Wolf’s Empire: Gladiator (101 page)

“That was not wise,” Murena said beneath his breath.

The procession recommenced. I was glad that my father traveled ahead; I couldn't bear to be close to him, not until I gave him the final kiss, because once he was close, I'd be unable to stop the tears. I was not some weak schoolgirl. I wouldn't disgrace his memory anymore. His last days had been filled with worry and dishonor because of me. The last weeks of the voyage home had opened my eyes to many things. The hollowness that I was left with on the surface of Olympus Decimus had not departed; if anything, it'd grown worse. I was already looking for a way to remove myself from the emperor's service. I wouldn't be a centurion or quaestor or any other thing while he supported Crassus' freedom and banned me from speaking out. And I couldn't speak out. I couldn't throw the empire into any more turmoil right now. It needed time to heal itself, time to pull together and solidify, but it was time that Aquilinus would use to strengthen his position. I knew it, the emperor knew it. I didn't know what game he was playing, but I wanted no part of it. I was going to rest, to remove myself from the game of houses. My first taste was enough for a lifetime. I wanted to go away, somewhere where it was quiet. Perhaps I'd take my father's advice. Find a good man and marry. Anything but more of what I'd just been through.

Too late, I realized that something was wrong. I didn't see who bumped into me. Whoever it was, there were more than one of them and they were coming right through the middle of the funeral procession. Gods, we were in a crossroads. There was another procession running right across ours. What idiot scheduled this? I turned, trying to stop the man who bumped me before he disrupted the funeral. I was surprised to see it was a soldier, a Praetorian.

“Make way! Stand clear!” he called out, his voice projected out above the lowing horns by the vocal amplifier in his armor. The soldiers moved to separate our processions, giving the other one prominence.

“What? Who dares do this?” I called out. I was more than a little irritated. My father deserved more than this, more respect from the society he served his whole life, and I meant to see that he got it.

I was shoved aside as another Praetorian strode past me, and then they were streaming out from the side streets, polluting our procession with their presence, hundreds of citizens. There were too many to stop. The veterans holding the bier were swearing, but they couldn't drop their cargo to challenge the sudden onslaught. These people were not attacking, they didn't have weapons, none of us did—citizens were forbidden from carrying them within the walls of the city. Their mass pushed my father's bier aside, disrupting the veterans who held him up. I rushed to his side, shielding his body, stopping it from falling to the ground.

“Into the side street!” I called out, directing our procession into an alley and out of the crossroads as the mass of cheering people filled the street like a flash flood.

I was furious. What in the name of the gods was happening?

I was just about to punch the nearest reveler out of frustration when I realized they were part of a parade—a triumphal procession. They were en route to the Capitoline Hill, and we had to yield the way. That was the law. It was the custom. In Rome, winning always came first. Even my father's funeral must yield for a state-sponsored celebration of a great victory. But who was the hero? What victory? I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“What's happening?” I demanded of Murena. He should have known about this. He knew everything.

“Make way for the champion of Jupiter! Make way for the victor of the tournament!” a herald announced.

Crassus. Aquilinus. I hadn't been paying attention to what had been happening in Rome. I'd been so distracted, concentrating on the funeral arrangements. I had no idea that the procession for the victor of the Ludi Romani was taking place that very day.

Thousands came now, cheering, carousing. Romans dressed in the togas belonging to the seven remaining houses ran alongside the procession, streaming past us.

I'd done this. I sent them away, drove the audience away, right into Aquilinus' arms. They'd ignored the triumph, came to me to pay their respects, and I drove them from me and into this.

I pushed aside the Praetorians who had lined up to clear the street, struggling to see over the heads of the cheering crowd.

“There! Up on the float! It's him!” someone in the crowd said.

A gap appeared and I got a clear view. A large hovering aer chariot came cruising down the street, surrounded by cheering citizens, clamoring to touch the robe of the honored hero who sat upon it. Crassus was dressed in fine white armor, shining like the marble that graced the buildings of the capital; he'd relinquished his former allegiance to the disgraced House Sertorian. He looked around, resplendent and smug, like a snake that's stuffed itself with mice. A golden laurel crown rested upon his head, artificial machinarii hands in place of the ones I severed when we fought. He couldn't see me; I was thrust to the back by his adoring fans. No, not fans, worshippers. Crassus the God! Crassus Apollo! They adorned him with divine titles, screamed with adulation as he passed.

I started pushing against the crowd, trying to get through to him. In the crush of the mob, they didn't know who I was, they couldn't see me, couldn't hear my voice. I would have hit them if I could have, cleared a way with my knees and elbows, but the crowd was too densely packed. It might as well have been a brick wall for all the progress I made.

