Eagle of the Empire

by Martin Ferguson

  I stop as I see the chief of security realise who I mean. They have been found.

  ‘Are they okay?’ I ask.

  ‘I do not know.’

  I look past her, seeing paramedics carry a body into an ambulance. I recognise the red and purple hair instantly, an oxygen mask over her face.

  ‘She is alive, but…’ the chief of security tells me.

  ‘You need to let me go,’ I tell her, trying to free myself and reach Emma. ‘We tried to stop what happened here.’

  She fixes me with a hard glare, but eventually relents, releasing me.

  ‘Go,’ she says. ‘Stop those who did this. Stop whoever shot my men.’

  ‘I will,’ I swear, but no sooner have I stepped away do I see the ambulance has already departed. There are still police all around me, and to my alarm, one of them looks my way, seeing my injuries.

  Shouts and warnings in Italian are yelled at me but I don’t stop nor wait for them to arrest me. I run as fast as my beaten body will take me, reaching the nearest vehicle, a police motorbike. The keys are thankfully in the ignition already and its engine roars to life as the police begin to circle me. I charge them, not releasing the throttle until I am clear.

  It doesn’t take them long to continue their pursuit; cars, motorbikes, and even the helicopter again as I weave through the streets of Rome. Any injuries, doubts, or fear are forgotten. All I must do is escape. The crowds help, despite it now being late evening and the streets still being busy. I don’t slow, hurtling over pedestrian side-walks and down stone steps where my pursuers can’t follow. Each time I think I have lost them, the sirens suddenly grow and the flashing lights appear nearer.

  I think of Dave, likely captured by the police, and Emma taken to a hospital. I failed them. I have to escape for them, to free them. It’s my fault. I led them here and I abandoned them. I was not worthy.

  I hurtle into a congested highway, narrowly avoiding the speeding traffic and death a fair few times. Behind me, I hear crashing metal and glass as one of the police cars ploughs headlong into a truck.

  I exit the motorway and enter a construction yard, the workers shouting at me to stop. Hurtling on, I aim for the far road, evading the towering cranes and diggers, crashing through the gates as the police struggle to follow. Like me, they have to dodge the construction vehicles, the worker crews, and the vast massive machinery; two cars are lost in the chaos of the yard.

  Crossing parks and storming through tourist-heavy districts, gathered around statues, fountains, and other attractions, I lose more of the police in the chase. I only lose the helicopter once I am amongst the buildings. I ditch the bike once I know I am hidden amongst crowds of shoppers.

  I travel deeper into Rome, listening and looking for any sign of my pursuers, but none comes.

  ‘Are you… Are you clear?’ Abbey’s voice asks once I finally stop.

  ‘I think so,’ I say. The only sirens are far in the distance, their noise growing more distant.

  ‘What happened in there?’ she asks. ‘When Makov approached you, we lost all visual and audio. He did something to our comms. The glasses should have been shielded against any attempt to disrupt their functions, but we lost all contact. I had to change to a completely different frequency and bounce reception off a dozen other satellites just to get partial communications back. What happened down there? What happened with Makov?’

  ‘He beat the crap out of me,’ I state, collapsing down onto a bench near a flowing fountain. ‘That was fun, as was evading the entire police force of Rome.’ I try to force a laugh but cough from the attempt, my whole body hurting at once.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asks, concerned.

  ‘Not sure,’ I say, feeling a sudden sharp pain in my hand and seeing a deep cut across the palm, a piece of glass still embedded.

  I pull the rucksack from my shoulders, drawing more discomfort, and take out a bandage from the first aid kit. I let out a quiet roar as I pull the shard of glass free of my hand, drawing more blood from the wound. I clean it up and wrap the bandage tightly around my hand. I know there are more wounds; cuts, scrapes, and countless bruises, but most will just need time to recover and heal.

  ‘Where’s Dave?’ I ask. ‘Did he get away?’

  ‘They have him,’ Abbey says after a pause, more a sob than an answer.

  ‘The police?’

  ‘No. Leon, Bishop, Makov. They have him,’ she says, and I can tell she is crying. ‘The last I heard was their voices as they beat him, the savages. Then all communication was lost.’

