A Hunter and His Legion (The Praetorian Series Book 3)

by Edward Crichton

  “Jacob, grow up. They’re both adults and are clearly interested…”

  “Not discussing it!” I said rudely. “It’s not that important anyway…”

  Helena sighed. “I’m not sure it isn’t so unimportant, Jacob…”

  I ignored her. “What about Rumella?”

  “We left him.”

  “But the librarian who saw us…”

  “What were we supposed to do? Take the body to the authorities? You do remember there is a price on all of our heads, right?”

  “I know, I know.” I sighed, but refused to let Rumella’s passing hurt me. “So what do you think? Do we head to Britain? Follow Rumella’s lead on the Druids?”

  “I think it’s the only choice we have.”

  “Yeah… but Druids?”

  “Jacob,” she said, her tone suggesting she was preparing to lecture a small child. “If you would have told me five years ago that time travel existed, I would have thought you were insane. But now? Now, I’ll believe anything until its proven impossible.”

  “Yeah…” I said. “I guess you’re right.”

  “You don’t sound so sure.”

  I didn’t answer right away, trying to decide if I should come clean about my visions. I reached out to massage my bare leg just above my wound, but Helena noticed and reached out to stop the motion.

  “Jacob, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I just got a bad feeling about all this.”

  “What kind of feeling?”

  Concern was obvious in her voice.

  “I just told you. A bad one. It doesn’t feel right. Something feels… wrong.”

  “Something always feels wrong,” she reminded me. “Since the moment we got here.”

  “I know that, Helena, but this time he’s here with us.” I said, placing my hand on Helena’s stomach. “Or her. I couldn’t live with myself if I let anything happen to either of you.”

  Helena placed her hand over my own and smiled at me.

  It was so sincere and beautiful that I almost forgot everything that was happening.

  Almost.

  “You won’t, Jacob. I know you won’t. And…” she paused, “…well, if it makes you feel better, I promise I’ll do what I can to stay out of harm’s way. But only directly!” She clarified. “I’m still going with you and I’m still taking my sniper rifles with me. Both of them!”

  I grinned and hugged her tight, giving her soft neck a gentle kiss.

  “Thank you, Helena. That means a lot, and I know what that means to you too.”

  “It isn’t easy for me, if that’s what you mean,” she said, squeezing my hand. “Five years ago I would have had no problem staying right here, but I can’t do that now. You mean too much to me. Everybody does, but I understand your concern. I have more than myself to think about now, so I’ll be careful.”

  “I know you will, Helena. Thank you.”

  She smiled and reached up to brush hair from my forehead. “See how nice it is to talk sometimes? I could get used to this.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, although my heart wasn’t in the response. I was still keeping things from her, dark things, but I knew I was doing her a favor. I wasn’t doing it for me this time, but for her. Her life was stressful enough, and I didn’t need to make it worse, especially not when I had someone else I could turn to. Someone who’d been through a lot in his own life, and could see right through me as easily as Helena, but was for more understanding…

  ***

  “Mind if I bother you, sir?”

  Vincent looked up from the bed he sat on and turned to face the doorway where I was standing. When I’d come in, he had been tending to the cast around Titus’ leg. The young man would be out of it for at least a few more weeks, but Wang was certain he’d eventually make a full recovery, and Vincent was taking care of him in the meantime, as any good stepfather would.

  “Of course, Jacob. We were just preparing for us to part ways.”

  I shifted my look to Titus. “You’re leaving us?”

  “Only in the sense that I will be remaining here, Jacob Hunter,” Titus answered. “It will be months before my leg is fully healed, and I do not wish to slow you in your journey.”

  I sighed deeply at the announcement. “Well, we’ll miss you, Titus, but it’s good that you know your limitations.”

  “I do,” Titus said, “but at least I won’t be alone. Madrina will remain as well. She has no wish to see combat again. Once I have healed, we will travel back to Judea and find my family, and then to Gaul. It’s her home, and close to Britain, where we will await your return.”

