The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (54 page)

Caligula gently laid his uncle on the battlefield,
but without a second thought, pulled off his imperial purple cloak
and wrapped the sphere within. He then tossed it to the nearest
allied horseman and screamed for him to ride to one of the legion’s
camps and deliver it to Varus, and no one else. Caligula must have
known of the sphere’s corruptive elements, and thought that by
distancing it from the rogue troops, they’d come to their
senses.

Time would tell, but we were still outnumbered, and
the horseman had barely made it past the lines.

The two Praetorian factions continued their
merciless battle. The once nine thousand strong Praetorian
contingent that had been wholly loyal to Caligula mere months ago
must have been reduced to barely four by this point, only one
thousand loyal to Caligula.

I had no way of keeping track of how many kills I
had over the next thirty minutes, or how many allies and foes had
fallen to their deaths around me. I’d been nicked, cut and wounded
an equally unfathomable amount of times and there was no end in
sight. Caligula had joined the rest of us in defending this small
spot of land after his fight with Claudius, but even his presence
wouldn’t be enough. I started feeling fatigue set in when I thought
I saw hope arrive in the form of ugly Germans slogging their way
tiredly but loyally towards their legion. Always the pessimist, I
figured they were just lost individuals from the battle on the
right flank who had blundered into our part of the fight.

Between Caligula’s Sacred Band and his two loyal
Praetorian cohorts, I had to guess no more than seven hundred were
left, and our lines began to reflect that fact. Just as the
illusory Germans had come into focus, our lines started to buckle,
holes opened, and more men started to die all around me. I was
losing both hope and energy and knew we needed a miracle to get us
out of this.

Wavering, I saw an enemy sword come swinging down
towards my head. My body was too fatigued to raise my shield fast
enough, but I was saved by a strong hand on my shoulder that pulled
me out of the way. My savior rushed in and stabbed the man through
the throat. I saw a horizontally plumed helmet, and knew it was
Centurion Quintilius before he could turn to face me.

“Don’t die yet, Hunter,” he said with a smile. “This
may be our last stand, but help is on the way.”

He pointed with his sword towards what had
originally been our right flank, and the phantom Germans I thought
I’d seen. It turned out they were real, and were indeed making
their way back to the fight. At the vanguard of the formation I saw
Bordeaux, still full of energy and leading the charge with his SAW
blazing away.

God, I loved that Frenchman.

The enemy Praetorians realized they were being
outflanked, and something in their eyes clicked, as though they
were seeing the fight in a whole new light all of a sudden. All
continued to fight, but many with far less vigor. Some still seemed
fully affected by the orb’s influence, but the evidence that it was
diminishing was obviously displaying itself.

I turned to Quintilius, ready to thank him, when I
saw he was looking off towards our left, a look of worry on his
face. I tracked his eyes, only to see what couldn’t possibly be
happening.

Only thirty feet away, so close I could almost reach
out and touch her, Helena and Marcus were engaged with three enemy
Praetorians in close combat. Marcus dispatched one easily, only to
be stabbed in the leg by a second. He clutched his wound, and fell
to the ground, screaming in agony. The fear for my friend was
surpassed only, when in an attempt to save his life, Helena, having
lost her shield, killed his attacker but had unintentionally turned
her back on the last.

The remaining enemy leapt at her, smashed her sword
from her hand, grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. Helena
found herself staring eye to eye with a short, ugly Roman
Praetorian who wore a smile of pure evil. Whether it was some
remnant of the orb’s power, or just some sick fetish over knowing
his foe was a woman, I’d never know. The Praetorian moved his hand
to her throat, the other still gripping his sword, and he paused
for a brief second, just long enough for my eyes to widen in
terror.

Helena tried to struggle against his grip, fighting
to pry loose his hand with her own, but as tough as she was, there
was little she could do. I saw her try to kick the man in the
groin, but missed, catching him on the leg instead. Maneuvering his
body to make sure she didn’t succeed on her second kick, he looked
up at her and smiled. She struggled and fought, but exhausted and
outmuscled, the Praetorian cocked his arm back, and ran her through
the stomach with the tip of his
gladius
. The sword made
contact with her skin an inch below the protection of her combat
vest, and with nothing to impede its progress, pushed its way
straight through her back. Her green eyes ballooned open in pain
and surprise, and her struggling ended.

