The only thing exceptional enough to draw the attention of the entire legion had to be Caligula. He and his cavalry bodyguard unit had crashed into the enemy’s line, and were steadily and smoothly chopping away at the enemy Praetorians, who were in complete shock at his reckless bravado. Claudius noticed as well, and moved to meet the challenge.
This must have been the sign Caligula had told us to look for, and Helena’s expression confirmed my theory. She pulled me to my feet, and we ran to join Vincent and Santino, who were trying to make their way to Caligula’s side as well.
“How much ammo do you have left?” I asked her, as we pushed allies to the side and sidestepped corpses.
“Half a mag, but a full load for my pistol. You?”
“Pistol’s fresh, but only one mag for my rifle, and I’m saving it.” I had already shouldered Penelope, and pulled out my Sig.
After Caligula had gallantly charged forward, his Sacred Band had kept its U-formation, trying to follow in his wake. Normally, it would have been fruitless, but with Santino and Vincent helping out, they were moving through. Once Helena and I joined only a minute later, our Praetorians had effectively pushed the enemy’s left flank aside, and were wheeling around, trying to get behind the enemy Praetorians who were still systematically destroying the XV Primigenia. The legion was probably a bit below half strength at this point and could use our help as soon as possible.
Santino and Vincent had been reduced to their pistols as well, but protected within the Sacred Band’s cocoon; the four of us could pick our targets with ease. We ignored our training of aiming for a person’s center mass, and went for head shots. Moving along the interior of our lines, I would pop a shot off at the first target of opportunity, spin out the way, and find another target. It was tedious and gruesome work, but with two opposing forces deadlocked in a clash of shields, it was the only offensive gesture I could perform.
We pushed our way through the throng of bad guys as a unit, and found ourselves witnessing a spectacle one only read about in rare histories or mythology. Seated on their horses, Caligula and Claudius had engaged themselves in a duel of emperors, the death of one enough to perhaps end the war. It reminded me of Homer again, who when recording the duel between Patrocolus and Hector, amongst many other duels, indicated men on both sides simply stopped fighting, to form a protective circle around the duelists, and watched.
If only that were the case here.
Instead, a circle had indeed formed around the emperors, with a diameter of about thirty yards to fight in, but instead of the perimeter watching, it was being contested as well. As though on secret orders, the Sacred Band spread out to fortify the circle, letting no one in, or out. It would be tough to accomplish, with many enemy Praetorians from the battle with the legion turning to aid their traitorous emperor now fighting behind their lines.
Caligula had made a far bigger mess than any of us could have ever hoped to.
I settled into position along the circle, waiting to see a target pop into view, while trying to keep at least one eye on the battle. When this was all said and done, I was writing it down, and it was going to be accurate to the letter. I’d lost track of Helena once again, but she seemed to be handling the whole legionnaire thing better than I was anyway.
She’d be fine.
***
Claudius scored the first victory.
Resourcefully, he used the blue sphere as a type of shield, its round and seemingly impenetrable exterior an interesting device to turn away sword thrusts. Caligula began his attack with a downward slash of his sword towards Claudius’ wrist, but was surprised when his sword ricocheted off the orb. Claudius barked a laugh and used his foot, not hindered by a stirrup, to kick Caligula from his horse.
On his knees, Caligula waited for Claudius to run him down. Just as the emperor hoped, Claudius galloped forward recklessly. His horse gave Claudius a clear advantage, but it also bred overconfidence. As he reached the downed emperor, Claudius could never have foreseen that Caligula would wield a broken pilum like a baseball bat. Sidestepping the horse, Caligula swung at Claudius’ abdomen, dropping him to the ground as well.
As their two steeds chased each other off the battlefield, Caligula did not let up. With both men unhorsed, they were once again on an equal playing field, but Caligula’s younger and more vibrant body gave him the edge, and while he had lost his sword, he was not defenseless. He must have been paying attention during our self-defense lessons, occasionally sparring with Vincent, because when Claudius tried to slam the sphere into the side of his head, Caligula easily blocked the swipe with his broken spear. He pressed his advantage by twirling in a circle as he moved forward, using his speed to hurl a spinning backfist into Claudius’s jaw. He finished his attack by sweeping into Claudius’ body and tossing him to the ground.
