Wolf’s Empire: Gladiator (99 page)

*   *   *

I
COULDN'T BRING MYSELF
to watch any footage of the games, but I reviewed the journalists, politicians, and social commentators who wrote about it and came upon one woman of the Scribaneum, a collegium dedicated to recording history for the imperial archive. Out of all the requests I received, I accepted hers alone on the condition that she never speak a word or share my record with anyone while I was alive, and she agreed. We'd been meeting each day to discuss, as best I could recount, my experience of what happened to me. I thought it would be helpful, a way of walking away from a life that I no longer wished to participate in. Once it was done, I'd find a new life, a simpler, healthier way of being.

*   *   *

I
HELD THE PIN
in my hand as the procession made its way through the city streets. Just a useless piece of metal once more. I clutched it like a talisman, hoping for some communication from the Hyperboreans, some dream that my mother and brother continued or a signal that they'd reached the distant home they set out for, but there was nothing. At night I didn't sleep. I took medication to trick my body into a sleeplike state. I couldn't face my dreams—they were heavy, dark, and when I awoke, their content slipped away, leaving me with feelings of dread and fear. So I stayed away from the machine that was Rome. But not today. Today was my father's funeral and I had to go out among the gleaming marble, the triumphal arches. I had to pass through the mob.

The Praetorians kept the crowds contained to the sides of the streets with their shock staves. I was dressed in black lugubria, the robes of mourning. On either side of me were Viridian senators and other members of my extended family. The sound of lowing horns and a morose requiem accompanied us as we slowly shuffled along the road toward the temple where the cremation would take place.

“Make way!” the crier priest at the procession head called out. “Here is the body of Lucius Viridius Camillus! Join us and offer your prayers to a hero of the empire!”

Heralds repeated the message, musicians blew their horns, torchbearers lit the way, and porters nudged the street traffic to the side as we progressed. My father traveled ahead of us on his bier, ready to be set alight, for his soul to travel to the afterlife.

Things had been unbearable back on Olympus Decimus, but they were simple—live or die, fight and win. Here the immediate danger was gone, but everything was in a kind of gray limbo. The mechanisms of empire continued: politicking, imperial shuffling for position. My aunts and uncles had come and petitioned me to get involved in the realignment of power, to speak for House Viridian, but I couldn't give a fig. For me everything was gray, not life but a play of life that I was watching, like a dream I couldn't manage to wake up from. I felt useless, like a mechanic without tools, a soldier without a sword. Perhaps things would make sense after the funeral.

*   *   *

W
HEN
I
AWOKE AFTER
the fight on Olympus Decimus, I was naked, floating in a shallow pool of warm bright blue liquid. As I tried to sit up, a hand appeared, a slender blue hand, and gently pushed me back down. A face appeared above mine—a young blue-skinned girl. At least, I thought she was female. An alien that looked androgynous; I couldn't tell what sex it was. Trailing across its body, beneath its skin, were slow-moving white spirals. She—I decided it must be a she—looked like a river nymph, a beautiful, slender ripple traveling across the surface of a pond. Three others joined the first, surrounding me. I didn't feel anxious; I was perfectly relaxed, almost sleepy like I was dreaming. Except I was sure I was awake. There was no pain, my lungs didn't hurt anymore, no more stinging of the wind on open cuts. The remembrance of what had happened came to me as if from a distance. Marcus. Mother. Aulus. Father. And Aquilinus, living on in Crassus' body. The spike of anxiety forced me to try to move again. The hand touched me again, and the worry was gone, just like chalk wiped from a blackboard. Celtoi. The word seemed to rise up in my mind as if from a great depth. I'd heard of these aliens who lived beyond the borders of the empire. They were water beings with healing powers who communicated through dreams, directly to the depths of the mind. These were the emperor's personal attendants—the only four Celtoi within the empire.

