by Ahimsa Kerp
The late afternoon sky was dry when they returned to the tent of Tettius Iullianus. They explained their ordeal to the commander, telling him in some detail what they knew of the lifeless and how they could be killed.
“You need to kill their brains,” he said flatly. “This isn't exactly news—you think I didn't learn that the first fucking time I fought them?” He was sitting across from them at the back of his tent.
Rowanna slumped. “It was … hard-fought knowledge for me,” she said quietly.
Iullianus looked at her in surprise, as though he had forgotten that she was there. “It sounds like you've survived an experience that not many trained soldiers could have. I am not belittling that. But the lifeless, they destroyed an entire legion in the last week. You saw some of the few survivors escape and join us. They will be integrated into our forces, though few enough officers escaped. Those men already knew how to kill them, and an entire Roman legion was armored with that knowledge. And yet.”
Rowanna looked at Zuste. The bearded man said nothing, but Iullianus caught the look.
“There is more?” he asked.
Silence.
The big man stood and strode aggressively to the bearded alchemist. “Listen, I am being more frank with you than I could. Most commanders in my place would not have allowed you into the camp, let alone clothed and fed you. I need you to act in kind.”
Zuste sighed. “I understand. It may be difficult to comprehend.”
“The dead are walking. My comprehension is better than it used to be,” Tettius Iullianus said with a gleam in his eye.
“I am an alchemist. I know how to create more than a hundred potions, and an elixir to stop your heart, make your beloved fall in love with you, or to heal the itching sickness.”
He looked at Iullianus, and his brown eyes stared steadily into the other man's green orbs. “I may have a cure for the lifeless.”
Iullianus frowned. “A cure? You were not exaggerating. What do you mean?”
“I can create an elixir vitae, one that restores life to those who have lost it,” Zuste said.
“By Mithras! Such a cure would be help beyond hope, but your words indicate that you two did not have such an elixir on your journey. What is it you need?”
“Herbs that are hard to find in the autumn. Most importantly, I need chaga, but it can be hard to find. Fire, some time, of course, and an ambix and a cucurbit--”
“I've got an army here. They can help collect what you need. Go back to the hospital and see what kind of equipment you can use.”
A trumpeting roar sounded from outside. It was louder than anything they'd ever heard before, and Rowanna had to fight the impulse to block her ears.
“What in the hell was that?” Zuste asked.
“Don't panic,” Iullianus said. “Those are some friends of mine. I brought them from the Syrian desert.” He hesitated. “I was planning on visiting them this evening. It would please me if you'd come.”
Rowanna and Zuste nodded.
“Follow me,” the large red-haired man said. The two Dacians followed him out of the tent and through the camp. A few centurions looked strangely at the trio—the commander of the army flanked by a portly barbarian and a limping middle-aged woman.
As they drew closer, a strange smell assaulted Rowanna's nostrils. It smelled something like a barn, but far stronger. At the far west side of the camp, the Romans had built twenty-feet high fences. The ground rumbled as they approached. There was one massive gate, big enough for a Titan. By the look of it, it was strong enough to keep a Titan out as well. How—and more importantly—why had the Romans assembled such a massive construction out here? What were they protecting? Or were they protecting themselves?
Zuste hesitated. “Is it safe?”
The red-headed man laughed. “No, not entirely. But if you listen to me, no harm will come to you.” He walked into the enclosure and the Dacians hurried to follow him.
Rowanna's eyes grew large as she beheld the beasts before her. Massive creatures with long trunks paraded in their large enclosure. They were massive, grey, and noble.
“Twenty war elephants,” Iullianus said. “I personally trained many of them. They did so well in skirmishes in Syria that I was picked to lead the replacement legion after Cornelius Fuscus got himself killed last year.”
He leaned in conspiratorially. “Of course, originally, these animals were meant to fight the natives, those who live in these wild and barbaric lands. Hardly fair, I know. But having them against the undead menace that threatens our world is a great consolation for me.” He turned to Zuste. “If you can live up to your promise, we just might have a chance against these things.”