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she struggles to say before another voice speaks over the headset.

  ‘Mr Hunter,’ Charles suddenly addresses me, tone devoid of all emotion. ‘I am advising you to get the next flight back to England. This is too dangerous and I was wrong to send you out there. I will dispatch one of our other teams to Rome immediately. Gabriel or someone…’

  ‘By the time they get here, it will be too late,’ I say back. ‘Besides, that drunkard wouldn’t help anyway. He had his chance. I promised I’d find Matt and bring him home. I promised that to my family and to the girl carrying his child.’

  ‘You should not make promises you cannot hope to keep, Mr Hunter,’ Charles replies coldly.

  I take off the glasses, angry with them, myself, everyone.

  ‘I need time to think,’ I speak into the glasses before closing them down.

  I am on my own and have no idea where Matt’s captors are. They want the Eagle, and based on what they did today, they will kill to seize it. The only option I have is to beat them to finding the Eagle and force them to release Matt and Dave.

  Makov’s words of power come to mind. Power and glory.

  What if the centurion feared giving such power over to a man who was already emperor? An emperor known for his tyranny. What if, as punishment for not producing the Eagle, the emperor condemned the legion to fight on the sands of the arena? Sounds plausible. As proven by the walls within the Colosseum, he claimed his victory and returned to his family in Pompeii. If he truly returned to that city, there is a strong chance he was caught in the doom that claimed the lives of its citizens, the infamous event forever remembered for all of history.

  An idea comes to mind and I recover the glasses.

  ‘Abbey, tell me all you can about the bodies recovered after the destruction of Pompeii.’

  She is silent for a moment, likely pulling herself together before beginning her explanation. Images of Pompeii and its ruin appear in the lenses.

  ‘In 79 AD, Mount Vesuvius erupted, engulfing the city of Pompeii in fire and ash. Only fragmentary skeletal remains were found, filling hollow spaces within the hardened volcanic debris, revealing the forms of many deceased Romans. Suffocated by volcanic gasses and covered in flames, ash, and debris, their bodies eventually decayed inside the hardening matter, but the ash held their form, encasing their likeness forever.’

  ‘Where are the recovered remains stored?’ I ask.

  ‘There are small collections all over the world,’ Abbey says. ‘The largest by far is located in the museums within the Vatican.’

  ‘What are you thinking, Mr Hunter?’ Charles asks.

  ‘The only way Matt and Dave will be released is if we have what Makov wants,’ I tell them.

  ‘The Eagle,’ Abbey and Charles say in unison.

  ‘Exactly,’ I reply. ‘If the centurion still had it in his possession, he wouldn’t have been in Rome, he would’ve been in Pompeii when Mount Vesuvius blew. Our only chance of finding the Eagle is with the remains of those lost among the fire and ash. I need to search the Vatican and any other places where the remains are stored.’

  ‘Would the fires not have destroyed the Eagle?’ Charles asks.

  ‘I don’t know – but let’s hope they didn’t,’ I say. ‘Besides, if the myths about it casting down fire and lightning and raising the dead are true, who knows what else is possible?’

 
‘The museums will be closed by now but we can contact the owners in the morning and try to make arrangements for viewing,’ Abbey suggests.

  ‘It can’t wait until then,’ I reply with haste. ‘We have to begin our search now.’

  ‘This is ludicrous, Mr Hunter,’ Charles tells me. ‘I know you are desperate to find your brother but you will not gain his freedom by investigating the barest of leads, relying on chance more than evidence.’

  ‘What other choice do I have?’ I yell into the headset. ‘Makov has my brother. They have Dave. They have the same information we do and could be heading for the Eagle as we speak. If the Eagle can do all the legends say it can, do you really want it to fall into Makov’s hands?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Charles states firmly.

  ‘You have two choices,’ I tell them. ‘Either you help me find the bloody Eagle and free Matt and Dave, or I take off this headset and do it on my own.’

