Arcturus.
It’s the name of the brightest star in a familiar constellation. It’s also the name of a man who could use a little light in the dark, rainy streets of Londinium.
Nox Dormienda is his world. He lets us in the door. And then he tells us what he thinks about it.
Consider this an introduction. You’ll get to know him better.
Excerpts
December Weather
The weather outside matched my mood. The sun had teased us on the way here, whispering promises of warm days, lovely sunsets, and happy endings. The sun was a liar.Fortuna
I tucked my hands into the dirt underneath him and heaved. Agricola stood back; Avitus blended into the darkness by his side. Everyone stepped away a few inches—bad luck to touch a corpse. Except for a medicus, of course. I was used to bad luck.Memories
The woman was a native. Her face reminded me of Camulodunum—the good part of the memory. Blonde hair was tied back in an old-fashioned knot at the nape of her neck, and the carnelians on her sleeve glittered red against white skin. I enjoyed watching her reach for an olive.Poetry
Virgil was right: never trust Greeks, gods or cats bearing gifts.Imperial Art
So there was Domitian, bald and chinless, spiteful and suspicious, as real as he ever was. I nodded at the Emperor and kept walking.Horses
We weren’t night creatures, horses and men. We were meant for the sun, or at least the grey haze of day.A Battle
She fought me with her mouth, pulling my hair and scratching my back and the match was about even. She might even have been winning a little.Drinking
People drank too much for two reasons: they were either very happy or very miserable, and I didn’t know many happy people.The Woman
I was shaken up inside like a small pair of dice in a too large cup—tossed by a drunk on a losing streak.Lupo’s
The graffiti was worse down here, and so was the stink. Bodies, bodily fluids and sour wine mixed in a heady aroma that made me almost dizzy with nausea. I guess the women got used to it. I guess they had to.Chickens
The chickens were scratching desultorily, but they weren’t sacred chickens and I didn’t believe in signs, anyway.Visiting
She turned her head, to make sure I was behind her, and gave me a look normally reserved for bill collectors. I don’t think she cared for my toga. She tapped lightly on the door three times.
“My lady? You have a guest. A Roman.”
She made it sound like a disease.Deities
We wanted our gods to be kind—unless we wanted them to be cruel to someone else. We were Romans, after all: god was always on our side.Himself
I was a healer. A problem-solver. A Roman. A native. A man with too many names and not enough time.
