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    The Cartaphilus Saga book #2 Passionis
    The Cartaphilus Saga book #2 Passionis
    The Cartaphilus Saga book #2 Passionis
    Ebook167 pages4 hours

    The Cartaphilus Saga book #2 Passionis

    By Joe C Combs 2nd

    ()

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    About this ebook

    David Gerrard is a reporter for the tabloids with definite principles, he only publishes stories he believes. For 10 years Mark Long gave him stories, detailed stories from important moments in history each with an interesting twist. Now he is in a series of interviews with Mark that defy reason and logic. Could Mark really be a 2000 year old Roman centurion?

    They picked up where they left off after the arrest and death of Yeshua. Mark finds himself caught in purges and assassination plots between Emperor Tiberius and Caligula. He runs away to Pompeii creating a new life for himself until 79 AD when Mount Vesuvius robs him of everything.

    From there he finds himself back in the Legion under command of Agricola the Roman governor

    of Britannia. He is part of the campaign into the Scottish Highlands where he is a part of one of Rome's greatest battle against the Scots Mons Graupius.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJoe C Combs 2nd
    Release dateOct 28, 2016
    ISBN9781370071777
    The Cartaphilus Saga book #2 Passionis
    Author

    Joe C Combs 2nd

    Each week on Sunday, I post a new article on my blog. As is smashwords, I am constantly trying to improve the site so it is easier for you to use. If you have a comment, please write me, and thank You!My first book "Titanic, A Search For Answers" was originally written as a fundraiser for a maritime museum where I was the advisory board president and a member of the board of trustees.Historical research is my hobby and influences much of my writing.So far for 2015, I have three new books scheduled for release, which will bring my total to fourteen. The first is "The Cartaphilus Saga: book #1 Amissio," scheduled for release on March 27, 2015.A submarine sailor for almost nine years, I am also an award winning artist. As a scuba diver I have dived sites from New England to the Caribbean. I am into music, art, wood carving, and pretty much anything that sounds like it could be fun or interesting.Once again, thank you very much.Take care and God bless you.Drop me a line ... I am glad to answer any questions you might have.

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      Book preview

      The Cartaphilus Saga book #2 Passionis - Joe C Combs 2nd

      The Cartaphilus Saga

      Book #2

      Passionis

      By

      Joe C Combs 2nd

      Published By

      www.joeccombs2nd.com

      Distributed by Smashwords

      Editing By

      Writing Wildly Editing Services

      At

      www.writingwildly.com

      Cover Art

      By

      A.J. Corza

      Copyright Joe C Combs 2nd 2014, 2015

      Smashwords Edition, License Note

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      †

      Acknowledgements

      I always hate trying to list everyone I want to thank, because I always leave people out that I did not mean to leave out.

      First I want to thank my daughter Elizabeth, the most understanding 9 year old on the planet.

      Next I would like to thank: Janette & Greame Taylor, Katy, Kim, April, Jason, my editor of course, Dan & Laurie, Jodi Olson, Tim, Marina, Becky & Brandi. I also want to thank all those who I have accidentally left off.

      Last but certainly not least I want to thank Mon Cheri.

      THANK YOU.

      DEDICATED

      TO

      THE

      MEMORY

      OF

      GRAEME TAYLOR

      18 NOV 1960 ~ 31 MAY 2016

      Note

      This is a work of historical fiction. As such, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of my over active imagination or are used in a fictitious way. Any resemblance to actual persons (living, dead or yet to be born) is entirely coincidental. Actual historical events and places are used in a fictitious way to advance the fictitious main character of the series. If you would like to know more about these events I recommend a good library.

      †

      Table of Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Chapter Twenty-Six

      Chapter Twenty-Seven

      Chapter Twenty-Eight

      Chapter Twenty-Nine

      Chapter Thirty

      Chapter Thirty-One

      Chapter Thirty-Two

      Chapter Thirty-Three

      Chapter Thirty-Four

      Forward

      Definition of Passionis

      About Joe C Combs 2nd

      Connect With Joe C Combs 2nd

      Other Books By Joe

      †

      CHAPTER ONE

      The sudden pain was a shock, but what truly surprised Cartaphilus was the prolonged agony. The gladius had shoved through his stomach with one thick, hungry thrust, and Cartaphilus’ hands had gone reflexively to the sword’s hilt. But before he could do anything the blade was twisted and withdrawn, his body torn beyond repair. He had a moment to look in his murderer’s eyes, but the unfamiliar soldier showed no expression. He simply sheathed his sword, stepped back, then left the house as Cartaphilus collapsed to his knees.

      He had never even seen it coming.

      His blood was hot, running through his fingers and running onto his brother’s cold stone floor. He pressed with both hands, desperate to stop the flow, but his efforts could do nothing. He fell facedown, helplessly aware of the puddle of blood growing around him.

      Soon, he knew without any doubt, he would see his wife and children for a brief moment. Or so he hoped. He could no longer move, but his mind raced ahead, imagining the moment he would be escorted to the River Styx then meet Charon the Ferryman by Mors. He did not have a gold coin for the God of Death, so the river crossing would be rough. Once he was on the other side, he would pass Cerberus, the three-headed dog belonging to the God of the Underworld, Pluto. Aeacus, Minus, and Rhadamanthos would judge his life then send his soul to one of three places. All he could hope was that he would be able to see his wife and children one more time before his judgment was over. After that, he would have to drink from the River Lethe, and its waters would make him forget his earthly life—including his beloved family.

      He would not think of that. It had been an eternity since he had seen them. Surely the gods would have pity and let him see them one last time.

