OK, you know the drill – new ebook coming in two weeks, great cover, you can pre-order it…
What about a sneak peek at the contents?

The Hand of Isfet is a 35.000+ words collection, with five new stories about Aculeo & Amunet – that some of you might already have met in Bride of the Swamp God and in Lair of the White Ape.

What’s inside The Hand of Isfet?
Well, for instance, there’s Centurion Nennius Britannicus, and his band of brave legionaries – a contubernium, to be more historically accurate.
This happens somewhere near the middle of the story that gives the title to the whole ebook.

Contubernium

“There’s a guy here to see you.”
Centurion Nennius Britannicus sighed.
“I’m eating,” he said, pointing at the bowl of fish chowder sitting on the table in front of him.
The soldier shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“He said–” he began, but Britannicus cut him short.
He turned on his stool and watched the man silhouetted against the door, black against the white heat of the plaza.
“Who’s the fucker?”
The soldier shrugged. “Dunno, boss. Christian, by the look of him. One of those wild men that roam the desert.”
The centurion cast a glance at his meal.
“Serapis, spare me this,” he murmured. “Bring him in,” he said.
His man did not move, but swallowed and grinned sheepishly.
“Well?”
“Says he won’t come in,” the soldier explained. “This place is somewhat–” another shrug, “impure, or something.”
The centurion cursed. “Then he can stand out in the sun and wait until I’m finished, or go and find himself another honest man to bother,” he said, turning again.
His man stood there, motionless, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“Verpa,” Britannicus said. “One of these days we’ll get rid of the lot.”
He turned and picked up his food. “Ask him what he wants,” he said. “And tell him we’ll talk when I’m finished.”
“Yes, boss.”
He was halfway through his fish meal when a strong reek of unwashed rabble caused him to choke.
He drank some wine and turned.
There was a wild man by his table, wild-haired and bearded, a grimy hand gripping a staff.
“You couldn’t wait, eh?” the centurion grinned.
He pushed the remains of the food away. Might as well get the man out of here before he fouled the room and made cook angry.
He stood with a groan, grabbed the man by an arm, and half-dragged him outside.
In the open, breathing was easier.
By the door, his soldiers were drinking from a waterskin, and chuckling.
Smartasses.
“What’s so urgent, old man?”
He was not sure the man was really old or just weathered and consumed by his madness.
“There’s a man you’re looking for,” the wild man said.
He spluttered when he spoke.
He had bad teeth.
“There’s probably more than one,” Britannicus said.
“One of yours,” the man said.
Britannicus frowned. “One of ours?”
The man nodded. “A deserter.”
“How would you tell?”
A grin, cruel, split the caked beard in half. “He hides his mark,” he said, touching his own shoulder. “And is seeking passage out of town, for himself and his Aegyptian whore.”
The Roman nodded.
Would not be the first case.
Guy finds a girl, takes a fancy at her, they decide to go and live happily everafter, and screw details like the Emperor’s coin and duty and all the rest.
“I can tell you where to find him, and when,” the man went on, sneaking glances this way and that. “Punish him. Punish the whore.”
There was a happy spark in the wild man’s eyes.
Britannicus suppressed a shiver.
“What’s it to you, if he’s deserting?”
“Did He not say to give the Emperor what belongs to the Emperor?”
“Yeah, sure,” the Roman said. “He also talked about brotherly love, if I’m not mistaken.”
The wild man just grunted, turning his nose in the air.
“I can’t get you a reward, you know?”
“You can keep your money,” the other spat.
“A model citizen, eh?” mused Britannicus, and then “Wait here.”
He walked up to his men.
“All right, kids, looks like we have a sweetheart situation,” he announced.
His men groaned and cursed.
“Screw it,” one of the soldiers said. “Not in this heat!”
“Yeah, boss, let the guy have a good time–”
Britannicus sighed dramatically. “C’mon, guys, show some loyalty to the Emperor.”
“He’s got no chicks shortage, the Emperor,” Dunius Clericus spat. He was the decanus of the contubernium, and probably too smart for his own good.
“That’s worth the birch, man,” Britannicus said.
Clericus shrugged. “Some days I’d do a runner myself,” he said.
“No girl would run away with you, Clericus,” one of the guys laughed.
The decanus ignored him and eyed their informer. “You trust the crackpot, boss?”
Britannicus turned and watched the old man where he stood.
“It’s been a slow day, we might as well check his story,” he said.
The soldiers mumbled complaints.
“But first,” the centurion continued,” you take the bastard somewhere quiet and teach him respect for the Legion, while I try and finish my meal.”
The men nodded, grim.
“Heracles be my witness,” Britannicus mumbled, “I hate snitches more than I hate deserters.”

 

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