Rowanna stared at the elephants in awe. They were such noble creatures, but frighteningly big. She could not imagine Dapyx trying to fight against Roman legions augmented by such as those.
“These animals made that sound we heard?” she asked.
“Aye, but that's nothing,” Iullianus said. “You should see them piss.” He laughed and then drew closer to the pair. “I have something else to share with you two as well. Come with me.”
They left the elephant enclosure and walked through the camp. Many of the soldiers were erecting tents and digging more ditches. “Apologies. I arrived only two days ago, and you know what we're up against. After I saw what happened at Tapae, I put out the word that all survivors were to be allowed in without questions.”
Rowanna looked at Zuste with growing dread.
“After what happened at Tapae?” She asked, her voice sounding shaky even to her.
Iullianus looked at her. “I hadn't realized you didn't know.”
“Didn't know what?” Zuste asked. Rowanna noticed his voice sounded strained as well.
“It's gone. Destroyed.”
“What about Diurpaneus?” Zuste asked.
“Diurpaneus?” the Roman asked.
“Our King,” Rowanna said.
“The one who destroyed the Roman legions last year,” Zuste added.
“I see. You must mean the one we call Decabalus. He's a wily one, but if even if he's still alive, he doesn't have much land to rule.”
Zuste frowned but said nothing. Considering his feelings about the Romans, Rowanna thought he was quite restrained.
They were just left of the center of the camp. “Now we have a carcer here, a small prison. I meant for it to serve as quarters for any who needed, except that we have a prisoner now. I will send him to Rome tonight and it can be yours.”
“Are you sure the lifeless cannot reach us in here?” Zuste asked. He still saw shambling shadows lurching for him every time he closed his eyes.
“Relax. Did anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?” Iullianus said.
He called something, not in Latin, and two tribunes appeared. Both had dark red hair and green eyes. They were so young, Rowanna thought, not even as old as Dapyx had been. She turned away from the two, surprising herself by finding it difficult to see other boys. She could only see herself jabbing the spear into her son's brain.
Iullianus spoke to them quietly and they both entered the carcer. He turned to them with a naughty grin and said, “They are not your typical tribunes, but the lads are apolitical and know how to fight. Here they come.”
The pair of tribunes came out of the building. They had a prisoner held carefully between them. The prisoner’s hands were clasped behind his back and his head was slouched down in defeat.
As they reached the trio, the prisoner had lifted his head and revealed his bloody face and white eyes. Rowanna screamed.
Zuste took two rapid steps back, causing Iullianus to laugh loudly. “He's restrained. I captured him earlier this morning, on the road back to Tapae.” He nodded to the duo and they led the lifeless prisoner away.
“That handsome fellow is going to be my present to the city of Rome. Give them some idea of what they can expect out here. And now, your home awaits.”
The two were warm, dry, and s
afe for the first time in as long as they could remember and both were sleeping soundly before Iullianus had made his way back to his tent. Outside, the darkening sky was heavy with gray clouds as an army of lifeless crept closer to the camp.
CHAPTER XII
Rome: 88 CE, Winter
Rufus sent the last of the lickspittles that had come to beg favor away just an hour short of midday. He had gone overlong with them, and still many had left unsatisfied. It was the price of power, and ten years ago, he had a fraction of the clients that plagued him today. Was the price of power ever worth it? He was exhausted and yet had more to do.
It was the Kalends, the first day of month, and that meant another Senate meeting. He groaned in disbelief at the prospect. “Imagine the things the fucking Roman Empire could achieve if we didn't waste so much time listening to old men fart and complain,” he said to Fulvius. His new aide was a stuffy Greek who occasionally flirted with competence but had no genuine acquaintance with her. Plautius’ presence was missed.
“You must go,” Fulvius pointed out dourly. “It is your duty, master.”
