Gentlemen of War- Lucas
Lucas Walsh thought he had left the horrors of war behind when he returned home to London after Napoleon's exile to Elba, but little did he know that his promised peace would be shattered by his noble father’s mysterious death.
While his elder brother, the Marquess' heir, sees to affairs in the country, Lucas takes on the responsibility of his three younger sisters’ welfare and, truthfully, he would have it no other way. But when he stumbles upon a perplexing secret, one that involves him more than he cares to admit, the weight upon his shoulders is tested.
Lady Helena Webster has always lived a free-spirited life of luxury as the daughter of a powerful Earl, but when her father’s failed investments are discovered and his debts are called in, her once good and kind father is replaced by a man to fear. In his desperation, Lord Webster arranges a marriage between Helena and the loathsome Lord Foxton, a man known for his deep pockets as well as his widespread cruelty.
When Helena’s safety is put at risk, she seeks refuge in the townhouse of her dear friend Genevieve Walsh where fate takes an unexpected turn…
Lucas’ wit, intelligence, and fierce protectiveness embody everything Helena desires in a gentleman, but as their paths intertwine, will Helena’s presence threaten more than the undeniable attraction that ignites between them?
Lucas is a clean, stand-alone Regency Romance. #1 in the Gentlemen of War Series featuring honorable military men who, after fighting for King and Country, return home to unexpected and unfamiliar lives.
Four second sons,
Four brothers-in-arms,
Four gentlemen willing to do whatever it takes to protect the women they love.
-Gentlemen of War Series
Author’s Note about the Polish Nurse
Good morning readers and friends, I felt it was necessary to address some thoughts surrounding the ending of my #1 Best-Selling novel, “The Polish Nurse”. In my Indie publishing format, my author notes at the end of the book, explain that the story is a prequel to the award-winning series, The Berlin Butterfly Series. When I signed the contract with ReadMore Press, I gave them the rights to publish the book in their format and because they attached it to a series called World War II Brave Women of Fiction, they opted to take out my notes which they had every right to. Though the notes are not critical to the story, they did explain how I had first written the Berlin Butterfly Series (A 3-book series surrounding the Berlin Wall published 2017-2019) and then decided to tell the story of Ella’s mom during World War II. “The Polish Nurse”, formally known as “Before Berlin” was created in 2022. I wrote it specifically to introduce Aleksandra and explain how Ella came to be in a Berlin orphanage. In light of this, There was only one way I could end “The Polish Nurse” to be able to lead into Ella’s story which had already been written. Without sharing the specifics, I hope this will help to understand why it ended the way it did but keep in mind for those of you who might not be familiar with my writing… I always provide a sense of hope if not a happy ending.
The previous blog shares some of the historical notes previously found at the end of “The Polish Nurse.” Enjoy!
The Polish Nurse
Previously known as “Before Berlin”, The Polish Nurse officially releases this week! This is the stand-alone prequel to the Berlin Butterfly Series and tells the story of Ella’s mom, Aleksandra and how Ella ends up in a Berlin orphanage.
Author’s Notes-
This story has given me an even greater appreciation for the people of Germany who did not blindly follow Adolf Hitler’s beliefs… the ones who stood up to the atrocities in both quiet and bold actions, and my heart goes out to those who were caught in the crosshairs, despite their valiant efforts.
It was important in this novel to represent both the good and the bad people of Germany and though it is easy for us to look back and make judgments as to why people did what they did, we don’t always know the whole story. For example…why would a Polish, non-Jewish woman remain in Germany after what they had done to her people? Surprisingly, many did and for many personal and unexplained reasons.
When Germany invaded Poland in September 1939, the underequipped Polish army could not withstand the forces of the Third Reich. The Blitzkrieg, itself, was designed to obliterate anyone in their path and within a month of fighting (mere days and weeks in some areas), the Germans took occupation of the eastern parts of Poland annexing them into Nazi Germany.
Much of what Aleksandra described in the first few months of occupation is true with the closing of many of the schools (with the exception of a few that had German ties, such as her private school), execution of government leaders, teachers, and priests, searches and seizures in private homes, creation of the Łódź ghetto and its forced Jewish and Romani inhabitants, and banishment of anything Polish such as the language, arts, and culture.