I was already running before she’d kicked him,
uncontrollable sounds of rage spilling from my throat, all feelings
of fatigue or pain forgotten, Quintilius yelling after me.
Adrenaline kicked my muscles into overdrive, but despite all my
training, all my conditioning, I couldn’t make it, and I watched
from five feet away, as the man moved to finish her.

He still held Helena on his sword, staring at her,
looking as though he thought to further violate her in some way
when, while still at a dead run, forgetting my legion training once
again, I swung my sword with all my might and severed the man’s
head from his shoulders. I released my sword as I finished my cut,
allowing both head and
gladius
to sail through the air, not
caring who they hit.

Helena was already falling with the decapitated
Praetorian.

I wheeled around and slid beneath Helena as she
collapsed in my arms, the Praetorian’s grip still on the sword
handle and her throat. I tore both away and kicked the body out of
my sight. Cradling Helena’s limp body, I reached with a trembling
hand to cup her cheek while I pulled a bandage out of a pouch with
the other. Knowing not to try and remove the sword, I put as much
pressure on the wound as possible, a fruitless gesture, as I was
completely oblivious to the mirror wound at her back.

She moaned under the pressure, but at least she was
still alive. I turned her head so she could face me, and I felt
tears welling in my eyes at the sight of her graying skin. I smiled
down at her, trying to put on a brave face as I gently rocked her
in my arms.

“What did I say about getting hurt?” I asked her, my
voice faltering. “Only me, remember?”

She was so weak that when she tried to raise a hand
to my cheek, it barely brushed it before falling to her side. A
spasm of pain wracked her entire body, and she clenched each limb
in unison, before going limp in my arms again.

“I’m sorry, Jacob,” she whispered. “So sorry.”

“Don’t be, you’ll be fine. Wang will be here any
second now, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be… fine.” I looked up,
frantically searching for Wang, but he was nowhere in sight. The
only thing I saw was the battle coming to a close with Praetorians
dying and surrendering all around us. If only Helena could have
hung on a few more minutes. If only she hadn’t been so stupid. So
brave.

If only I hadn’t left her side like I said I never
would.

Santino wandered up to us a few seconds later,
clutching a superficial leg wound. His eyes were glazed, a thousand
yard stare so prevalent amongst battle worn veterans on his face.
No smile in sight. When his mind caught up to what his eyes were
seeing, a look of shock and confusion spread over his face as he
stared down at the dying woman he’d come to call a friend.

“Find Wang,” I told him quietly, but Santino didn’t
move. He just stood there transfixed, unable or unwilling to
comprehend what was happening. “Find Wang, Goddamn it!” I yelled,
my voice cracking.

Hearing the pain and anger in my voice, he snapped
himself from his trance and ran off to find our medic.

I looked back down at Helena, brushing dirty black
hair from her face. “See? Everything’s going to be fine.” My hand
shook uncontrollably and my heart pounded like a drum as I wiped
blood from her mouth. “Everything’s going to be… going to be…”

I couldn’t finish. I squeezed my eyes shut and held
her as close as I could. I pulled her against my chest and tried to
will life back into her, but all the fire in her eyes were gone.
Eyes that had once been her most alluring and vibrant feature
somehow seemed to be slowly dimming to a dull gray.

She tried to smile for me, but coughed violently as
she did. “I…it’s okay, Jacob. I…” she said, looking back up at me,
the quickest of sparks firing in her eyes, before another spike of
pain forced her body into another series of spasms. “…I…” but her
voice trailed off, her body fell still, and her eyes closed.

I knew what she was going to say. I knew because I
didn’t need her to say it for me to know it. I wanted to say
something back. Something funny. Something hopeful. Something
redeeming. I wanted to tell her I loved her too, but I couldn’t. I
couldn’t give up. I wouldn’t. All I could do was hold her close,
feel as the last traces of life left her body, and for the first
time since I could remember…

Cry.