“I can do as I want,” Rufus said, but it was petty. As always, he thought about skipping the gathering, and, as always, he didn't want to pay the fine. The fines for voluntarily missing a Senate meeting were prohibitive, even for the wealthy. There was no escape, not unless he was out of town or into his sixth decade—Senators over sixty years were free to do fuck all, should they desire. That age was, unfortunately, still a few years away.
It was a moot point. This day, however, he grumbled, he needed to speak to the Senate. What a bothersome task. Addressing the Senate had a special place on his list of least-favorite actions. Perhaps he would wait until the next meeting. No. He’d been putting it off, but did not dare wait any longer. He called for his slaves, who dressed him formally, and waited for a litter.
The trip to the Curia Hostilia, situated in the Roman Forum, was not a long one. Other than litters, of course, there were no wagons or carts allowed in the city during the day. Even foot traffic lessened as they drew closer to the Forum. The place was politically sacred. It had been an instrument of the Roman government since the time of the Republic.
Rufus paused by the outer western wall. It was decorated with the Tabula Valeria, a painting illustrating the Roman victory over the Carthaginians. More interesting, the ground below him was slippery with slow-drying blood. Earlier that morning, a magistrate had killed a lamb and read the auspices. They'd obviously been positive this morning, as they always were unless someone powerful did not wish so. If the reading had been admonitory, the meeting would have been postponed. In the time of Augustus, each Senator would have brought offerings of frankincense and wine to offer the Gods, but that expensive custom, thankfully, had fallen into disuse over the last twenty years. He was relieved not to have lived in the Republic, which had been borderline barbaric at times.
Rufus entered and took his place, noting the amount of new faces. The makeup of the Senate had changed since his return to Rome a decade ago. Under Vespasian and Titus, the Senate, along with many other posts, had been filled almost entirely with Flavian flunkeys. Domitian, for all his faults, rarely favored his own family members. He admitted many provincials into the Senate, and allowed many below the Senator class to run the imperial bureaucracy. It was controversial, but the candidates who made it through were annoyingly competent. Rufus wished he could take some credit for the move, but Domitian had thought of it and fought for it himself.
The Emperor himself was not yet there, as per his typical predilection. Domitian held most of the important offices in the Senate, and was acting Consul. The session couldn't start without him. He normally took his place between the two Consuls, but Catalus had been missing for three months now, and he was presumed dead. Not a person had connected Rufus with Catalus disappearance, and he had begun to hope that he was safe. Domitian had not replaced him, and he might not until the next year began. The other consul, a severe man named Sextus Iulius Sparsus, was there, as always. He’d probably arrived early, Rufus thought with disgust. Sparsus was cut from the cloth of a Cato. A stern man who disapproved of everything, including disapproval.
The Senators sat in straight, parallel lines. Behind them, any member of the public was welcome to come listen to the debate. Today, there were not many, other than the usual town criers and semi-important equites who were as rich as Senators were, but of common ancestry and who had not yet been elected into office. Other than times of war or danger, there typically weren’t many who came to watch. Rufus couldn’t imagine coming here voluntarily, and some people had too much time on their hands.
Muttered conversations filled the emptiness caused by Domitian's absence. Time passed, until he belatedly appeared at last, nearly an hour late. That wasn't unusual; nor, unfortunately, was his attire. The Emperor was dressed grandiosely in the uniform of a triumphal general. Around his head was a golden laurel wreath with dangling gold ribbons. He wore a tunic that had been embroidered with palm leaves, and his toga was purple with an embroidered golden border. There was an ivory baton in his left hand and a golden gladius in the other. Rufus hid all signs of disdain but he was embarrassed for his old friend. Germanicus himself would have looked pretentious in all that gilt and gold.
As Domitian strode to his place, the other Senators rose. What did the other Senators think? Were some of the more simple-minded taken in by this simple pageantry? Domitian was beginning to claim every border skirmish in the Empire as a major victory. At the same time, in Rome, he was ordering more of his opponents killed, including his own cousin, Flavius Clemens. His megalomania was swelling to dangerous heights, and he had taken to being addressed as Dominus et Dues, Master and God.
