by Ahimsa Kerp
"You do what I say. There is no greater honor for a servus than to conform to his master's wishes."
“I know you are helping me, Senator, but that's strange notion of honor, even for a Roman,” Iullianus said.
Rufus fought a surge of anger, knowing his irritability to be a product of exhaustion and lack of sleep.
“And are you not a Roman?” Felix asked.
“It is a matter increasingly up for debate lately,” Iullianus said, “but, no, I was born outside the Empire.”
“Mare's shit. You're a Legatus, a political animal.”
The big man sighed. “It’s a long story, lad, and one I have no stomach to recount now. I was captured from my family when I was fourteen. Before the man who had taken us could sell me, we were attacked. I saved his life, incredible though that sounds.”
“What man was this?” Rufus interjected.
“Legatus Larcius Lepidus, Senator,” the big man said.
The name sounded familiar, but Rufus did not know the man. “When was this?”
“A long time ago. More than twenty years. Did you know him?”
“I did not. I was exiled during that time.”
Iullianus turned to the lad. "Iullianus isn't even my name, though I've used it for most of my life. I'm willing to bet that your parents didn't call you Felix either."
Rufus saw the pain and surprise that briefly shone on the lad's face. "That's right. My name, a lifetime ago, was Jotham. At least I think so, though that boy named is not me."
The big man nodded. "I know," he said.
"You still had no right to hold me back," Felix said. His eyes brimmed with wet emotion.
Iullianus drew his blade. It happened so quickly that he had it pressed against Felix's throat before Rufus could even blink.
Felix's hand dropped to his waist, but before it could move further, Iullianus pressed the edge of his sword against the man's throat.
"Don't fucking move," he said.
"Stand down, Legatus," Rufus said, standing up. He used his Senatorial voice, the one packed with the most authority he could summon. It did him little good.
"Apologies, Senator, but if this boy continues to mope that I saved his life, I will end it here. It seems to me a fair solution to the issue."
His eyes turned to the charioteer.
"Do you think you're the first to see a friend die? To see him fall before you? Others have walked this walk, and done so with considerably more grace."
Felix seemed unable to look away from the blade. His features flared with determination and hate. There was silence for far too long.
At last, the boy spoke. "All right, Legatus, Senator. I concede the point," his voice was weary. "I have been an ungrateful wretch, and I have no excuse."
The sword was sheathed again in an instant. Iullianus smiled at Felix, his expression sphinx-like. "You have many excuses. I barely knew the man and his death saddened me, but never let excuses dictate your action—that is the realm of reason, and reason alone. Senator," this last was accompanied by a farewell nod to Rufus.
That had not gone as planned, but it seemed to have achieved the desired result. Rufus was just congratulating himself when Felix moved. He had a blade in his hand and he took one big step and then leapt at the big man.
Iullianus must have sensed something, for he whirled around. His reflexes were not fast enough, however, and Felix crashed into him. They fell and the commotion alerted others to the conflict. Iullianus grabbed at the lad's legs, but they had been hardened by a thousand races and he could not gain purchase against them.
Felix had his blade at Iullianus' throat. "You spoke truly," he hissed. "I was ungrateful, and you were correct in reminding me." He spat, to the side, and his spittle landed in a clump of phlegm not far from Rufus. "But if you ever draw a blade on me—ever—you had better kill me. Or I will kill you. Understand?"
Iullianus began laughing.
"By Mithras, you've got balls after all," he said. "You keep up this spirit, and you will not have to worry."
A chagrined smile later, Felix stood up. "I mean it, Legatus."
"I know you did, aurigae," Iullianus said, clasping his hand, "I know you did."
Rufus watched them walk away, feeling ever less connected to reality. The dead walking was hard enough to accept, but slaves’ acting as equals to freemen was stretching the realm of credibility. He wondered if the nicely drawn lines of social structure always blurred in crises, then realized there had never been a crisis like this one to compare it with.
