The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (20 page)

He noticed my approach. “So what do you think,
Hunter?”

“Well, sir. It’s the opinion of this sailor that we
could have picked a more interesting time to find ourselves in. I,
for one, would have loved to meet Augustus.”

He smiled. “I would have preferred Marcus Aurelius
or Constantine, but I see where you’re coming from. Still… while
there is certainly something exciting about all this, we can’t stay
here.”

“I couldn’t agree more, sir. I’m not sure if I can
live without my TV.”

“Well, Lieutenant, in that case, we definitely need
to get out of here.”

“Right, and remember, whenever we meet Caligula, or
whoever we’re here to talk to, we can’t mention anything about who
we are and where we came from.”

“What if he asks?”

“I guess we can tell him we’re observers from far
away, but no specifics. If we tell them I’m from America, a place
beyond the Pillars of Hercules, or whatever… who knows? They might
just go there and colonize the place, a millennium before Columbus,
or even before the Vikings poked around. Just keep the details
vague, and tell him we have no idea how we got here. They seemed to
know that blue ball thing would do something, or else they wouldn’t
have been ritualizing it, so we’ll just play the hapless bystander
card and hope they bite.”

“All right. We also need to see about digging our
way into that cavern to secure our gear, and make sure we can get
McDougal out. We need to give him a proper burial.”

“That might be harder than it sounds. We’ll have to
find a way to impress these guys just to get our weapons back, let
alone ask for them to dig out a cave.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

I flinched at his last comment, but nodded all the
same. I turned back towards the cityscape, ending the conversation.
It certainly won’t be a problem to impress these people. All we
need to do was show them a lighter, let alone give them a
demonstration of our weapons, but that would be a bad idea.

I heard the clicking of Roman style boots against
marble, and turned to see one of the Praetorians emerging from the
Curia
.
Caligae
were constructed with hobnails
imbedded in their soles, offering cleat like characteristics. Like
soccer players who used them for traction during matches, the
Romans’ application was the same for the battlefield. The centurion
spoke quickly to Vincent, who held up his hands while replying. The
Roman looked at me, his eyes cold as ice. He looked back at
Vincent, and nodded rapidly, saying, “
celere
.”

Basically, “make it quick.”

Vincent tilted his head in thanks, and made his way
towards his wary soldiers.

“Wake up people, break’s over.”

Years of training kicked in, and while only Wang
stood, everyone else was back on task and paying close
attention.

“It seems these Romans have been gracious enough to
grant us an audience with the Caesar, but will only allow me and
one other to see him. Hunter, you’re with me. I may need your
ridiculous ability to comprehend this… sci-fi stuff.”

I smiled. “My mom always told me I watched too much
TV.”

“Your mom’s a smart woman,” Santino said.

“The rest of you will be taken to a holding area,”
Vincent informed. “They know of your injuries, so they’ve agreed to
keep you together. Bordeaux get your ankle taken care of, and I’m
sure Strauss can use another look at that leg. Santino, make sure
nothing happens to them.”

Santino nodded, completely serious.

"All right, Hunter. Let’s get this over with.”

VI

Caligula

Rome, Italy

October, 36-41 AD

I fell into step behind Vincent as we followed the
Roman Praetorians through the
Curia
, which in and of itself,
was remarkable. Augustus had found Rome a city of stone, and left
it a city of marble, or so he famously boasted, and judging from
what I’d seen so far, he wasn’t kidding. Absent were the decaying
and rundown buildings historians indicated were here merely a few
decades earlier. Instead the area was opulent, radiant, and, well…
shiny, is a good way to describe it. The floor and walls glistened
in the moonlight, and everything seemed in pristine condition, a
clear indication of Rome’s majesty.

A few turns later, we arrived in the Senate chamber.
While it wasn’t all that big, the sheer scope of decisions debated
in this room was enough to make it seem much bigger. It was
circular in design, with elevated rows of long benches, illuminated
by small fire pots hanging sporadically around the room. They cast
off a spooky atmosphere throughout the room, with many areas cast
in shadow while the remaining area flickered intermittently. So
many elected officials, emperors, despots, and tyrants had ruled
from this room, but there was currently only one on my mind.

