The Conqueror

by Bryan Litfin

  “Have you seen them?” the Praetorian asked.

  “No, sir.”

  The leader stared at Uranio. “Are you sure? You’d better not be lying to me.”

  “I’m . . . not,” Uranio managed to say.

  Another one of the soldiers dismounted and began wandering back and forth, inspecting the cottage yard. After examining some tracks in the dirt, he turned to his commander. “He is lying, sir. Two other people have been here today. A tall man and a woman. They led a horse.”

  The commander leapt from his saddle and grabbed two fistfuls of Uranio’s tunic, nearly lifting him off his feet. Fury scrunched the soldier’s face into a grimace and turned his cheeks bright red. “How dare you lie to the emperor’s troops!” he screamed, shaking his terrified captive. “Tell me what you know about those outlaws!”

  “I didn’t know they were outlaws!” Uranio bawled. “How was I supposed to know the horse was stolen? I thought it was bought honestly! Take it back! Return it to the owner! I’m sorry!”

  A third Praetorian came over now and soothed his furious commander. Somehow his tactics worked on his boss. The leader cooled enough to step aside, though he didn’t lose the scowl on his face. The new man put his hand on Uranio’s shoulder. “Listen, my friend, you have one chance to get it right here. You tell us about those outlaws, and we’ll leave you and your horse forever. But if you lie to us, you won’t like what happens.”

  “They . . . they called themselves Rex and Flavia,” Uranio said tentatively. When this report drew approving nods from the soldiers, his resistance broke, and he decided to tell the whole story. “They said they’re young lovers just arrived in the area from Verona,” he went on. “She met him when he was coming down from Germania in hopes of joining a legion. She ran away with him. They’re headed into the city for shopping and baths. Yes! Check the big bath complexes in Rome. You’ll surely find them!”

  Although Uranio didn’t know why, his words infuriated the volatile commander again. He stormed back into the fray and seized the trembling cottager by the wrist. “No!” Uranio cried, but he was helpless in the soldier’s fierce grip. The man slammed Uranio’s hand onto a flat tree stump and wrenched the hatchet from the pile of firewood.

  “You lie!” the Praetorian accused. “Every foot of the road between here and the city is crawling with soldiers! The eastern gates are being watched! Those two outlaws didn’t get back into Rome since the time you saw them this morning.”

  “I’m just telling you what they told me!”

  The commander beckoned to one of his men, who came over and held Uranio’s outstretched arm against the tree stump. “Evidently, your two friends are worth losing a hand for,” he said as he raised the ax above his head.

  Uranio wriggled and squirmed against the rock-solid hold of his captor, but to no avail. “Stop! Please! I’m not lying!”

  “Yes, you are.”

  The hatchet started down. “Tibur!” Uranio wailed.

  At the last moment, the squad leader arrested the fall of his arm. “What did you say?”

  “Tibur!” Uranio repeated. “The girl said they were going to Tibur, but the man corrected her. I thought she was confused. But maybe he was covering for her!”

  The four Praetorians glanced at each other. “Are you making this up?” the leader demanded.

  “No! I swear it on the right breast of Venus Victrix!”

  “You two, mount up,” the commander said to the pair of soldiers watching the drama at the tree stump. He turned back to Uranio, whose forearm was still in the third Praetorian’s grip. “If we find out you’ve been lying to us, peasant, we’ll be back for that hand.”

  “I’m not lying! It’s the whole truth, sir.”

  “It had better be.”

  The hatchet slammed into the stump with a solid thwack, cleaving off the end of Uranio’s pinky finger. A streak of pain shot up his arm, and a squeal burst from him as he snatched his bloody hand to his chest.

  Bending to the dirt, the cruel squad leader picked up the severed fingertip. He held it out for Uranio to see. “Emperor Maxentius warns you to be faithful to his purposes,” he said, then flicked the chunk of flesh at the weeping man. “Let that be a reminder to serve your lord well.”

  I knew this day was coming sooner or later, Rex told himself. If this must be the day, so be it. I must have courage and face my destiny.

  He grasped the mirror in his fist, raised it up, and gazed into it. “I look terrible!” he exclaimed.

  “No, you look civilized,” the barber replied as he used a bristle-broom to sweep the locks of Rex’s shorn hair into a pile. “Now you look like someone who belongs here in the empire.”

