The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (39 page)

“Come on, Jacob. Don’t lie to me. I know what’s
going on in that tent of yours.”

“Santino, you of all people should know that I’d
never tell you anything even if we were doing what say we’re
doing.”

“That’s not an answer, my friend.”

“What makes you think you deserve one?”

“Come on!” He said insistently. “I’m freezing my
balls off here. Give me something. Anything.”

I shook my head. “You’re helpless. And an asshole.
We need to find you a woman when we get back to Rome.”

“We’d better!” He exclaimed with a shake of his
head. “A man can only go so long before going crazy. I don’t know
how you’ve done it since the nurse.”

I frowned. It was still a bad memory.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to reopen old wounds.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I assured.

Santino turned and leaned against the railing to
face the wilderness. “It’s hard not to.”

I moved to stand against the railing as well, but
leaned so that I could face my friend. “Why do you say that?”

He smacked the railing. “Jacob, you have a wonderful
and beautiful woman sitting in your tent every night! And then the
two of you prance about the camp all day like you hardly know each
other, but we can all see it.” He paused. “We can see a lot of
things.”

“We’re just friends, John.”

He huffed. “You’re wasting your time if you ask
me.”

“Well no one asked you.”

He snapped his head around and stared at me
intently. “You shouldn’t have to. Guys like us don’t find a girl
like her every day, and you’ve meet two that I know of, and you
fucked up the first one. All I’m saying is that you’d better not
let it happen again.”

I turned away from my friend and looked out over our
wall, past the ditch and wooden stakes, and into the clearing, the
tree line far off in the distance. He was right. I’d never find
another one like her. I didn’t know why, but somehow that thought
didn’t comfort me.

***

Days later, I leaned up off my bedroll after a
sleepless night, resting my arms on my knees, and hanging my head
between them. I felt horrible, and I had no idea why, but I
suspected it had something to do with that beef patty MRE I had for
dinner last night. Lifting my head, and rubbing my hand over my
face and through my hair, which was getting much longer than I’d
ever grown it, I looked over at the empty spot where Helena
normally slept.

I sighed. Maybe I was just getting lonely since I
never seemed to see her these days.

“Ah, get up, Jacob,” I said to no one in particular.
“Today’s too big a day for this shit.”

I got to my feet and pulled off my shirt and looked
around for a fresh one. Once I found one I thought was mostly
clean, I snatched up my web belt, which held my tactical thigh
holster holding my pistol and a few extra mags, and strapped it
around my waist. My morning ritual completed, I unzipped the tent,
stepped out into the frigid weather, and headed towards a trough of
water. Normally used as the legion’s horses’ drinking water, I
dunked my head as deep as I could into the freezing liquid, a scene
I’d seen a dozen times in Wild West movies. Whipping my head out of
the icy cold bath just as quickly as I had dunked it, I sent a
stream of water flying behind me, splashing an unknowing Bordeaux
as he walked towards his tent.

I stood and dried myself off as best I could, before
I turned to see Bordeaux still standing there, a wet scowl on his
face.

“Oh, sorry, Jeanne. Didn’t see you there.”

He walked up to me angrily, and snatched my dry
shirt from my shoulder to dry his face with. In turn, he shoved a
loaf of Roman bread into my hand, fresh off the fire. It was tough
and chewy, thanks to the gluten rich wheat they used, but it
offered enough sustenance to be the backbone of a legionnaire’s
diet, which was good enough for me.

“You all right, Jacob?” He asked with a mouthful of
bread. “Today’s a big day.”

“I’m fine,” I said, taking a bite of my own and
mumbling around the food, “jus dinnt sweep swell.”

He looked at me pathetically. “Well, get yourself
cleaned up. We’re expected in Galba’s tent in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” I finished after gulping down my meal.