Epilogue

Rome, Italy

August, 38 A.D.

Someone knocked on my door. It was a quiet sound,
but the sudden and unexpected nature of it roused me from my
thoughts. It startled me, and I pinched my nose and swore under my
breath in response. I looked at my surroundings, trying to remember
where I was.

The suites we had been given once Caligula reclaimed
his position were luxurious, spacious, and far more comfortable
than the dingy shack we stayed in those first few months in ancient
Rome. I had a bedroom, a sitting room, a dining room, a study, and
even my own bathroom, complete with running water for both bathtub
and toilet.

Romans were so clever.

Lounging on a sofa shaped like a half bowl, my feet
hanging over the one end, I had been sitting in contemplative
silence for nearly an hour, the past year of my life replaying
steadily in my head. I’d sped through most of it, skipping the
boring stuff and the painful memories, focusing on the events just
after the Battle for Rome, as Caligula had dubbed it once he had
retaken control of the Senate.

Bordeaux had saved the day during those last few
moments. He had spent the entire battle with the auxilia and their
fight with the overwhelming plebeian army. The battle hadn’t gone
so poorly for the German auxiliaries as everyone had thought, but
it had been an excruciatingly arduous affair. As history could
confirm numerous times, an undisciplined and under armed force of
civilians simply could not stand against fewer men should they be
better trained, armed, and focused.

Almost eight thousand of the eleven thousand strong
militia had been wiped out, but of the infantry, cavalry, and
archers of the
XV Primigenia
’s auxilia, only three and a
half thousand were lost. Once Bordeaux showed up, and seven fully
loaded ammo boxes later, many of the enemy started surrendering, or
trying to flee back to the city. I knew it had something to do with
the orb’s disappearance, but in the end, it hardly mattered. With
that part of the battle neatly wrapped up, Bordeaux had led the
auxilia in a flanking charge. Their arrival had quickly tipped the
scales in our favor.

Like their civilian allies, many Praetorians
surrendered in that moment as well, confused expressions on their
faces, seemingly with no idea where they even were. Their surrender
occurred not a second too early. They had almost broken us. The
only thing that kept us going was the thought of failing Caligula,
who had been so brave risking his own life and killing his own
uncle in open combat.

The knock came again, more insistently this
time.

“All right, all right,” I yelled at the door as I
swung my legs over the edge of the sofa, and rose to my feet. My
head swam as I got up, dizziness almost dropping me to my knees.
I’d been lying there for an hour, and had gotten up way to
fast.

I shuffled across my marble floor, trying not to
fall in the process when I finally reached the entranceway, and
steadied myself. Giving my head one last shake, I cracked open the
door to see Santino and his stupid grin waiting out in the
hall.

“Ready to go?” He asked, pushing past me and letting
himself in. He made his way to a bowl of fresh fruit in the dining
room that was replaced every morning by loyal servants. Taking off
one of his boots, he plopped himself down in a stiff backed chair
and rested his bootless foot over his booted one as he propped them
up on the table. He was wearing traditional Roman wear, a white
toga, just as I was, but we still felt uncomfortable not wearing
our boots and combat pants beneath.

After the battle, Caligula had granted each of us
citizenship, and with it, the right to wear a toga. As Augustus had
said, “Romans, lords of the world, the toga-wearing race,” only
Roman citizens could wear them. I was honored.

Shaking my head, I shut the door and moved over to
my table. I sat on it near Santino’s feet, and shoved them off,
wiping away any mark he may have left with my sleeve, inciting him
to give me a hurt look.

“Can’t have anything nice when you’re around, can
I?” I asked rhetorically.

“No, probably not,” he replied.

I sighed. “Just give me a second.”

There had been many casualties in the battle, but of
all the consequences resulting from it, at least Santino’s attitude
hadn’t changed. After the past few months with him, I now knew that
if there truly was one universal truth, it wasn’t that everything
freezes, but that Santino would never change.