Miraculous and the Silver Man

A. Greenburgh Patricia

Description

Miraculous the great Roman warrior who fought at Caesar's side, finds himself in a very strange situation...Slain by a worthy fighter and with a curse placed upon him by his jealous and cowardly enemy, Maxim, he is forced to roam the streets of Bath as a ghostly apparition. Lonely, and ignorant of the fate of his beloved children. Miraculous is in despair.Until the year 2008, when he meets the young down-on-his-luck David - the silver man.Together they turn their fortunes around - two very different men from different times, buy who share a special bond that will last forever,CUSTOMER REVIEW OF "MIRACULOUS AND THE SILVER MAN": For anyone who has either visited the City of Bath or read about its legendary Roman history, with its famous Roman Baths, this is a fascinating and highly entertaining fantasy tale, which draws upon both ancient Roman times and present-day Bath for its settings. Patricia Greenburgh is an excellent story-teller with a vivid imagination. Her characters are very well-drawn and utterly believable, as we follow the trials and tribulations of David, the Silver Man and Miraculous, the ancient Roman warrior, around modern-day Bath and ancient Rome. I would recommend this engaging tale to readers of all ages. - PETER STEPHENS - January, 2011

Sujets

• Adventure (Guyana)
• Adventure

Informations

• Publié par: Patricia A. Greenburgh
• Date de parution: 07 novembre 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9780950785738
• Langue: English

Extrait

P ATRICIA A G REENBURGH was born in Hendon, London.
This book is her first venture into the imaginative world of fiction writing. She has had many star letters and articles on wildlife published and has submitted work to Cat World (the wild variety), Writer’s Forum, Bird Keeper, the Cage and Aviary Birds (a weekly paper), Classic FM, Parrot and many other magazines.
Writing is her main interest, but she also loves drawing, painting in oils and watercolours, listening to classical music and travelling to many parts of the world.
She has two sons, David and Mark, and five young grandchildren and is kept busy trying to find time for them all. Reading the works of other authors is also a fulfilling pastime, but above all it is the daily writing and the research involved that she enjoys.
She promises that this is a book for the young at heart and for those who enjoy a little bit of fantasy. She hopes that you will enjoy learning more about the beautiful city of Bath and historic Rome.
MIRACULOUS AND THE SILVER MAN
Patricia A Greenburgh
Contents
DEDICATION
BOOK ONE
SIX MONTHS LATER
BOOK TWO
ROME
BOOK THREE
TWO MONTHS LATER
M IRACULOUS AND THE S ILVER M AN
Copyright and Publisher- Patricia A Greenburgh
2012 London
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
ISBN 978-0-9507857-1-4
I dedicate this book to my two sons, David and Mark, my daughters-in-law, judith and Helen, and my five grandchildren, Georgia, Saul, Olivia, Daniel and Sophie.
BOOK ONE

T HERE was a chill wind in the air and the old roman baths were empty. These noble gentlemen that had frequented the waters had all died out long ago and only the ghost of Miraculous sat with his toga pulled right around his body down to leather-sandalled feet. In his day he was a warrior to surpass any fighting man, such strength and courage was well known among Caesar’s men, but the years in his lifetime rolled by, he only had his memories of battles won and some healing wounds to suffer.
Now, many years later , he sat on a slab of stone remembering his comrades, all ready to conquer lands and do great deeds for their leader. About 2,000 years ago Miraculous stood out from his fellow warriors, six foot four inches tall, with a plumed helmet of flowing feathers which gave him extra height. A bronzed, handsome man, astride a milk-white horse. Who could not gaze in awe at him with his golden hair shining in the sun light, for he looked every bit a conquering general with his ornate sword in its scabbard? He was the top man in Caesar’s army.
The poor, who gathered by the roadside in curiosity, could not take their eyes from his face. He had a kind, fair side and when young woman or children were fleeing from makeshift homes, he would only seek to kill men that could stand up to him in combat. Man to man, in equal strength - Miraculous would slay no weaklings, for this was his way.
One day, a strong but simple blow. As their swords clanked together over and over again, striking out at each other, looking for that vulnerable area of exposed flesh, Miraculous realised he had at last met his match in this fearless youth.
They lunged with such force that their metal blades sang out as each weapon clashed against the other. Soon both men were locked together but one final thrust of his opponent’s sword penetrated Miraculous’ chest. He fell heavily to the ground, blood splattering in all directions, and the mighty warrior took his very last breath.

