Centurion's Rise (11 page)

Julius Caesar knelt
before a rectangular marble base with alternating bands of deep crimson that flowed into pure white at the middle and back to crimson on the other side.  The stone was partially covered by a white cloth with a pyramid formation of seven candles resting on top.  The simple altar stood in the corner of the room to honor the great god Jupiter inside his tent.  Proudly standing in the middle of the room was the golden eagle resting atop a spear: the thirteenth legion’s badge of pride and honor.

“Great god of g
ods,” Caesar prayed aloud.  “I now stand at a cross roads and seek your guidance.  One path leads to Rome and civil war for its citizens.  The other leads to yet unconquered lands where riches, fame and glory are sure to abound.  Which path do I take?”

An eerie silence hung in the air until an angelic voice whispered to him from all around the room.  “The time has come to take your place as the sole ruler of Rome.  You will take on
e legion and march on the capital city.”

“But no armies may cross the Rubicon River,” Caesar challenged.  “To do so will give my enemies cause to raise arm
s against me.”

“If Sulla could, why can’t you?
” the whimsical voice asked.  “He marched against his unprepared enemies, took the city, and seized the title of dictator for life.  Sulla did not know his political ABCs though and gave up the complete control he so easily took.  You will grab hold and never let go.”

“Thy will be done,” Caesar concluded and rose to his feet with an air of certainty about him.  He walked out of the tent and signaled the four guards to enter the room once more
and protect the sacred eagle.  Then Caesar headed for his command tent to make plans with his generals to move the men south toward Rome.

From the shadows of the twilight hour
, Valnor silently crept out from behind the marble altar.  He was still trembling from the adrenaline rush that hit him just minutes before.  Literally, as he reached up to snatch the golden eagle from its distinguished perch, the tent flap opened and Caesar entered to speak with his god.  Fortunately in the evening hour the tent was not well lit.  While Caesar brought numerous candles to life, Valnor managed to sneak behind the altar base, which was just large enough to conceal him.

  He listened in amazement to the conve
rsation between Caesar and his god just moments before.  He trusted Hastelloy’s account of hearing the Vestal Virgin talking to her god, but to witness the phenomenon firsthand made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  The Alpha leader’s spirit was in complete control of the most dangerous man in the Republic.

Without making a sound Valnor pulled a wave blaster from the folds of his tunic.  He was glad to have brought the weapon with him once the regeneration chamber finished returning his life force to
a physical body.  Under Hastelloy’s orders, the modern weapons were to never leave the chamber, except under the most dire circumstances.  Valnor reasoned a mission to steal and destroy the relic containing the Alpha leader’s life force qualified as an appropriate time to use the advanced weapons from his world.

He leveled the
blaster at the closest guard and pulled the trigger.  Silently an electric blue ray leapt forward, struck the man and locked him into a state of paralysis.  Before the other three guards had time to react, they too were immobilized.  Valnor stowed the weapon away again, pulled the hood of his brown cloak over his head and stepped forward to finish the job of stealing the golden eagle.

He took extra care not to allow the paralyzed guards to see his face under the hood.  The men couldn’t move or talk, but their vision still worked and they’d certainly report to Caesar what they saw once the paralysis wore off.  Having the guards recognize
his face would certainly ruin the second phase of his plan.

Without a sound
, Valnor tucked the eagle under his cloak and made his way out a small gash cut in back of the tent.  Without incident he made his way out of the camp and into the woods beyond. 

When he was far enough away
, Valnor stopped and set the golden eagle on top of a rock.  He changed the settings of the wave blaster and pointed the weapon at the relic, pulled the trigger, and a bright red bolt lanced out of the muzzle.  The continuous energy beam struck the eagle dead center.  First the statue melted to a puddle of liquid gold, then the puddle evaporated away as the atoms were superheated to the point of annihilation. 

In a matter of seconds the
Alpha relic was no more.  Pride and satisfaction washed over Valnor after accomplishing his critical assignment, but a part of him remained surprised at how easy it had been.  As he made his way back into the shadowy forest, he set the wave blaster to auto destruct and then tossed the weapon aside.  A muffled thump let him know the futuristic weapon was no more.

**********

In the crisp morning air, a young man approached the military camp of the thirteenth legion just across the northern Italian border in Gaul.  He rode a horse of no distinction, a useful nag, but nothing more.  In tow he led a brimming white stallion that instantly demanded attention from the guards standing watch at one of four entrances to the fortified camp.  The magnificent animal stood a full foot taller than any other horse in the vicinity.  The thunder clap of its hooves against the hardened dirt road spoke to its stout muscular stature.

One guard approached
the young man while the others stood ready to draw their blades if needed.  A single rider, in this case a thirteen-year old boy, posed no threat to the camp, but there was protocol to observe or there would be Hades to pay in an organized army.

“
State your business or be gone,” the guard ordered.

“My business is with my uncle, General Gaius Julius Caesar,”
the boy confidently replied.

The ridiculous declaration instantly brought a wave of hearty laughter over the guards. 
The one closest to the rider was first to recover his composure and muster a response.  “You sure you want to make that claim?”

The guard gestured to the side of the road where two severed heads
, dipped in tar, rest on top of their respective spears.  “You’re not the first to make such claims on the great man’s lineage since his list of victories started to lengthen.”

The man let the statement hang in the silent air for a set of heart beats before
tilting his head to the men behind.  “What do you think boys?  Those two pikes look in need of some company.  Should I let him pass, because splendid gift or not, the general will not show mercy in the face of deception.”

