneath the overlapping stains. His jet black hair hung in greasy strands across his face and a vomit stained beard framed his gaunt face. Clodian guessed he’d seen about thirty summers.
    The strong smell of urine and old sweat stuck to the back of his throat. He bit his lip.
    “Hold him,” Neo instructed.
    In one swift movement Neo cut through the flesh of the arm. Prudes’ eyes flashed open. “Bastards!” he screamed.
    Clodian pushed down as hard as he could as the body bucked off the table beneath him. Belua was leaning his considerable bulk across Prudes’ head and shoulders.
    Neo quickly relieved himself of the curved blade and picked up a fine edged saw. Without pause he sawed deftly through the arm bones, the sinews of his wiry arms standing out from the skin as he worked.
    A final push with the saw and the limp squid of an arm fell to the floor. Neo reached for the nearby heated iron. He pressed it against the severed stump . Like roast pig, the thought flashed into Clodian’s mind, and he held his breath.
    Prudes thankfully passed out.
     
    He’d accompanied Belua and Neo back to the ludus. The two older men now stood to one side, deep in conversation.
    Clodian had been surprised how quickly Prudes regained consciousness after his ordeal. Neo had dressed the seared stump and given him medicine to help with the pain. Belua left a pouch filled with coin, together with blunt instructions to clean himself up, find new accommodation and to see him at his quarters in five days.
    Prudes had thanked the two of them. Neo had said nothing and Belua had responded with something very lewd. Clodian saw through the silence and gruffness realizing the men were very close. It was the type of camaraderie that he envied and hoped that he’d one day find. He knew that his father loved him, but he‘d never seemed like a friend. His mother had filled that gap, but there was no one after she died. They’d been very close and had talked about many different things. He’d shared all his secret fears about the world, and growing up he’d always believed that she had answered him honestly, from her heart. They’d shared common interests – a love of nature, growing things and the miracle of the human body. His mother regularly helped the servants and their families when laid low with common maladies. He remembered visiting their homes with her, and how afterwards he’d promised to say nothing to his father. “He’ll not understand, Clodian,” she’d remark, “and, he’s enough on his mind without us bothering him with such trifling matters. Let’s keep it as our little secret.”
    He’d never broken his word and clearly recalled how he felt after helping in a small way those individuals without the means to aid themselves. It was a good feeling. He’d said as much to his mother and she’d smiled and laid her hand on his cheek. When he thought back there were very few subjects that they hadn’t discussed. The gods had been one of his favourite topics and they had talked for long hours in the shade of the garden’s fruit trees about this subject that intrigued him so.
    His questions had been many, as if his mother was the wisest of people. He’d asked why Rome tolerated the numerous gods of the people they conquered to be worshipped freely? He drew attention to the fine temples of Egyptian gods Isis and Serapis that adorned the streets in Pompeii, as well as the numerous cults that paid homage to exotic gods from the far reaches of the Empire; like the Phrygian god Sabazius and the dour god of the Judeans. She’d said it was a matter of pragmatism. Rome’s rulers were concerned above all things about maintaining the Pax Roman a – the Roman Peace. When there was peace in the provinces, then the collection of taxes continued unhindered. To finance its standing armies cost Rome money and the flow of revenue from its conquered peoples provided this. Revenue in its many forms fed the Roman