  Rex rubbed his bare chin and inspected himself in the bronze mirror. The face staring back at him had his own familiar blue eyes and square jawline. Even so, the absence of whiskers and the long strands that used to tumble onto his shoulders made him feel effeminate. He ran his palm across the fuzz on the back of his head, then smoothed a stray wisp on his forehead, grateful that at least he still had some length on top. When this mission is over, he vowed, I will become a man again. Until then, he would adapt to the local customs and blend in: short hair, shaved chin, and a Roman style of dress. Too many people were on the lookout for a “long-haired German outlaw” east of Rome, so the new appearance would serve as an excellent disguise. Besides, once he won a spot in the Emperor’s Personal Cavalry, the haircut of a recruit would be required of him anyway. Might as well get used to it now, Rex reasoned.

  After paying for the haircut and shave, he adjusted the wine-colored scarf at his neck one last time, then went out into the street. He crossed to the other side, dodging a deep puddle lest he dirty his new leather boots or splash mud on his expensive tunic. It was a fine woolen garment, expertly bleached to the color of ivory and trimmed with embroidery that matched his scarf and maroon trousers. Having invested in such nice clothes, Rex intended to keep them in good condition for his dinner with Flavia.

  The inn across from the barbershop, a charming little establishment with stucco walls and a red-tiled roof, had seemed like the perfect place to reserve two rooms for the night. As a more upscale kind of lodging, it was suitable for respectable ladies. Its rear terrace, enclosed by an arbor of ivy and grapevines, sat on the edge of one of Tibur’s many cliffs. The terrace had been arranged as a dining room—not the kind with a U-shaped couch like a banquet hall for the upper classes, but with separate tables for guests who wanted to share a more intimate meal together. It possessed a stunning view of the waterfall that gushed past the Sanctuary of Hercules and went tumbling down a deep gorge. In the distance, the flat plains around Rome receded toward the endless western sea. The sun was perched on the horizon now, bright red like a cherry, and swathed in feathery clouds as it made its way to the end of its daily journey.

  Since no other diners had yet arrived, Rex chose the table closest to the edge of the cliff. He lit the oil lamp from a nearby brazier. Autumn wildflowers were bunched in vases on each table, but what made Rex even happier was the loaf of warm bread wrapped in a cloth. He hoped Flavia would arrive soon so they could begin that age-old Italian practice of satisfying their appetites with one delectable course after another.

  It wasn’t long before he heard Flavia’s aristocratic voice behind him. She hailed him as she arrived at the terrace, and he politely rose to greet her. Turning around, Rex was stunned as he caught sight of the woman walking toward him. His mouth fell open, and he had to look twice to make sure it was actually Flavia. She had bought new clothes as well and had obviously visited a professional ornatrix. Instead of her dirty pink tunic, she now wore a long, white gown beneath a mantle of light blue silk. The ornatrix had put on the right kind of makeup for a lady and had woven tiny white flowers into her hair, which was bound up in a fashionable style while leaving a few chestnut ringlets to dangle against her cheeks. Flavia’s eyelids and lashes were outlined with a dark paint that gave her a mature appeal. Truly
this was no mere girl gliding across the terrace, but a beautiful woman of mature elegance. With her bright eyes and excited expression, she seemed open to whatever opportunities the evening might hold. Rex decided he wanted to discover them all.

  “Oh my!” Flavia exclaimed when she arrived at the table. “Rex, you look so different with your hair cut off!”

  “And my beard shaved,” he answered, rubbing his chin with a rueful grin. He gestured to Flavia’s chair, then noticed that a passing rain shower had left drops on it. He wiped the seat with his sleeve and offered it to her.

  “Well, isn’t that polite,” she said as she sat down and smoothed the folds of her wrap. She flashed him a shy smile, and Rex decided he liked the dark red color of her lips. Though it wasn’t sultry or brazen, it was exotic enough to catch the eye—and sensual enough to make a man think of more.

  “You look nice,” he remarked, then added, “Dazzling, in fact, if I may say so.”

  The compliment seemed to please Flavia. She opened her mouth to answer but held back from speaking. At last she said, “And you . . . I just can’t believe how different you look.”