The Lebensborn (Fount of Life) Program was founded on the 12th of December 1935 by Heinrich Himmler after discussing his concerns over racial purity with Adolf Hitler. Initially, the different facets of the program were designed to encourage women to voluntarily breed with racially pure German men to create the perfect type of child. The girls who were involved with Hitler Youth were taught that their greatest role should be that of a mother and bring German children into the world. In fact, it is documented that when these girls would attend nationalistic conferences, many would return home pregnant.
Lebensborn homes were designed to be a comfortable place for a German woman to give birth, and if she could not raise the child with the country’s ideals, adoptive parents would be provided. The women who voluntarily entered the program were examined much like it was described in the story; they also had to prove their German heritage went back to their grandparents. They were then given the opportunity to live in a place where recreation and leisure activities were provided, as well as carefully selected officers who would impregnate them. They never exchanged personal information about one another and once the woman was confirmed to be with child, the man would stop coming to her bedroom. The pregnant mother was well taken care of and when the child was a couple of months old, he/she was placed with an ideal German adoptive couple.
However, as German losses mounted, leadership worried that the pure race would also vanish and moved to more drastic means to promote their beliefs. The program then evolved into the abduction of blond, blue-eyed children between the ages of 2-12, many times seized right in front of their parents, categorized, and placed in homes known to follow the Third Reich ideals. It is believed over ten thousand children were kidnapped and only 15 percent were returned to their birth parents after the war.
When the Germans began their occupation of other countries, they recognized a new pool of candidates with the fair, blond, and blue-eyed women—women from Norway, Denmark, Austria, Yugoslavia, France, Netherlands, and Poland. At this point it did not matter that they were not considered pure Germans, they had the correct Aryan features, therefore with the right German man, they would produce exemplar children.
We have since learned that this process, at times, required abduction and rape. There are estimates of over twenty thousand children born into the Lebensborn program, but no specific numbers associated with the enforced part are verified—only the word of the women who were subjected to such heinous acts. The identity of the German fathers was kept secret and many of the documents were destroyed at the end of the war.
Author J. Elke Ertle goes into great detail about the Lebensborn program in her book titled, Walled In—A West Berlin Girl’s Journey to Freedom. https://walled-in-berlin.com/j-elke-ertle/lebensborn-nazi-baby-farms-during-hitlers-reign/
Also, a firsthand account is given by participant Hildegard Koch https://spartacus-educational.com/Hildegard_Koch.htm
New Friends
I love meeting new people and a few days ago I met a man in the grocery store who was lost looking for a specific cleaner. I don’t work at the store or ever have but tried to help him and we started talking. His name is Bennie and he had this infectious outlook on life. At 93 years of age he smiled, laughed, and told me jokes. I asked him what age he missed the most… I was completely surprised when he told me 88! I would have said 21 or 30, but he said 88 was such a good year, he would love to go back to that year. He danced the Charleston in the grocery aisle and talked about the fact that sometimes he has to fake a limp so his family members will come over and clean his house. Haha. He had me laughing out loud on more than on occasion. I feel so blessed to have met Bennie that day because occasionally we all need reminders that life is meant to be lived to the fullest! Thanks, Bennie!
CHARLOCK SERIES SALE
Charlock’s Secret, Return to Charlock, and Charlock’s Curse are all on sale for $.99 until August 25, 2023! A savings of $3 per eBook.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0918NC9JF?binding=kindle_edition&ref=dbs_dp_rwt_sb_pc_tukn
$.99 Summer Reading Deal
https://www.amazon.com/Berlin-Butterfly-Ensnare-Book-ebook/dp/B07JX54BY6/ref=sr_1_1?crid=39MPI89NUVSJU&keywords=berlin+butterfly%3A+ensnare+%28berlin+butterfly+series+book+1%29&qid=1688836310&sprefix=%2Caps%2C421&sr=8-1
Wonderful review of Before Berlin. Thank you, Julia (Christian Bookaholic)
Be sure to check out all the other books Julia has read. She gives thoughtful and compelling reviews.
http://www.christianbookaholic.com/2023/06/26/before-berlin-by-leah-moyes/
“Before Berlin” Award winner!
Dear Leah,
It is with great pleasure to announce that you have been selected as a Book Excellence Award Winner for the following book and category:
Book Title: Before Berlin
Category: Historical
There were thousands of entries from around the world and your book was selected for its high-quality writing, design and market appeal.