So now, in the dead of night, a cloaked apparition of a mighty Roman warrior walks through walls in order to secretly watch the busy, open shops of modern times.
It was just before Christmas, so he could look into bright windows and see fir trees bedecked in glittering tinsel, fairy lights of different colours blinking on and off, and he wondered what ‘Early Sale’ meant, a sign in red and white. Walking down the road, Miraculous glanced through some large windows and noted an exotic chandelier, with hundreds of crystal drops, inside a place called the Pump Room, a very unusual restaurant, where healing waters could be purchased to drink - but what was all this to Miraculous?
He floated through a wall and went to the opposite window where he could see the ancient baths again and he noted the contrast of the old to the changed Regency architecture. Hot steam was rising above the walls and this gave the place an eerie atmosphere. The room where he stood was empty and the diners were all at home now. The baby grand piano stood silent on a platform but Miraculous had never seen one before and so wondered what the big, black, polished object was. He lifted the heavy lid and was faced with the white and black keys; he touched middle C, then jumped backward as it sounded clearly. He tried another and another so that he was able to hear the different pitches. Um, this could be a good game, he thought to himself. A tall statue of the architect Beau Nash stood resplendent on a pedestal. Who could this be? thought Miraculous, May be another leader or perhaps just a man wearing fine clothes.
He sat on one of the chairs and contemplated what should be his next move. If only his many friends were still there to keep him company, for this beautiful room was just right for long couches and golden plates piled high with green grapes, juicy peaches, fresh olives and crisp apples. In his mind he remembered the rich wine they drank together, as young maidens saw to their every wish. Plates of sticky dates and shelled walnuts were left on low tables and Miraculous missed the pleasures of vibrant company more than anything in the world - all such good memories of feasting together.
During daylight hours he would sit outside the baths and watch the hundreds of shoppers busy collecting their purchases. He realised that he was completely alone and invisible, but as evening approached he could be seen as a thin outline, a fraction of his bodily appearance, a white toga that floated through the thick walls, arches and locked doors.
How had he come to be here, he wondered, for he had died bravely on a battlefield many years ago.
Miraculous then noticed a statue on the stone steps; a young man, dressed in a silver suit, would stand motionless for hours and shoppers were keen to sit by him. A friend would click a button on a small black box and sometimes a spark of light flashed as Miraculous watched. How happy they seemed to be with this human... Here is someone I would very much like to befriend, he thought.
One night, as Miraculous was gliding through the streets, he heard sobbing and as he peered around a shop front he noticed this very same character wiping silver from his tearstained face. By the young man there rested his silver top hat and shoes as he took off his silvery clothes and pulled on old, pale blue jeans and a thick red sweater. He wiped his tears away and sat for a while with his head in his hands. A few coins lay at his feet, he picked these up and still tears dripped from his eyes. Miraculous was tempted to show himself, but was afraid of the sad man’s reaction.
Calling softly from behind a doorway, he told him not to be scared and that he would like to be his friend. Miraculous explained wearily that he was an old Roman soldier and had, for some unexplained reason, not been allowed to rest in peace, but was under a strange magical spell cast to make him walk the roads and narrow streets of Bath for ever.
‘Can I show myself before you? I can assure you I mean no evil to your person and only seek your friendship’, he said to the silver man. The silver man wiped his tears away, hid his damp handkerchief and replied that he would very much like some friendly company. Soon the two men were sitting side by side on the stone step, making quite a surreal picture. On the one side was the youth, still with a little metallic paint adhering to his young features and by his side, a white-cloaked figure, clutching a toga around his ghostly person.

‘How come you are not with your dead comrades?’ asked the silver man.
‘Well, it is a very strange story,’ said Miraculous. ‘You see I was a general in Caesar’s army and even though my men looked up to me and admired my strictness, there was one that hated me with such venom, one who possessed evil powers. He cast this spell upon me to walk alone to the end of time. I used to live in St Albans, where I had a family of two sons and a daughter. My wife was so beautiful- this was another reason for my enemy to weave his wickedness upon me, for he had fallen deeply in love with her.
‘One day, when an able swordsman struck me down upon a battlefield strewn with the dead and dying, my loyal men collected my white horse, which was fatally injured, my ruined armour, most of which I was still wearing and my broken sword was put to rest in its sheath. A huge funeral was arranged and my enemy saw my lavish farewell as my horse and I were laid to rest in a field full of red poppies and wild flowers. My trusty steed lay by my side with all his finery still upon him, cleaned and polished, to give me company on my last journey to who knows where. What happened to my wife and children after my death I will never know,’ Miraculous told his new friend.
‘Some of the army marched on to Bath,’ he continued, ‘where they had a community that consisted of Roman soldiers, their wives and children. Some had a good life, but by that time I had been slain and so still do not know why I was fated to walk the city of Bath as a ghost, for all of my comrades and their families have now died out for ever,’ related Miraculous. ‘My magnificent white horse was put to rest by my side and I remember him dearly as my faithful steed. Now, tell me, what has happened to you? That is i