The Centurion's Empire

by Sean McMullen

  "When we get to the top the load will have to be carried into the storehouse in case more damn snow falls," shouted the guard's Temporian leader between booms.

  "What say I do the load for a day-ration of wine?" suggested the slave. "I'll not tell my master."

  "A day-ration, you say? Done.".

  "From each of you."

  Groans and jeers floated over from the other guards until another boom cut them short.

  "I thought your price was a trifle low," said the Temporian. "Well then, those who can't spare a day-ration can stay behind and do their share. Who's for it?"

  I nc _ C IN I UMUIN O tl ir

  There were disgruntled curses, but none volunteered.

  Each time the load thudded against the cliff the two thieves were wedged even more tightly in among the other sacks. Both began to feel something akin to seasickness, but to throw up would be to alert the guards at once. They breathed deeply and clamped their jaws as the wicker hand and its load swung and bumped. Presently they could hear the clopping of horses around a windlass track, then the bumping against the cliff stopped as the rope grew shorter. The slave shouted directions and the load was swung over the edge and lowered to the ground. As the hooks were detached from the netting, the crane's supervisor locked the gear mechanism and released the horses from the windlass. The guards helped lead the horses back to the palace stables, leaving Lacerna to haul the sacks in under cover. Even after it had been quiet for some time the two thieves remained motionless in their sacks.

  "It's me, Lacerna," the slave finally called as he passed near them. "I'm alone again, but wait till I carry your sacks into the store before you get out."

  He was strong and efficient, carrying two sacks at a time on a yoke across his shoulders. Within an hour he had the entire load under cover, while Lars and Vespus extricated themselves and unpacked their gear.

  "Where do we stay?" asked Lars.

  "That bag by the door has a map and some provisions. Follow it to the ruined lookout tower on the far side of this hill. I've left more food there, and hay to sleep under. Stay there, but don't light a fire. Dig a deep privy hole and keep it well covered. Don't let telltale scents give you away, because guard dog patrols are sent out each morning."

  "Guard dogs! They could track us from tonight's footprints."

  "No, more snow is falling now, and that should cover your scent. Just to be sure I'll carry you both a few hundred paces clear of this place on my yoke."

  "How long must we stay in the tower?" asked Lars.

  "Some days. I'll come past and tell you when to move."

  "Days?" exclaimed Vespus softly. "Why so long?"

  "There's a big meeting soon, but I don't know the date

  yet. The inner area of Nusquam, the Upper Palace, will be sealed while they all get together and debate in some strange language. Every Immortal on the mountain will be in the main hall, so the rest of the Upper Palace will be yours to plunder as you will." "What about guards?"

  "Mortal guards are not allowed in the Upper Palace, only slaves of dull wit—and slaves who feign to be so. I presume that Immortals are on patrol there, but during the great meeting even these will probably be withdrawn. Get past the outer walls, frozen moat, and the guard perimeter, and you'll have a free hand. Now that you're up over the cliff the whole of Nusquam should be open to the likes of you. There's not been one intrusion in all my time here, so the guards are lax."

  "And what about this oil that we're supposed to steal? Where is it kept?"

  "Oil? How should I know? I've carried load after load of bugs and beetles into the Upper Palace for fifteen years, but never seen what comes out."

  Vespus took a tiny glass phial of oil from his pack and uncorked it. "Have you seen or smelted the like of this before?" The slave sniffed the contents of the phial. "Never," he said at once. "What's it for?"

  "We were not told. I presume it's what their physicians brew out of all those sacks of insects that you carry. The man who hired us will pay plenty for a larger supply."

  The slave shrugged and shook his head, then began to bundle up the sacks that they had hidden in. "Take these with you and use them for bedding."

  "One last word," said Vespus. "Suppose something happens to you, and you can't reach us?"

