Tomal lurched back when an enemy arrow got imbedded into the wooded hand rail he held. The enemy archers had moved close enough that it was no longer safe for him to command the battle from his watchtower. When Tomal reached the last rung of the ladder he was greeted by Julius Caesar himself, who came to inspect the line and inspire his men. Content that the battle line was under control for the time being he pulled Tomal aside.
“The second army is upon us, do you have any men to spare?” Caesar asked.
Tomal shook his head from side to side. “The phalanx is spread to only six men deep and the attackers are only gaining a bigger foothold. I have no one to spare. In fact, without reinforcements we won’t even be able to hold our ground for much longer.”
Tomal stopped talking long enough to look at the enemy army forming up in the valley behind them. It was a typical line of battle with infantry in the center and virtually no cavalry. It suddenly dawned on him what a rag tag bunch the men at their rear truly were. He saw pitchforks instead of spears, knives and axes instead of swords, and wooden cabinet doors with hand holds instead of proper shields.
“How many infantry and horse do we have in reserve?” Tomal asked.
“Three thousand men and six thousand auxiliary cavalry,” Caesar answered. “Not enough to face an army of 60,000, I’m afraid.”
Tomal scoffed at the statement. “That cluster of untrained peasants is no more an army than a pile of rubble is a house. Line the reserves up for battle and let me command the cavalry. Our disciplined men will cut them down.”
Caesar regarded Tomal like he was a raving lunatic. “Ten to one odds against us and you want to charge? No. We will withdraw and live to fight them another day.”
“No,” Tomal defiantly stated. “Their entire nation is here, it ends today. Give me one charge to test their resolve and then make your decision.”
Caesar was still hesitant, but Tomal’s final argument ended the debate, “Fortune favors the bold, General, so let’s be bold.”
With the sudden change of plans Tomal left a captain in charge of the phalanx , mounted his horse and rode to the cavalry camp.
By the time the horse and men were ready and moved into position the small line of infantry was already engaged. The line was so severely stretched that it only stood two men deep and they would not last long.
“We do not stop for anything,” Tomal yelled at the top of his lungs to his cavalry men. “I don’t care if Jupiter himself sets his foot in your path. You ride until you reach the end of their line.”
Then he drew his sword, pointed forward and his 6,000 cavalry charged head long into the side of an army with ten times their numbers. Like a warm knife slicing through butter, the cavalry plowed through a sea of loosely organized peasants.
Any man not trampled under a horse’s hoof was cut down by the swing of a blade made all the more devastating by the momentum of a horse’s gallop. Panicked men ran head long into others causing those men to drop their weapons and run as well. In a matter of minutes the entire Gallic army at the Roman rear was routed and the cavalry wore themselves beyond the point of exhaustion cutting them down in retreat.
With the army at his rear demolished, Caesar redistributed his troops and easily repelled the assault coming from the besieged fortress. The next day the Gauls surrendered. The Roman Republic was saved and, as a bonus, the annexation of Western Europe was at hand.
That evening Caesar invited Tomal to his command tent for a private audience. They may have been in the northern wilderness, but Caesar’s canvas abode boasted all the comforts of home complete with ornately carved dining table and chairs, soft bedding, paintings, and statues all about. Centered in the middle of the main room stood a golden eagle perched atop a wooden staff.
Caesar walked up behind Tomal and placed a hand on his shoulder. “The eagle is the sacred symbol of Jupiter. He grants me good fortune and so I pay him homage with the place of honor in my tent. I may no longer be his high priest here on earth, but he continues to speak to me and guide me to glory.”
“His favor certainly shined upon you on this great day,” Tomal added with reverence.
“Us, “Caesar said as he spun Tomal around so the two stood face to face and he peered into Tomal’s eyes with all the intensity of the mid day sun. “Jupiter favors us both. You are a man of fortune and courage and I need you by my side as second in command of this army. Together we will harvest the vast riches of the north and return to Rome to fulfill the destiny Jupiter has laid out for us. Are you with me?”
Tomal beamed with pride at the thought of returning to Rome with more wealth, prestige and power than Hastelloy could ever imagine. He could see his future so clearly under Caesar’s wing. He resolved then and there to follow this great man wherever he went, in whatever endeavor he undertook, even if it meant defying Hastelloy. Caesar would make him rich and powerful, while Hastelloy stood in his way.
Tomal eagerly clasped Caesars outstretched forearm. “I will be your man to the very end, General.”
Chapter 12: Same Enemy, New Problems
Hastelloy made his way down the entrance reserved for senators. The tunnel opened up at the arena’s floor level, which was already filled to capacity. He gestured for Valnor to follow and they both walked until they stood in front of a travertine marble slab with Senator Brutus carved into the back rest.
Hastelloy looked down at the arena below. He attended the games on a regular basis, so the size and grandeur of the facility did not impress him anymore. What did hold his attention was the fact that the arena floor lay ten feet under water. The day’s games would feature a scaled down naval battle. The idea sounded interesting at first, but with the limited floor space available Hastelloy could already tell the maneuvers would be extremely clumsy. He didn’t expect much entertainment value, though the crowd certainly was anticipating a good show if the noise level was any indicator.
