Daughter of the Sea Page 16

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  Miletus was more than surprised to find himself fighting near Proconsul Lucretius but there was no time to do more than admire the fact. Portus Tarrus was being quickly hemmed in and Miletus fought for his life with every inch of skill he could muster. He was bleeding from nicks all along his body, but his condition was much better than that of many of the surrounding men. He, at least, was alive.

  Wiping the sweat from his brow, he squinted at the hazy sun, just evident from behind thickly rolling dark clouds. He judged the time to be perhaps five hours past noon. Eyes sweeping over the field, he watched Proconsul Lucretius attacked by two men. Miletus readied himself to dash to the Proconsul’s aid when suddenly a small, dark man appeared behind Lucretius. Throwing caution to the wind, Miletus drew in a breath to yell warning to the Proconsul when a sharp, burning sensation exploded in his stomach. A blade was pulled out roughly. Stomach wounds are fatal, he recalled hazily. Like a slow-moving play, he watched the Proconsul bellow in agony and topple to the ground. Miletus’ knees hit the earth.

  “Proconsul!” Miletus gasped. Lucretius’ head rose as if he heard the cry, but then slowly he sank back into the blood-stained earth.

  Around the dying men, the battle slowed. Blood bubbled from Miletus’ mouth, gushed from his stomach. The certainty of loss folded into Miletus before he too faded into the Fortunate Isles. The victorious milled around the corpses.

  CHAPTER VII