Virtual Book Club Visit
If your book club is reading Second Survivor, Before Berlin, The Berlin Butterfly Series or the Charlock Series, you can now reach out to Leah Moyes for a virtual visit the night your book club meets. This will give your club a chance to ask the author questions you don’t normally get answered. Email your requests to leahmoyesauthor@gmail.com
*Author will do her best to fulfill requests outside of schedule conflicts.
A fascinating Book Club
Recently, I had the amazing opportunity to speak to a book club that was created in Austin, Texas in 1996 and although many of these women have moved to another part of Texas or out of the state all together, they still hold their monthly meetings for who can make it. They have experienced it all…births, deaths, marriages, heartaches, tragedies, and illnesses, and have gone through it together. I was amazed at the closeness forged through these experiences and it made me miss my sweet friends in Arizona. I was truly honored that these incredible women offered a chance for me to become the newest member of their club. I don’t know how many meetings I will make, but through the afternoon speaking about my books and the stories behind them, we became fast friends and I will do my best. We enjoyed a delicious lunch (including black forest cake) hosted by Connie Hazen and a ride around her property to see the exotic animals they care for. Definitely a day to remember.
Many of these inspiring women drove hours to be together. I was grateful to be able to spend the afternoon with them.
Inspiring Women
In November 2019, I had the opportunity to travel to Florida to accept an award for my book Ensnare, the first book in the Berlin Butterfly Series. While there, Readers Favorite had arranged for the winning authors to meet with a variety of teachers in the business and during a break, I had stepped over to get in line for a drink. There were maybe eight to ten people ahead of me. During this time, a man had gone over to the dessert table picked up a couple of cookies, and walked back through the line, crunching on his desserts and spraying crumbs all over the people he passed between without acknowledgment or apology. Normally, I’m pretty nonconfrontational and more of a peacemaker but this time, my disgust was pretty vocal. The woman right in front of me was the one he had showered with crumbs. When she heard my comment, she turned around and said “right?” while she was brushing the crumbs off her chest. This started a conversation and throughout the night and the next day, I had more time to get to know this amazing woman.
Aalia Lanius is a survivor who has turned her voice into a voice of strength. I have followed her journey since we met and watched her turn her popular podcast Unsugarcoated into a television talk show. She is married to a Hollywood producer, but while her husband might have the means to pave the way for her, she has done it on her own and made a name for herself. She has interviewed athletes and musicians to survivors and loves to highlight people and situations that would not otherwise have a way of being heard.
Way to go, Aalia! Keep doing what you’re doing so well! #aalialanius
“Arminius” Sneak Peek
Prologue
“Armin, come quick.” Thusnelda’s pale cheeks had turned a pretty, pink color in her rush. I jumped to my feet to follow her. She always found the most unusual insects. The back of her wool skirt flapped wildly as she hopped across the rocks in the stream and climbed over the dead oak. I smiled at her courage, no other girl in the village was as brave as she was—the motive behind our fast friendship two years ago. She stopped near the ravine and pointed to the base of a large tree trunk. “I think it’s still alive.”
I knelt down and scooped the baby bird up with my hands. Its tiny beak parted in gasps as its head rolled easily to the side. “I don’t think it will be for long.” I stepped backward just enough to squint upward and catch the jagged outline of the sticks and leaves that must’ve been its home. If I stood real still, I could hear additional chirps from above.
“We need to put it back.”
“I don’t think I can, Nelda.”
“You’re the best climber around.” She wiped her face with her sleeve just after I caught the tears welling in her eyes. “He needs to go home.” She sniffled.
I shook my head and glanced at the low hanging branches. “I could climb up, but it would be for nothing.”
“Please, Armin, please.” Thusnelda’s sea-green eyes pierced me from beneath her unruly brown hair. Since we met, there was little I refused from her. She had this little dimple that appeared on the right side of her mouth when she smiled, and I often worked hard to make it appear. We had much in common, though not all of it good—both of our mother’s had died when we were infants, and now only raised by our noble fathers. Our survival somehow unified us.
I placed the tiny bird in my hat. If I folded the edges inward, it made a tight basket. Clenching it in my teeth, I reached up and gripped the highest branch allowing my feet to navigate the lower ones. Step by step, branch by branch, I wiggled my way upward and closer to the nest. Once I got a peek, I noticed two other baby birds inside and no mother bird.
Settling easily over a thick bough I pulled the hat from my teeth, scooped the bird in my palm and set it back inside. It laid there quite motionless.
