‘Still alive, I think. Took a helluva tumble.’
‘He’s not bleeding all over your Jeep is he?’ She laughs.
‘Nah, he’s just a bit bruised and beaten up.’
‘Heard anything from Delta Team yet?’ she asks.
‘Yeah.’ He doesn’t sound too happy.
‘That bad, huh? I’ll see you at the rally point.’
The conversation terminates. Delta Team? Lovell? The museum?
‘It’s okay, kid,’ the man says, placing a hand on my shoulder briefly. ‘You’re safe now. I’ll patch you back together.’
I see stubble and tattoos on his arms; a hard man. I see military clothing and a gun. He’s a soldier and I am his prisoner.
‘Adam Hunter,’ I mumble, barely able to keep my eyes open. ‘Student. Six six six.’
‘Very funny, kid,’ the man replies, though he doesn’t smile. ‘Name, rank, and serial number. That’s good. I ain’t your captor though.’
‘Matt? Where’s Matt?’ I manage to ask before the darkness takes me again.
10
CENTURION MARCUS AURELIUS—Oceanus
It is thirty-three days since the hilltop battle that we near the southern coast. We have been ever cautious of discovery by patrol and legion during our march. Twenty-eight of my brothers march with me; some through loyalty, some through not knowing what else to do, others just wanting to abandon this accursed ever-cold, ever-wet land where we witnessed enough blood and death for a lifetime. I march for all of it and more, knowing that the only family I have left in the world await me in Rome.
It is thirty-three days of marching before my command is questioned.
‘Marcus, are you sure we’re headed in the right direction?’ Legionary Molenus murmurs. He is a wretch of a man; scarred face, foul stench, rotten teeth and always eager to moan and complain when opportunity arises.
‘That’s Centurion Aurelius to you,’ Optio Acer Xarox replies gruffly.
Acer is the eldest of the survivors; brutish, taller and stronger than all the rest. At the legatus’s orders he trained me in combat, hardened me into a soldier that could stand with the rest of the legion. It is thanks to him I now have the respect of the men, and more importantly, I still draw breath. I raised him to the rank of optio, second in command, not one man daring to question or rebel against his orders. He is loyal to a fault and I am grateful he stands at my side.
‘Centurion Aurelius,’ Molenus replies, contempt in his tone. ‘Are you sure we’re marching the right way?’
‘Do you usually question your commander?’ I say without looking back to the man. ‘Yes, we are still marching south. Another day or two and we will reach the coast.’
‘And then where?’ he speaks out again.
‘Molenus,’ Acer growls.
‘Seriously, where to then?’ the legionary continues. ‘This boy going to march us all the way back to Rome?’
‘He is your Centurion…’ Acer begins to shout back at the man, before I call a halt to our march.
Though I feel a nervous fear clench tight within me, I must cease his dissent before it spreads through the rest of the men. This is the first challenge to my command with no superior to assert their influence. I cannot let Acer deal with the man as that would just show cowardice to some. I must do this alone.
I pace back through my command until I face him, looking Molenus straight in the eyes.
‘And what do you propose, Legionary?’ I demand in as firm a voice as I can muster.
‘We sail for Sardinia or Sicilia,’ he says, eyeing me coldly and without respect. ‘Plenty of fertile lands – and women, if you get my meaning?’ He lowers his voice so only I can hear, ‘Perhaps being so young, you don’t, virgin!’
‘Sardinia or Sicilia?’ I question, ignoring his taunt. ‘With you at command I suppose?’
‘Better than a jumped up boy,’ he sneers. I feel it then, fear fading, fire in its place.
‘You…’ Acer rages, stepping forward to attack the man.
‘Stand firm, Optio,’ I order, ceasing his approach before he can reach Molenus. My eyes do not look away from my challenger. ‘Call me boy again,’ I say, the fire within growing, raging free.
‘Bo…’
He never finishes the word. My fist strikes below his jaw, sending the wretch crashing to the ground. I strike him twice more as he tries to rise, stopping only when the man is spitting his own teeth to the dirt. Not a single brother of the legion steps forward to support Molenus and I feel their eyes watching me in awe.
