Prologue for TRIBUNE AND THE SWORD

Gearing up for the release of Tribune and the Sword on April 17th, I thought I would give you the chance to read the prologue before the book comes out, just to whet your appetite!

This is the third in the Shadow of Rome series, and I've been sitting on it for what feels like an age! If you didn't know, this is the book I was writing when Boldwood first got in contact about me teaming up with them. After some discussions, it was agreed they would take on my backlist, and Raven, Outlaw, Eagle and the Flame and Wolf and the Crown were all re-published in 2025 and early 2026.

Also, I wrote a brand new book for them, War Lord, which became the third in the Enemy of the Empire trilogy, and was released in October last year. Not read it yet? Grab yourself a copy here:

I hadn't planned on writing this, and if I'm honest, sales have been slow compared to the other books. Would welcome any reader feedback as to why. Cover no good? Just not a fan of Alaric and his band of cutthroats fighting Rome? Whatever the reason, whilst the Shadow of Rome books are doing well, this hasn't so much.

One reason I worry about is the long gap between writing Outlaw and then this one. Do readers lose interest after a while waiting for the next one? (Someone should email GRR Martin and ask him!)

Anyway, I've high hopes for Tribune and the Sword, and really hope there is still a readership out there looking for more books in this series - there's going to be six of them, at least!

So, here's the prologue for the book, I hope you like it!

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PROLOGUE

LUGDUNUM, GAUL, AUGUST AD 383

Crippled with anxiety, he shuffled from the chamber, summer

sun causing him to squint his eyes shut. He rubbed his hands

together, sweat slicked and clammy, and he wiped them on the

sides of his toga.

‘And my wife is within?’ he said, his voice an irritating

squeak. He tried to compose himself, pull himself together, but

he couldn’t catch his breath, and his pulse beat a frantic rhythm

in his ears.

‘Yes, Domine, she awaits you,’ the general said in his gruff

Germanic accent.

‘Very well. And the carriage will take us away?’

‘Yes, Domine. To Italy, all the way to Rome, if that is your

wish.’

‘Mediolanum will suffice. I thank you for your kindness,

General. I will be sure to mention it to your lord when I write to

him.’

‘My thanks, Domine.’

He walked forwards, eyes still squinted against the harsh

light of the sun. It was the first time he had been outdoors in

days. Shut away in his chambers, he had spent the last weeks

pacing and fretting, issuing orders with dwindling confidence,

losing men by the thousands.

But was he not still the master of the world? Anointed by

God to rule his empire here on Earth? Yes. Yes, he was. What he

was suffering, this trial he was fighting through, was merely a

setback. Had not all the great men of the past suffered the same?

Caesar had suffered defeats in Gaul. The great Augustus lost

three legions in Germania. Marcus Aurelius spent his entire

reign at war, winning as much as he lost as he fought back the

tribes on the Danube. It was how a man recovered from such

setbacks that made him who he was. Even his father, his

immortal soul now in heaven, had seen his armies routed on the

odd occasion. No. No, this was not the end for him. He would

regroup, recover, win back the lands he had lost to this usurper

and build a legacy that would sing down the ages.

He felt himself walk a little taller at the thought, a smile

twitching at the corners of his mouth. It did not last long. Who

was there left to lead his armies? His generals, men to whom he

had trusted the defence of his lands, were gone now. Two had

fallen on the battlefield the first week the cursed usurper had

sailed from Britannia. Three more had deserted him, thrown

their weight behind the pretender. Well, he would show them.

His Imperial brother was sending men from the east. The

Divine Theodosius had promised as much. Just as soon as he

had secured his own borders. And had he not made Theodo-

sius? Risen him up to the purple himself? Yes. Yes, his brother

would send men and capable leaders with them. All would be

well.

He took a deep breath, thoughts still fixed on Theodosius

and the last letter he had received from his eastern counterpart.

But then another thought struck him, like a dagger to the heart.