None of the Senators dared laugh or even smile openly, but Rufus could smell the current of mockery that flowed through the building. It made for an inauspicious beginning. Worst of all, Rufus realized, was that it was midday. The emperor was always erratic and nervous at midday. Some foolish astrologer had predicted that he would die at noon, and Domitian was even more paranoid at that time than others.
The next few hours passed slowly. The consuls were the first to voice their opinion, followed by praetors, tribunes, and finally, other Senators. They spoke of fines, taxes, fees, and other petty grievances. It would be hours before he could broach his subject. Boredom and apprehension warred in the pit of his stomach. Domitian himself appeared to have fallen asleep more than once.
At last, his chance came. Rufus stood, and ignored the eyes of his fellow Senators. His antipathy toward the proceedings was well known.
“Salve, patres conscripti,” he said, addressing the house. “If all rumors that reached the Senate's ears were but a drop of water, we would all drown in the never-ceasing deluge.” There was a small, polite laugh at that from his peers. “However, there are ominous reports I know we have all heard recently. Savage, flesh-eating barbarians are terrorizing the corners of the Empire. They say you can't bribe them, can't give them lands.”
“Ha,” Sparsus snorted, rising. “As Caesar said, men gladly believe that which they wish for. They've said that of every group of twenty or more barbarians who saddled a horse and burnt an inn. Let them quaff a Falernian or fuck a fat farmer's wife and they'll be Romanized within a year. You speak of absurdity!"
Rufus maintained his neutral expression, but inwardly he swore. As Consul, Sparsus was a man that not many would wish to cross. He realized that he should have approached this more subtly. Rumors, bribes, and innuendos could have established his case better. Still, Rufus felt he could convince most anyone of anything, given enough time. Unwanted, the vision of shambling shadows backlit by flame and ash appeared in his mind. He couldn’t give up.
“I believe it because it is absurd," Rufus said. "I speak not of raising new Legions or increasing taxes. As our good Consul says, there are endless waves of barbarians that threaten to ravage Rome. I simply propose we appoint a committee to investigate this n
ew menace.”
“Committees,” Sparsus said with disdain. “Paying men to sit on their arses, it’s expensive and wasteful. Without raising taxes, the Emperor would have to pay for it himself.”
Domitian, who had only been paying half-attention, looked up in alarm. He stood and crossed to the center of the chamber. “I don't have any money,” Domitian said. “I'm still rebuilding from the great fire, the civil war, and the fires of Titus. It's non-ending. I've added a fourth level to our Flavian amphitheatre and have built fifty new buildings, including a new Temple of Jupiter, the Arch of Titus, the Odeon, and a new palace on the Palatine Hill. I've implemented the Capitoline Games, which in addition to the chariot races and gladiator matches have oratory, music, and acting. And I've created new ludi, with new warriors.”
Domitian's speech sounded rehearsed to Rufus, and he realized his agenda had become subservient to the Emperor’s platform. The ludi he spoke of, the gladiator schools, were filled with dwarves and women. Such were Domitian’s ideas of “new warriors.”
“And that is merely here in Rome!” Domitian thundered. “It was always me who funded the Limes Germanicus, even when my father and brother was Emperor.”
“I understand, Caesar,” Rufus said, hiding his anger beneath an unctuous smile. He did not dare broach the man's wrath.
“I can fund the committee myself,” he offered. “Along with anyone who—”
“This then has become a private venture, Senator, and not one you should trouble us with,” Sparsus snapped. He muttered something to his friends about “the old days” and Rufus was forced to take a seat. Nothing he could think of would convince the rest of the Senate to oppose both the Emperor and the Consul. He did not hear another word that was spoken.
By the time Rufus escaped the Senate, the day was waning. It had been a complete waste of time. There was only one other course of action he could think of taking. It would be difficult to find the appropriate people, but he knew exactly where to start.