No sooner had they sat down than a roar went up and a gladiator walked out. He had a long spear in his right hand, a small round shield in his left and on his head was a helmet that covered his entire head and face. A powder blue plume ran along it's crown like a punk rock mohawk; lots of small holes had been drilled in the front to help him breathe and see out. The arm that held the spear was padded along its entire length. "Hoplomachus," Osian shouted. He had to yell to be heard above the racket in the stadium. The man twisted the spear around his head and swung it in a horizontal arc; the crowd cheered. Megan was no expert, but he looked like he knew what he was doing. She decided it would be good if Hugh wasn't fighting him.
Having barely escaped from the ramparts of thirteenth century
Flint Castle, Megan, and Hugh are officially a pair of time travelers. When Hugh is hauled off to gladiator school and Megan ends up slaving away in a tavern close to a local brothel, she wonders if it hasn’t been a case of jumping out of the medieval frying pan and into the Roman fire.
As the weeks tick by, she resigns herself to a life of servitude in Roman Britain, but the plebian festival of Feronia offers up a shock, and there is a chance, albeit a slim one that she and Hugh can escape.
The help she needs will have to come from the most unlikely of sources. An annoyingly pretty, yet curiously attractive Celtic girl who awakens previously unknown feelings in Megan.
With Wales under the heel of Roman occupation, the
odds are stacked against our time traveling duo, but as they say in Latin . . . Audaces Fortuna Luvat.