With a snort, Sergius told her, “He can do no such thing without approval of the Senate.”
“Actually,” Pelonius interjected, “he can and, in a case such as now stands before us, must, by law, take action. The powers vested in the Emperor by the Senate specifically provide him extraordinary flexibility in case of unforeseen external threats to the imperium. It is an obscure law that was last used over three hundred years ago when the Mongols appeared from the southern wastelands, but it is nonetheless legitimate.”
“I propose,” Valeria said before Sergius made what could only have been an angry retort, “that we begin by forming a new legion here and now, by splitting Invictus in two.”
Looking no less shocked than if she had reached across the room to slap him, Sergius exclaimed, “Impossible!”
“It is possible, general,” she said with a voice as cold as ice, “and it will be done. On the military authority of Centurion Tullius, First Spear of the Empire,” Marcus threw a surprised glance at her, but kept his mouth shut, “we will form a new legion from the cohorts that accompanied us from the battle with the Dark Wolves. I, as daughter of Caesar and standing as guarantor of his personal debts, will pay for the levy of additional men and procurement of equipment and provisions until the act is ratified by the Senate, while you,” she went on relentlessly as Sergius fought to get in a word edgewise, “will bear the full cost of raising the men to refill the ranks of Invictus, and as provincial governor, will provide all necessary funds for the defensive works to be built on this site.” She smiled sweetly as she took a breath. “All gladly given for the greater glory of Rome, of course.”
Sergius gaped in disbelief, and Valeria could see his mind tabulating the fortune he stood to lose. Raising and maintaining legions was an expensive business, and building defensive works — especially the kind that might be required here — were even more so. “That…that would ruin me!”
“On the contrary, it would save you.” She narrowed her eyes as she stared into his. “Your alternative is to die in agony, nailed to a cross.” She held out her hand and added, “Come, now, general. I am offering you a future, and surely someone as capable and well-connected as yourself will find another way to prosper from adversity and win back your fortune.”
His mouth worked for a long moment as if he were trying to swallow a toad whole, and his arms again hung at his sides, his hands clenched into tight fists. At last, he stepped forward and knelt on one knee. Taking her hand, he kissed her ring and said, “In the name of Caesar and for the glory of the Senate and People of Rome, it shall be as you say, Princess Valeria.”
“There, now, was that so hard?” As Sergius stood, she said, “I shall have Pelonius prepare the necessary documents for your seal, with copies I shall retain. Once you have them in hand, I think it might be a good idea for you and your men to hunt down the remainder of the Dark Wolves before you return to Augusta Viromanduorum to reform Invictus. Don’t you agree, Centurion Tullius?”
“I do, princess.”
It was hard for Valeria to read his expression, which might be good or bad. No matter, she told herself as she fought to maintain her mask of calm, when in fact she had never been more terrified, which was saying a great deal considering the things she had endured recently. The die is now cast.
Sergius’s eyes widened. “You want me to chase down those beasts?”
“It is your duty as provincial governor and legatus of Aquitania’s standing legion. Your citizens remain at the mercy of those awful creatures, and you must uphold…or, rather, restore…the honor of your legion.” She gave him a disgusted look. “Don’t worry, not many dark wolves should be left now. Have your men draw what provisions they may need so they may depart in all haste. In the meantime, we shall set about properly establishing Legio Hercules while we continue building the defensive works.” She glanced at the hexatiger, whose eyes had never left the general.
With an angry expression on his face, Sergius bobbed his head once before storming from the praetorium, his officers fleeing in his wake.
“Jupiter’s balls, girl,” Septimus whispered in awe. “Legio Hercules, indeed.”
The others, save Karan, who continued to stare after the general, began to speak at once in voices running the gamut from dismay to incredulity, but she heard barely a word as she bolted from her chair. Her stomach, tied in knots by the fear and tension of what she knew had been a reckless and impulsive gambit that could easily cost her life, could be held at bay no more.
