Fallen Legion

by David Thompson

  "We do," the couple answered.

  "Then," the priestess declared with a kind smile, "by the divine power of our shared Lady of Love, I declare that you have entered the sanctity of wedded bliss. As a token of your commitment, I ask that your rings be presented."

  Domitian stepped forward from the bench, pulling a small bag out of his pocket. Loosening the bag's drawstring, he shook the contents into the palm of his hand and handed both Marcus and Alexandra a ring. Taking the simple, unadorned gold band, Alexandra slid it onto Marcus' left hand. Marcus took the ring he was given, a slightly more elegant gold band adorned with a glistening ruby, and slid it onto Alexandra's left hand.

  "Congratulations," the Priestess declared. "You are man and wife."

  A wide smile spread across Marcus' face, and he leaned down to kiss Alexandra. As their lips brushed together, however, a loud crash caused Marcus' head to snap up towards the door. He hardly had time to blink before seeing half a dozen Sicambrii warriors surrounding a Roman man walk through the open space where the door had once been. The door laid on the floor, felled by a blow from the lead Sicambrii warrior's axe. The warriors hovered near the door, axes drawn, watching as the broadly grinning Roman man stepped between them and strode into the temple. He stopped halfway between the door and the altar, silently grinning at Marcus.

  "What in the name of all the Gods," Marcus growled, stepping in front of Alexandra, "do you think you're doing? Who in Hades do you think you are to bring heathens into this sacred place? And drawn weapons...it is a capital offence to carry weapons into a temple - drawn weapons on consencrated ground are an affront to the Gods!"

  "I," the grinning Roman said, "am Nicholas Claudius. Don't be embarassed if the name doesn't ring a bell. You've never met me. I, on the other hand, am very familiar with you. You are the traitor Marcus Ulpius, who is currently wanted on charges of treason and sedition.

  "Now, as far as the weapons go, you will note that I have no weapon myself. It is only my associates here who carry them, and I'm sure that Governor Vestatian will punish them accordingly. That is beyond my concern. I am here to arrest you, and I hope that you will come without a fight. Of course," he said with a sly grin, "if you were to put up a fight, I'm sure it would provide an amusing spectacle. You are unarmed, after all, and I have a dozen more guards waiting outside these doors."

  "If I come with you," Marcus said, mulling through the possibilities, "what guarantee would I have that you would allow everyone here to leave safely?"

  "You would have no such assurance," Nicholas said. "The only assurance that I will give you is that if you do not come peaceably, every one of them will die today."

  "That's not good enough," Marcus spat. "You will provide them safe passage out of this Temple, and will not touch a hair on their heads. If you do this, I give you my word that I will come without a fight."

  "You're not in a position to negotiate," Nicholas said. "We have you outnumbered and you are unarmed. What possible incentive could you give me to make such an agreement?"

  "You know of my skills in combat," Marcus said, taking two steps toward Nicholas. His expression was calm, almost serene despite his unmasked fury, and was disorienting enough that Nicholas reflexively took a step back in fear. "So I'll let you know how this will happen if you refuse to agree to my terms. I will knock you to the ground before any one of those warriors has the opportunity to take even a single step. Then I will seize an axe from one of your little bodyguards, wrenching it from his very grasp. The rest is quite simple, really; I'll kill each and every single one of your warriors, and then drag your unconscious body to a cellar somewhere. I won't kill you immediately, of course. That wouldn't be nearly strong enough punishment for the offences you have committed here today. Instead, I will give you a whole new definition of the word 'pain'. It will take you weeks to die, and by the time I am through you will be nothing but a shattered husk, and maybe, just maybe, when I've decided that you've suffered enough at my hands, I'll slit your throat and send you to the eternal judgement of the Dread Lord Hades. I doubt he will be so kind as me. That is your incentive to bargain with me. That is the bargaining chip I hold.

  "Of course," Marcus continued, "maybe you think I can't do it. Maybe all the stories you've heard about me have been nothing more than myths. Maybe I'm not really an invincible warrior with the strength and speed of a dozen men. It's possible, of course. Then again, maybe the stories are true. Do you really want to take the chance?"