  "In that case, wait seven days then do as best you can." The slave hefted the yoke and placed it over his shoulders. A leather loop hung from each end. "Step into the straps now, and I'll carry you clear of this place." Nusquam, 21 December 71, Anno Domini

  Regulus broke the wax seal behind Celcinius' panel without ceremony, then supervised as two of the younger Tempori- ans scraped away the rammed snow to expose the block of ice in which Celcinius was frozen. The block was mounted on metal skids, and slid out easily once the end was free. Eight blindfolded slaves carried it out on a litter, straining with the weight and taking small, cautious steps on the ice floor of the Frigidarium.

  The journey back up to the palace with the awkward and heavy load took much longer than Regulus' previous visit. It was two hours past dawn before the exhausted slaves lowered the block on its litter to the floor of the tepidarium in the women's baths. Already the sides of the block were slick with melting ice, and drips splashed to the flagstones as Doria and Rhea examined the surface. Once she was satisfied that the ice had not been violated since Celcinius had been frozen, Doria signed the Register of Revival. Regulus countersigned, and began to shuffle toward the door.

  "Regulus, please stay and watch," said Doria. "It's time that men got some appreciation of what we do here." Doria had been meticulous in her preparations for the revival once it had become probable that Celcinius would be unfrozen during her term in office. Her teams of women had revived three other frozen Temporians for practice, and all had been men over sixty. None had died.

  Four women began chipping the outer ice away, and it did not take long to reach an inner layer of Egyptian linen. Now the body was lowered into a marble bath of tepid water, and the cloth soon came away to reveal the body beneath a thin film of ice.

  "Tepid heat," ordered Doria, and Rhea pulled a lever controlling air from a furnace that flowed through the hypocaust beneath the marble bath.

  The women ran their hands along the ice as the temperature of the water slowly increased. "Skin, I feel his skin," someone said excitedly. The first hour passed, and the Prima Decuria changed shifts with the Secunda Decuria. Very slowly the heat from the water penetrated the flesh of Celcinius as the women gently massaged him. The temperature of the water continued to rise. "Pump heat," Doria ordered as his limbs grew flexible. The shift was changed again. By noon the air was heavy with steam. The women were slick with sweat, and their robes clung to them, sticky and uncomfortable. Regulus fanned himself and drank watered wine as he watched. Doria removed the gag that had sealed Celcinius' mouth and held his head up while Rhea removed the wax ear and nose plugs. The water was drained from the bath until Celcinius could be laid back with his face exposed above the surface. Rhea and Doria climbed into the bath with him, and while Rhea blew breath between his lips Doria began the much more difficult task of pounding his heart back into life.

  All the while the temperature continued to rise. "Revival heat," panted Doria as she worked, and Rhea's understudy moved the lever controlling the hypocaust flow a final notch. In effect, Celcinius was now just an old man with severe hypothermia.

  The procedure was based on experiments with animals and slaves, and through many deaths it had been refined to perfection. A physician of two millennia in the future would have said that they were attempting to get blood flow to the brain established while it was as yet too cold to be damaged by oxygen starvation. The Venenum Immortale that Celcinius had been treated with had both antifreeze properties and a limited ability to carry oxygen. Other women presently relieved Doria and Rhea, who lay exhausted on wicker couches while lower-ranking assistants dried them. By now it was mid-afternoon. As soon as she could sit up again Doria went to the edge of
the bath and felt for the pulse at the old man's neck.

  "Very faint," she said. "What I feel is all from the hands that pump at his chest."

  "Ninety-four is too old," said Rhea, but Doria only glared at her and shook her head. They kept working, by now with the bath near body temperature. Food was brought in, and the women who supplied the breath and heartbeat to Celcinius were working in progressively shorter spells. The light behind the mica windows faded and more lamps were lit. Regulus dozed in his chair, emotionally drained in spite of his inactivity. Abruptly he sat up. All was still, and Celcinius lay pallid

  and still in the bath with exhausted women sprawled all around, some naked, others in soaking wet robes.

  "You've stopped," said Regulus breathlessly.

  Doria lifted her head and nodded.

  "Have you lost him?" he ventured.

  "Why waste effort on a man who can breathe for himself?" she replied.