She almost made it to the wash basin before everything she had eaten that morning came up in a rush.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As he strode into the Senate chamber, accompanied by his Praetorians, Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus, Emperor of Rome, forced himself to be calm. In his hand he held the scroll on which was written the message from Pelonius. After reassuring the Emperor that Valeria and young Paulus were safe, Pelonius related in brief but vivid prose the savage battle between Legio Invictus and the Dark Wolves, and gave warning that the Dark Lands may pose an immediate and dire threat to the Empire. It was dreadful news that could not have come at a better time.
In the weeks since Valeria and her escort had departed, Rome had become a political battleground where casualties were measured in more than political interests or personal gain as the Emperor’s opponents in the Senate used every possible stratagem to literally kill the vote on slave emancipation, starting with its principal advocate. Tiberius’s personal guards had thwarted two assassination attempts on his life, as well as a very poorly thought out attempt to murder his wife. She herself had brought down one of her three would-be assassins with the dagger strapped to her right thigh under her dress, while her guards captured the other two. A grim smile came to Tiberius’s lips as he recalled the cold eyes she had turned upon the pair as they were nailed to the crosses Tiberius had ordered erected at the base of the steps to the Senate, for all who did business in the Forum to see. Torture had not yielded any names, for the men who had given the assassins their coin were intermediaries who themselves had disappeared, most likely dead, but Tiberius had no illusions about who had ordered the attacks. As if drawn by the same unseen force that made a stone fall to earth, his eyes fell upon Senator Julius Livius, who was engaged in a hushed but animated discussion with half a dozen other senators.
The six Praetorians who formed his bodyguard within the chamber took up positions to either side and behind him, standing at attention and facing the Senators with stony expressions. Another six guards were outside, guarding the grand entry, with more covering the other four exits from the building. Just as with Valeria’s escorts, they had been selected personally by Marcus Tullius, and had all drawn and spilled blood with Marcus and Tiberius in the Army. While each Praetorian received only his regular Army pay from the Senate with a bonus stipend for serving in the Praetorian Guard, land and a small but enviable fortune granted by Tiberius awaited those who served him faithfully and loyally. He trusted in Tullius’s judgment, but preferred to hedge against the ability of the Senate to bribe the men in whose hands his life and that of his family rested.
The presiding magistrate of the Senate, a shriveled old pleb who had occupied the position over the reigns of the last three emperors, called the Senate to order, and a hush fell over the chamber. The Senators stood while Caesar took his place upon the throne, which was set on a raised dais at the focal point of the chamber. One of the earlier emperors had installed a garish high-backed monstrosity of a chair, gilded and encrusted with jewels, taken from a defeated king in the distant East. Tiberius had despised it, and as one of his first acts as Emperor had it removed from the chamber and ordered the gold and gems sold at auction to pay for bread for the city’s poor, which had earned him great favor with the mob. The old throne’s replacement reflected Tiberius’s more conservative values: a graceful curule seat, intricately carved and painted white, with a thick cushion dyed a vibrant purple that matched the single stripes on the togas
worn by the senators and the double stripes sported by the toga Tiberius now wore, and which was only used when he appeared before the assembled Senate.
Once Tiberius took his seat, so did the Senators. Looking out among the familiar faces, it was difficult for Tiberius to gauge their mood beyond the obvious sense of curiosity mixed with annoyance. None, not even Livius, gave the slightest impression of knowing why they had been summoned by the Emperor to an emergency session under a Senate rule that had last been invoked over two hundred years before during a barbarian invasion of the southern provinces. Inwardly, Tiberius smiled while maintaining a look of deep concern. He welcomed any opportunity to catch his opponents off guard, and what he was about to say would certainly do that, and more.
