The Centurion's Empire (6 page)

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 head 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.

"In Rome we would have had our work done by now, and be halfway home," whispered'Vespus unhappily.
Lars ignored his words as he massaged the circulation back into his fingers. "Something of a fortress, something of a
villa, and something else as well," he said as he peered

out over the snow-covered tiles. "Storehouses, workshops, and sharp, strange smells."

"No palace on earth has a layout like this. The slave's map is useless."

"The slave's map brought us as far as we are now. To go further we'll have to earn our one hundred thousand sesterces."

"It's cheap at such a price. 'Find an amphora containing oil such as this' is all that we were told," Vespus said as he held
up the tiny phial. "Among all of these rooms, too—and ask the gods how many tunnels and cells lie below. We might as
well be looking for a marked grain of sand on a beach."

"Put that away. It cost sixty thousand sesterces and eleven lives."

"Then
you
should carry it. You carry the nose, and one is useless without the other."
Lars frowned, but nodded. Vespus handed him the phial. "An oily, sharp-tasting poison. Who could want such a thing?"

"I followed our go-between and—"

"I know, I know, he met with a man who led you to the house of one who wears the purple stripe on his toga. This still
tells me nothing."

"We know that two drops will kill a rat."

"So it's the most expensive rat poison in all of history," suggested Lars.

"Bah. We had to force the stuff down its gullet so vile was the smell and taste, and it died writhing in agony. Hardly a
subtle potion to slip into an enemy's wine."

"I cut the finger of a slave and rubbed a little on the wound. It neither stung nor soothed, and the wound healed neither
faster nor slower. The slave is still alive, too. Our employers, and even the slave Sextus, referred to them as Immortals,
yet how could a poison make men immortal?"

"Perhaps it has a use in impotence," Vespus wondered.

"Do you wish to rub a little onto—"

"No! No, but, well, perhaps it ensures that boy children will be born from a coupling."
Lars was impressed. For all his trepidation, Vespus had some skill with lateral thought.

"Now
that
could well be a use for it. Wealthy families would pay a fortune to be sure of an heir. If one person controlled
the supply of such an oil he would command silver by the barrowload."

The inner area was strangely quiet, and the very lack of guards made them uneasy. Once he had rested, Vespus took-off
the extra gear that he had been carrying and crawled away across the tiles to explore.

Lars sat alone, longing for Rome, for the familiarity of crowded streets and densely packed buildings, for the roadway of
roofs above the streets and alleys that he could run as easily as a cat. Here there was a villa within a fort, but beyond it
was nothing but mountains and snow. Once the alarm was raised the pursuers might hunt them down like wild boars;
there was no maze of alleyways, roofs, and trapdoors in which they could lose themselves.
He looked about again. A villa within a fort, a palace of sorts. The Upper Palace was isolated by a moat and a high wall,
and within that wall were only the Temporians. By day some slaves were brought in to do the cleaning and carrying,
slaves carefully selected for dull wits. The guards were never admitted. Lars could make no sense of it, except to deduce
that something of immense value was being concealed.

In a hall not far from where Lars crouched, every Temporian in the Upper Palace sat in conference discussing the death
of Celcinius. His blood was still on the speakers' dais, and nobody had been willing to either clean away the stain or even
set foot on the dais since their founder had died there.