“Is it okay?” Nelda cried from below. Her eyes as wide as the sun on a clear day.
Glancing to the nest, I knew the bird would die. “It’s alright.”
Relief blanketed her cheeks and she smiled wide. The dimple appeared, bordering a toothless grin where one of her front teeth had fallen out and left a space. Placing both of her tight little fists on her hips, she hollered again. “Now hurry down, let’s go save more animals.”
I tore my eyes from hers as a flash of red came into view. I maneuvered up another branch and saw a bright crimson feather bouncing through the trees, then another and another. Once the sound of metal clanking and feet marching connected with the sight, I gasped. “Soldiers.”
I peered downward. In an instant, I felt a surge of fear for my friend. Did she not hear them coming this way, would they stop for a child or trample her? Over the years, I’d witnessed more bloodshed than a child of ten should. Ruthless battles between our tribe, the Cherusci and other tribes in the land known as Germania, had existed for as long as the record scrolls could note, but this was no tribe dressed in leathers and brass. No this was the polished armies from the south, the ones no one ever dared face in a battle.
“Nelda!” I cried.
She looked up at me, but swiftly drew her eyes to the sounds I had already heard.
“Run!” I shouted, but the sound drowned me out.
I don’t remember climbing down, only that I somehow reached the ground in seconds, the scrapes on my hands and arms hardly obstructed my aim. I lunged for Thusnelda. Clutching her arms and pulling her down to the ravine a mere moment before the men arrived. We tumbled clumsily across the uneven ground before we came to a stop at the bottom.
She lay still.
Did she get hurt? I scrambled to her side and brushed the dirt off her face. “Nelda? Nelda?”
Her eyes fluttered open. They remained wide and fearful. “You saved me Armin,” she whispered.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head but didn’t move. I scanned her form and only found blood oozing out of a cut on her knee. I reached for a wide leaf and pressed it down upon it. “Wait here.” I clambered up the gully side enough to watch the men march past. They didn’t see me or at least they didn’t appear to see me. My eyes popped, catching sight of the long staff with the golden eagle and the men in perfect precision with their shiny silver breastplates and helmets, red fans of feathers protruded from the top, and they wore short skirts! A square shield bowed slightly in the middle secured in their left hands and sharp spears in their right. The exactness in which they marched, mesmerized me. No deference n their features or their manner. They were the epitome of perfection.
I returned to Thusnelda. She was sitting up now, pressing her hand against the leaf and her knee.
“What did you see?”
“Roman soldiers.”
“Here?” She whimpered. “Are we in another battle?”
“I don’t know. They’re headed to the village.”
“Then we must run away, Arminius. We can’t go back.”
“Where would we go?”
“Anywhere.” Her hand reached for mine. “You’ll keep me safe, you always do.”
Chapter One
Rome 1 A.D.
“You are getting slow, old man.”
The steel blades crossed wickedly to the left, right, and overhead. We were the only two competitors within the spacious gymnasia and each connection clinked a hollow echo throughout, reverberating off the magnificent columns. “Too much wine, Attilius?” I ducked to his swing and whipped my sword upward nearly catching him off guard. “Or perhaps it was the raven-haired vixen from the epulum feast last night?”
“You prattle too much, young Arminius.”
I scoffed. Another clash of unyielding moves sent us to the far corner. Expanding my reach, the tip of my blade swiped the linen sleeve of his tunic. I nearly had his capitulation.
“Diversion will be your folly one day, boy…or arrogance.” The fearless brute maneuvered swiftly and liberated himself from my accosting.
“You cannot fault a man for baring his qualities,” I taunted. “Especially in battle.” Regulating my stance, I calculated how the improved strength in both my chest and arms paralleled the speed of my sword. Not one of the other legionnaires in the Emperor’s School of Princes had bested me in the previous annus and now that the length of my reach matched my height, I need only to stretch forth my hand to wield the final blow.
A trumpet blared.
Within seconds, my back pressed horizontally against the marble floor with the razor-sharp tip of Attilius’ steel pinned to my throat. The fleeting distraction ushered in my failure.
“You must concentrate.” My instructor’s significant frame lowered over me. His square chin pulled into a deep frown, forcing the jagged scar lining his crooked nose to appear enflamed. “After two years of training, this should not have occurred.” He removed the blade. Reaching down, he gripped my forearm to assist me upward. “What haunts your mind?”