‘You men,’ I address them all, fists glistening with the blood of Molenus. ‘You soldiers of Rome. You swore oaths, sacramentum. You could have stayed with Decimo and the others but you followed me. You are still legionnaires. The legion still lives as long as we draw breath. We will return to Rome and honour our fallen, our brothers who fought and died so that we may live on. Our brothers, who came back from the afterlife to ensure the survival of this legion.’
I wait a few moments, giving chance for the words to sink in.
‘Do any of you, like this man here, disagree?’
Not a word is spoken by anyone.
‘And what of you, Molenus?’ I ask, looking down on him.
‘No, Centurion Aurelius,’ Molenus replies. He staggers to stand, wiping blood from his mouth. In his gaze I do not see anger or contempt. His eyes are forward and steady. In a way, he is reassured – almost pleased that I have put him in his place. He spits blood to the ground and grins at me once before standing at attention, the rest of the men ready to march.
‘Legion, forward!’ Acer orders.
As the optio passes me, I see the hint of a smile on his lips; possibly pride. I look to the rest of the men and see the same on all their faces, even Molenus now.
I wait until they all march beyond me before raising my bloodied hands from behind my back. Out of sight of the rest I see how they tremble. The tremors only cease when I form them into fists.
I am Centurion now.
Two days later, we are at sea. I detest being at sea. On the voyage across to Britannia, I spent most of it vomiting my guts up over the side, wishing the oceans would swallow me up just to cease the nightmare. This time, though, I am able to hold my stomach, despite rough seas and endless storms.
At the southern coast, we found supply ships at moor, providing food, weaponry, and reinforcements to the other legions. With the legatus’s gold, I bartered passage for all of us across the waters, back towards the ports of Rome. It took more coin than I’d hoped, and it was only thanks to the legatus’s mark that we were not branded deserters and traitors for fleeing our legion. Cursed threats and a waving blade added to convincing the ship’s captain, especially when he did not believe I stand as Centurion – too young in years by his thoughts.
On board the ship, the men struggle, the waves churn their stomachs; the water is unnatural for soldiers who have spent their lifetimes marching and fighting upon earth. Thankfully, it is not difficult to keep order among them in such cramped conditions, even without the legatus’s command. There has been no more resistance to my command. Even Molenus has stayed silent, although the missing teeth might be the cause of that – that and his injured pride. All they want is to be off the ship.
The men mostly sleep; they are still recovering, some still struggling with wounds received in battle. The thing that makes them most uneasy, even more so than the punishing storms, is the sight of the Eagle, bound in rags for concealment. No one risks approaching it. No other would carry it and so it was left to me – though I do not dare to place a hand upon it.
No one has, not since the incident – the one that none of the men have spoken of since. Some fool took hold of it, lifting it high in attempt to command the gods. No holy might was bestowed on him except for fire. His ashes joined those of our brothers. Perhaps he was not worthy of such power – only our late legatus was worthy to commune with the gods.
‘How long will the march be from port, Sir
?’ Optio Acer asks.
‘Depends where we make land in Gallia,’ I reply wearily. My own wounds are still healing from the battle, and our long march has taken its toll. ‘If the gods be with us then we will be able to gain passage to Rome by horse or cart.’
‘Anything to save marching again.’ He laughs heavily. ‘When was the last time you saw your wife?’
‘Too long ago. I left her on the steps of the senate before we marched in honour to begin our campaign.’ I linger on the memory, remembering her beauty and her voice as it called out to me.
Lucilla and I had loved each other since we were children, but we married just the day before I swore my oaths to the legion and set out for Britannia. Memories of her tears cut me sharper than any blade, but I had no choice. Without a coin to my name, we had no promise of a life for us together if I did not leave. She said she understood, but in those last looks, I saw her pain – part of her thought I was leaving her forever.
‘I long to see what Rome has to offer,’ Acer says cheerily. ‘I have heard much. I’m eager to savour its many pleasures.’