  “Hmm. I don’t quite know how to take that. Is it really that bad?”

  “No! Not at all! You look—” Again she seemed to search for the right words. “You look like an equestrian’s son,” she finally said. “There are a lot of Germani among the knightly class these days. You could easily pass for a young nobleman.” She paused, studying his face. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Eighteen. What about you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Marriageable age,” Rex observed. Idiot! What does that mean?

  “Yeah. I guess so,” Flavia agreed, then fell silent.

  The arrival of the innkeeper broke the awkward lull in the conversation. “Good evening, friends! Did you find your rooms clean? I told the houseboy to sweep them well for you.”

  “Everything was fine, thank you,” Rex said casually. He hoped to say enough to be polite, yet not engage in such animated conversation as to leave a distinct impression on the man.

  “You are my first diners this evening,” the host went on, “early enough to catch the sunset before Lady Luna makes her appearance over Rome a little later. Enjoy yourselves! I will be back shortly with the gustatio and some wine.”

  The host left the table, but his remark about the sunset drew the couple’s eyes toward the west, where a hazy smudge on the plains marked the presence of the capital city. Beyond it, the rays of the setting sun had ignited the tattered clouds into a celestial bonfire of red-gold flame. The vibrant colors along the horizon faded to orange, then copper, then a delicate pink before disappearing into the deep blue heavens.

  “Look at that vista,” Flavia breathed. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Indeed. And yet it’s nothing compared to the view closer in.”

  Flavia shot Rex a quick glance, then locked eyes with him for a moment. Slowly, the faintest hint of a smile turned up the corners of her lips. Although she broke the gaze and stared down at her lap, trying to hide her obvious pleasure, Rex could see a blush rise to her cheeks. She peeked up again from beneath her lashes, and when their eyes met once more, neither could help but break into a little embarrassed laughter.

  The innkeeper returned with his amphora and poured up a new wine: a dusky red vintage, fresh from the press and still very sweet. After scurrying back to the kitchen to get the appetizer, he returned with a plate of olives, salted anchovies, figs, and artichoke hearts. After that came a course of whitefish with fennel. The main course was wild boar in plum sauce, served with roasted chestnuts. By the time Rex had finished the pork and sopped up the sauce with his bread, he thought he couldn’t eat another bite.

  “I hope they bring out something sweet,” Flavia said, licking a little sauce off her thumb.

  Rex chuckled. “Really? You’re not full yet?”

  “Don’t you remember how I devoured that sausage? Running from soldiers gives me a big appetite! I could use a little cake or two to finish the meal.”

  “Here it comes now,” Rex said.

  The innkeeper emerged from the kitchen with a tray of honeyed pastries, melon slices soaked in grape must, and a bowl of dark, juicy cherries. Cubes of soft, mild cheese made a nice pairing with the final course. It didn’t take long for the two diners to empty the platter.

  “Now I’m full,” Flavia admitted as she covered her mouth and let out a tiny burp.

  Around the inn’s terrace, more patrons had arrived with the deepening darkness. Each table was lit by the flickering glow of a lamp. Just as the innkeeper had predicted, the moon had made its appearance in the sky, looming round and full over the plains of Latium. Two slave girls stood off to the side of the dining room, one playing a double flute, the other a cithara. Their sweet music and the gentle murmur of the diners’ conversations created the perfect ambience for such a mild and pleasant night.

  Rex unstopped a crockpot of tawny wine that the host had warmed in the oven. He ladled out a small cup for Flavia and himself, then filled a third and poured it over the edge of the cliff next to the table. “For Jesus and Hercules,” he said, mentioning Flavia’s god first out of respect for her beliefs. Surprisingly, though, she grimaced.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “I thought you’d be happy that I included Jesus in the libation. I even put his name before my own version of the god.”

  “I know what you meant, Rex, and I appreciate it. Thank you. But it’s important for Christians that we don’t make associations like that.”

  “Why not? The gods always appear in various forms. They show up in different nations under different names. Maybe I could worship my god as Hercules, and you would just call him Jesus? Then we’d agree about religion.”

  “No,” Flavia said, shaking her head. “The essence of Christianity is that Jesus alone is Lord. He casts aside all other gods as false.”

  “That’s arrogant.”

