"Whom the Gods would Destroy, they first make mad"
Rome - 97 BC. Quintus Sertorius is now serving as a legate in Greece. It's supposed to be a peacetime mission, but quickly Sertorius discovers there is more happening beneath the peaceful veneer of democracy's birthplace.
Roman citizens are disappearing. Whispers are spreading that there is a force operating in the shadows bent on Rome's destruction.
Sertorius and his companions are determined to find out who is behind all this, but quickly the enemy is on the offense. Friends disappear. Attacks in the night. Blood in the streets.
Sertorius must stop at nothing to snuff out this grand conspiracy before it engulfs the Republic in flames.
Whom Gods Destroy was an instant best-seller in the US and many international countries and has sold consistently in the year and a half it's been available.
THE KNIFE CUT DEEP, and the victim made no sound of resistance with his dying breath. Blood seeped out and ran through the cracks of the marble altar. Torchlight flickered in the wind and illuminated the priest’s hands while they worked.
I gestured for the men to stand fast and I moved forward, pulling my cloak under my chin and bracing myself against the strength of a gust.
“What does it look like?” I asked the haruspex.
His hands were slippery with blood as he meticulously peeled apart the liver, inspecting it for signs of the gods’ will.
“What do you think?” He nodded toward the grey clouds in the distance covering the midday sun. I looked up anticipating the flash of Jupiter’s lightening or a crack of thunder.
I peered over the priest’s shoulder, as if I might be able to spot some imperfection in the slaughtered lamb, but it just looked like a dead animal to me.
He turned to me and gravely shook his head.
“The gods’ will is uncertain, except for one thing: you must not sail tomorrow. Neptune forbids it.”
“The liver tells you that?”
He analyzed me with baleful eyes. “Correct, legate. A storm
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will come upon you, Triton’s scourge will pull your men to their doom and dash your ships upon the rocks.”
I didn’t need a priest to tell me a storm was coming. The dark clouds moved swiftly and the nip in the breeze that always proceeded rain showers. The farmers would be pleased, to be certain, because the winter had been dry. But no one would envy those on the water.
“I’ll relay the message to the commander. Gratitude.” I bowed to the priest and turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist with his blood-soaked hands before I could descend from the altar.
Already translated. Translated by Rebeca Rodrigues Vargas e Souza
Already translated. Translated by Tomas Ibarra Cervantes