With the sun not quite risen, but its buttery yellow just visible peeping over the horizon, Druce and Lucius left the latter's house for the villa. They had had their breakfast, but the cold food sat ill in Druce's belly as they walked and he scanned the surroundings. How familiar they were! He knew every inch of ground for miles around Lord Ambrosius' villa and the village itself; he knew all the trees and hedges, and the places where they ground grew rocky or soft and unfit for hooves, and where the best spots for small-game hunting were. He knew the sky, too, and its seasonal changes, and he knew the colours of the horizon where earth met sky. If ever there was a place that reflected the native spirit of Britain, Druce thought that it was this.
"Strange," he said aloud, forgetting Lucius' presence; "strange that we fight to hold the order Rome brought. Strange how different those things feel, Rome and Britain; strange."
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