  "Perhaps," Nicholas said after a long pause, his voice trembling slightly, "it would be permissible to acquiesce to your demand. It is, after all, nothing more than a token gesture. We have neither need or desire for those others gathered here."

  "Swear to it," Marcus said, "by the fate of your very soul."

  "I swear," Nicholas said, "that if you come peacefully, none of those here shall be harmed."

  "The Gods will hold you to that," Marcus said. "They do not take lightly vows which are sworn in the sanctity of a temple."

  "I do not make such a vow lightly. Now, no more dallying. Let's go."

  "Alexandra," Marcus said, turning to his bride, "please go with Domitian, Vito, and Monale. They will take you to safety. Don't worry about me. I'll be back soon, and I'll find you."

  "I won't abandon you," Alexandra said, tears streaking down her face.

  "You don't have a choice," Marcus whispered to her. "If we fight, there's a good chance that none of us will survive. Just trust me, Alexandra. There is no prison on this planet that will keep me from you."

  Without any further discussion, Marcus motioned for Domitian to guide Alexandra to the exit. She was wracked with sobs as the four of them - her, Domitian, Vito, and Monale - made their way to the exit. As they walked down the aisle, Nicholas stepped to the side, motioning for his warriors to do the same. Begrudgingly, the Sicambrii parted to form a path leading out of the temple, but one warrior was not willing to let what he perceived as easy prey walk away. The warrior snaked his hand out and grabbed Alexandra by the shoulder as she walked past him, holding fast to her robes. Alexandra cried out in surprise; Nicholas, who had been watching the whole affair, wasted no time in taking action. He drew a dagger from its sheath at his side and stepped behind the offending warrior. The warrior never noticed Nicholas until it was too late; Nicholas' dagger slid across the warrior's neck, slicing through skin and muscle. The only sound the warrior was able to utter as he released his grip and fell to the Temple floor was a garbled gurgling.

  "Nobody is to touch these people," Nicholas shouted at the warriors. "They are not who we are here for, and the next one of you who makes any sort of a move to harm them will meet the same fate as your friend here!"

  With the Sicambrii warrior's grip released, Domitian took Alexandra by the arm once more and lead her outside. Monale and Vito followed close on their heels, leaving Marcus alone in the temple with Nicholas and a group of very angry looking Sicambrii warriors. Seemingly from nowhere, Nicholas produced a pair of shackles and tossed them at Marcus' feet.

  "Put them on," he said. "For your safety, of course. There are disturbing rumours circulating that you've killed a few of these warriors' companions, and that's set them on edge. We wouldn't want there to be any risk of them misinterpreting a move you make, would we?"

  "I have no fear of the Sicambrii," Marcus said with a tranquil smile as he placed the shackles around his wrists. The steel shackles closed with a heavy click. "You, on the other hand, should fear them. Do you really believe that your master's hold over them is anything but tenuous? They'll turn on you as quickly as Vestatian turned on us."

  "That's Governor Vestatian to you," Nicholas said with a self-righteous sneer. "Now shut up and come with me. Walk beside me and don't make any sudden movements, and I'll give you my word that none of my warriors will harm you."

  ***

  The lowest level of the city prison was a depressingly familiar sight to Marcus. The maze of intersecting narrow corridors was still diml
y lit and silent. The only real difference, as far as Marcus could tell, was that the prison was now heavily guarded by Roman soldiers loyal to Julianus Vestatian.

  By the looks of it, Marcus though grimly as he was forcibly shoved down the hallway, Vestatian has stationed half of the city guard here. Fighting my way out will be nearly impossible.

  Just outside the door of the prison, Marcus had been publicly stripped of all clothing, and bound in both arm and leg shackles. It was only after he had suffered such public humiliation that he had been forced to shuffle his way through the corridors and down the stairwells of the prison under the watchful eye of five soldiers. The Sicambrii had been turned away at the prison doors, forbidden by Nicholas from even entering the building. Marcus surmised that the warriors had only been used to arrest Marcus because they had no qualms about desecrating a temple by openly bearing weapons inside. No Roman would dare to risk offending the Gods by comitting such a blasphemy.

