Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two Read Online Free Page A

fifty thousand crowd that filled the Circus on race days. Flavia had always favoured the ‘ Reds ’ team of Charioteers, her colour – the colour of blood and passion.
    Stealing her gaze away, she promised herself that her separation from the city would not be a long one. She consoled herself with the knowledge that Pompeii’s climate was a pleasant one, and although smaller than the mother city it had a reputation for unbridled vice and lavishness. She felt herself becoming aroused again and quickly padded back to her bed, the sweat on her feet making small squeaking noises that made her giggle.
    Reclining onto her back, she reached out to stroke the dark thatch between the Egyptian girl’s legs. It was greeted by a soft moan from the shadows.
    Flavia spread her thighs wide, beckoning with her little finger to the slave, “Take your time, Akana my sweet, I want our last night in the city to be memorable one.”

Chapter 4
     
    SOLFATARA
    Imperial Sulphur Mine – Neapolis
     
     
    Maccalus squinted rock dust from his eyes as he watched the chain of slaves pass him on route to the rock face. Like grey old men they trudged towards the excavated gallery at the end of the low tunnel. The air was thick, suffocating, and some of the men wore cloths tied around their lower faces. Each man wore only a stained rag around his loins, and was chained by the neck to the man in front. The newly worked gallery was small by comparison to others above; those that had been used up and abandoned. This was one of the deepest, over three hundred feet below the surface.
    Maccalus pulled down the damp cloth that covered his own mouth and nose and moved to the edge of a side tunnel that opened into a vertical mine shaft. Just below him a large wooden water-wheel endlessly turned, draining water from the levels situated beneath the water-shed. He spat out a goblet of grimy phlegm and watched it arch into the shaft before disappearing into the sludgy water below.
    “What did I do to deserve this fucking hell–hole?” Maccalus asked Canio, his fellow guard who squatted close by.
    “You had no guts for the legions and have the brains of an ape, and your ambition amounts to spending your pay on whores and cheap wine,” replied Canio, his voice sounding tired. He’d heard his companion pose the question many times before. “And, that’s why your wife left you for a fat grocer.”
    “You’re a funny man,” said Maccalus, his words heavy with sarcasm. He turned his attention back to the column of slaves. A slave near the tail had stumbled to his knees. It was one of the Gauls and a recent arrival. Maccalus thought the man looked more dead than alive, but he had his job to do.
    He flexed his fingers on the handle of his punishment rod. Three foot long it was cut from hard wood, but was not heavy enough to break bones. As a result, its use didn’t stop the victim from working; rather the thick switch was supple with its tip split. When used on the slaves, the tip would expand on contact and then rip away flesh when withdrawn. Maccalus used the rod with little restraint, and admired its ability to get a slave to his feet without damaging him so badly that he couldn’t carry on working.
    “The work must go on at all costs,” the words had been drummed into him when he’d been first posted to the mines, because Rome must have its sulphur, vital for its bleaching qualities and its use as fertilizer and medicine.” Maccalus cared little for its uses, but he understood what his job demanded. The slaves were to be steadily worked till they died. There were no burials in the mines, and corpses were either thrown out with the slag or dropped into the mine’s lower reaches, where the rats would make short work of the bodies.
    Maccalus brought the rod down heavily on the kneeling slave’s back, causing a great wheel to blossom across the bowed spine. The slave emitted a muffled grunt then collapsed onto his face.
    “Get up you dog!” Maccalus