The men roared with jeers and laughter
once more.  The centre turned his gaze back to the young man who sat stone faced atop his mount.  “Go home, boy.  No fortune awaits you here with this endeavor.”

“The validity of my claim will be judged by
the general and no other,” the stranger stated with an icy stare.  “Let me pass without further insult, soldier, for it is likely you will soon be under my command, and I have a vivid memory of those who wrong me.”

The statement nearly
drew more laughter, but the possibility of the boy being right made them think twice.  “Very well, it’s your neck,” the guard finally said.  “Dismount so I can search your person for weapons, and then we’ll see if the general is open for an audience.”

A tunic did not provide a lot of places to conceal weapons of any
sort so the pat down was brief.  The boy hitched his horse to the nearest tie down and proceeded to lead the towering white stallion toward the central crossroads of the camp.  Outside the command tent, he was ordered to stop and wait as the guard entered the tent.

Several minutes later the great man, Gaius Julius Caesar
, strutted from the flapping fabric of the tent entrance with the guard and a dozen officers in tow.  Caesar did not pay the least bit of attention to the boy. He simply stepped forward to inspect the powerful animal behind him.

“Magnificent,” Caesar sighed finally after running his hands along the neck, legs and back of the horse.

“A gift to commemorate your victories, General, from our family stables in Velitrae,” the young man said.  “The finest we have ever produced I dare say.”

“A gift?” Caesar repeated.  “From
whom, boy, for your likeness carries no recognition for me, and I have a talent for remembering faces and names.”

The stranger
pulled a scroll sealed with a wax imprint from his tunic and extended it to Caesar.  “The gift is from my mother, Atia.  She saw fit to adopt me into her family, and by extension, your family.”

He
inclined his head as Caesar took the scroll, “Gaius Octavius Thurinus at your service general.”

Caesar inspected the imprint
ed wax seal before breaking it to view the words written upon it.  Slowly, deliberately, his eyes passed over the document.  When finished, the harsh lines around his eyes softened as he lowered the scroll to look at the brilliant white horse again.  He handed the scroll to a subordinate, and signaled another to place his saddle upon the animal.  Then he looked at the young man with a bright smile.

“My sister wrote me many times about the grandeur of a white stallion in her stables.  She also informed me several months ago
of her desire to adopt a worthy heir.  This seal is unquestionably hers, this horse can only be the one she described, and I can proudly say I have a new nephew.”

Caesar moved forward and embraced
Octavian as a member of his family.  “Your mother insists I show you the arts of war so you can grow to become a leader of men.  You have come at an opportune time to learn.”

The orderly finished attaching the saddle and
bridle to the towering horse.  He stepped back and instantly realized the animal’s height was such that no man could mount it from the ground.  Obediently, he got down on all fours to provide a step for Caesar to reach the stirrups so he could mount the giant horse.

The size and strength of the
animal did not phase Caesar in the least.  He marched up to it, stepped onto the orderly’s back and settled comfortably into the saddle.  He tested the mount’s obedience to the reins.  Satisfied he had adequate control, he turned and issued orders to his officers.

“Assemble the
men in the central square.  I will return in ten minutes to address the army.”  With the orders issued, Caesar rode off at full speed towards the east entrance of the camp and continued right out into the wilderness beyond looking to thoroughly enjoy the ride.

The officers immediately scattered to assemble the legions in the muster field
, leaving only Octavian and the guard who led him into the camp.  “Looks like you get to live another day, boy, and from now on I will be calling you sir.”

A brief ten minutes later, over five thousand men stood ready on all four sides of the camp crossroads.  A quiet murmur floated about as to the
assembly’s intent.  All discussions ceased with the approach of thunder beating against the ground.  Everyone looked to the east and saw Caesar riding to the center of camp atop the largest horse they could ever imagine; the ground literally shook under the animal’s weight with each stride.

Caesar came to a stop at the crossroads and circled twice around to absorb the presence of his entire army around him.  The men looked on with obedient anticipation. 
Caesar acknowledged the salutes and cheers from the men as he came to a full stop.  His outward appearance showed nothing but stern confidence as he boldly spoke for all to hear.

“
Pompey and the Senate have declared me an enemy of the state.  They have branded my actions here in Gaul illegal and me a criminal.  By extension, all of you are now considered criminals.  Your life’s work is deemed invalid by those in the Senate.  Your brothers in arms who fell on the battlefield defending Rome apparently died for nothing in their eyes.”

A wave of shock and insult rolled over the rough and rugged soldiers
standing at attention.  They broke with standard protocol and in unison shouted their protests.  Every one of them to a man looked ready to kill something at the affront to their honor.

Caesar raised his right arm to settle the men and induce silence once more
so his words could be heard.  As the roar died down another horse approached from the camp’s east gate.  On top sat a bloodied man.  It was Mark Antony, Tribune of the Plebs, returning from the assault he sustained in the Senate house. 

Caesar rode over to his most trusted man.
  He expressed a subtle nod in appreciation of the well executed timing of his entrance.  “Tribune Mark Antony, why do you arrive before this army in such a ragged state?”

“
I traveled to Rome yesterday to take my place as a lawfully elected Tribune of the Plebs.  I was rebuked by Pompey and his horde of senators.  They not only refused to acknowledge my office, they physically assaulted me.  Pompey himself landed the first cowardly blow to my nose.  Following this breach of decorum I had to flee the city for my life with Pompey’s men nipping at my heels.”

The army yelled their protests as
Antony told his story.  At the end he stopped speaking for his words were simply drowned out by the enraged soldiers.