The one who sat center stage in the only independent
seat in the house.

The man was nothing like I imagined he would be. He
was tall, blond, well-muscled, but rather unattractive. His eyes
were small, his nose had a bump on it, and the tips of his ears
flared out noticeably, but the way he looked at us indicated an
inquisitive intelligence. He measured us up in a quick glance, no
hint of intimidation or fear in his eyes. Instead, he seemed
completely unimpressed by what he saw, as though men who looked
like us passed by him every day.

What was missing was the air of arrogance and
godliness, traits reportedly common of the man. Not to mention
insanity.

We must have gotten lucky.

The man stood and circled us like a panther,
continuing his inspection. At one point, he opened one of my
pouches equipped with Velcro, which he merely accepted with a
curious face and his mouth pursed approvingly. Everyone else
appeared as though they had just seen magic. Two Praetorians jumped
away from me in shock.

He stopped after two revelations, and spoke his
first words to Vincent. I tried to follow along as best I could,
but mostly had to wait for Vincent’s translations.

“Who are you?” Caligula asked.

“My name is Vincent, and this is Jacob Hunter.”

“That is all very well and good, but where are you
from and what is the meaning behind your appearance in my
city?”

Vincent glanced at me before answering. “Where we
are from, I cannot say.”

“And why is that?”

“It may prove harmful to the future of your great
empire.”

Well. So far, so good. I guess this conversation
could have been weirder.

“I am not sure how that could be so,” Caligula
continued, “but judging by your appearance, I would assume you are
not from this area, nor any other part of my domain. So where? Deep
in Africa or perhaps Asia? We’ve seen many strange things from
these lands, but I must admit, none more so than you.”

“I can confirm that we are not from any of these
places, but little else. I will assure you, however, that we mean
no harm to either you or your people. We are not here by choice. We
find ourselves just as surprised as you are concerning our presence
here.”

“So you will not tell me where you are from, or who
you are,” he continued, tapping his chin with a finger, “nor will
you tell me how it is you found your way into the city and beneath
one of our most sacred temples, because... you don’t know?” He
asked, his expression indicating he clearly didn’t believe us. “Of
course.”

“All of what you said is true, Caesar.” Vincent
paused, seeing Caligula’s skeptical expression. “I feel the need to
reassure you that we have no intention of acting against the will
of Rome.”

That was smart. 21st century technology or not, we
wouldn’t survive long with Rome as an enemy.

Caligula lifted his chin slightly, now giving us
more of a suspicious, rather than skeptical, look. “How is it that
you speak
my
language?”

Vincent paused for a second and glanced at me again.
I didn’t dare move. That
was
a
good
question.

“I’ve spoken Latin for most of my life,” Vincent
responded with a shrug.

Good answer.

“From where, I have no idea,” Caligula continued.
“Your accent is most bizarre.”

Vincent shrugged again.

Caligula’s suspicious glance lingered as he held out
his arm towards one of his Praetorians, indicating for one of our
rifles. The man brought Vincent’s M4 for Caligula’s inspection.

“What manner of weapon is this?” He asked. “I would
not have thought it one had my guards not informed me these were
what you surrendered to them. It is not of balanced weight, or
design, nor is it sharp in any place. It also seems too fragile for
a bludgeoning weapon, so what does it do?”

“It is a projectile weapon, similar to a bow and
arrow, only slightly more sophisticated. Currently, it is not
loaded, so you will be unable to fire it.”

“And what is this device?” He asked, indicating the
flashlight attached to the barrel, which had conveniently slid free
from its mount. Caligula was fiddling with it while Vincent
answered.

“It is an illum…”

Caligula accidentally pressed the activation button,
projecting a brilliant beam of light that collected on the ceiling.
The guardsmen gasped in horror, while Caligula dropped the
flashlight and skipped away, perhaps fearing it was possessed.

“It’s as though the rays of Apollo are contained
within.” One of the guards commented, moving away from the rolling
light, probably thinking he might spontaneously combust should it
touch him.

I bent down and retrieved the small tool.

