I held my head and tried to see a horse.
His had bolted. It was running wildly across the land, a dark shadow already far.
I sat down, cursed, and held my head.
Far across the land, dogs were barking, and horns blowing, and I knew the Dacians were sacking the castra, and some likely already moving this way. Decibalus would, unless the other legion was far closer than it was, hurry, and all I had to do was to wait.
And then, my plans for letting Tiberius and Sejanus fight over Rome were twisted into a knot, for Lok had a better way, and I knew he had to be involved, for there, in the middle of nothing, I met a plague even worse than Sejanus and Tiberius, and that plague would make my revenge on Rome far more terrible anyone of my friends had imagined.
I sat there, until I heard a noise.
It was not the sound of Roman cavalry, or Dacian scouts.
A rider was coming, on a wagon. It was driving wildly, and I heard calls of men. They were distraught and horrified, and then I saw a moving mass of an ornate benna in the light of the Mani.
A man was sitting on a driver’s seat, hunched low. Another man was on his knees, holding on with dear life, aiming a spear.
Two Dacians were riding around it, whipping their horses, and howling.
One tossed a javelin, that struck the soldier with a spear, but the soldier tossed his back and took down a man.
Far away, more Dacians were riding. I could hear their calls.
I put a hand on the grass, found the falx there, and making up my mind, I hopped up, lifted my terrifying weapon, and struck on the lead horse.
The blade struck the horse’s leg, a blurry display of movement, and the falx was ripped from my hands. A leg was flying past my face.
The beast fell, and the wagon crashed into it, and over it, and I had to backpedal to see myself to safety.
The benna was on its side.
The dust was settling as the Dacian, grinning at me, was jumping on the side of the wagon from his horse. He was ripping open the doorway, and then dodged, as a spear struck up past his face.
Then he casually struck down with his, and a man howled.
He reached down and grasped inside, and I picked up my falx and looked up at him.
“There were,” he was muttering with a terrible Germani accent, “few of these wagons. Few. Full of high and mightiness from Rome. Likely got lost from the legion, eh? The rest kept their head, and their guards did too, but this one took off. Come to see a bit of war, eh, young master? You’ll see war, all right.” He pulled out a boy I had saved, and spoken with, once.
Out came Gaius, Caligula, son of Germanicus, and I guessed Tiberius had set the male brood of dead Germanicus north to be rid of their presence in Rome, to teach them something of war, but mostly to keep them out of sight.
He was wearing a childish cingulum belt, military one over his toga. His boots were of military issue, and his hair a brush of delicate blond streams, now dusty. His eyes were wide with horror, and then I felt Lok’s touch, and I suddenly knew I could yet win.
Better, I could possibly do even more harm to Rome.
It all came to me in an eyeblink. Instead of war between Sejanus and Tiberius, I could set up a madman, a true madman on the throne.
I thought deep, and then I stepped closed to receive the boy, and the man tossed him down at me. Caligula shrieked, and I grabbed him from the air. The Dacian jumped down.
He laughed and reached for the boy. “We did good, he is—”
I hacked the man down and jumped on his skittish horse. I kicked the horse and rode to the darkness, and turning around, I saw a horde of Dacians circling the wagon.
I stopped eventually, on a field of mud, surrounded by woods.
I looked down at Caligula, and he was still, like carried by a ghost.
In the end, he whispered, “It is you.”
“It is I,” I said. “Again. Aye.”
“You saved me once. And then, they told me you are Brennus,” he whispered. “The man who called me a god.”
I grinned. “I have learnt a lot of gods, lately. Aye, it is I.”
“And you are here?” he wondered. “How? You died? I saw you die!”
“I don’t die like most men,” I said vehemently. “I can only die in peace, when Rome is ruled by a god. They told me this, the other gods, before they sent me back. It is the destiny of Rome to be ruled by one of theirs, or it shall perish.”
He was staring at me, and then I stopped and let him down.
He was staring up at me, at a deadly man, and perhaps not a man at all, and he was shaking.
He cleared his throat. “We were going to see Drusus. Is he alive?”
I shrugged. “He likely is. He is, unfortunately.”
He frowned with disapproval. “That is not right. He is a hasty man, I know. He struck Sejanus the other week. Hard. It made me happy. I do not like Sejanus. You sound like you wish him dead.” He squinted. “Shall I call you Brennus?”
I rode around him. “Raven is my name, young Gaius, as long as you never say the name to anyone. You may call me what you will to my face, young god. Raven. I am Raven.”
He looked immensely pleased and then frowned and looked down to his toes. “But a god, surely, would not fear this much.”
“Gods fear most of all,” I said with sympathy. “They must play the greatest of games and have the most to lose. A mortal lives and dies and is gone. A god?” I shook my head. “He might lose a lot more than a mortal, worthless life. And gods, I tell you young man, all see Rome crumbling. When I died, when the mallet crushed my head,” I said, and touched my skull gingerly, grimacing like the very best actor, “and I walked the gray lands by the black river, I saw them, envious, quarreling, and all prayed you would survive, and save Rome.”
“I?” he whispered.