They were sent as tribute to Rome in exchange for leaving their worlds in peace. Four unique members of their species—a healer, a musician, a courtesan, and a poet. They all looked the same to me; I couldn't tell which was which. I could feel their thoughts swapping back and forth, below the surface of my mind, just out of my reach like whispers from a distant room. Then images arose from deep within my mind. A sailboat on a still lake—they were telling me to be calm. A feeling of relaxation washed over me. Their method of communication was similar to the Hyperboreans, and simple for me to comprehend after my recent ordeal. But how long had I been asleep? The image of a sun passing from east to west filled my mind. It turned again and again. Ten times in total—ten days, almost as long as I was in the Ludi Romani.

I looked past the faces to the space above them. This was no ordinary place. I was surrounded by a field of slow-spiraling blue energy; it reminded me of a tent. But I was still alive. I could see through the porthole set into the far wall. Dark space. I was aboard a ship, then.

I had to get out and back into the real world. Was the emperor having me healed so I could survive the trip back to face trial and execution? I had to make sure Julia was safe.

I sat up and the Celtoi seemed concerned, their thoughts flittering back and forth. They were surprised that I could resist them. Perhaps some of the Hyperboreans' power lingered within me. Or maybe it was just that after all that had happened I was more stubborn than the average person and not willing to be subdued.

They let me rise from the pool. Their hands gently pulled me out and helped me stand. The emperor's alien attendants had done their job well—aside from being as weak as a newborn kitten, I was healed; all my breaks, bruises, and cuts seemed to have completely vanished.

Eight hands dressed me in clean, warm clothes, a thermal robe—plain white without house colors, which made me slightly anxious. It reminded me that I was still an outcast. I had walked away from the game of houses. I was alone in a galaxy in which belonging is a necessary ingredient for survival.

The spiraling energy tent subsided and faded, and I found myself in a luxurious cabin. Not Sertorian, no desperate attempt to impress, this chamber had been arrayed with fine bronze and gold fittings, simple but elegant linear designs. There was a golden lion emblazoned upon the domed ceiling. House Numerian. These were the emperor's personal chambers.

As I exited through large steel doors, I was faced with Julia hobbling toward me down the corridor, walking with the aid of a cane.

“Accala!”

“Julia! What's going on?”

“We're going home,” she said.

“Home?”

“Rome! We're going back to Rome.”

“What about Olympus Decimus?”

“Gone. Or in the process of going. We evacuated the planet just as it was turning in on itself. The ichor was keeping it all together. It won't be long before it's nothing but asteroids and dust.”

It was like receiving the letter informing me that Mother and Aulus had died. Notification of a life-changing event that I felt I should have witnessed directly.

“Now tell me, how are you? Are you okay?” she asked.

“I'm fine,” I said impatiently. “Tell me what's going on. Where's Crassus?”

“Ah, that,” she said. “Don't worry about him right now. I'll tell you everything, but a lot's happened. Come with me and I'll fill you in.”

“But Crassus—”

“I know, just hold your horses and let me talk.”

“Why?” I asked suspiciously.

“To reassure you. To tell you how things have played out. To tell you that you're a hero.”

I looked at her like a simpleton. What was she saying? I understood the words, but I couldn't quite connect how they could be relevant to me.

“It's true,” she said. “House Sertorian has been stricken from the Council of Eight, all its members banished or executed.”

“And the emperor? Where is he?”

“Back in Rome already. He's been cleaning house. He's re-forming the Senate as we speak.”

“And the Viridians?”

“Hailed as saviors of the empire, their status intact, elevated, even. Thanks to you.”

“Gods. I can't believe it.”

“All because of what we did here. Because of what you did.”

“Wait. If the emperor's back on Mother Earth, then what am I doing in his chambers? Aboard his ship?”

She gave me a wide smile that ran from ear to ear.

“Because it's not his ship.”

“I don't understand. Are we prisoners?”

“Well, Brutus Numerius Africanus is captaining it for now, but that's only until you're fit to take command. This is your ship. A gift from the emperor.”

I took a step back, my face screwed up as I struggled to process what she was saying.

“I know,” she said. “It's pretty fantastic, isn't it? You should see the engines on this thing. I've been down there for days tinkering with them. It's been very recuperative for me.”

“But…”

“You've been promoted. The emperor has issued an empirewide statement praising your courage. They've been ordered to erect statues in your honor in all eight provinces. And you've been given a rank.”

“As what?”