“We call it a flashlight.” Vincent informed, using
the American term, retrieving his light. Manipulating it, he lit up
areas of the room otherwise in the dark. The Romans seemed
thoroughly impressed after composing most of their dignity.

“As you can see, it creates light in a nonflammable
way, focusing it tightly for increased efficiency.”

“How does such a device operate?” Caligula asked,
retaking his U shaped seat, appearing only slightly startled.

“To be honest, the specifics of its function are
slightly beyond me, but just like your catapults, it has been
constructed from earthly materials, by human hands. No divine
inspiration was required.”

“Such a device,” Caligula mumbled, shaking his head
at the floor. “Its abilities are far beyond that of a simple torch.
If your weapons are just as advanced when compared to our own, I am
becoming more and more reluctant to trust you.”

“Caesar, we are willing to perform any test needed
to prove our honesty. If it would please you, we are prepared to
offer a demonstration of our abilities at your convenience.”

Caligula spent a few minutes considering,
occasionally glancing at his guards, and then back at us. A few
minutes later, he stood up and moved closer to us.

“I have been given word that some of your people
have sustained injury. Again, how, I know not. It is for that
reason that I have let them stay together and why I will now allow
you to rejoin them. However, I will require your demonstration
tomorrow evening. It is very late, rest as much as you need. Food
will be provided when you wish, but be ready.”

“Your kindness is greatly appreciated, Caesar.
However, I have but one request.”

“Speak.”

Vincent took a step closer. “In our rush to escape
the collapsing cave beneath your temple, we left one of our people
behind. He was already dead upon our arrival.”

I guess now wasn’t the best time to mention the
large amount of gear buried along with him. That wouldn’t really
help our case much.

“Where we come from we have a practice of not
leaving fellow soldiers behind, as well as burial rituals for the
dead. If it is at all possible, we ask that we be allowed to
retrieve him, and give him the proper respects.”

Of all the conquerors and empires throughout the
ages, Rome, surprisingly, was probably one of the most tolerant.
That is, until us poor Christians came on the scene. Prior to the
advent of Christianity, they could care less about who you
worshiped or what gods you prayed to, as long as you paid tribute
to the emperor. Additionally, Romans took their own burial
preparations very seriously. They had important rituals, imported
mostly from the Greeks, which would help prepare the dead for their
journey to the afterlife.

Caligula looked thoughtful for a second,
understanding our desire to lay our dead to rest.

“Tomorrow evening you will perform your
demonstration, as planned,” he answered. “Afterwards, should I feel
it prudent, I will order the retrieval of your lost friend.
However, if all goes well for you, I will require a more thorough
test of your loyalty at a later date.”

“Thank you, Caesar.” Vincent bowed, and I followed
suit.

“Now go. The hour is late. I hope all goes well
tomorrow. For your sake.”

***

We left the senate chamber in silence, our guards
close at hand. I thought the discussion had gone well enough,
although I wasn’t sure a demonstration of our weapons was the most
intelligent course of action. The fact that these Romans now know
of flashlights alone might be enough to change the course of
history. They say that a butterfly fluttering in Ohio can produce a
hurricane in China, but the question is, when does he know to
flutter? We simply had no idea what action we performed, no matter
how small, could result in a change in global history.

I was a little worried that just by arriving here we
had already changed something. I still didn’t understand why, in
all my research, I had never once heard of us being here.

And here’s where things get confusing.

In our present, in 2021, our history books include
no account of beings fitting our description. If we gave our
demonstration tomorrow, which seemed very likely at this point, we
were going to leave a mark on someone smart enough to write it
down. While writers such as Plutarch, who wrote extensively on
important individuals and events, hadn’t even been born yet, his
work centered on earlier figures, and ones who made a real
difference. If Caligula could harness our abilities, he would have
certainly been one of them, which he wasn’t. Even if Plutarch
didn’t write about it, surely one of the many historians still to
come would have. The kind of spectacle we could put on seems right
up Suetonius’ alley, but again, he includes no mention of us. Pliny
the Elder, Tacitus, Seneca, the list goes on, and yet there was
still no mention of us.