“Honorable men of the Senate,” he began, “I offer my apologies for calling you away from home and family, and thank you for representing the people of Rome before me this day.” In fact, under the rule Tiberius had invoked, the Senators had no choice but to appear, or send their designated proxy in case they were too far from Rome to be recalled, or they would be banished from the Senate and forfeit their fortunes and land to the treasury. Of course, the rule was a double-edged sword: if an Emperor was judged by the Senate to have used the rule as a political weapon against an enemy in the Senate, said Emperor would not only forfeit everything, but be sold into slavery, along with his family. Fortunately for everyone, particularly Rome itself, all but two senators were present, and the two who were absent had proxies in attendance. Holding up the scroll sent by Pelonius as a wave of discontented mutterings swept across the tiers of senators before him, Tiberius continued, “I hold in my hand tidings from my scribe, Pelonius, who accompanied my daughter to Aquitania.”
“You need not have summoned the Senate to regale us with your daughter’s unseemly adventures,” grumbled Senator Calpurnius Pleminius in a baritone voice. “That girl should be at home and married.” He leaned forward, the grumpy expression melting away into a good-natured leer. “To me!” Then he burst out in a gasping guffaw.
Unable to help himself, Tiberius chuckled, as did all but a few of the senators. Among the oldest members of the Senate, Pleminius was as irascible and abrasive a man as Tiberius had ever known. But his portrayal of a wealthy, ill-tempered ox was deceptive to those who did not know him well. Of all who served in the Senate, he was among the few who were true servants of the people of Rome. He had been a good friend of Tiberius’s father, and as much or more a friend to Tiberius himself. Beyond that, he was one of the very few men in the Senate Tiberius felt he could trust.
Pleminius gave Tiberius a wink and sat back as the Senate again fell quiet, the tense and unhappy mood of those around him having broken.
“I will relay to her your impassioned plea for marriage…yet again,” Tiberius told him, which elicited more smiles as his own faded, “which may be far sooner than I had originally intended, for all who live in that province, perhaps throughout all the Empire, may be in grave danger.”
The senators, as was so typical in many proceedings, erupted into a cacophony of shouts and exclamations as if they were at a gladiatorial match. The presiding magistrate hammered his staff on the floor and shouted for order, and eventually was rewarded with silence.
“And what dire threat,” Senator Livius said in a voice laden with incredulity as he stood up, “could we possibly face in Aquitania? It is bounded on three sides by other provinces, all at peace and tranquil, and on the fourth by the Haunted Sea that stretches westward to join the Mediterranean.”
“It is from across the Haunted Sea that this threat looms,” Tiberius said as he imagined taking the good senator’s head from his shoulders with his sword, “from the Dark Lands.”
Rather than explode into another uproarious outburst, the collected Senate was so silent that Tiberius swore he could hear their individual hearts beating.
Livius stared at him, eyes wide. Finally, he voiced what the others must have been thinking. “You’ve gone mad.”
Tiberius’s hands clenched the arms of the throne. “I beg to differ,” he said. “Three cohorts of Legio Invictus were annihilated in a battle with hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Dark Wolves—” He had to raise his voice as again the silence was torn by an uproar of disbelief. “—which we now know are real, and not just the stuff of legend. Half the legion set out to investigate what had become of one of the towns in the province, and found that every man, woman, and child there had been massacred and mauled. Eaten. The legion followed in the path of the beasts and met them in battle. The men of Invictus drove them off, but as I noted, suffered very heavy casualties in doing so.” He made a gesture with his hand, and a soldier stepped forward from the shadows, a bulky object in his arms, shrouded with a black veil. “I offer you proof of Pelonius’s account.” Reaching over, Tiberius plucked away the black cloth to reveal the white skull of a ferocious predator, the likes of which no man had seen since the days of the First Spring.
A collective gasp went up from the senators as they laid eyes on the skull. At a gesture from Tiberius, the soldier paraded the grisly trophy among them. Some reached out to touch it, while others shied away, shaking their heads and muttering to their fellows.
“This could be anything,” one of them complained as he regarded the skull with a bored gaze. “Exotic animals can be found in any corner of the Empire. Your daughter yourself has one, does she not?”
