Definitely of Roman origin, though he’d have to do a bit of research to pinpoint the exact area. Still, it was a heckuva find, especially in a Wyoming antique shop. He’d dropped in thinking they would still have that Civil War sword he’d seen in the window a few weeks ago. They didn’t—it’d been sold only a few days earlier—but this piece, newly acquired, had caught his eye. A bit of haggling and the promise of a lead if he found anything interesting—it helped to know the shop’s owner—and he was in possession of a Roman gladiator’s sword. It’d round out his collection nicely. How many swords does a guy need? The sarcastic and catty question from his last boyfriend still echoed in Gabriel’s mind. He surveyed the wall in his basement displaying several choice pieces. A man had to have hardware. Lovingly, Gabriel caressed the hilt once more, then curled his fingers around the grip. He immediately took up a guarded stance, blade held at the ready. “For Caesar!”