He called for the men to gather and the sleeping men were quickly woken. "Listen," Rufus said, "we have come a long, dusty way, and Rome is close." In truth, he was not entirely sure how close it was, but he estimated they would see it late tomorrow, if they were lucky. "But we are slowed by the wagon."
"Hear, hear," one of the Praetorians said.
"You all know how dangerous the warfire is. Drop it, or even shake it overmuch and you'll burn to death instantaneously. A fast death, but a painful one. Worse, you will kill all of us as well. So hold onto caution with the amphorae."
"This is nothing new," Iullianus said. "The men who carry the wagon tread as lightly as possible. My back still aches from my stint yesterday."
There were murmurs of agreement. "We're leaving the wagon," Rufus said. "And our shields. Each man is to carry one pot of fire. We will burn the rest."
In the end, there were only three pots left. Rufus had decided to leave them unburned, in the hopes that the lifeless would somehow trigger them. And so laden, the survivors of the Legion of Death marched on.
It was the next day, after they had marched through the night, slept at dawn, and resumed marching until the sun was high overhead that they saw Rome. It was still far away, at the edge of the horizon. Rufus nearly dropped his tzykalia as the shock somehow penetrated his weary exhaustion. A look at the others showed him a similar defeated numbness. Another look and he screamed in frustration, willing it not to be true. His body wilted as his once indomitable spirit seemingly left him at last. They could all see it from where they stood.
Rome was burning.
CHAPTER XXXII
Italy: 89 CE, Spring
Felix swung his sword with a weary sigh. It connected with an undead neck, but did not pierce it and his blade stuck. He had seen Iullianus swing with enough strength to behead the lifeless, but the Legatus was not only freakishly strong, he used a heavier gladius. Felix kicked at the creature until it fell down. As it struggled to rise, he wrenched the sword free and drove it into the back of the thing's head. That was the last of this wave and Felix sighed wearily.
“Is there no end to this?” Felix said. “How long can we hold the will to fight?”
Rowanna nodded grimly and Iullianus said nothing at all. They were saving their energy for the relentless struggle. They were caught in a deadly trap and now, Felix realized, the survivors were merely in extended death throws. He was tired that events were rapidly outpacing his capability to process them, but even through the tired haze of shock, he could taste his astonishment.
They had reached Rome to find it a smoking, burning heap. Flames still licked and sparked as smoke poured into the heavens, and they dared not enter the dangerous remnants. The obvious fact troubled Felix far more than he would be able to express. The Eternal City was no more. The very heart of Italy, of the Empire, had rotted, burned, and now ceased to beat altogether.
There were no survivors, and more correctly, no living survivors. The area outside the city was full of crawling, twitching citizens of the former city. There were surprisingly few of the creatures, however. Thousands certainly, but not the hundreds of thousands that one might expect. What had happened in that doomed city? He guessed that the fires had burned most of the citizens to death.
With a horde close behind them, and the damned of Rome before them, the small troop stopped. The sheer exhaustion from forced marches and lack of sleep was an anchor that dragged upon them all. Up
on discovery of the ruined city, however, there had been no time to rest. Felix had joined Iullianus and they had dug a small trench around themselves, filling it with warfire. Others, the few who did not fall to the ground and sleep immediately, began assembling ruined carts, stones, and long sticks as a sort of barricade. This was set the length of two men back from the trench, to keep it safe from the flames.
The first of the lifeless had reached them soon after. If not for the warfire, they would have been lost. Thousands of walking dead—people who had been Senators, slaves, bakers, guards, whores, cloth-dyers, brick makers, sculptors, teachers, and more—perished in those hot fires. More strange yet, were the animals—woodland creatures, dogs, cats, bears, and even exotic lions and rhinos, refugees from a gladiatorial pit somewhere. It was eerie to see them march thoughtlessly through the flames, flesh melting, sizzling, and bones blackening as their bodies disintegrated.