“You,” I said, and stopped the horse. “I came back to find you. To guide you. To guard you. To recommend you to be bold, but careful. To grow strong, without looking strong. To be submissive rather than arrogant and offensive, and to be clever enough to endure for years in the terrible Rome what is to come. In the end, you will rule Rome, but only if you learn to be a fox, rather than the wolf you clearly are. Your father’s son you are, but also, of the seed of the gods.”
I watched him and saw the glorious look of greed, and of pride, in that monstrously pretty face.
Madness.
You could almost smell it.
You could taste it in the tip of your tongue.
It was there, in his eyes, and the nervous twitch of his fingers spoke volumes of his desires. “Of what god am I?”
“Juppiter,” I whispered, and bowed my head. “His seed. Part of him.”
“What should I do?” he asked. “For I, of Juppiter’s blood himself, would rule Rome well, indeed. And I know, I do understand there are people who would kill me, before I can,” he whispered.
I smiled. “Who?”
“Tiberius. The old vixen, Livia,” he whispered. “They are not friends to my family. Mother fears them, hopes to marry to find some protection. She is not allowed. I fear them.”
“Anyone else?” I asked.
He was looking at his small hands, and nodding. “And there is, of course, Drusus. He is dull, but not his wife. Ambitious one. Livilla, she is devious one. She has an eye for…did you know she is Sejanus’s lover? I saw them once, in a garden, and he was between her legs. I doubt he fell there by accident.”
“Only a god might see something like that,” I whispered. “You are right. Livilla is dangerous. Drusus, too.”
Was that true? Sejanus had seduced her? Sejanus was moving, then. In the shadows.
I would help him.
All the way to grave.
“And there are…” he whispered. “Many others…of course. You are right. Who else? There is that Sejanus.”
“Him,” I whispered, “you must make an ally.”
He looked at me, shocked. “I hate him.”
I made a throat slitting motion.
He blinked. “How? It seems so hard. I don’t want to—”
“First,” I said, “you must kill.”
He stared at me, absolutely still.
He was just a child.
But this child did not cry at the notion of taking a life.
“I killed a dog once,” he whispered.
I grinned. “We don’t want to kill a pet dog, or a cat this time. Nothing like that. Indeed, you must kill Drusus.”
He opened his mouth and closed it.
I nodded. “Poison. You know how. He is surely careless. With Livilla, especially. And you visit, don’t you? Wine or food, and I can get you the tools.”
He nodded slowly.
I smiled. “It is up to you. Do it, and you will rule, one day. Do not?” I shook my head sadly. “He will kill you, Sejanus will. If you do it, and after Drusus dies, you offer to help him instead. Offer to be his eyes and ears, as you next destroy your brothers. I will provide you with information he will find very useful in making the Senate his slaves, I hope.”
At that, he looked disturbed. He was fidgeting and began gagging.
He shook his head. “I will not kill my sisters.”
I laughed. “Well, they are not a danger to you. But you will aid Sejanus. Spy for him. For he will look at your brothers, the very blood of Augustus, and he will pick them off, one by one. He will have a great run for years, and people will fear him, and you shall make it possible.” I whispered to him. “But at the same time, make sure you stay close with Tiberius as well. He shall be heartbroken. Make him happy. Help Tiberius give the orders for the deaths, for he shall need advice, and I doubt he will be in Rome. Make sure Tiberius and Sejanus kill your brothers, and Agrippina, your mother.”
He croaked. “Mother?”
“Mother,” I agreed, watching the little monster who displayed no true shock, just curiosity. “People love you, boy. But they will love you more, if both your father, and mother are dead, and your poor brothers too.”
“I see,” he whispered.
I smiled. “I shall guard and help you. We will set up a place to meet. In the Forum of Augustus. It is proper. You will be watched, boy, so we might send someone else.”
“Nobody watches Claudius,” he whispered. “The idiot is my friend.”
He was?
“He is amusing,” Gaius said. “He makes me laugh. He once called me Caligula, Little Boot, and I made him squeal. You should have heard him squeal. Like a broken tuba.”
He tittered, and I knew the boy would sink Rome to the bottom of the swamp.
All he had to do was to survive.
And I had to make him the Princeps. It would require luck and determination.
I had both.
“You may keep him,” I said. “And he’ll amuse you for years to come. If he is never watched, we shall have him come to meet me. Every first day of the week. A red cloth on a tavern’s table. It will work. I will tell him what to do, you will tell him the gossip and what you need, and I will let him bring you information Sejanus will use. But you must be clever.”
He stared at me and then put a hand across his mouth. He giggled and shook his head. Then he suddenly went very still, profoundly serious, and thought, deep and long.
For that long moment, I thought he had refused.
Then he grasped my leg, making my horse shy away nervously. “If you and I can do this,” he whispered, “then I shall make you my Sejanus.”
“I would be your Raven, not Sejanus,” I said simply. “Raven of Rome. And to do this, I need you to spy for me too. You’ll have to be patient, and I shall help you all I can.”
He frowned. “But the praetorians. They all follow Sejanus.”