  “Sounds like a good plan.” I nodded and turned back to Vincent. “You’re all right with this?”

  “I am,” he replied. “We put too much faith in them both before, but now that Archer and his reinforcements have arrived, I would rather not put either them at risk anymore. Neither would Jeanne. And it would be good for Brian Wilson and my wife to see Titus again.”

  I smiled, remembering how Vincent had named his son after his favorite member of The Beach boys, and turned back to Titus. “Consider yourself lucky. You’ve got a good dad there.”

  “He has done fairly well,” Titus agreed with a smirk, and Vincent reached out to clip the young man on the chin with a light punch.

  I smiled at the scene, but moved to clear the doorway. “Shall we?”

  Vincent nodded and stood up. He made a quick stop to grab his pistol, and moved to join me.

  “Where to?” He asked.

  I pointed upward. “Let’s get some air.”

  Our building was equipped with a tall tower, perfect for our LP/OP, and when Vincent and I climbed the stairs to the roof, we found Brewster and Stryker diligently manning their post, the perfect pairing since they’d never grow distracted by talking to each other. They were comically standing back to back, looking out in opposite directions.

  “Take a break,” I said to them both. “Give us fifteen minutes.”

  “Take thirty,” Stryker answered.

  Brewster said nothing, and neither said a word to one another as they moved to the steps, but when both of them tried to descend at the same time, a small shoving match broke out until Brewster squeezed through first. Stryker growled at her small victory but followed.

  When they were out of earshot, Vincent whispered, “I wonder what their history is.”

  “Beats me,” I replied. “I’m sure it’s stupid.”

  Vincent moved to the low wall and stood beside it, pulling out his binoculars as he did. He brought them to his eyes and slowly scanned the horizon. “Rather jaded of you, no?”

  I sighed and plopped Penelope’s bipod on the low wall and sighted through her night vision scope. I glassed the city to delay immediately responding.

  “I guess,” I answered. “I just don’t care, is all.”

  “Neither do I,” Vincent admitted, “but that doesn’t explain the attitude. What’s wrong?”

  I was happy he hadn’t asked, “What’s wrong this time?” That was generally the tact Santino took, and even Helena at times. It was the one thing I could always rely on Vincent for. He never judged me for the decisions I made or the way in which I dealt with the repercussions of those choices afterwards. He was simply there when I needed him to be, and he knew that when I needed to talk, it wasn’t for some trivial thing. He was always ready to support, always there to listen, and never pushed his own thoughts and feelings on the conversation.

  I continued my scan of the city, checking for anomalies, almost hoping to find something out there to distract us, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  “I’ve been having these… visions,” I said carefully. “They started after Archer, Artie, and the rest showed up.”

  Vincent peeked at me behind his binoculars. “What kind of visions.”

  I closed my eyes as I remembered. “I guess they’re more like hallucinations really. Gruesome ones. Extremely visceral, graphic, and all t
oo real.”

  “What triggers them?”

  “I’m not sure, honestly. The two times it happened, my visions were a reflection of reality, just skewed for the worse.”

  “Explain.”

  “The first vision was in Damascus. I saw… I saw all of us cut to shreds by arrow fire. I saw people die horrible deaths. But then it was all gone. Replaced by what really happened.”

  “I see,” Vincent remarked quietly.

  “The other time was just a few hours ago when I was shot. Instead of the minor wound I actually have, I thought my femoral was cut. There was a lot of blood and a lot of pain. A lot. But when Wang found me, the vision completely melted away.”

  “Hmm,” Vincent muttered. “And you say these visions seem real? Like déjà vu or a dream?

  “Not even close. They are so much more that than. They are reality. I shouldn’t even be calling them visions. I could feel the warmth of the blood on my hands, smell it in my nose, and see it spurt from my leg. It was real.”