  ‘You want to infiltrate the Vatican?’ Charles asks after a moment of silence. ‘You want to infiltrate one of the most heavily guarded structures in the world? In the very heart of Rome it is its own country, possessing its own army and is home to the Pope himself. You are certain this is what you want to do?’

  ‘Yes,’ I tell him with absolute certainty.

  ‘And what if Makov is already there?’ Charles asks.

  ‘Abbey, the pendant on his chain,’ I say.

  ‘What about it?’ she asks back.

  ‘It glowed when he summoned the blue flames.’

  ‘It could be the source of his power, as I suspected before,’ she says.

  ‘And if I destroy it?’

  ‘It could level the playing field.’

  This at least gives me a plan of attack next time I face him. There is silence until Abbey’s voice finally returns.

  ‘Okay then,’ she says, a tremor in her tone. ‘Breaking into the Vatican.’

  ‘Cursum perficio,’ I say.

  ‘Latin?’ Abbey questions. ‘It means I finish the journey?’

  ‘It’s the Hunter family motto,’ I reply. ‘We see it as I finish the race, but journey seems more fitting.’

  ‘You are full of surprises, Adam,’ Abbey remarks.

  ‘Now it’s up to you,’ Charles says. ‘Finish the journey that your brother began. Bring him home.’

  ‘I need to visit one place first,’ I tell her. ‘I need you to give me a location.’

  30

  MARCUS AURELIUS—Rome

  With coin from victories, and gifted by the emperor himself, I walk free of the ludis after over two years under its roof, three since I last fought the Britons. Sheathed next to the gladius I carried onto the Colosseum’s sands is my rudis, the wooden sword engraved with my triumphs. I still bear Hader’s Dominus mark of H upon my wrist, but my rudis is proof that I now live free.

  Hader offered me vast amounts of coin and titles to fight for him or be doctore to other recruits and pass on my skills in combat, but no reward could sway mind. I set course for the embrace of my loving wife – but there is one task in Rome left to me.

  Returning, I can see how much it has changed already under the reign of Emperor Titus. The streets are clean, people are walking freely. The tyranny of Vespasian is already fading into memory. Titus was right, he is not his father. Perhaps if he were emperor when I first returned with my brothers of the legion then we would not have been cast to ruin and myself enslaved. No one can tell how the mind can be swayed by power. It is that power that I must retrieve.

  Beneath an orange tree on the banks of the River Tiber, in distant view of the Campus Maritius, I dig. I cannot bring myself to look upon the camp; the memory of the lash and my crucified brothers is still fresh in my memory despite the passage of years. I dig with bare hands until I feel it, bundled in the same cloth as it was since Britannia, buried to keep it out of Vespasian’s hands. Perhaps I should have let him have it. My legion would still live, my wife would be at my side, and I would not have had to endure slavery or the horrors of the arena. Perhaps I should have given it to him and saw him burn as it had the crazed Briton. Only the worthy, as the men of the legion had said.

  Unfurling the cloth, I see the bronze still shining, but I dare not place a hand upon the staff or wings. I’m almost tempted to throw it in the river, but I cannot, fearful of discovery, washed-up on banks downstream. What I will do with it? I do not know, but it cannot remain within reach of those who might wield it in anger or for ill purpose. It must come with me. My path is set for Pompeii and its port, where Lucilla waits for me. Then we shall take to lands beyond the reach of Rome. We. I can scarcely believe it.

  31

  ADAM—Salvator Mundi International Hospital. Rome, Italy

  There is one police officer at the door but he doesn’t look at my bruised and battered face; he only sees the white doctor’s coat I stole. Stepping aside from the door as I approach, I nod a thank you, knowing my awful accent and attempt at Italian would easily give me away.

  Inside the room, I see her with her eyes closed, an oxygen mask over her face, and her leg heavily bandaged and raised in a sling. Her skin is pale, especially against her red and purple hair, an effect of the heavy blood loss. She looks almost at peace, a far cry from the terror I saw in her eyes at the Colosseum. I look at her chart, as any doctor would, just in case the policeman is checking on me. A heart monitor beeps steadily in the corner; the room is silent but for the machine.