This being Valnor’s first visit to the arena, the young man looked rather silly with his jaw hanging wide open. “It’s amazing what can be accomplished with such primitive construction techniques.”
“Yes, they do work wonders with what they have,” Hastelloy agreed. “Judging by the number of people turned away at the gates though, they may need to build a bigger one soon.”
Hastelloy looked down the row of seats to the southern tip of the arena where a reserved box for the Vestal Virgins resided. He prompted Valnor to follow his line of sight.
“Now which one do you play chess with on a regular basis?” Hastelloy asked.
“Postumia is the one sitting on the edge closest to us,” Tomal answered. “She said she’d sit on the end so the three of us could talk during the games.”
“Very nicely done,” Hastelloy commended. “Arranging a weekly chess match sets up a regular dialog between you two and it looks completely platonic from all angles.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time with her,” Valnor said, “and I still can’t figure out why you’re so suspicious of the Vestals. She’s a very nice, faith-filled woman, as are all the others I’ve had occasion to meet.”
“The power and respect they command over this society doesn’t fit,” Hastelloy stated quietly. “There are dozens of temples for other gods with priestesses. Why are the Vestals singled out for such preferential treatment with reserved seats at the games, the power to free prisoners, the freeing of Julius Caesar a few years back and his rise to prominence, and so on. It just feels like something bigger is going on and it has piqued my curiosity.”
Valnor waived at his friend and she gestured for them to come by her side. “Now remember to be nice.” Valnor said as they made their way over.
“I am always nice,” Hastelloy teased before reaching their destination.
“Priestess Postumia, may I present Senator Marcus Janius Brutus,” Valnor said in a formal voice.
She extended her hand and Hastelloy took it with both hands and gave a polite bow. “Noble Vestal, it is a privilege.”
“The privilege is mine, Senator, for any friend of Lucius is a friend of mine,” she said with a bright smile.
“Lucius often talks of your skilled gambits on the chess board, though I think the young man would like to win a match one of these days,” Hastelloy responded.
The lovely young lady giggled at the compliment, “They are always closely contested affairs so I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.”
Hastelloy took a moment to strike a somber tone, and possibly get the conversation going the direction he wanted. “I was very sorry to hear about the passing of the Vestalis Maxima. We spoke at length during a party a while back. She was a woman of great faith.”
“Yes she was, and we mourn her still,” she said while dabbing her eyes with a cloth. The Vestal changed her posture to be a bit more formal as she continued, “I recall that conversation. The high priestess used your doubt as a lesson to address the dangers of not having faith in the Goddess, and the need to listen to her voice when she speaks to us.”
“I’m a bit embarrassed now talking with a priestess while my own lack of faith is so well known,” Hastelloy said. “I do strive to change that circumstance, but I still don’t hear words from any of the gods.”
The conversation was interrupted by the roar of the crowd as twenty scaled down war ships entered the flooded arena. It was almost comical watching so many two man boats try and maneuver around each other in a large, yet suddenly very small, three hundred foot by one hundred foot arena space.
Boats ran into the side and each other, dumping the crews into the water. Very little combat actually took place. Nevertheless, the crowd roared with laughter as the men who were supposed to be vicious warriors bent on killing one another continually got dunked in the water. It was certainly not the game sponsor’s intent, but the effect was the same. The masses were occupied, entertained, and therefore not out in the streets rioting or causing trouble.
The Vestal laughed and cheered with the crowd at first, but soon looked bored with the spectacle. Hastelloy used the opportunity to further their conversation.
“As I recall my discussion with your former Vestalis Maxima, she said the Goddess would speak to her while alone with the perpetual flame. Does Vesta talk to you in such a manner as well?”
“Of course,” Postumia responded while expressing a hurt look. “She speaks to all the Vestals.”
“I humbly ask, could I be granted a private audience with the flame so I may grow in my faith and hear the Goddess and her words?” Hastelloy asked.
Postumia shook her head to the side. “That would be impossible since only the priestesses are allowed in the sanctuary.”
“What about tomorrow, the first day of the Vestalia festival?” Hastelloy countered. “The sanctuary is opened to the public so everyone may relight their home hearth fires from the holy flame.”
Postumia gestured for Hastelloy to step closer. He complied and she whispered in his ear. “That is not the true flame. We use a fake one that particular day just in case someone tries anything foolish. The true perpetual flame is already stored away in a separate chamber.”
“Could I visit the flame there then?”
“I’m afraid not,” she said, now looking uncomfortable with the conversation. “Only the Vestals are allowed alone with the presence of Vesta.”
“I see my humble request has given you offense,” Hastelloy said showing great contrition. “Please allow me to make amends by offering the balcony of my villa overlooking the Forum for you and Lucius to use for your weekly chess match tonight.”
“Senator, I couldn’t possibly. . .”
“Nonsense,” Hastelloy interrupted. “I insist. My servants will pick you up at sundown.”
With that, Postumia graciously accepted the invitation and the three then enjoyed the rest of the comedy unfolding below in the arena.