  Vincent was silent. I tore my eye away from my scope to see him holding his binoculars against his chest, looking down at his knees.

  “You all right, Vincent?” I asked.

  “I’m fine, Jacob, but I won’t mince words with you. I am worried that the orb may be affecting you. Remember our theories about its brain degenerative properties? What it may have done to Caligula and Claudius?”

  “Of course I remember,” I said, but without any scorn. He was just trying to make a point.

  “Well, you’ve interacted with it more than anyone,” he indicated. “Three times I believe. And unlike the Caesars, you have actually been able to operate it. Perhaps that’s three times too many, and… and it’s beginning to affect you.”

  “I’ve thought of that too,” I admitted.

  “It’ll be okay, Jacob,” Vincent assured. “Just keep it away from you. Maybe… just maybe, the Druids we’re looking for can help.”

  I chuckled. “Hell, anything is possible at this point, but… Druids??”

  “I agree,” Vincent said, but he didn’t seem amused, “but believe me when I say that you should not so immediately dismiss a Druidic presence that could help us. But I at least think it helps that you are aware of your ill effects. That simple awareness may allow you to overcome its long term negative effects. Just try to stay calm, and come to me whenever you see any more of these visions. I’ll do what I can to help.”

  “Thanks, Vincent. I really didn’t want to upset Helena with this, especially not now.”

  Vincent smiled and reached out to grip my shoulder with his hand. “We’ve journeyed a long road together, Jacob, and while you’ve sought my counsel before, never forget that you always have a friend in me. One who will always be there for you, ready to listen.”

  I returned the smile. “I know. It means a lot. Now let’s go un-relieve Romeo and Juliet down there and get some sleep.”

  Part Two

  V

  Mediterranean

  Western Mediterranean Sea

  November, 42 A.D.

  “Man your battle stations!” I shouted from the helm, steadying myself with the railing as the rough waters nearly threw me to the deck. “Prepare for immediate boarding!”

  “Argh, captain!” Santino replied, nearly falling to the deck himself as he followed. “A blimey pickle you’ve blundered us into this time. Argh, argh, argh…”

  I didn’t even bother sparing a glance at him. A runner was just returning from below deck with Penelope and my go-bag filled with spare magazines. As soon as I caught his attention, he tossed me the rifle, then the bag. I waved in thanks as he returned to the main deck, and I slapped a fresh magazine into place and pulled back the cocking lever. I raised the rifle to my shoulder and peered through the scope, scanning the darkness with the optic’s night vision activated. I glanced up at the sky briefly, noticing the thick clouds rolling by at a quick clip, and I feared our first storm of the expedition would soon join the fun.

  Santino was right. This certainly was a blimey pickle.

  The voyage had started so well, too.

  Brewster had worked her magic, otherwise known as my money, and procured everything we’d needed within four days, although she’d practically bankrupted me doing it, which was fine. We’d loaded down the ships, secured our cargo, and waved goodbye to Alexandria, Titus, and Madrina three days later. It had been a hard goodbye for Vincent, and an even harder one for Bordeaux, but both knew it was for the best. Neither Titus nor Madrina really belonged in the field, and neither Vincent nor Bordeaux wanted to put them at further risk and had accepted their choices.

  That was eleven days and about the entire width of Africa ago, making our current position just off the coast of modern day Algeria. It had been a restful voyage so far with only minor inclement weather, and it had given everyone the chance to relax and settle themselves after the tumultuous past few months. I’d spent the time doing everything I could to avoid instances that might incite a vision, convinced that even stubbing my toe could trigger one, and I’d been lucky so far.

  The rest of my time was spent performing random ship’s tasks, which included spending as much time with Helena, doing everything we could to enjoy ourselves. It wasn’t easy, but below deck in our hammocks, we could almost pretend we were on a cruise. The food wasn’t great, and Helena was having trouble keeping anything down as her pregnancy progressed and the tides picked up, but we made do. She was starting to show now as well, which was an amazing thing to witness as the days rolled on. And then there was the best part about her pregnancy: every night, she let me read to her stomach for about half an hour. In other times, she’d shut me up after about five minutes, but she was willing to allow it now.