“Not an animal like this,” Tiberius replied in a cool voice. “Nor was this one alone. Remember as you look at this skull that nearly two thousand soldiers of Rome and an entire town died in the jaws of a huge pack of such beasts.”
Pleminius looked at the skull closely, running his fingers over the elongated jaw and the enormous fangs. Looking up at Tiberius, he asked, “So, this is really true?”
“As true as the flesh of our soldiers and citizens that was eaten.” Some of the senators winced in distaste at the notion. Games that featured beasts fighting gladiators or devouring prisoners were not uncommon, but wanton slaughter of Roman citizens by a pack of mindless creatures was too much for many of them to accept. “What is more,” Tiberius went on, “Pelonius and the others discovered a young man who was born and raised in the Dark Lands, and who made it to our shores alive.”
“Impossible,” Livius cried.
“Again, I beg to differ, Senator,” Tiberius told him. “In the distant past we know for a fact that a natural bridge existed between the Dark Lands and our own; this is well documented among a variety of ancient texts in the Imperial Library. Pelonius writes that the waters of the Haunted Sea have been gradually falling in recent years, and this bridge is again rising toward the surface. The young man I speak of — who according to both Pelonius and Centurion Marcus Tullius is a very formidable warrior, I might add — crossed this bridge during a terrible storm, and was later pursued by the Dark Wolves. According to what this young warrior said, the Dark Lands are ruled by a race of giants who would not hesitate to invade the Empire if given the opportunity.” He leaned forward. “I have every intention of denying them any such opportunity. To that end, I am invoking the protectorate powers granted me as Emperor, and under which I am ordering all reserve legions to assemble.”
Pleminius looked at Tiberius and narrowed his eyes. Tiberius suppressed a smile as he thought, you know what’s coming, don’t you, old friend? “You’re doing this solely based on the word of your scribe and this bit of bone, are you?” Pleminius asked.
Tiberius nodded. “You of all people should understand the regard I have for Pelonius.” His eyes swept the room. Pelonius was well known to every man here, for one reason or another, and from one time or another over the last few decades. “Few men in the Empire are better educated or, for that matter, more courageous or honorable. If he says Rome faces a threat from beyond the Haunted Sea, only the word of the gods themselves spoken in my ear would carry more weight.”
“And who will command the assembled army?” Livius asked.
“It is my right and duty to assume command myself,” Tiberius told him. “To speak with my voice and act in my stead here in Rome, I nominate Senator Calpurnius Pleminius to the position of Supreme Consul until my return.” Tiberius had difficulty maintaining a serious, dignified demeanor as he saw Pleminius, looking like he had swallowed a rotten pomegranate, mouth a silent oath at him that would have embarrassed even Septimus.
The presiding magistrate stood on shaky legs and rapped his staff once on the floor. “Do we have acclamation for Senator Calpurnius Pleminius to the position of Supreme Consul, acting on Caesar’s behalf?” The acclamation was purely a formality, as by law the Senate had no choice but to accept the emperor’s surrogate. But having the Senate’s support was always helpful, and Pleminius was popular with most of his peers. Even Livius did not appear overly disgruntled in voting his part in the acceptance of the measure. But Tiberius could see the man’s mind behind his eyes, churning, calculating. The threat from the Dark Lands was an opportunity for Tiberius to break free of the confines of Rome, to get some badly needed maneuvering room before the assassins got lucky. The downside, of course, was that it gave his enemies a chance to both consolidate their positions in the all-important venue of Rome and further undermine his. In the end, time would be on their side, but he saw no other course of action that would not leave Rome as bare as a cheap whore before the threat from the Dark Lands.
“By universal acclamation,” the magistrate cried in his raspy voice, “the Senate hereby acknowledges Calpurnius Pleminius as Supreme Consul. May the gods ever keep and guide him and our beloved Caesar toward the greater glory of Rome.”
As the senators, their faces troubled by the unexpected news from Caesar, broke out in a round of applause, Pleminius again caught Tiberius’s eye and his mouth formed a single word.
Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands Page 15