I met his clutch and the weight of my body rose back to my feet. A former gladiator, Marcus Attilius was the best Pompeii ever produced and one of the few freemen who fought willingly, earning his notoriety by unseating the veteran slave, Hilarius. His fierce triumphs earned him a celebrated position under Caesar Augustus.
“Nothing,” I insisted. I sheathed my sword and wiped the sweat off my brow. I would not readily admit to so little sleep the night before. He would lecture me to no end.
“You are lying, young sir.” Attilius replaced his own sword and motioned for a eunuch to approach with a terra sigillata. He dipped his hands inside the roseate pottery bowl to wash and wiped them dry on the linen across the slave’s arm. “Another nightmare?”
My jaw tightened.
“You still see her?”
I glared at him. Though the images from long ago still tormented me, I had only mentioned my reoccurring dream to him once. I seized a profound inhale and stepped over to the basin. Despite my adolescence—there was no purpose in speaking of childish things.
“How long has it been since your departure?” Attilius reached for a silver goblet resting on the platter of an additional slave.
“Seven years,” I whispered, ignoring the means in which he referred to my arrival. The word departure was hardly accurate.
He huffed. “It’s the work of Hades. The God of the underworld is aware of your skills, Arminius, and your talents with the sword.” He drank the entire contents swiftly and replaced the cup as a dribble of wine trailed down his neatly trimmed beard. “He knows that if he can confuse and lure your mind into darkness, you cannot lead an army of Rome.”
“Lead? I am but a simple cavalryman.”
“No!” He shouted with one large finger a tenth pedes from my face. “You are much more, and you must believe it.” He now pointed that same finger at my head. “Here.” Then moved it down to my chest. “And here.”
“There are thousands of soldiers. I am but one.”
“Caesar himself is aware of you and knows of your potential.”
“Caesar?”
“He sent General Publius QuinctiliusVarus to the school of Princes. They have been watching you these last few years. Why else would I have been retained as your instructor?”
“I assumed you met with many of the men.”
“Three.”
“Why only three?”
Attilius scoffed. “I am skilled, but mere mortal. There is nothing indiscriminate in their plans. Everything Caesar does is calculated.”
“But why me?”
He barked out a loud laugh. “You humor me, boy. One moment you are provoking your superiority and the next you are suspicious.”
I shook my head. He spoke the truth. My confidence wavered like the signum pennant attached to the spar.
“You have the ability and the skillfulness of a warrior. My job is to unite that with an unyielding intellect in combat.”
“What does that entail?”
“It means you must clear your head, Arminius. Any man can be a common legionnaire, but a Roman commander must be focused wholly on the enemy. A feat that allows for no distraction.” Attilius rubbed his jaw. “Go to the baths, or a lupanar—find a woman, rid your mind of the evil that transpires to destroy you. Return tomorrow and we begin anew.”
My mind flickered to Thusnelda. Her crooked smile and charming dimple…she was far from evil.
“Thank you, Attilius, until tomorrow.”
He nodded, but his piercing stare did not leave my face until I turned away and exited the room. Descending the granite steps from the gymnasia, I departed the magnificence of Palatine Hill and headed down the path toward the forum. The further I went, the honeyed scents of opulence transformed to the stench of the market and the crush of man and beast mingled together. Grapes, figs, and plums overflowed their woven baskets below thick vines aerating the poultry and wild game—meats such as common boar, pheasants, and quail, mixed with peacock, ostrich, and flamingo—the delicacies of an aristocrat. Garum, the fermented fish sauce my brother Flavius loves on his boiled veal, alerted my senses. Sweet to the taste but foul to the nose.
Slipping past the congested stalls, I reached the baths relatively quickly and entered the caldarium with little disruption. Moving past a handful of men in the main pool, I preferred the isolation of the semi-circular exedra of the alveus—an intimate heated bath with its ornately tiled floor suspended by pilae.
Removing my robe, I lowered myself into the water. The steamed warmth seeped acutely into the cuts and bruises from today’s instruction, far more numerous than yesterday. Attilius was right. Every time I dreamt of my home and Nelda, the more I risked not only my life, but my future as a soldier.