  That was not the end of the ordeal. Another five hours passed before Celcinius' condition was stable. His heart was a problem, for when it was beating at all its action was quite feeble. Gradually he passed into a state akin to sleep and was lifted from the bath and dried.

  The women of Prima Decuria carried him on a litter to another room where a bed had been prepared. The flagstones of the floor were warm with the heat of the hypocaust beneath.

  "Two women will lie on either side of him for the night," Doria explained to Regulus. "Skin against skin. That will keep him warm, while their breathing will stimulate his body to breathe. If his condition worsens they can take action to revive him at once."

  "Lucky Celcinius," cackled Regulus. "I wish two women had lain against me when last I was revived."

  "They did," replied Doria. "I was one of them."

  He turned and opened his mouth, but at that moment Celcinius coughed. Doria immediately knelt beside the bed and began to massage his temples. He opened his eyes, and his gaze focused on her face.

  "Can you hear me, Celcinius?" she asked. His lips moved a little, but he made no sound. "It is the 824th year of the founding of Rome, my great lord, and you have been asleep two hundred and seventeen years." She drew back a little, and Regulus moved closer.

  "Rome?" wheezed Celcinius faintly.

  "Rome is now the greatest power on earth," said Regulus over Doria's shoulder. "Temporian rule is still firm." The edges of Celcinius' mouth lifted briefly into a smile.

  The old man managed to swallow a mixture of weak broth and antidote before falling asleep. Regulus returned to the Register to note that the founder of the Temporians had once more been brought back to life. Celcinius was now the oldest man on earth in absolute terms, but of more concern was his age in waking years. Whatever value that could be had from his authority needed to be taken quickly.

  The next evening Doha's women were given a great revel by the other Temporians, and even Celcinius was carried in on a litter for a short time. Regulus became quite drunk, and could not speak to Doria without tears welling up in his eyes.

  "It was like a long and difficult birth," he kept saying. "Your work requires a thousand times more skill than the freezing process."

  "So much so that we should have a place in that process?" she asked.

  "You'll have my vote on that. Why, when I saw the skills that you commanded it even made me think to trust myself to another leap through time in the damnable Frigidarium. Besides, it would be worth it to have your body against mine again, and next time I might even remember it."

  "You need not wait so long as that," Doria replied coyly.

  Regulus sat up straight with a crackle of joints. He thought through her words again, just to be sure, then raised an eyebrow and gave a knowing, gap-toothed leer.

  On the third day after his revival Celcinius was strong enough to walk. He had already issued a decree that Vespasian had-his support in taking on the mantle of Emperor, given the crisis of the time. At his direction the Adjudicators called a preliminary meeting of the Temporian Council, and it was expected that a Grand Temporian Council would result from this. All Temporians currently working throughout the Roman Empire would be called in. Several dozen other key Temporians lay frozen, and these would also have to be revived. Doria drew up rosters for the massive project, yet did not complain. She had brought Celcinius back from the ice, and nothing else could be a problem by comparison. Primus Fort: 22 December 71, Anno Domini

  Vitellan trudged into Primus Fort early in the afternoon of the fifth day after the ambush. He was given hot, spiced wine and clean, dry clothing as he warmed himself in front

  rf a fire. The fort's centurion, Namatinus, soon arrived to juestion him.

  "You say bandits stole the mules?" Namatinus asked, scratching his head. "That's odd. There was little else but food and cloth, it was all sacrificial offerings for the gods."

  "They may have wanted supplies for their stronghold," said his optio. "Supplies dragged all the way up here can be worth more than face value."

  "There was one thing that did not make sense," Vitellan added after another swallow of hot wine. "Gallus was stripped of his clothing before being thrown over the cliff, yet the dead bandit was flung after him fully dressed. They also threw down the goods from the packs of two mules."

  "Even more odd," said Centurion Namatinus, now frowning and rubbing his chin. "They took Gallus' clothing and your cloak, they may have wanted to pass as legionaries."

  "It could be, Centurion."