  With little reading material available, I read Brewster’s high school text book to the kid. Helena would fall fast asleep minutes after I started, but I was captivated by the information night after night. I’d decided to start from the end and work my way backward in an attempt to better piece the puzzle together, and while I still hadn’t found where the timelines had gone askew, I’d definitely learned more than I ever wanted to. I was only at the 19th Century, but it already seemed like I was reading an alternate history novel. There was just so much weirdness, one particular fun fact being that the light bulb hadn’t been invented until 1932, and by a scientist in Egypt.

  Enough said.

  But after a relaxing week and a half, now we were here.

  Staring down the business end of an ancient Mediterranean pirate fleet.

  About one hundred years ago, Magnus Pompey, the man who would later cross swords with Julius Caesar, rose to power after clearing the pirate infested waters of the Mediterranean of the booty-seeking menace. He’d done a thorough job, and for the first time, the Mediterranean Sea was relatively safe. However, that was some time ago, and it wasn’t long before pirates had slunk their way back into the area again.

  As I squinted through my scope, I glassed the dark horizon as best I could, searching for the ships I had been told were coming. Lookouts from their perch high above had seen the outlines of at least a half dozen ships grouped tightly together out on the horizon, ones that had been following us for days. The shouts of the crew around me grew louder and I noticed my team setting up positions around the ship’s perimeter. As the sounds of battle preparations increased, another rancorous sound rolled in from the West.

  Thunder.

  Just. Fucking. Epic.

  A few seconds later, accompanied by a flash of lightning, came rain that poured down in sheets.

  “Ships to port!” Came another yell.

  I shifted myself around through the rain so that I looked to the left, and indeed saw two ships maybe a thousand meters away, but it was difficult to pinpoint because my line of sight was constantly bouncing up and down as the waves picked up.

  It was going to make sniper work damned impossible.

  I stormed away from the railing and headed for the helm, where
shipmaster Gnaeus gripped the wheel in a vice grip.

  “Why are they attacking us?” I yelled, the downpour turning torrential and making it difficult to be heard or even formulate words through the rain in my mouth.

  He spun his head around to look at me. “This is a merchant ship! They think we’re transporting cargo!”

  It seemed so simple.

  “So you’re saying we could have avoided this by simply prancing our legionnaires around on deck more often?”

  He spit water out of his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a deafening thunder clap that preceded a lightning strike that touched down only a few hundred meters away. He turned from the blast and back to me. “Unless they were stupid! As you seem to be!”

  “Contact starboard!”

  This warning came from Helena as she sprinted past me to join Cuyler at the bow of the ship, where she carefully lowered herself to lay prone on the deck – favoring her left side – and propped her DSR1 sniper rifle on its bipod. Earlier, Cuyler had sawed off a few of the vertical railing supports that were scattered equidistantly around the perimeter of the ship, allowing them a wider field of fire. Gnaeus wouldn’t be happy, but he was already less than happy about my own tactical decisions at the onset of the engagement.

  I had been at the helm when the first call came down that we had contacts to port, and I had immediately maneuvered us starboard, away from land, hoping to lose them out over the open water. What I hadn’t expected was that they were simply driving us toward their friends. I’d been a hard shooter back home in the Navy, not a naval seaman, and had even less of an idea about naval warfare in the ancient world. I’d maneuvered us straight into trap, and now our entire flotilla was surrounded. The other few ships in our convoy hung back but were no less trapped.

  Now, we had no other choice but to drive our ship toward the larger pirate group to our starboard, hoping they concentrated on us, since we had the firepower the other ships did not.

  “Gnaeus!” I called, swaying and lurching with the ship. “Break starboard! Head for the pirates!”