Theodosius’s father had been a capable general. A man who

had led huge armies to victory after victory and never once

sought further advancement for himself. And what had

happened to that great general? He had ordered the man killed,

not long after he had been crowned. Hadn’t sat right with him at

the time. Now he thought about it. But they had persuaded him.

Romanus, yes! That was who. And where was that cur now?

Slunk off south with the rest of his so-called friends, each

desperate to put as much distance between them and him as

they could.

Friends. When was the last time he’d had someone he could

truly call a friend? Sure, men desperate to advance themselves

always surrounded him. But hangers-on were not friends.

Somewhere down the road, he thought he had forgotten that.

One more thing to remedy once this enemy was beaten.

Flavius Maximus was that enemy. A wolf among sheep if

there ever was one. He refused to call the man ‘Magnus

Maximus’, the name the rogue had given himself after he had

named himself Emperor. He supposed it shouldn’t have been a

surprise it had happened. After all, the man was a cousin to

Theodosius. How must he have felt? Watching from the shores

of dreary Britannia as his cousin was elevated to the highest

office of all.

But still, that was no excuse for what the man had done. Was

there not enough instability in the empire without another civil

war being thrown into the mix? And to think some people were

blaming him! Him, the rightful ruler of the world! He spat as he

walked, as if the act would rid him of the pretender like a fly

that flew into his mouth.

He was almost at the carriage now, four skittish horses

waiting impatiently on the gravel. The driver wouldn’t meet his

eye, his gaze fixed on the middle distance. He was a young man,

pale, a crop of dark hair sticking out under an iron helmet. He

sat atop the carriage awkwardly and shifted with a wince,

rolling his shoulders in an arch as if his back troubled him.

Wounded, perhaps? God knew there were enough wounded

soldiers in Gaul right now.

He reached the carriage, noted with annoyance there was no

one to open the door for him. He considered waiting. Turning

back, he saw no one had followed him. The gruff German

general was still at the entrance of the villa, watching him like a

hawk. With a tut, he opened the carriage door, fussing with the

curtains as he forced his slight frame inside. ‘My beloved wife, it

does my heart so good to see you at last—’

A man sat in the carriage. A travel-worn hat atop his head.

Lank, greying hair protruding from beneath an unshaven face

that was haggard looking, haunting. Mail sitting too snug to a

fattening torso, a faded, tattered yellow cloak over the top. ‘For

what it’s worth, I am sorry, Domine.’

‘Wh-who are you?’ he managed to splutter. He dived for the

door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Throwing back the curtain,

he saw the pale-faced driver was holding it shut from the

outside. He still wouldn’t meet his eye.

‘It’s my boys, see? They’re in his army. They’re his men. And I

can’t leave them, won’t leave them. Their mother would kill me!

We lost a son many years ago. I can’t put her through that again.’

‘What are you talking about?’ he shrieked, blood pumping

thick in his ears. It couldn’t end like this. He was the ruler of the

world! The Invincible Emperor! Chosen by God. It couldn’t end

like this.

A dagger between them, dull iron gleaming in the sunlight.

‘As I said, Domine. I am so very sorry.’

A blur of movement, a flash of light, and exploding pain in

his neck. He tried to scream, but just a choking sound came out.

There was something warm, lots of it, flowing down his chest.

He raised a hand in front of his face and saw it had been washed

a deep red. An iron tang on the air, and then his vision was

fading.

He sank back, eyes still trying to focus. It couldn’t end like

this.

But then it did. And the reign of Imperator Caesar Flavius

Gratianus Augustus came to a premature end.

---

Thoughts? A nice and gentle re-introduction for Sixtus Victorinus (not!)

This book covers the civil war between Magnus Maximus and Theodosius. Two brutal battles that changed the course of the world, and set the Western empire on a downward spiral it would never recover from. I'll do a separate post soon with more context around the book, but until then, you can pre-order it via the image below!

Not started the series yet? Grab Eagle and the Flame here!