  'They may have plans to steal more than the mules they already have," suggested the optio. "They may be planning to find that secret altar and to steal all of the offerings left on it. That would keep them well supplied in their hideout for the whole of the winter."

  "You may be right," said Namatinus. "Yet you say that they emptied two mule packs, Vitellan Bavalius—oh no!" Namatinus suddenly realized that the goods thrown over the cliff left enough space in the mule packs to fit two small men. He seized the optio by the arm and hurried him to the door.

  "Get the horses saddled and provisioned, quickly!" he ordered.

  "Yes, Centurion, but how many?"

  "All twenty, every horse m the fort. Rouse out the eighteen best riders from among our legionaries. Bavalius, you and I are going as well."

  Nusquam: 24 December 71, Anno Domini

  By the day of the preliminary meeting of the Council, Celcinius had some color back in his face. Although his hair was sparse and his scalp blotched with liver spots, he still

  had all his teeth and walked without a stoop. Regulus and Doria were sitting in the front row of the enclosed Council Amphitheater as he emerged from the shadows between two pillars. At once everyone rose to their feet, cheering and applauding.

  "I'm told that he even mounted a slave girl last night," Doria whispered in Regulus' ear as Celcinius descended the steps to the speakers' dais.

  "Hah, but you were worth more for my centuries of waiting," Regulus replied, nudging her with his elbow. Celcinius raised bis hands for silence, and at «nce they all sat back down on the cushions of their serried ranks of stone benches. Regulus noted that he moved with great care and deliberation, even though there was much vitality about him. He cleared his throat.

  "My friends and colleagues, fellow Temporians, this is a glorious day," he began, his voice a firm, penetrating tenor.

  "Whatever the problems of Rome, they are nothing but the stings of ants on the feet of an elephant. We have conquered the world. Now we must decide how to govern it."

  At this there was more spontaneous applause. Perhaps the Venenum Immortale actually delays aging as well, Regulus found himself wondering. Celcinius seemed in unbelievably good health; he might have been no more than sixty. The Temporians' founder raised his hands for silence again. "The future belongs to Rome. We need only—" He gasped, then clutched at his chest with both hands, doubling up with pain. Those nearest to him were already running forward, but they were not quick enough. The heart attack had actually been fairly mild, but his hea
d struck the marble dais so hard that his skull fractured. Doria lifted his head very gently and noticed the blood oozing from one ear. There was no pulse at his neck.

  "Celcinius is dead," she said in a firm, calm voice, but her face was chalk white and she suddenly seemed years older. An Alpine Trail: 24 December 71, Anno Domini

  Centurion Namatinus, Vitellan, and his riders met the main mule caravan well south of the secret altar in the mountains,

  and the bandits calling themselves Vitellan and Clavius were quickly identified, seized and tortured on the trail itself. They confessed to being in the pay of two master thieves from the southern cities, and said that they had left the thieves in mule packs on the altar.

  Now Namatinus led Vitellan and the others north, riding as fast as was practical on the treacherous, snow-covered mountain trails.

  "There is a—a temple high above the altar," Namatinus explained as they rode. "It is a secret temple, and those two thieves are up there now."

  "But two men can carry away very little from such a remote place," Vitellan pointed out.

  "They could carry away its secret at the very least. That weighs nothing at all and it would fetch a very high price in the right places. As to treasures, I dare not even think about what those two may plunder from the temple."

  "How much further until we get there, Centurion?"

  "It's far, too far. Our horses are near exhaustion, but if we ride them as hard as we dare, and if we ride in the dark by torchlight, we could reach it some time tonight."

  Nusquam: 24 December 71, Anno Domini

  Powdery snow drifted out of the blackness above Nusquam. It was designed and built against easy approach and organized assault, but now it was the depths of winter and the weather was its shield. The guards were more concerned with keeping themselves warm than with the prospect of intruders. Lars and Vespus crossed a tripstring field, scaled the outer wall, stole across the frozen moat and made their way to the rooftops of the Upper Palace. They paused to rest, pressing deep into a shadowed corner on the curved terracotta tiles.