Publisher's Synopsis
"Strike in the nails, soldiers, and let our guest see the reality of our good Roman justice!"The speaker wrapped his purple cloak closer about his powerful frame and settled backinto his official chair, much as he might have settled back in his seat at the Circus Maximusto enjoy the clash of gladiatorial swords. Realization of power colored his every move.Whetted pride was necessary to Roman satisfaction, and Titus Sulla was justly proud; forhe was military governor of Ebbracum and answerable only to the emperor of Rome. Hewas a strongly built man of medium height, with the hawk-like features of the pure-bredRoman. Now a mocking smile curved his full lips, increasing the arrogance of his haughtyaspect. Distinctly military in appearance, he wore the golden-scaled corselet and chasedbreastplate of his rank, with the short stabbing sword at his belt, and he held on his kneethe silvered helmet with its plumed crest. Behind him stood a clump of impassive soldierswith shield and spear-blond titans from the Rhineland.Before him was taking place the scene which apparently gave him so much gratification-ascene common enough wherever stretched the far-flung boundaries of Rome. A rude crosslay flat upon the barren earth and on it was bound a man-half naked, wild of aspect, withhis corded limbs, glaring eyes and shock of tangled hair. His executioners were Romansoldiers, and with heavy hammers they prepared to pin the victim's hands and feet to thewood with iron spikes.Only a small group of men watched this ghastly scene, in the dread place of executionbeyond the city walls: the governor and his watchful guards; a few young Roman officers;the man to whom Sulla had referred as "guest" and who stood like a bronze image, unspeaking. Beside the gleaming splendor of the Roman, the quiet garb of this man seemeddrab, almost somber.He was dark, but did not resemble the Latins around him. There was about him none of thewarm, almost Oriental sensuality of the Mediterranean which colored their features. Theblond barbarians behind Sulla's chair were less unlike the man in facial outline than werethe Romans. Not his were the full curving red lips, nor the rich waving locks suggestive ofthe Greek. Nor was his complexion the rich olive of the south; rather it was the bleakdarkness of the north. The whole aspect of the man vaguely suggested the shadowed mists, the gloom, the cold and the icy winds of the naked northern lands. Even his black eyes weresavagely cold, like black fires burning through fathoms of ic
