Praetorian Series [3] A Hunter and His Legion by Edward Crichton

where patios jutted out into the streets and hanging gardens cascaded everywhere.  Green plants with yellow, red, and orange flowers littered the city in a beautiful mosaic of color and opulence.  Greek and Roman influences were evident in the architecture and fountains that sparkled in the bright sunlight, and combined with the chattering of locals and the selling of goods, the city seemed almost utopian.
    These people probably had no idea the province of Judea was being razed to the grou nd not all that far away, but I tried to not let myself think about that.  Instead, I glanced down at Helena as she clung to my arm and waited for her to look up and meet my eye.  When she did, I gave her a smile, which she returned sweetly before resting her head back in its original position as we continued on our way.
    By the time we arrived at the large park area, the rest of our party were already there, and had situated themselves around a fountain with a few stone benches.  Those who couldn’t fit on the benches sat on the lip of the fountain or sat on the ground nearby.  Someone had even thought to bring some wine, cheese, and fruit to munch on – a nice touch for our charade.  Vincent, Wang, Santino, Artie, Archer, Stryker, and Brewster sat in a tight cluster and even Bordeaux had managed to haul his massive frame away from his wife to join us.  I looked at the excessively large Frenchman, noting his sandy brown hair and sharp features that seemed almost different now.  As a warrior, he was as ferocious as they came, but was no more volatile than a kitten when at peace, a gentle giant really, but there was anguish in his face now, an expression I recognized in myself quite often these days.
    Bordeaux avoided my inspection as Helena and I found a place to sit, so I shifted my attention to Vincent, whose own weathered face seemed like it always had, if not just a smidge older.  He had to be in his mid fifties by now, but that didn’t mean he was any less capable than the rest of us.  Helena sat next to him, but as I took my seat next to her, I was distracted by Artie explaining something to Santino across from us.
    “ So, an alternative known as the magnetoplasmadynamics thruster allows for denser plasma by forgoing the Hall current in favor of a current that is mostly aligned with the electric field, and far less prone to…”
    I shook my head at whatever scientific mumbo jumbo she was trying to describe.  I was a pretty smart guy, and knew a bit of rudimentary science and basic engineering, but my knowledge was insignificant in comparison.  Back home, when the two of us would get into conversations about the stuff, she often had to settle for describing her work as “ Star Wars stuff.”
    I wondered if this current Artie’s work had been nearly as advanced , or if Star Wars even existed there for her to reference.
    As for Santino, he had his chin in his hand and was staring at her intently, hanging on to every single word she uttered, but his eyes told me better.  They were glazed and distant, and I knew he hadn’t really heard a single word she’d said.  He was probably fantasizing about a knife wielding vanilla smoothie with big boobs.
    He was just that kind of guy.
    I settled onto the lip of the fountain and gave the soft cushion someone had left there an approving sigh.  I reached for one of three bottles of wine on the ground before me , and Helena accepted a pair of goblets from Stryker’s helpful hands.  She held them out before me and I poured us helpful servings of the viscous liquid, but looked at me like I was an idiot, and I quickly remembered that she was pregnant.  I shrugged and downed half her glass before handing it to her.  While alcohol wasn’t great for unborn babies, water in the ancient world was probably far more toxic, and the girl had to drink something.
    She shook her head at me and turned away.
    I utilized her distraction to study Archer, and tr ied to make sense of not just