The nightmares always settled on one specific day—the day the soldiers arrived. Thusnelda had begged me to run away, but in the end, they were not there to fight, they were there to acquire. I was the son of a chief—a nobleman. Chosen like many other princes in neighboring tribes to be raised a Roman and trained in the arts of weaponry and war. Though my father did not agree with the procurement of the sons of Germanic aristocracy, he had little say in the matter. A legion of men would not have hesitated to crucify him and leave his body on the side of the road to be viewed as an example to all who refused the emperor’s demands.
Nelda’s emerald eyes appeared—narrow and sharp like the eyes of a feline. When the soldiers marched me and my little brother, Flavius off through the forest, her echoing cries robbed me of sleep for years. I dunked my head in the refreshing pool and remained immersed for several seconds. If a cleansing is what I must do, I will drown out those haunting images from my head.
When I reached the surface, I was no longer alone.
“Arminius…” The low, breathy voice of Livia, Captain Tatius’ wife, reached my ears before I could clear the excess water from my eyes.
I ran a hand down my face and shook the droplets from my short blond hair though they stuck to the week-long scruff on my chin. I should not have been surprised that she ignored the customary bathing rules in regard to gender. This would not be the first time she disrupted my bath and much like the previous times, I had no intention of receiving my commander’s wrath for lying with his wife.
I met her gaze. Her approach came slow, seductive.
She stood up leisurely, allowing the water to swirl around her slim waist. Droplets trailed down her neck and past her bare chest as she closed the distance. “How fortunate to find you here,” she whispered. I glanced to her hand maiden who knelt at the edge of the pool, her head lowered precisely how an obedient servus should.
“I must go, Livia.”
Her hand reached out and pressed flat against my chest. Her fingers tingled against my skin. Both her touch and her intent stirred severe thoughts. “Why must you leave now,” she licked her lips. “For I have only just arrived.”
Placing my hand over hers, I removed it, and pulled myself from the water much to her surprise and obvious disappointment. When I retrieved my tunic, I glanced back long enough to see her cunning eyes perusing my body.
With only a nod, I walked out disappointed in how short my cleansing turned out to be. However, knowing Livia’s history with other legionnaires, if she had but another moment to pounce, I would not have made it out of her grasp quite so easily. There was no doubt her long legs and curvy figure could not have pleased, but one thing I refused to do was have my way with a fellow soldier’s woman. I had much more to risk in my future and much more to lose having not been born a Roman.
“Flavius?” I called out to my younger brother upon entry of our domus. When we were first brought to Rome from Germania, we were most fortunate to have not been presented as slaves. At ten and eight we were hardly capable of navigating the eternal city on our own and tendered a comfortable living under the charge of an elder patrician, the honorable Horatius Decimus. Though his untimely death, one year ago, offered the occasion for Flavius and me to reap his wealth, his wise and astute teachings would be sorely missed.
I stretched my long form out on the cushions in the triclinium, reflecting on all that had transpired with Attilius. If the baths cannot rid my mind of my past, what will? Disobedient memories came forth once more. Not one day had gone by in my childhood that I did not cross Thusnelda, the only daughter of a fellow noble. Though she will be raised to marry a prince, she was unlike any other princess I’d encountered in Rome. Whether it was fishing, saving her animals, or exploring our forest, she was no weak maiden—lying about in her finery and jewels wasting the day away… no she was Cherusci…a woman born into rugged terrain, harsh winters, and manual labor. And though we were inseparable as children, my seizure at the hands of the Romans prevented any possibility of a union in adulthood.
At only one year younger, she would be sixteen now. Had she married? It was customary for her father, Segestes, to procure her husband, though many of the young men of nobility were taken the same time as Flavius and me. She may have been bartered to appease a chief from a neighboring tribe or he could have given her to an old man in trade for livestock. My lip curled at the very thought. What old man could bring a smile to her sweet face? Yet knowing the love Segestes had for the Romans, he may have used her to channel his path into the web of Roman politics—another one of Decimus’ meticulous lessons. I stretched further out across the soft cushions and crossed my arms behind my head. Would she even recognize me?
Enough! I demanded. I’m a soldier, not a dreamer! Why the thought of another man in her life troubled me, I couldn’t comprehend, it wasn’t as if she were mine. We were but children. I had no reason to believe I would ever return. My life is wherever the Roman legions take me and when I am not conquering, I am enjoying the nectar of Rome.
“You seem troubled, master.” Philetus, our head slavus, brought forth a tray of delicacies.
My brows were surely pushed together. I shook free. “Nothing that I cannot mend in time.”