  After stumbling and shuffling his way through the halls of the prison for what seemed like hours, Marcus' guard detail stopped outside a cell. Two more soldiers were already waiting there, and the cell's door was made of heavy wood reinforced with iron. Five deadbolts and three padlocks topped off the already virtually impenetrable door; it took the soldiers guarding the cell nearly a full minute to unlock and open the portal. When the door swung wide open, Marcus was roughly shoved inside, tumbling head over heels into a crumpled heap on the bare stone floor. The door slammed shut behind him, followed by the clanking and clicking of closing deadbolts and locks.

  The inside of the cell was pitch black; the only source of light was a tiny crack separating the bottom of the door and the floor, and the crack let in only enough flickering torchlight to reveal its presence. I can't see my hand in front of my face in here, Marcus thought. Of course, since my hands are bound behind my back, I wouldn't be able to see them right now, even if the room were lit as bright as day. I suppose that Vestatian learned his lesson when we rescued Ceresius; he is taking no chances whatsoever that I might possibly be able to escape this time. Not that it matters. There is neither prison nor jailer in all the Empire capable of holding me for long. I'll be out of here in a matter of hours.

  The estimate of an escape time of several hours turned out to be grossly inadequate for Marcus. It took him nearly half an hour just to regain his footing in the dark; every time he tried to stand up, his feet would get tangled in the chains of the manacles which bound his feet together, or he would simply become disoriented in the utter darkness of the cell and simply fall on his backside again. The lack of any sort of handhold or irregularity in the cell's walls did nothing to help him stand up; more than once, he fell back against the wall, struggling to prop himself up against it. Each time he did so, his back slipped against the smooth stone wall and he promptly fell to the ground once again.

  Once he had finally managed to bring himself to his feet once again, it was another struggle entirely to bring his hands out from behind his back. With more than a little exasperation, Marcus finally realized that the only way to accomplish the feet was to fall to the floor once again, and then tuck his knees into his chest and slip his manacled arms below his feet. A momentary tangle of the chains which bound his arms and his legs pinned Marcus in the fetal position; it was only through swift and agile maneuvering that Marcus managed to prevent himself from being trapped in that awkward and inelegant position. With his arms at their rightful position in front of his body, Marcus once again began the struggle to rise to his feet.

  His efforts seemed in vain; even in the more mobile position he had succeeded in forcing himself into, the cell was simply sealed to the point of being impenetrable from the inside. Marcus carefully slid his fingers along the seam between the door and door frame, hoping to find some crack, no matter how miniscule, which might enable him to somehow pop the door's hinges, but no such crack was to be found.

  It was after six hours of this careful fingertip search of every inch of the cell's door and walls that Marcus finally realized he had little choice but to accept his situation for now. As if the Gods themselves had heard Marcus' silent resignation, the locks on the other side of the door began their series of clicks and clanks. Marcus dropped to the floor in the corner of his cell, feigning helplessness. The door swung wide open, and Marcus was nearly blinded by the onslaught of the torchlight - after so many hours in nearly complete darkness, the flickering light was as blinding as the sun. As he blinked and squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the new light, Marcus was able to barely make out the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway of his cell. His eyes gradually adjusted to the torchlight, and the silhouette began to come into focus. Detail by detail, the form became apparent - first the black and purple toga, then the jet-black hair, and finally the distinct facial features. Marcus recognized the man immediately.

  "Julianus Vestatian," he growled through clenched teeth. "I didn't think you would have the testicular fortitude to see me face to face."

  "I'm not sure why you would think that," Julianus said in a quiet, almost soothing voice. "Surely you don't believe I have anything to fear from you? No, I just wanted to see how the mighty have fallen. From a respected Roman General to a traitorous rabble-rouser forced to resort to trying to stir up riots in the streets; I must say that I expected better of you, Marcus.

  "We used to work together quite closely, and my opinion of you was high. Your constant stream of blunders at Agrippinensis did much to detract from that opinion, and finding out that you've been conspiring to overthrow the rightful government of this province...well, Marcus, I must say that I'm terribly disappointed."