  ‘Please tell me you’re not my doctor,’ Emma says, lifting down the oxygen mask, startling me and making me drop her notes. ‘If you are I am definitely going to lose the leg.’

  ‘Good to see your cheerful attitude remains intact,’ I reply, taking the seat next to her bed.

  ‘The coat?’

  ‘A doctor Sch…Schmo…Schmal…something,’ I say, failing to read the ID badge on the coat. ‘How’s the leg?’

  ‘It hurts,’ she says, wincing as she shifts in the bed. ‘Painkillers help though. Where am I?’

  ‘Salvator Mundi International Hospital,’ I tell her.

  ‘Still in Rome?’ she asks, speech slow and almost slurred, the painkillers taking their effect.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Where’s Dave?’ she asks.

  ‘Keeping watch outside,’ I lie, knowing the truth would only worry her.

  ‘What happened to you?’ she asks, seeing the damage to my face.

  ‘You should see the other guy,’ I reply.

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘Vladimir Makov,’ I say, before lying again. ‘Don’t worry, I won.’

  ‘You look it.’ She laughs gently. ‘The wall in the Colosseum, did you find it? Do you know where the Eagle is?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. I’m going after it but I had to see you first, to make sure you’re okay.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Emma replies, a smile at her lips for a moment.

  ‘It’s nothing…’ I begin to say before she stops me.

  ‘No, thank you, for what you did in there. The flames… the fire… I wouldn’t have escaped without you.’

  She winces then, the pain in her leg striking and she grabs my hand, squeezing it hard. I don’t let go. She looks to me and our eyes lock for a moment, before hers begin to close from exhaustion, blood loss, and the painkillers.

  ‘You need to rest,’ I tell her. ‘Sleep and recover.’

  ‘Find it, Adam,’ she says, her words becoming more distant the more she speaks. ‘Find the Eagle. Save Matt. Make them pay for this.’

  ‘I will, Emma,’ I promise.

  ‘Call me Em,’ she says with a smile on her lips, still gripping my hand. ‘Go get them, Hunter.’

  She winces again as she moves her leg to get comfortable, eyes heavy and closing.

  ‘Stay with me…’ she whispers.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I say, holding her hand tight as sleep finally takes her.

  I wait there a few minutes in silence, simply sitting with her, holding her hand tightly. I don’t w
ant to go. I don’t want to leave her, but I know I must. I have to save the others.

  ‘Go get them, Hunter.’ The words ring in my head.

  ‘Sleep well, Em,’ I whisper, gently placing a kiss on her forehead as I let go of her hand.

  32

  ADAM—Rome, Italy, five yards from the Vatican

  ‘You and me brother,’ I whisper, thinking of Matt. ‘What the hell have you gotten me into?’

  I can’t stop, not now. Injured, alone, I only have this chance to save him.

  ‘Only an hour until dawn, Adam,’ Abbey tells me over the headset. ‘Two max.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Why are you up on a roof, Mr Hunter?’ Charles asks me.

  ‘It helps me think,’ I reply, gazing out towards St Peter’s Square, the Basilica, and the Vatican beyond.

  ‘Waiting for the painkillers to kick in?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Why it’s known as a square is beyond me as the columns and their adjoined roof form an almost perfect circle, leading to St Peter’s Basilica at its tip.

  The Basilica is one of the largest churches in the world, known as one of the holiest Catholic sites. Its vast dome is visible for miles. Though it’s the middle of the night, the square and Basilica are illuminated brilliantly by hundreds of lights, giving the area a look of divinity. Just past the Basilica is the rest of the Vatican, including the museums I must reach.

  Charles’ voice breaks my thoughts. ‘As soon as you cross that street, you will no longer be in Italy. Technically, you will be in a completely different country, beholden to their rules, regulations, and laws. If captured, the British Museum will be forced to deny all knowledge of you. You will be on your own.’

  ‘It’s good to know you have my back,’ I reply.

  ‘In short, don’t get yourself caught,’ he says.

  ‘Charles, I’ve got to ask something before we begin,’ I say.

  ‘Ask away, Mr Hunter. This may be the last chance you get to.’