  “Not necessarily. Not if it’s true.” Flavia reached for a bottle of vinegar on the table and held it up. “See this? When you say Jesus is equivalent to Hercules, it’s like insisting that all wines are the same. But the other gods are like a thousand bottles of sour vinegar. If you set a Falernian among them, it’s not wrong to say, ‘Now, this is real wine! Taste it. It’s better than every one of the cheap pretenders.’ Do you see what I mean? That’s not arrogance. It’s just a statement of fact.”

  “Well, I’m a soldier, so I need victory gods like Hercules or Sol or Mars. If Jesus isn’t actually one of those, what good is he to me?”

  “Jesus is Lord of all things, including the wars waged by men. The one true God isn’t limited to a particular area like the evil spirits that people call gods. You were right when you said God sometimes strengthens warriors for his purposes. But you have to remember that at its heart, Christianity is about love. That is the message of Jesus. Murder and bloodshed have no part in that.”

  “Not all bloodshed is murder, Lady Junia.”

  The remark seemed to startle Flavia. “What do you mean?”

  “When I kill, it’s not for personal gain but to advance the good of the Roman Empire. That’s not the same as what a thief does in a back alley when he robs a rich man and leaves him dead. The thief commits murder. I wage war. Those are two different things entirely.”

  Flavia started to reach across the table for Rex’s hand, then curled her fingers and returned her arm to her side. Even so, she looked into his eyes and spoke with great earnestness. “I do understand that, Rex. I know you shed blood for good purposes—for the defense of the helpless and innocent and weak. I have seen that done by you. In fact, I am only sitting here today because of it.”

  “Does Christianity allow that sort of killing?”

  “I don’t know,” Flavia admitted. “I have only ever known it as a religion of love.”

  “What is love?” Rex scoffed. “Who can define it?”

  “Greater love has no one than this
: that he should lay down his life for a friend.”

  Rex glanced at the innocent Christian girl across the table. “Did Jesus say that?”

  “Yes. It’s in our scriptures.”

  For a long moment, Rex didn’t speak but only stared across the moonlit landscape. Finally, he brought his attention back to Flavia. “Jesus laid down his life on his cross. That’s what it means, right?”

  Flavia nodded, and when Rex looked at her face, he could see tears glistening in her eyes as she begged him to understand what was, for her, the most profound truth that humanity had ever encountered.

  “And then what happened to Jesus?” he asked.

  “He rose from the grave.”

  “Like no one else ever has?”

  “Yes, my friend,” Flavia whispered. She seemed to be frozen in her seat, unable to reach out and touch Rex physically, yet trying to do so spiritually with the intensity of her desire. “Yes, Rex,” she said again. “Jesus rose from the dead like no one else ever has. Just believe.”

  “I do believe,” Rex replied. “It’s not impossible. I accept it.”

  Flavia’s mouth fell open, and her eyes widened in what appeared to be a rush of joy. But Rex shook his head and reached to his belt. He withdrew the cheap bronze dagger he had been carrying since the amphitheater and held it up for Flavia to see. Its hilt was in his fist, and its point dangled above the table like the fang of some hideous beast. “I’m a fighter, Lady Junia,” he declared. “If Jesus rose from the dead, fine. I can believe it happened. But until I learn how to do it too, I need to worship a victory god.”

  Without warning, Rex slammed the dagger’s point into the tabletop. Flavia sucked in her breath and jumped back. The dagger stood on its end, quivering, its golden blade gleaming in the light of the oil lamp.

  Rex looked up and raised his palm toward the temple atop the waterfall. “Hail, Hercules Victorious,” he said.

  “He will not be,” Flavia replied, and dropped her eyes to her lap.

  7

  OCTOBER 311

  Three days had passed since the sentence of execution had come down, and still the criminal wasn’t dead. She’s just a pathetic little girl! Pompeianus fumed. Why is she so hard to kill? Despite his frustration, though, he knew the answer. Lady Junia Flavia couldn’t be strangled in the depths of the Carcer nor stabbed in a dark alley and left to bleed out. A citywide scandal was needed if Neratius was to lose the public’s—and thus the emperor’s—confidence. Flavia’s death had to be visible and theatrical—and that was proving more difficult than Pompeianus had first imagined.