“Quickly,” I said to Murena. “A weapon! You must have a weapon of some kind concealed on your person. I can't bear to see him up there.”

“Accala, listen to me now. You must not touch him or harm him in any way,” Murena said. “The emperor has forbidden it. The mob sees both of you as divine champions.”

“Both of us?”

“They call him your heavenly consort.” Gods, each day things only got worse.

The throng was moving past, driving me back into the alleyway with the rest of my family. They'd moved away from me. They could see how distraught I was, how agitated.

“Do you see?” Murena said. “This is an omen. You can't turn power away when it's offered to you. You must wield it or be trampled underfoot. Rome will wait for no man—or woman—even one touched by the gods. You scorn your followers, but Crassus lavishes his with attention. You wish to honor your family and the gods, then you must take what they have given you and serve. You think you've been through all this for nothing? You are a hero, you have a destiny, and now you must play the hero's part or disaster and chaos will befall the empire. They're all looking to you. Step up. Gather your courage and shine, Accala.”

“You don't understand!” I protested. As the words flew from my mouth, I realized what I was saying and whom I was saying it to. He was the head of the curiosi. He knew everything.

I pointed an accusing finger at him. “You chose the route the funeral procession would take,” I spat. “You orchestrated events so that I would see this.”

“Because a true Viridian is strengthened by pain, sharpened by suffering, not dulled by it, not weighed down by shame.” He held me with his gaze, fixing me in place. In that instant he reminded me of my father. Viridian strength was there in his eyes, surrounding me, covering me. He was my father's cousin, and the words he spoke were the same ones I would have heard from my father's mouth if he were alive. “I can talk all day, but I wanted you to see the truth of the empire. I wanted you to see what will overrun it if you do not pick up arms and carry on your father's legacy. Accept the emperor's offer. As a quaestor you would have the power to right wrongs. To take justice into your own hands.”

The crossroads was empty now. I could see clear through to the giant statue of Minerva, the Palladium, in the distance, her mighty spear held above her.

I contained my anger, let the ember burn inside. Now was not the time.

Julia was right about my experience. About divine perspective. The world seemed gray by comparison, but only because I'd been fearful of embracing my humanity again. I'd kept my emotions bottled up, worried about what might happen next, not trusting myself. But now I saw that there were no guarantees. The fragility of mortal life was balanced by the sweetness, the powerful currents, the counterbalance of thought and emotion. I couldn't be a god, couldn't see things that way. I was down here again, in the mud of existence, and I needed to embrace my humanity and pray that what I'd been through would be enough to keep me grounded.

Crassus' triumph tapered off, and our procession started up again. I didn't have time to think as the crowd of Viridians started shuffling forward. The horns sounded again, the chief priest started calling for the people, none of whom were actually left in the streets, to come and join in the hero's funeral and pay their respects. The veterans grumbled and cursed, but everyone else carried on as if nothing had happened. We marched on to the temple. My boots echoed on the ancient road, matching my heart that pounded within my chest, full of dire intent.

We reached the temple, and I stepped up to stand beside him. Lucius Viridius Camillus. My father. He looked pale and old. I barely recognized him. They'd removed the wounds and scars I'd opened in his body. I leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips with reverence and respect. If the action freed his spirit as it was meant to, I didn't feel anything, but I did whisper a promise to him before I straightened up.

“You will serve?” Murena asked.

I stepped back and lowered the torch. The fire burned brightly, like the righteous anger in my breast. I held my ground before the burning flames until they were so strong that I lost sight of my father's body and was forced to step back. I stood there for a long time, until he was nothing but smoke and ash. Murena stood beside me patiently, waiting. Finally, I gave him my answer.

“I will serve.”

 

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to our editor, Bob Gleason, for his love of ancient Rome and his willingness to invest in the idea of one that never fell. Elayne Becker and Paul Stevens for their assistance. Our agent, Frank Weimann, for all his hard work and the encouragement of his assistant, Elyse Tanzillo. Cover artist Daniel Dociu, and Michal Dutkiewicz and David G. Williams for their Accala artwork.

Morgan
would like to thank Bill and Ann for their support and Calum, Liam, and Sean for being generally wonderful. Special thanks to the Reverend Dr. John Dupuche for his support and encouragement.

Claudia
would like to thank Dr. David Sinclair, Dr. Roy Eskapa, and Jenny Williamson for being her real-life heroes and a very special thank-you to Morgan Grant Buchanan for traveling the road from
Babylon Confidential
to
Wolf's Empire
with grace and integrity—thank you, mate.

 

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