“Would you prefer to speak on it?” He was the only one of our three slaves who could suggest such a notion. A Gaul captive, Philetus had served me from the very day I arrived seven years ago.
“I am plagued with spirits.”
“Spirits of the deceased?”
“No.” There was no reason to believe she was dead. “Spirits of my past.”
“If I may be so precipitous to say, sir, the Lemuria festival is next week, 13 May.”
“Lemuria?” My mind searched for recognition.
“Forgive me. My mother had always referred to it by its legendary name. You might know it as All Saints Day.”
“Yes, of course.” My mind flitted to the possibilities. I had been taught of many Roman festivals, but this particular folklore was created for the very act of warding off evil. “What is required for this ritual?”
He poured wine into a goblet and handed it to me. I inhaled the sweet juice while I waited for him to explain. “You must walk barefoot at night, throw beans over your right shoulder and recant a specific verse nine times.”
“Where do I acquire the verse.” I wasn’t much for myths or legends, but in my desperation, I would attempt anything.
“I could recite it to you if you wish to scribe it, sir.” Slaves were not permitted to learn to read and write, but there were times they arrived in captivity with varying degrees of previous knowledge. Philetus became a slave at thirteen. His mother had taught him simple words, but this was knowledge we kept discreet.
“Retrieve the parchment and ink.”
Philetus acquired the items from my desk in a separate room and placed them on the marble table before me.
He clasped his hands behind his back and paced. “It goes as such…” I sat forward and listened intently. “I send these; with these beans I redeem me and mine.”
My quill moved rapidly against the animal skin.
“Someone must follow behind you with pots, Master. If you wish it so, I could clash them nine times at the conclusion of your discourse then say Ghosts of my fathers and ancestors, be gone.”
“Do you know of its success?”
“It has been known to appease.”
“Very well, I must try. Thank you, Philetus.” Anything to clear my head and become what Rome expects of me.”
“Yes, Master Arminius.”
“By the way, where is Flavius?”
“He is with Master Pontius at the Circus.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot, the chariot races are today.”
Philetus quirked one eyebrow. I could surely read his mind. When has a Roman ever forgotten such things…then again, unless I ward off these hauntings I may never become a true Roman.
“Before Berlin” Sneak Peek
CHAPTER ONE
17 August 1941
“Schritt vorwärts! Kopf hoch! Arme aus!” The sharp demands in a thick German accent came swiftly. Step forward. Chin out. Arms up. I hardly had time to turn to my left to see Renia, my best friend of ten years, performing the same ridiculous movements with an equally sour-faced woman in front of her. The long horizontal line of students extended the length of our stone courtyard, chunks of concrete still littered the ground even now, nearly two years after the explosions rocked our school. Another dozen or so girls clustered near the outer gate, awaiting their turn.
“Open your mouth.” The timeworn taskmistress inched closer to me, but even in youth, I towered her by a head at the very least. She stretched her neck and leaned forward. The sulfurous scent of mustard reeked from her lips as they curved into an ardent scowl. When she spoke, her jowls wiggled loosely above her crisp, clean uniform collar, but it was the brown mole near her chin with the solitary hair protruding, that captured my full attention.
“Do you have all of your teeth?” She inspected my mouth thoroughly.
I nodded.
She tugged on the end of my braid that hung freely down the right side of my chest, the lower locks nearly reaching my waist.
“Gute länge.”
I snuck a glance at Renia once more and wiggled my brows carefully, so this madam did not see my disrespect. What a relief the length of my hair had passed her inspection. I fought the giggle building in my throat. Such an odd thing for her to find so satisfactory.
A tall, reedy woman shadowed the ill-tempered one. She clutched a simple clipboard in one hand and a pencil in the other.
“Mache Notizen.” The demanding one pointed for her to take notes, then turned back to me. “What is your name?”
I recognized my good fortune of having learned German years ago, even before they arrived in my city. While other fellow classmates struggled with the foreign demands, I understood her well enough.
“Aleksandra.” I answered proudly, named after my oma, my mother’s mama, who died before my birth.
“Family name?”
“Jaworski.”
“Age?”
“Sixteen.”
“Kennkarte?”
I pulled the small, beige paper book from my pocket. I rarely went anywhere without it since its issuance from the Generalne Gubernatorstwo at the beginning of the year. She reached for it and scanned its contents carefully, focusing her attention on the black and white photograph with my thumbprints and signature above the official seal. She turned the page for my family lineage.