“A centurion. And not just any centurion. You're appointed to the quaestorship. You'll be a military judge, a centurion with the power to administer the imperial law instantaneously—judge, jury, and executioner all in one.”

“Only men can be in the military,” I stated.

“Not anymore. The emperor reopened the Quaestorium just for you. You're the first woman officer in … well, in the empire's history, I think. There are a hundred men aboard this ship waiting to take your orders. The ship's been renamed too.
Minerva's Spear.
In your honor.”

“Tell the emperor he can give the job to someone else.”

“You can't really turn down the emperor.”

“I just did.”

Julia held out her hand, offering a white leather strip, battered and cracked, caked in blood.

“They found it in Marcus' hand when they recovered his body. We're bringing him home for a state funeral. The committee thought that he'd pulled it from his own costume, that he meant it as a gift for you.”

The sixth tassel. The mark of primus paulus—the highest rank of gladiator. I took the strip and held it tightly. It wasn't Amphiara that he saw in his last moments. His desperate declaration of love was for me. This was what he was holding out, an offering, a gift to show his love and respect. Marcus loved me. I was the thing he was most terrified to lose. Damn the emperor, that tassel from Marcus was a promotion I was able to bear. Sweet Marcus. He deserved a better death than at Barbata's hands. How I wish I could have held him as he passed after all that he sacrificed for me. In the entire empire, where could another man like him be found?

“Now tell me, what of Crassus?” I asked.

“Ah. Come and get settled. Eat something, and then I'll tell you about Crassus.”

I grabbed her by the shoulders and fixed her with a fierce glare.

“Tell me now,” I insisted. “Right now.”

And she did, and then I turned around and walked back toward the chambers. I felt like I was made of rubber.

“It's okay,” she called out after me. “Really, Accala, it's all going to be okay.”

Minerva's Spear
was everything I could have hoped for in a ship. She was fast, sleek, and deadly—the finest trireme in the galaxy—an honor I could never have imagined would be bestowed upon me, and I cared for it not at all.

I left Brutus to manage the crew on the journey back and kept to my cabin. I banished the Celtoi and spent my days staring out the window into space, running away from every responsibility, refusing every audience, even with Julia. My mother once read to me a classical description of a conversation between Socrates and Plato. The man witnessing said that listening to it was like falling into a labyrinth.
We thought we were at the finish, but our way bent round and we found ourselves as it were back at the beginning, and just as far from that which we were seeking at first.
That was how I felt. Like I'd set out to work out my problems and the empire's problems, only to find myself right back at the beginning. No progress. Great sacrifice all for nothing.

*   *   *

W
HAT DID HONORS HEAPED
upon me matter when the emperor allowed Crassus to walk free, and worse, allowed the people of Rome to treat him like a hero, a tournament champion?

Julia told me that his final assault upon my person wasn't televised, that the nuclear explosion temporarily disabled the media spherae, and Julia's report, the word of a collegia plebeian, was not taken into account. They saw Crassus on my side in the field and they saw me walk past the podium and leave the crown. They thought I left it for him, that it was my will that he be crowned champion, that I didn't want the crown for myself. Commentators and pundits remarked on my choice, but none dared to question it too loudly for fear of bringing down upon themselves the wrath of my rapidly growing following.

And I couldn't say a thing.

Julia transmitted the emperor's command—that I remain silent about Aquilinus and Crassus if I wished to see House Viridian's fortunes continue to improve. When would the dust from this whirlwind I'd stirred up ever settle?

The old veterans who fought beside my father had turned out for the funeral. They carried his bier upon their shoulders, each one a highly decorated member of House Viridian, their armor clanking on the cobblestones of the ancient road that led through the center of the old city. Old salts, their bodies a collection of bionic limbs and spare parts, they carried him with a silent, solemn respect. None of them gave me the time of day before taking up the bier. There was nothing about me they liked, and I didn't blame them. They understood that this funeral should be about my father, about his life and his sacrifices, about his fight to preserve the empire. Instead it was about me. I, who ended his life. Should I even be there? In the position of honor? As a centurion, I was the highest-ranking direct descendant, an honor intended for a male.