At nightfall, a half hour before Postumia arrived, Hastelloy sat Valnor down for a difficult conversation.
“Valnor, this will not be your typical meeting with Postumia. I need her to leave this house so upset that she immediately returns to the temple of Vesta for a session with that perpetual flame of theirs.”
“Why would I want to upset her?” Valnor asked. “She’s my friend. Why is that symbolic flame so interesting to you?”
“Something isn’t right with that flame,” Hastelloy stated. “All the Vestals claim to hear the Goddess’ voice when they sit with it. The Vestalis Maxima I spoke with said the flame warned her against people of unnatural birth trying to corrupt the faith.”
Valnor looked confused.
“Unnatural birth,” Hastelloy repeated slowly. “That Alpha commander we defeated back in Egypt used those exact words to describe us.”
“The two Alpha that survived the crash have been dead a long time, Captain. It must be a coincidence.”
“Maybe,” Hastelloy said, “But I need to know for sure. I need to know if the flame truly is talking to these women, or if they’re just loose in the head.”
“Fine then, how do you suggest I upset her to the point she goes running straight to the temple to have a sit down with her goddess?” Valnor asked.
Now comes the hard part Hastelloy thought. There was no easy way to give the order, so he just clobbered the young man over the head with it. “You will get her to break her vow of chastity.”
To describe Valnor’s reaction as stunned would be a drastic understatement in line with describing a catapult as a contraption that flings pebbles. “I WILL NOT!” the young man erupted.
Valnor frantically looked around the room for something to throw at his Captain. Hastelloy was not worried as he’d already swept the room clean of any potential projectiles, but Valnor’s verbal assault landed some scathing blows nonetheless.
“I’m a married man committed to my mate. All these years we’ve spent on this planet I have never strayed. I have never even been tempted to violate my union vows.”
“The validity of your union vow ends when your body dies,” Hastelloy countered. “If the partners chose to continue their lives together they must renew the vows when one or the other dies.”
“I hold those vows in my heart. The first thing I do when I step out of the regeneration chamber is recite the vows to continue the link with my wife. It is still valid.”
“No it isn’t,” Hastelloy insisted. “Back on Novus she thinks you died in combat two thousand years ago. She’s certainly joined with another by now. Both must renew the vows, not just one. No matter how strongly the other feels about the matter.”
“These are special circumstances,” Valnor insisted. “I don’t accept your interpretation.”
“You are entitled to your beliefs, but as a soldier under my command you are obligated to follow my orders. If you must, put the blame on me as your superior officer. Whatever makes it easiest for you, but you are hereby ordered to seduce that woman into breaking her vow of chastity so she can lead me to that perpetual flame.”
“No,” Valnor croaked in a weak voice while fighting back tears.
“Ensign,” Hastelloy boomed. “I have been whipped into unconsciousness in the name of duty. All you are asked to do now is copulate with a beautiful young woman; I’d hardly put those two sacrifices in the same category.
“Every soldier needs to make a choice at some point. Is he the chicken laying an egg to be involved in breakfast, or is he a bull who is completely committed to the meal by giving its life to provide the steak? Are you the chicken or the bull, ensign?”
Valnor spent several silent moments searching his soul for the answer to Hastelloy’s question. He visibly straightened his spine and delivered a crisp reply that bore pure hatred behind it, “I am a bull . . . SIR.”
**********
Under the darkness of the midnight hour, Hastelloy silently tracked a woman in a white flowing gown running through the streets of Rome. She stopped every so often to wipe tears away from her eyes and asked herself, “What have I done?”
&
nbsp; The woman ran up the steps to the Temple of Vesta. She didn’t approach the main chamber door, but instead headed to a small servant’s entrance off to the side. She frantically worked a ring of keys, dropping them several times on the ground as she fought to control her grief long enough to unlock the door.
Finally she found the right one. She turned the key, thrust open the door and ran inside, hastily shutting the door behind her. Conveniently for Hastelloy, she neglected to remove the key from the lock.
Hastelloy calmly approached the door, turned the key and gently opened his way into forbidden territory for anyone except a Vestal priestess. He removed the key from the door and shut it behind him. Hastelloy followed the dimly lit corridor down a narrow stone hallway with a series of doors on either side.
He followed the sobbing woman to the second to last room on the left. Inside the tiny eight foot square storage room cut in half by a row of locked iron bars he saw Postumia on her knees. On the other side of the bars rested a waist high circular floor lamp with a shimmering red and gold flame hovering a few inches above the pedestal that flowed almost like liquid metal.
“Please forgive me great Goddess,” she begged. “In a moment of weakness I broke my sacred vow of dedicating my chastity to you. This night I lay with a man. I now throw myself at your mercy and ask your guidance on how to make amends.”
“Your misdeed is grave,” A whimsical voice spoke while the flowing flame brightened slightly. “But it was not of your weakness, but the designs of the demons I have warned you about. The beings of unnatural birth are trying to turn you against me. They will use your mistake to leverage information from you.”
“What would you have me do?” Postumia asked. “I remain your faithful servant and will do whatever is asked.”
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