“We must depart soon, my lord, else we will be left behind. The last group leaves tomorrow.”
Lucius nodded, then climbed the ladder up out of the pit one last time. He looked down on the treasure, then lifted the shovel and began to cover it with dirt.
Hours later, he carefully laid the wooden planks on top of the now-packed soil. He picked up his satchel and left the house, closing the door behind him. Turning his back on the building that once housed his family but failed to protect them, Lucius mounted his horse and urged him into a trot. A cold, gray mist clung to the streets as he closed the door behind him. As he andGaius passed beneath the city gate, the iron-bound wheels of his wagon rattled over broken paving stones, echoing unnaturally through the silent streets.
No merchants cried their wares.
No senators rode in litters.
No soldiers stood watch.
Only emptiness remained.
Lucius rode at the front beside Gaius, his heavy cloak drawn tightly against the damp chill rising from the Tamesis. Behind them came six servants, two wagons, and a pair of elderly slaves too frail to abandon. What little they carried now consisted only of necessities—food, blankets, tools, and a handful of silver hidden amongst sacks of grain.
Once across the bridge, Lucius turned in his saddle and looked back. The great walls still stood, though sections sagged where age and neglect had weakened the stone. Roofs had begun collapsing inward throughout the city. Entire districts near the old basilica had been abandoned years before. Grass grew between the paving stones of streets that had once bustled with traders from every corner of the empire.
The temples were empty now.
The forum silent.
Rome in Britannia was dying.
Lucius stared at the city for a long moment.
His shoulders sagged.
He had spoken of returning for Gaius’s sake more than his own.
In truth, he knew he would never see Londinium again.
“Master?” Gaius asked quietly.
Lucius swallowed hard and turned away.
“Go on.”
The wagons creaked forward along the muddy road.
By midday, rain began again.
The countryside beyond Londinium bore the scars of years of unrest. Villas stood blackened and abandoned. Fields once carefully cultivated had gone wild. More than once they passed the remnants of shrines smashed apart by raiders or desperate peasants scavenging stone for their own shelters.
Toward evening, they reached a stretch of wooded road.
Gaius’s horse suddenly snorted and stamped nervously.
Lucius frowned.
The forest had become too quiet.
Then came the whistle.
An arrow struck the servant riding behind them clean through the throat.
Chaos erupted.
Men burst from the trees with savage cries.