With Claudius on his back, Caligula started raining soccer kicks to the usurper’s head, and bludgeoning him with his broken pilum. The melee had turned into a brawl. Hardly a limb went untouched, and when his uncle rolled over onto his back, propped up on an arm, Caligula held the spear tip at his throat.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I was distracted when I had to block an incoming sword myself, and run my attacker through the abdomen with my own. When I looked back, Caligula had already fallen for the oldest trick in the book. Claudius had thrown a fistful of dirt in his face, and Caligula dropped his spear as he staggered back, clawing at his eyes to clear his vision. Claudius struggled to his feet and came at Caligula like a drunken bare knuckled boxer, scoring a few easy punches to sternum and face. Caligula covered up like any good boxer would after taking a few more blows and countered a quick jab with an uppercut to Claudius’ jaw. The blow knocked the crazed man back a few feet and Caligula wasted no more time fooling around. In a very non-dramatic and un-heroic manner, Caligula picked up the iron spear head he’d dropped earlier, and hurled it with all his might. With no wooden shaft, the spear did exactly what every modern historian theorized it couldn’t. It hit its target square in the chest, the tip extending inches out of Claudius’ back.
Still clutching the sphere as he fell to his knees, he looked down at the pilum in his chest, randomly grabbing for the shaft. Too weak to get a grip on the spear, he looked at his nephew before falling over onto his side. He tried to offer one last sinister smile, but with death’s hold overwhelming him, so did the orb’s influence wan, and his face seemed at peace. Caligula caught him just before he fell to the ground.
Turning away another sword blow, I was distracted and could never be sure, but I thought I saw tears running down the true emperor’s eyes as Claudius uttered his last few words, his arms falling limp at his sides, and the sphere rolling a few feet away from his body.
Caligula gently laid his uncle on the battlefield, but without a second thought, pulled off his imperial purple cloak and wrapped the sphere within. He then tossed it to the nearest allied horseman and screamed for him to ride to one of the legion’s camps and deliver it to Varus, and no one else. Caligula must have known of the sphere’s corruptive elements, and thought that by distancing it from the rogue troops, they’d come to their senses.
Time would tell, but we were still outnumbered, and the horseman had barely made it past the lines.
The two Praetorian factions continued their merciless battle. The once nine thousand strong Praetorian contingent that had been wholly loyal to Caligula mere months ago must have been reduced to barely four by this point, only one thousand loyal to Caligula.
I had no way of keeping track of how many kills I had over the next thirty minutes, or how many allies and foes had fallen to their deaths around me. I’d been nicked, cut and wounded an equally unfathomable amount of times and there was no end in sight. Caligula had joined the rest of us in defending this small spot of land after his fight with Claudius, but even his presence wouldn’t be enough. I started feeling fatigue set in when I thought I saw hope arrive in the form of ugly Germans slogging their way tiredly but loyally toward
s their legion. Always the pessimist, I figured they were just lost individuals from the battle on the right flank who had blundered into our part of the fight.
Between Caligula’s Sacred Band and his two loyal Praetorian cohorts, I had to guess no more than seven hundred were left, and our lines began to reflect that fact. Just as the illusory Germans had come into focus, our lines started to buckle, holes opened, and more men started to die all around me. I was losing both hope and energy and knew we needed a miracle to get us out of this.
Wavering, I saw an enemy sword come swinging down towards my head. My body was too fatigued to raise my shield fast enough, but I was saved by a strong hand on my shoulder that pulled me out of the way. My savior rushed in and stabbed the man through the throat. I saw a horizontally plumed helmet, and knew it was Centurion Quintilius before he could turn to face me.
“Don’t die yet, Hunter,” he said with a smile. “This may be our last stand, but help is on the way.”