“Schmidt?” she grunted. “Maternal?”
“Yes, Frau, my oma came from East Prussia.”
“Hmmm.” She handed it to the other woman and faced me again.
“Turn around.”
I rotated my back towards her. Why is she inspecting my person so closely? My brother, Ivan, who had been enlisted through conscript eighteen months before had not been scrutinized so closely when the German soldiers came to our home.
My breath hitched at a wayward thought. A faint recollection emerged from an event I tried hard to forget…a collection of people—people with a unified belief—seized from their homes, lined up in the street and marched away…but I am not Jewish! And as my papers just proved, I am not entirely Polish either—I justified, quite aware of the hostility directed towards Poles. When my grandmother, Aleksandra Schmidt, came to Łódź to attend art school, she met and married my grandfather, choosing never to return to Prussia.
The woman pinched my side. The movement made me jump. I was ticklish there.
“Stand still,” she snapped. Though she had a solid grip on my waist there wasn’t much to grasp and the tighter she held on the more it hurt.
She spoke to her scribe. “Tall, but skinny. Good posture and hips. Send her to Medical.”
Offended at her command to see the doctor, I scrunched my nose. I am quite healthy, I wanted to argue. Other than a scare of scarlet fever at the age of four, I hardly got sick. And at this very moment, I could outrun anyone in this school, including the old bag.
The SS’s sudden disruption of our school day had come unexpectedly. This had happened often in the beginning of the German occupation, but not recently, and none of the previous appearances required us to stand outside for hours in the sweltering heat.
Within a week of their arrival into Poland, the Germans had closed almost all the schools in the city…but not this one. New instructors, altered curriculum, and stifling rules were put in place. Rumors circulated amongst the girls as to why we were spared—whispered conjectures included suggestions as eccentric as our headmistress being involved in the Third Reich, to training a new generation of Hitler youth who could also offer childbearing qualities, to the most realistic…we all had German familial ties. I ignored them all. Though we no longer had our beloved Polish teachers, Polish language, literature, culture, and arts, I excelled in math and sciences and, above all, being in school meant being away from the horrors and atrocities occurring outside of it.
“Dreh dich um.”
When I turned forward again at the command of the clipboard woman, the female soldier had moved on to the next girl. The scribe scribbled something on a piece of paper then shoved it into my hand.
“Siebzehn,” I whispered as I read it. The number 17 appeared on the square sheet.
The Germans gave us little choice but to follow every direction given. The blatant slaughtering of Poles proved not only their power, but their hatred for our countrymen. My family learned first-hand the consequences of having a father in the government. As a Parliamentarian, he should have been killed. Instead, the new commanders forced him to labor as the liaison between the Poles and our new German Mayor, Albert Leister…that, and a reminder bullet to each knee—they claimed he didn’t need to walk to do his job. His brother, Borys, and a dozen other men who worked in his office were not so fortunate. Determined to be a threat by the intelligenzaktion, they were detained and sent to the Radogoszcz prison in November, then executed the following May 1940.
From the moment the soldiers entered our classrooms this morning through now, I hadn’t been afraid. Though they were stern and forceful, nothing in their conversations led me to believe our lives were threatened.
This was far from the invasion in September 1939.
Though Łódź was smaller than Warsaw, its location became key to the German’s continued pursuits against enemies of the state. Our lack of adequate equipment and poor defenses, especially against Blitzkrieg, allowed for an effortless seizure when our Polish army collapsed in mere days under the pressure of the Third Reich. Within that first month, not only did they sever our transportation, but they also carried out mass searches, committed crimes against the population, public executions, restructured the government with German officials, issued occupation decrees, renamed the city as Litzmannstadt, and annexed us into Nazi, Germany.
My mind easily slipped back to those early days…the deafening sounds of gunfire, explosions, and above all, the horrifying screams that were forever etched in my memory. At fourteen, I lived through the worst nightmare imaginable or so I thought with my limited life experience…until I witnessed the expulsion, the process in which the Germans managed the Jewish population. They claimed that the people of the Jewish faith were diseased and brought filth and degradation upon us, but especially upon our new landlords. By February of 1940, the Judes had been removed to a ghetto—a controlled residential quarter in the northeastern section of town—surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards. My friend Erela, along with her parents and sister, who lived in the flat across from us, were subjected to their swift removal and forced relocation. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.