On The Border

On The Border

                             Dedicated To The Memory Of Robert E Howard
                         [Who is to my mind the greatest writer of historical fiction ever]

Marius nervously paced the parapet. A moonless night like this always made him feel apprehensive. The wind was coming hard from the north howling through the trees, the barren branches waving ominously like the hands of so many giants. Bitter was the cold made more severe by the force of the wind and black was the cloak of night.

Marius pulled his cloak tighter to protect himself from the icy blast, but to no avail. He cursed his luck and the petty intrigue that had led him to this lonely outpost. His fall from grace in Rome and the subsequent shame and disgrace were more bitter than even this desolate fort on the edge of the province.


The war drums in the distance interrupted his reminiscence bringing him back to the present. For months now the tribes had been gathering; and not just the Picti in the immediate vicinity but tribes from well to the west and across the water in Hibernia. The Scotti as the Romans called them. Savages who were both fierce and fiercely loyal to their individual clans.

Marius knew that it would just be a matter of time before a leader appeared among them who, blessed with both charisma and ability, would unite the tribes, at which point they would roll across Hadrians wall in a wave of rapine and bloodshed; while simultaneously igniting the island in a flame of revolt and retribution.






Copyright 2011 by Kevin Casey Murphy