      Where would the judges send his soul? The Elysian Fields were reserved for warriors who died with honor. Tartarus was for those who had committed evil deeds. All other souls would go to the Plain of Aspodel. Of course the Elysian Fields were his preference, but if he was sent to Tartarus he would pay the debt for his bad deeds then return to earth. That would not be so bad.

      Pain spread like the stain on the floor, burning through him, and his vision blurred into a white void. The light began to shrink, until at last it became a tiny white pinprick in the distance. Breathing no longer seemed necessary. When his heart stopped beating, so did the blood.

      Except it seemed he could not die in peace. Three sharp raps cut through his final thoughts, accompanied by a voice.

      Mark? Mark, are you there?

      The murk in his mind was a solid, jealous thing. He could not escape it.

      Mark? The bellboy said you were in here. Are you all right?

      The rapping became more urgent, and Mark snapped out of his memories. He was not lying on that cold floor, watching his life drain away. He was sitting in room 510 of the Talbott Hotel in Chicago, and this was the twenty-first century.

      I’m here, he called, but his voice was hoarse. With effort, Mark rose and walked across the room. He paused, hand on the door knob. I'll be right there, David.

      He headed into the bathroom to check his reflection, trying not to let his mind drift back to that day centuries ago. He turned on the faucet, splashed water on his face, then grabbed the hand towel by the sink. After checking his reflection one more time, he returned to the door. David Gerrard, a freelance reporter for the tabloids, waited on the other side.

      David, he said, holding out a hand. Good to see you again. How was your trip?

      Just fine, thanks. You?

      Good, thanks. I took the liberty of reserving room 508 for you, in case you wanted to freshen up first.

      No, I'm fine. And I’m looking forward to hearing more of your story.

      Mark stepped aside and gestured toward a chair just inside the room, next to a desk. As he sat, David pulled a voice recorder from his pocket then set it on the desk. As he brought out a notebook and pen, Mark walked around behind the desk and sat opposite him, both feet firmly planted on the floor.

      Where would you like to start?

      David opened his notebook and glanced briefly at the page before him. Well, in Florida we ended with your preparations to leave Messana for Rome.

      Right. He hesitated. Before I continue, do you have any questions from our other meetings?

      David’s eyes returned to the notebook; he flipped back a couple of pages. Without taking his eyes off his notes, he reached over and turned on the voice recorder.

      There is one thing that bothers me, he said.

      Sure. Go ahead.

      You told me you’re cursed, and you have no idea why or when that happened. Yet you have lived way beyond what anyone could imagine. How is that a curse?

      I know what you’re saying. Most people think it would be great to live forever—and to be fair, I haven't lived forever … yet. But I have lived for two thousand years, and yes. It is a curse.

      He rose and took a few steps, pacing the length of the room, then stopped in the center and faced David. What I have learned in that time is that what matters most in life is not the tangible things. Most people waste their lives chasing things like money and prestige. They chase the job title, the trophy wife, and all those other superficial things, but none of that matters. None of that lasts. It is the people in your life that matter, and your relationships with them.

      He paused. I am cursed because I have watched every person I ever cared about die. And all the people I will someday care about in the future? I will watch them die, too. People say, ‘life is fleeting’, or ‘life is too short’, but they have no idea how fleeting, how short it truly is, until you live two thousand years. I know that sounds like a contradiction, but no one can come close to the comprehension I have of just how fleeting and short life is.

      Let’s put this in context. I have lived for two thousand years. The average life span today is seventy to eighty years. Some people will actually make it to a hundred years of age, maybe even a little beyond. If you are lucky, you get to meet the person you want to spend the rest of your life with when you are still fairly young. That way you might get forty to fifty years together before one of you dies.

      He walked back to the chair and sat down again. I want to give you an example of what I’m talking about. How long has it been since you arrived in my room?

      David flipped his hand over and checked his watch. Eight or nine minutes, maybe.

      Let’s say it has been five hundred seconds. That’s a little over eight minutes.

      Okay. David leaned back in his chair, looking intrigued. Five hundred seconds. So?

      Imagine the fifty years that a fortunate few spend married to the same person. That fifty years is only point two percent of the number of years I have lived. Point two percent of five hundred is ten.

      Okay, I get the math. What’s the point?

      Bear with me. In the past five hundred seconds, we have said quite a bit to one another. Here’s the challenge: I want you to tell me—right now—every thought and every action you recall from the first ten seconds after you turned on your tape recorder. Tell me every word you said, every word I said. Do you have your back up recorder on you?

      Uh, yeah.

      Let me have it. You think about those ten seconds while I find them on the recorder, then I want you to write every detail down. Leave nothing out.

      With a shrug, David handed it over, and Mark set to work locating the specific ten seconds he wanted. David, meanwhile, turned to the back of his notepad and began scribbling. A few minutes later, he looked up.

      Finished?

      Yes.

      Did you get everything? Read through it one more time and make sure.

      David reread his notes then nodded.

      Satisfied you got everything?

      Yes.

      Okay. Now I’ll play the tape. While I’m doing that, I want you to silently follow along with your notes. I will play it a few times to make sure you got everything.

      When he was done, he handed the recorder back, and David set it to Record again.

      Well, Mark asked, how did you do?

      David gave him a sheepish smile. Um, I got about half. Plus I wrote down some things that happened after the ten seconds.

      As Mark had expected. Not easy, is it? You are a trained reporter, so I’m sure you did much better than the average person. And if I had waited until tomorrow to ask you about those same ten seconds, you wouldn’t have been able to even remember that much.

      True, but what does this have to do with your curse?

      We will get back to that in a minute, he promised. "Stick with me a little longer, all right? Here’s the thing: ten seconds in the space of the eight minutes we’d been in the room together is equal to fifty years of my life. You saw how hard it was to accurately remember those recent ten seconds. Well, I have never been

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