‘Wine and women!’ one eavesdropper cheerfully offers. ‘You’ll find plenty of both true enough.’ He is a merchant, given the amount of jewellery he wears. He is sweating profusely through his colourful robes. He lets out a belly laugh and wags his finger ‘Be careful though. The city is its own beast.’
‘As any city is!’ I bark back at him with annoyance. I take an immediate dislike to the man.
‘You misunderstand me, Centurion,’ he says. My curiosity is piqued by the slightest trace of fear in his voice. ‘I speak of the lawlessness; the abandonment of its people. It is hell infected by a plague of villainy.’
‘That is Rome, you fool,’ one of my men mocks him. ‘It took us from our homes, dragged us halfway round the world to fight, to claim land and glories in honour of the great empire.’
The man quietens as my gaze falls upon him. ‘What villainy do you speak of?’ I ask the merchant. His disloyalty has angered me.
The merchant snorts. He is not intimidated by me. He is firm in his convictions. ‘The villainy of the state. Her people are without food, the waters polluted, the drinking wells run dry. Soldiers steal whatever they want – daughters and wives included. Beggars and cripples are kicked into the gutter. The senate has abandoned all; the emperor focuses his power on conquering the lands of all the world, but he isn’t able to care for the people under his care. Blood and riches are all he seeks. The whole of Rome is monument to his vanity.
‘Hush your tongue, fool,’ Optio Acer curses the man, ‘or I will remove it from you.’ He pushes the merchant hard into the far wall of the vast cabin. ‘Do not speak of Emperor Vespasian as such. ‘The gods strike you down for your heresy.’
The merchant retreats. He is shaken.
I wait as the voices calm, the men returning to slumber, dice, and disgruntled words again. They unearth a small cask of wine from somewhere in their provisions, raising it high and drinking deep. Anything to forget the voyage.
‘To Emperor Vespasian!’ they cry in cheers, looking to provoke the merchant, but he says nothing from his corner.
‘To our centurion!’ commands Acer. ‘Who we’d follow to the gates of hell if he commanded!’
The men roar in agreement but I ignore them. At least their spirits are raised. It does not take long for the cask to empty, and then they sleep.
I approach the merchant, who now dares not sleep for the rest of the voyage for fear of being murdered in his sleep. ‘Calm yourself,’ I say, seeing fear still grips him.
‘Apologies,’ he mumbles. ‘I did not mean to draw your men’s anger,’ he says with quivering lips.
‘The Emperor Vespasian? You truly see him as tyrant?’
‘How long since you were last home, Centurion?’
‘It must be near three years by now. Honestly, I have lost track of the days.’
‘The emperor and Rome are not what they once were. I fled not just from the fear, or the riots from the poor and hungry, but the emperor himself. Men, women, and even children are crucified; not just errant slaves but citizens – and not for terrible crimes, but for the slightest misdeed. Now, please, I can speak no more of it. I have said too much already.’
As the merchant takes his leave, climbing up towards the deck of the ship, my eyes wander to the far corner of the cabin. There the Eagle stands. I cannot help but wonder whether returning it to the emperor’s hands would be a curse upon us all. He was, after all, the man who murdered his predecessor.
11
ADAM—Still no idea. SOMEWHERE WITH STUPIDLY bright lights.
I wake, almost blinded by a pounding head. At first, I fear it is car headlights, but as my senses return I realise I’m far from the road and the cars that chased me. A heart monitor beeps steadily near my head. The room is white and sterile. Empty except for me. Most of what I see looks like a hospital, but there’s something wrong; there are no doctors, nurses, or other patients anywhere to be seen - just four white walls and a door. My left arm is in a sling and there are bandages wrapped around my forehead. My mouth is dry. I’ve never been so thirsty.
‘Hello,’ I call out with a hoarse voice, but there is no reply. ‘Hello!’
A security camera hangs in the corner of the room, silent and unmoving, its lens focussed on me. It doesn’t have a light and it doesn’t move. In my right arm is an intravenous drip secured just below the crease of my elbow. I almost vomit at just the thought of it, let alone the sight of it. I hate needles.