I shrugged. “I wonder. I was thinking Sejanus might overstep, and there would be a small civil war, but I think you and I can avoid that. They do follow Sejanus,” I said, “but there are other troops with spears in Rome. I will deal with that part.”
“What of Tiberius?” he asked.
“You and I, we shall get rid of all the competition first, Sejanus included,” I said. “And then, finally, we shall serve him for a time, and make sure you will rule.”
“There is Tiberius Gemellus,” he said softly.
His eyes were eager.
I hesitated, and then Lok smiled in the darkness of my mind, and I sighed. “He shall be locked away, and forgotten,” I said. “We shall serve Tiberius for a while, and together, with other allies, we will make sure few dare resist you, when you step to the middle throne of the Senate. It is your place, you know.”
“Will you give me your oaths?” he asked.
I jumped down from my horse. I kneeled and bowed my head. “You will be a great god-king of Rome. And you shall rule like few others. I give you my oath to follow you onto death itself. You will have a choice of marriage—”
“My sister,” he said. “Like Egyptians, the Ptolemy lot? They still have them at Mauretania.”
I swallowed bile. “If you so wish. God will not be denied. But they might marry before you step to that high podium. You must endure and suffer it. And you, too, should marry. It would look suspicious otherwise.”
He murmured and rubbed his head. “Wise. I suppose so.”
I smiled. “You have a pick of wives to sample, and guards who will do your bidding. You will have billions to spend lavishly, to glorify your greatness. Build and spend, lord.”
And at that, he smiled. “I shall do as you ask. All of it. Will you see me to Augustum?”
I nodded and remounted. I pulled him up. “Drusus will be there.”
“Oh!” he said.
“Get there, and warn your new friend, Drusus, your victim, that the enemy is coming. Then, in Rome, in his own house, poison him. I shall have poison delivered to you.”
“He leaves his wine cup all over the place,” he said. “And he always finishes it. Yes.”
He was excited. He was sure he had a divine destiny. He would do it.
And I knew he would do well.
“Every first day of the week, at midday,” I said. “Send Claudius to the Forum of Augustus. There will be a table with a glaring red cloth, and there, he may share your news, and take them to you. Is this fine?”
“Yes,” he said. “I heard you,” he snapped, and the evil spirit that would plague Rome showed its horns just for a moment. Then he relaxed and smiled. “And you know what, I don’t even need the poison. I know how to get it.”
***
At the gates of Augustum, that morning, I watched Caligula running for the safety. There, in the city, streams of people were running away, most east. Soldiers were riding, scouting, and bringing news of a Dacian calamity to the city, and despite the walls, I was sure it would fall. I watched the city, and Wandal and Tudrus were sitting near me. They were there with the first men. Their horses were lathered and tired, and were looking at the grass at their feet, the muddy mess unappetizing.
“If you, eventually,” Tudrus said tiredly, “decide to save Thusnelda, then we shall help you one more time. In Rome, we have no other business.”
“It is the one good deed,” Wandal said softly, “that we might finish together.”
I nodded. I would be too busy. “I will think about it.�
�
“It would redeem some of this, and the past,” he said. “Just one good deed, Hraban. I wish you well. I know it won’t matter.”
He turned away with Bohscyld, who gave me a sorrowful smile.
I returned it.
Wandal was still seated there, next to me.
“And what is your advice?” I asked him, not really in a mood to hear any.
“We are here to cleanse our honor, Hraban,” he said. “Dacians fight Rome. That is what we are doing. We were in Armin’s war too. Elsewhere, not where you fought. We hate Rome, and what it stands for, but we hate it for its merciless, capricious way, and we always shall. It is our bane, this land of Rome. You father brought it to us. I shall not let myself forget, that both you and your father fell to its vices, and evil. You are a weak man, Hraban.” He shifted in his saddle. “But we don’t think you should do any of this. It will make things worse, for the people who have done nothing to you. People like us. There will be a moment for you, when you must stop.”
I said nothing.
He sighed. “And still, in many ways, I pity you. Send us word, into Decibalus’s capital, a month before, if you find Thusnelda and the boy, and we will come for him. It is how we, too, atone our crimes. And if you never keep that oath, and I did hear how you gave it, then you be damned forever. Tudrus is right. It could be one small gift for the gods of justice, after all this…shit. It could start healing you. You are sick.”
I nodded. “Wandal…” I began but said nothing more.
“I know,” he said. “But we are old men, and old men don’t forgive fast. Perhaps one day, far from here. Your father is being watched?”
I nodded. “I have new friends,” I said. “None as good as you were.”
“I know that too,” he laughed, and I missed him terribly. I bit my tongue as I thought about begging him to come with me.
And I also knew it was of no use.
It would be my turn to go to him.
He smiled gently, knowing full well what I thought. He, too, fought the urge to reconcile. “Now,” he said harshly. “We have a city to ransack, and riches to grab. Our wives, you remember Tudrus’s? Yes? I am married too now. They need the loot.” He grasped my neck and spoke very closely to my face. “Remember, you fool. Not sure what you did here, but may it not burn the entire world down. Lok’s cursed family you may be, but you must know when to stop. I think you will.”
The Oath Keeper Page 24