  "You use the term 'rightful' loosely, Julianus. You have no more right to govern this province than a dog in the street does."

  "Quite the contrary," Julianus said with a restrained smile. "The Emperor himself has given me official sanction to govern this province. You should know that, Marcus. The sanction of the Emperor is the next best thing to the Gods themselves coming down from Olympus and handing me the keys to the governor's office."

  "Don't make the mistake of believing that you have divine mandate," Marcus hissed. "The Gods have not placed their blessing upon your leadership, and it is because of that that your position will be nothing more than temporary."

  "Ah, yes," Julianus said with a laugh. "My informant mentioned to me that you've got plans for some sort of revolution brewing. Let me assure you, Marcus, you will fail. A few disgruntled citizens with pitchforks will not be able to overthrow me."

  "What makes you think that the revolutionaries need to overthrow you?" Marcus asked with a deep belly laugh. "A few well placed words, and here I am, in your presence. What makes you think I won't kill you where you stand?"

  "Kill me? Surely you jest. Perhaps the last few years have driven you mad, but let me tell you this: there are more guards in this prison than you know. If you make a single ill-conceived move, you will be struck dead before you know what has happened."

  "I'm sure I would be. But so would you," Marcus said with a vicious grin. With no further warning, he leapt at Julianus, swinging both of his chained hands in unison. His fists smashed into Julianus' chest, knocking the dictator aside into the wall. The lunge, unfortunately, knocked Marcus off balance. Julianus recovered his feet before Marcus was able struggle against the manacles which bound him so awkwardly. Julianus kicked Marcus in the stomach as he scrabbled to regain his footing. Marcus collapsed, groaning in pain.

  The noise of the scuffle brought three soldiers to the cell's doorway, weapons drawn. Julianus waved them off with a flick of his wrist. The soldiers reluctantly retreated to their positions outside the cell, leaving Julianus and Marcus alone once again. As the soldiers' forms retreated out the door, Julianus dropped to one knee and smashed his fist into the back of Marcus' head. Marcus' head smashed against the floor with the force of the blow, the contact making a sickening splat-thud sound and leaving behind a splatter of blood.

  "You just
don't get it," Julianus spat, "do you? You've lost, Marcus. All your talent, all your skill, and all your strength were simply not enough to defeat me. You are a relic of a bygone age. No matter how hard you try, you will never be anything more than a failure."

  Marcus laughed, a hollow ringing sound. "Perhaps I am, Julianus. Perhaps I am. But when I stand over your broken and bleeding corpse and survey the smoking ruins of everything you think you have accomplished, I will let you die with a single thought: the betrayal of your Gods and your people was all in vain. You have doomed yourself to an afterlife of pain and suffering, Julianus, and for what? A few years of ruling some backwater province of the Empire?"

  "Shut your mouth," Julianus yelled, driving his fist into the small of Marcus' back. "Bloody peasant," he said, standing and attempting to regain some of his composure. "The lesson you need to learn is that the Gods of Rome are no longer relevant to our lives. Get some rest tonight, Marcus. You'll need it. Tomorrow you will have a very special guest visiting you. A guest who specializes in...shall we say...teaching lessons to traitors."

  ***

  While Marcus was subjected to the horrors of Cologne's city prison, Alexandra was being subjected to an entirely different kind of torture on the opposite side of the city. After escaping the temple, Domitian lead her, as well as Vito and Monale, to an established safehouse near the city walls. The owners of the home, a friendly and compassionate older couple, had left the party to their own devices in the home's den, while they retired to the kitchen to prepare some refreshments for their guests. Vito and Monale sat in matching chairs in one corner of the room, wearing twin expressions of dejection on their faces. Alexandra sat in the centre of the room, sobbing uncontrollably while Domitian did his best to calm her.

  "Alexandra," Domitian said, summoning his best compassionate voice, "please do not cry. I'm sure Marcus will be fine - he's probably already slaughtered that beast Nicholas and escaped captivity."