BARCELONA ETERNAL EXCLUSIVE PREVIEW
CHAPTER I: BARCELONA ROMANA
Suddenly Quintus realised who he was talking to. He waved his callused finger to Julia. “Don’t tell your father I called his plan madness. Or that I mimicked him. Or I’ll swap you with one of the slave children in the cages. They’re as wild as you, no one will know the difference.”
Quintus was a large man known to fight like a beast in battle, but to Julia he looked like a harmless yet grumpy plow horse. She paid no heed to his threat as she jumped up and down excitedly.
“A real temple! In Barcino! Can I help?”
“Why can't you build the temple in time?” Laie inquired, as if he was a builder himself. “The whole army can be your workforce! And the columns, the stones are already made! I have seen them! The fishermen put them along the beach a long time ago, as pavement for their road. They're ready to be placed!”
“Arrogant little brat.” Quintus spoke, with more frustration than anger. “First of all, there is a war going on! One that your father started, Julia! So no, I cannot use the army as labourers. They're busy pacifying the region!”
CHAPTER II: THE LAST HERETIC OF BARCELONA
Salomó stopped to take in the view. As the sun took flight, the Mediterranean glimmered like liquid silver. Despite the early hour the sun was already burning hot with the colour of old ivory, and Salomó felt the rays warming his skin. Below him, the city of Barcelona was waking up. If Salomó pinched his ears, he could hear the fishwives at the market on the beach, praising the catch their husbands had brought in during the late hours of the night. Salomó had seen their boats at sea, each with a torch fastened on the bow, like stars fallen from the sky.
Between the shouts of the women, the first clanging of the blacksmiths rang through the morning. There were many blacksmiths in Barcelona these days, attracted by the construction frenzy. From here, Barcelona looks like one big building site, Salomó thought.
A warm summer breeze came rolling across the fields, and he breathed in deep. A primal fragrance filled his nostrils. The united perfume of pine, rosemary, and wild fennel. Of thyme, cork trees and all those other ancient Mediterranean plants to which severe drought is a common aspect of life. Salomó raised his arms, and exhaled loudly. Haaaaaa!
“Everything good there?”
The voice made Salomó jump up. From a corner of the path behind him, a Christian man appeared. Salomó measured his posture, ready for trouble. Then he recognised him.
“Yitzhak?!” Salomó yelled, astounded.
“Not anymore, remember?” the man replied.