He pointed with his sword towards what had originally been our right flank, and the phantom Germans I thought I’d seen. It turned out they were real, and were indeed making their way back to the fight. At the vanguard of the formation I saw Bordeaux, still full of energy and leading the charge with his SAW blazing away.
God, I loved that Frenchman.
The enemy Praetorians realized they were being outflanked, and something in their eyes clicked, as though they were seeing the fight in a whole new light all of a sudden. All continued to fight, but many with far less vigor. Some still seemed fully affected by the orb’s influence, but the evidence that it was diminishing was obviously displaying itself.
I turned to Quintilius, ready to thank him, when I saw he was looking off towards our left, a look of worry on his face. I tracked his eyes, only to see what couldn’t possibly be happening.
Only thirty feet away, so close I could almost reach out and touch her, Helena and Marcus were engaged with three enemy Praetorians in close combat. Marcus dispatched one easily, only to be stabbed in the leg by a second. He clutched his wound, and fell to the ground, screaming in agony. The fear for my friend was surpassed only, when in an attempt to save his life, Helena, having lost her shield, killed his attacker, but had unintentionally turned her back on the last.
The remaining enemy leapt at her, smashed her sword from her hand, grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. Helena found herself starring eye to eye with a short, ugly Roman Praetorian who wore a smile of pure evil. Whether it was some remnant of the orb’s power, or just some sick fetish over knowing his foe was a woman, I’d never know. The Praetorian moved his hand to her throat, the other still gripping his sword, and he paused for a brief second, just long enough for my eyes to widen in terror.
Helena tried to struggle against his grip, fighting to pry loose his hand with her own, but as tough as she was, there was little she could do. I saw her try to kick the man in the groin, but missed, catching him on the leg instead. Maneuvering his body to make sure she didn’t succeed on her second kick, he looked up at her and smiled. She struggled and fought, but exhausted and outmuscled, the Praetorian cocked his arm back, and ran her through the stomach with the tip of his gladius. The sword made contact with her skin an inch below the protection of her combat vest, and with nothing to impede its progress, pushed its way straight through her back. Her green eyes ballooned open in pain and surprise, and her struggling ended.
I was already running before she’d kicked him, uncontrollable sounds of rage spilling from my throat, all feelings of fatigue or pain forgotten, Quintilius yelling after me. Adrenaline kicked my muscles into overdrive, but despite all my training, all my conditioning, I couldn’t make it, and I watched from five feet away, as the man moved to finish her.
He still held Helena on his sword, starring at her, looking as though he thought to further violate her in some way when, while still at a dead run, forgetting my legion training once again, I swung my sword with all my might and severed the man’s head from his shoulders. I released my sword as I finished my cut, allowing both head and gladius to sail through the air, not caring who they hit.
Helena was already falling with the decapitated Praetorian.
I wheeled around, and slid beneath Helena as she collapsed in my arms, the Praetorian’s grip still on the sword handle and her throat. I tore both away and kicked the body out of my sight. Cradling Helena’s limp body, I reached with a trembling hand to cup her cheek, while I pulled a bandage out of a pouch with the other. Knowing not to try and remove the sword, I put as much pressure on the wound as possible, a fruitless gesture, as I was completely oblivious to the mirror wound at her back.
She moaned under the pressure, but at least she was still alive. I turned her head so she could face me, and I felt tears welling in my eyes at the sight of her graying skin. I smiled down at her, trying to put on a brave face as I gently rocked her in my arms.
“What did I say about getting hurt?” I asked her, my voice faltering. “Only me, remember?”
She was so weak that when she tried to raise a hand to my cheek, it barely brushed it before falling to her side. A spasm of pain wracked her entire body, and she clenched each limb in unison, before going limp in my arms again.
“I’m sorry, Jacob,” she whispered. “So sorry.”
“Don’t be, you’ll be fine. Wang will be here any second now, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be… fine.” I looked up, frantically searching for Wang, but he was nowhere in sight. The only thing I saw was the battle coming to a close with Praetorians dying and surrendering all around us. If only Helena could have hung on a few more minutes. If only she hadn’t been so stupid. So brave.