I scan the room again. My clothes are missing but worse still, my rucksack, which contains Matt’s journal, is nowhere to be seen.
Pulling the intravenous drip from my arm, purposely looking away as I do it, I swing my legs off the bed. The floor is surprisingly cold. Then the crash comes back.
I’ve been captured and brought here, wherever here is. Torture and interrogation await me, I am sure.
‘Matt’s here,’ I whisper.
Pulling on a set of doctors’ scrubs I find in a cabinet during my search for anything to use as a weapon, I then try the door and am surprised when it is unlocked. Opening it leads to a long corridor and more rooms like the ones I woke in. They are all empty, filled with medical equipment but nothing more. They are all dimly lit as there are no windows.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ a voice echoes through the corridors, a faint Irish accent in her tone. The voice stops me, but when I search for the source of it, there is no one to be seen.
‘Who are you?’ I ask, but there’s no reply.
I walk on until I come to a window that reveals a gym with full assault course; beams, obstacles, cargo nets, things that would all look more at home on a military training base. I’m quickly coming to believe that this isn’t a hospital – not in the usual sense. Everywhere is deserted, but that doesn’t mean I am alone – eyes are on me, I’m certain. At the end of the corridor is a door, which leads onto a stairwell.
‘I wouldn’t go there if I were you,’ the voice returns to taunt. This time I see the source. Just below the security camera, positioned up in the far corner of the hallway, is a speaker. I see no microphone on the camera, so I give it a one-fingered salute.
‘That wasn’t very nice,’ the voice says, imitating hurt feelings. ‘Such gratitude after all the medical attention and care we’ve given you.’
I repeat the gesture.
The door to the stairwell is locked shut, and without my picks, I resort to striking the lock five times with a fire extinguisher hanging nearby.
‘Don’t hurt yourself.’ The voice laughs. This camera follows my movements. After another dozen strikes, she speaks again. ‘Look, if you want to get to the stairs that bad, I’ll open the door. All you had to do was ask.’
An electronic hum sounds and the door opens, revealing the stairwell beyond. Inside there are signs leading up to the ground floor several levels above, and down for operations and numerous containment & stor
age levels. This facility, whatever it is, is underground.
I have to look for Matt. I can’t leave if there is a chance that he could be here. I walk down towards containment, guessing Matt might be imprisoned there.
‘Closer,’ the female voice encourages me from cameras on the walls of the stairwell. ‘Closer.’
We’re playing a game, but I’m not in the mood.
As I pass the operations floor, she speaks again. ‘Close, but not close enough. You definitely shouldn’t go any further. I’d turn back now if I was you.’
‘Not a chance,’ I say as I reach the containment & storage floors.
The door unlocks before I can touch it. I open the door, fully expecting to find iron bars and jail cells. Instead, I find myself in a dark room, surrounded by glass cabinets.
‘You shouldn’t be in here, kid,’ a northern accent admonishes from across the room.
Unable to see the man and expecting it to be another speaker, I reply, ‘Who says?’
I’m startled when I’m suddenly grabbed. ‘I do,’ he says.
‘I tried to warn you,’ the disembodied woman’s voice is laced with laughter.
Instincts kick in. I twist away from the man’s grasp and strike his arm at the elbow, loosening his grip and then kicking him away.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ a woman says, approaching me. Without warning, she lunges her deceptively slight form towards me; she is fast and agile. Too fast. Two, three, four times she strikes me with her fists and kicks before I can react, and I stagger back in a daze.
‘C’mon, give me a challenge,’ she goads. She is enjoying this.
‘Enough! Where am I? Where is my brother?’
She doesn’t answer; she’s still looking for a fight, but this time I am ready. I charge forwards, catching her unexpectedly and slamming her into the far wall.
‘That’s more like it,’ she says before twisting her way free from my grasp. She kicks out the back of my knee and I lose balance. She lands hard on top of me and pins me down, resting the sharp tip of a blade on my throat.
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