Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles) by James Mace Page B

treated Camilla. Marcia had been taken from her mother at a very young age and would have no memory of her, except the image of her body laid out on a pyre, ready to be sent to the afterlife. Still there was an air of sadness around the child. Artorius was not one for children; he had little patience when dealing with them. Still, he could not help but be taken by this little girl. He felt almost a sense of paternal affection towards her, perhaps out of pity for her having no mother and a father who was less than a man.
    The dirges nearly complete, Artorius walked up to the pyre, which was doused in oil. The stench made him gag. He steeled himself as he walked up to Camilla’s body. He ran the back of his hand across her cheek and kissed her gently on the lips. His memories of her would be of the girl he had spent his childhood with, who had also been his first love; if children can comprehend such meanings. He had long since let go of whatever attachments he had had, though there was always that trace of regret. No, it was best that he remembered her for the love of his youth rather than the love who abandoned him once they were grown. He wondered if in fact they were meant to be together, and the Fates had punished her for abandoning their plan. He shuddered at the thought, knowing that they could be utterly cruel. For Camilla’s sake he hoped they were satisfied, for surely she had suffered enough.
    He turned to see Camilla’s maidservant escorting Marcia away; not wishing for the child to have to watch the pyre burn. Not caring to see this himself, Artorius walked after them. He never looked back.
    “Wait!” he said once they were clear of the scene and alone in a small side street. The two turned to face him, the servant keeping her hands protectively on the girl’s shoulders. Without thinking, Artorius fumbled through his hip pouch and pulled out the silver medallion that Camilla had given him all those years ago. He knelt before the child and held it up to her.
    “Your mother gave this to me a long time ago,” he said in a consoling voice. “I want you to have it.” Marcia palmed the medallion while the cord was still clutched in Artorius’ hands. She gave a sad smile and looked him in the eye. Though she may have only been three, there was a deep sense of understanding in those eyes; she was fully aware of what had happened and was not so naïve as one would expect of a babe. Artorius smiled back, his heart breaking for her. In that moment he felt something totally alien to him; he wished that Marcia had been his daughter. He took a deep breath and composed himself. The little girl bowed her head as he hung the medallion around her neck.
    “Wear this always, in remembrance of her,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And know that she always loved you.” He then stood and nodded to the servant, who responded with a sad smile of her own and escorted Marcia away; the child’s eyes fixed on the medallion and its image of the goddess Diana.
    A firm hand on his shoulder startled Artorius. He turned to see Magnus standing next to him, his eyes wet and reddened.
    “Why do you cry?” Artorius asked his friend. Magnus cocked his head to the side before answering.
    “Do you not know?” he replied. “ You have so much to learn, old friend. Artorius, you are as much a brother to me as any of my own blood. I know your sorrow for Camilla, and your regret that life was not more kind to her; but you will not show it. You think it would be a sign of weakness; so I grieve for you.” Artorius gave a weak smile and nodded in understanding.
    “I regret not making a more conscious effort to keep her,” Artorius spoke in a low voice. “ She was closer to me than any when we were young. Camilla and I were closest in age, so it was natural that we would bond. Of course as we grew older, to the age where the opposite sex becomes of greater interest than just as friends, it only seemed natural that we would fall