If only I hadn’t left her side like I said I never would.
Santino wandered up to us a few seconds later, clutching a superficial leg wound. His eyes were glazed, a thousand yard stare so prevalent amongst battle worn veterans on his face. No smile in sight. When his mind caught up to what his eyes were seeing, a look of shock and confusion spread over his face as he stared down at the dying woman he’d come to call a friend.
“Find Wang,” I told him quietly, but Santino didn’t move. He just stood there transfixed, unable or unwilling to comprehend what was happening. “Find, Wang, Goddamn it!” I yelled, my voice cracking.
Hearing the pain and anger in my voice, he snapped himself from his trance and ran off to find our medic.
I looked back down at Helena, brushing dirty black hair from her face. “See? Everything’s going to be fine.” My hand shook uncontrollably and my heart pounded like a drum as I wiped blood from her mouth. “Everything’s going to be… to be…”
I couldn’t finish. I squeezed my eyes shut and held her as close as I could. I pulled her against my chest and tried to will life back into her, but all the fire in her eyes were gone. Eyes that had once been her most alluring and vibrant feature somehow seemed to be slowly dimming to a dull gray.
She tried to smile for me, but coughed violently as she did. “I…it’s okay, Jacob. I…” she said, looking back up at me, the quickest of sparks firing in her eyes, before another spike of pain forced her body into another series of spasms. “…I…” but her voice trailed off, her body fell still, and her eyes closed.
I knew what she was going to say. I knew because I didn’t need her to say it for me to know it. I wanted to say something back. Something funny. Something hopeful. Something redeeming. I wanted to tell her I loved her too, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t give up. I wouldn’t. All I could do was hold her close, feel as the last traces of life left her body, and for the first time since I could remember…
Cry.
Epilogue
Rome, Italy
August, 38 A.D.
Someone knocked on my door. It was a quiet sound, but the sudden and unexpected nature of it roused me from my thoughts. It startled me, and I pinched my nose and swore under my breath in response. I looked at my surroundings, trying to remember where I was.
The sui
tes we had been given once Caligula reclaimed his position were luxurious, spacious, and far more comfortable than the dingy shack we stayed in those first few months in ancient Rome. I had a bedroom, a sitting room, a dining room, a study, and even my own bathroom, complete with running water for both bathtub and toilet.
Romans were so clever.
Lounging on a sofa shaped like a half bowl, my feet hanging over the one end, I had been sitting in contemplative silence for nearly an hour, the past year of my life replaying steadily in my head. I’d sped through most of it, skipping the boring stuff and the painful memories, focusing on the events just after the Battle for Rome, as Caligula had dubbed it once he had retaken control of the Senate.
Bordeaux had saved the day during those last few moments. He had spent the entire battle with the auxilia and their fight with the overwhelming plebeian army. The battle hadn’t gone so poorly for the German auxiliaries as everyone had thought, but it had been an excruciatingly arduous affair. As history could confirm numerous times, an undisciplined and under armed force of civilians simply could not stand against fewer men should they be better trained, armed, and focused.
Almost eight thousand of the eleven thousand strong militia had been wiped out, but of the infantry, cavalry, and archers of the XV Primigenia ’s auxilia, only three and a half thousand were lost. Once Bordeaux showed up, and seven fully loaded ammo boxes later, many of the enemy started surrendering, or trying to flee back to the city. I knew it had something to do with the orb’s disappearance, but in the end, it hardly mattered. With that part of the battle neatly wrapped up, Bordeaux had led the auxilia in a flanking charge. Their arrival had quickly tipped the scales in our favor.
Like their civilian allies, many Praetorians began surrendering as well at that point, confused expressions on their faces, with no idea where they even were. Their surrender occurred not a second too early. They had almost broken us. The only thing that kept us going was the thought of failing Caligula, who had been so brave risking his own life and killing his own uncle in open combat.
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