It had begun raining, but not even the tears of the gods could quench this inferno. Felix watched it dreamily. It roared and crackled with a ferocity no ordinary fire could hope to match, and even so far back he could feel the heat of it. How many times had Hyacinthus saved their lives with his creation? Moreover, what could they do with that gift except prolong the inevitable? In some ways, he envied his old friend, envied all who no longer had to battle for existence.
"There are too many of them out there," a voice said.
His eyes snapped open and he realized he'd been sleeping on his feet.
The Senator stood before him. He was smiling wearily and he held a muddy stick in his hand. Felix barely recognized him as the man he'd left Rome with. "If I could do it all over again," he said, "I wouldn't have been so fucking eager to get off my island. I'm sorry I got you into this; got everyone into this. We should have left Rome on the first ship after that gladiator fight." He sighed. "As Seneca said, fire tests gold, suffering tests brave men, but he couldn't have comprehended this."
"You did not create these monsters, Senator," Felix said. He was unsure of how to deal with this version of the man before him. Had he likewise changed? Would he know? Did things like personality and character matter at all anymore?
The Senator laughed. When Felix looked at him, he no longer saw a man imbued with the imperial power of Rome. He saw a tired old man, shaking slightly from exhaustion.
“There's no better way to say this than to just say it: You’re a servus no longer,” Rufus said. “My will said otherwise, of course, but it’s been burnt to ashes by now.”
"Senator? But I am too young," Felix said, taken aback.
"True. You are only half-free until you reach the age of thirty. Admittedly which," he said, looking out at the encroaching fields of walking death, "doesn't look too possible now."
The slap was unexpected. Old man though he might be, Rufus was not weak and his hand hit Felix hard across the face. Anger boiled in Felix but the Senator was smiling.
"Your last punishment," he said. "There is no magistrate here, so I will do this bit by myself." He touched the end of his muddy twig to Felix's forehead. "You are free."
Just when he had caught up with reality, it went and did something like this. He wanted to jump for joy, or dance, or take a woman to bed, but the cold and numbness inside him was too strong. “I will continue to fight for you, Senator," he said stiffly.
“Well, of course you will. I wouldn’t have freed you if I'd thought you would flee. Not that it will matter much.” He gestured at the crawling chaos that advanced upon them. "They come,” he said.
Felix grasped his sword and spat disgustedly. "There are too many, but we will die fighting them."
****
Rowanna screamed as the lifeless sank its teeth into Iullianus’ neck.
The red-haired man grimaced in pain and punched back, across his face, until the thing let go. He spun and clubbed with his shovel. The creature fell, grey brains leaking out of a collapsed face.
She turned from him, then, stabbing with her spear as she was overwhelmed by lifeless. A thing that had once been a Senator shuffled toward her, its white eyes glowing with hunger.
Her arms ached dully and she was so far past exhaustion that she stabbed mechanically. Her spear blade jabbed the thing in the eye and its body crumpled.
They needed more fire. They needed more men, more sleep, and more weapons. Most of all, they needed more fire. There had been a wall, a shield of warfire for two days, allowing them to catch what sleep they could while the fire burned the undead creatures. There were always more, though. She recognized some of the lifeless as men that they’d traveled with, men who had grown too tired to march on.
She stabbed and stabbed until the latest wave of undead were twitching on the bloody ground.
Iullianus scowled, rubbing at the back of his neck. There weren't many lifeless immediately about, but they still had control of the circle though the fading fires barely reached knee level. She slipped behind him and looked at the wound.
“Zalmoxis,” she swore softly. The creature had bit deeply into him, and blood flowed out and there was a shallow crater in his flesh. She knew she was over-tired, but the wound seemed to throb.
“Is it bad?” he asked. “I feel strange. Dark dreams return to me and they are a welcome friend.” His voice was soft as a spider web.
“What are you saying?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice returned to normal. “I was dreaming while I stood here.”
She could wait no longer. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been bitten,” she said.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Twice before—once in Dacia, and again in Brundisium. I used potions to cure you.”
“Impossible. I would have remembered such a thing.” He stopped speaking and groaned from the pain of the bite. "Ah, I am holding the wolf by the ears, but cannot withstand for long."
It was then that Senator Rufus came to them. The old man was a shell of himself and his authority and dignity had melted away to nothing over the last week.
“My eyes are not what they once were,” he said. “Tell me, what do you see?”
The wan morning light, weak though it was, made her feel better. She looked to the north and saw what he meant.
"There is a group there," she said slowly, "and I cannot tell if they live, but they are fighting the lifeless." There were several hundred men, and many of them were armed with bows. They moved with a coordination that bespoke some practice, and they dispatched of the lifeless with cold efficiency.
"This is hope unlooked for," she cried.
"Indeed it is," Rufus said. He stood beside her, looking across the fields of undead. "Survivors from Rome, or an army returned. They must have seen our smoke."
"We may live after all," Rowanna said.
She grabbed Iullianus' arm; he was trembling. His pleading eyes looked to her in askance and then closed shut.
"What is wrong with the Legatus?" Rufus asked.
She dared not answer. She dared not breathe. His body sagged and his sword fell from his hand.
"Is he dead?" Rufus asked. There was panic in his voice.
"I hope so," she said, though she knew otherwise.
Iullianus' eyes snapped open and only white stared at them.
He lurched at them both.
Rowanna was quicker, and she threw herself back. The Senator had not been as ready, and the creature that had been Iullianus knocked him down.
The red-haired lifeless clawed at his face and gnashed at his skull. “Ah,” the Senator said. “I can hear the sea.”
Her mouth filled with bile and she readied her spear. The hesitation could not have lasted more than a heartbeat, but it was enough. As she stood, poised to charge the pair and drive the point of her weapon into his brain, hands clasped at her.
She whirled and gasped. There were seven, eight, or a hundred creatures behind her. Their burning legs showed how they had reached her. Perhaps their legs would burn off, but they would
certainly be able to kill her first. Her spear hung limply in her hand, and she could perhaps stab one of them before the rest reached her.
She didn't even look at the Senator again before she turned and ran. She ran around them, out of their camp. The fire was before her and she cleared it with a good jump.
She was running to find the newcomers, but there were so many undead before her. She was faster than they were, but already breathing heavily. Dodging their clumsy embraces, Rowanna weaved through the masses. She was halfway to the new group when something grabbed at her foot. She fell down to the ground hard, just managing to get her hands up to break her fall.
She looked back. A dead creature no older than ten, her blonde hair still in braids, had grabbed at her leg and tripped her. Rowanna kicked out of her grip with fevered intensity. She was up again, but the creatures surrounded her. There was nowhere to run.
A tall lifeless stood before her, his once noble toga now battered and bloody. Worms wriggled out of the cave in its chest. The creature stood before her, its hands on her shoulders. It pulled her toward it with relentless force.
“No,” she cried, fighting against it. There were creatures all around her, teeth and mouths and hands. "No!"
She could see its blackened and bloody teeth in the foul pit that had once been a mouth. The smell of rotting carnage hit her with enough force to make her swoon.
“NO!” she screamed a third time, struggling to break free. It was no use. The lifeless warrior groaned in anticipation and lowered its mouth toward her face. She closed her eyes, thinking of a happy day in the morning sunlight, many months ago.
The creature’s iron grip was suddenly gone. Daring to open her eyes, she saw that an arrow had taken it in the back of the head. Around her, more and more lifeless were dropping with arrows in their skulls. She did not hesitate, and ducked through two of the still-standing creatures as she fled.
The forces of men were quite close to her. In the midst of them was a man that made her heart skip a beat. There was no mistaking that beard: Natopurus had returned, and he was alive. She fought the urge to flee, but she couldn’t face the Dacian after what had happened.