With that, I turned and headed back to my tent. I
found the zipper and gave it a pull, only to find it stuck and
refusing to budge. Gripping it with both hands, I tugged harder,
only to have it stubbornly remain jammed. I started yanking
furiously on the zipper. Never a morning person, my annoyance
quickly turned to rage, and I couldn’t stop myself from kicking the
tent, unplanting one of the stakes in my tirade. Wang, emerging
from his own tent, noticed my predicament, and came over to help, a
steaming cup of tea in his hand.

“Here, Hunter. Let me try.”

I conceded the zipper, throwing my hands up in
frustration, and backed away.

Wang gripped the zipper lightly, gave it a yank to
further close it before sending it on its way to open the flap,
which it did easily.

He turned to look at me, taking a sip from the
steaming mug. “You all right, Jacob? Today’s…”

“…a big day. Right. I got it.” I tried to breathe
through my nose, hold it, and exhale through my mouth, an old Zen
calming technique. “Thanks for your help. I’ll see you in the
praetorium
.”

He pulled his cup from his mouth to speak, but just
as quickly replaced it to take another sip. The look on his face
indicated he wanted to say more, but he knew how I was in the
mornings. Shrugging, he turned towards the
praetorium
without another word.

Entering my tent, I threw off my web belt in anger,
and tried to find a shirt to wear.

Could this day get any worse?

Finding a shirt that I assumed was clean, I slipped
it on, replaced my web belt, and retrieved a fleece jacket I had
found in our supplies. It was festooned with pockets, and could be
worn in freezing temperatures, as well as in moderately cool days.
It was even colored in olive drab. My favorite color, a good choice
for any military man. Good camouflage.

As I left my tent, I closed the zipper with
excessive carefulness, hoping to avoid any further complications.
Checking my watch, I realized I only had a minute before I was
late. Luckily, the
praetorium
was only a twenty step jog
away. When I entered I was annoyingly rewarded with the fact I was
the last to arrive.

My always punctual mother would have been
disappointed.

At the center of the tent were two large tables,
with two large maps displayed on top. The first was a rudimentary
topographical map of the Italian peninsula, and rudimentary was
putting it nicely. The map was a far cry from the satellite imagery
we used in our own time, but it would do. The map was only mostly
identifiable, with the general shape of the country present, along
with Sicily, Corsica, Sardinia, and plenty of landmarks, rivers,
mountain ranges, and cities, most of which were close enough to
where they were supposed to be.

The second map was a simple diagram of the city of
Rome. It wasn’t as detailed as the one I had framed and hanging on
my wall back home, a diagram I’d hoped to use in my classroom once
upon a time, but even so, it showed the city’s largest buildings,
walls, and gates accurately.

Arrayed around the tables were the usual suspects.
Caligula, Galba, his
primus pilus
Maximus Nisus, Quintilius,
Gaius, Marcus, Varus, three of the legion’s tribunes, and a few
slaves and freedmen administrators.

Santino and Wang stood next to each other, mugs of
steaming liquid in their hands, probably debating their preferences
for either coffee or tea again. By yet another grace of God, MREs
included ground coffee, and we also found tea bags in the cargo as
well. Teas weren’t new in Rome, but coffee beans were indigenous to
the Americas, resulting in some very jealous Romans. Centurion
Nisus, in fact, had grown addicted to the stuff after his first
taste, enamored by its caffeine content like so many college
students. He and I had worked out a deal that sent my MRE coffee
bean packages his way, for a portion of his salted pork rations. I
had to side with the Brits on this one, as I never really enjoyed
coffee, and the idea of fire roasted bacon made me very happy.

Bordeaux and Vincent were next to the two debaters,
while Helena stood around the corner, quietly chatting with Varus.
She’d struck up a friendship with him just as I had, and had
learned that the scholar was in fact married and expecting his
first child. When she told me the news, I immediately wondered if
that child was another link in the possible genetic chain that
connected the two of us.

Hoping to glide in under the radar, I quietly took
an open spot around the table, between Santino and Vincent,
opposite Galba and Caligula, and waited for the briefing to begin.
Caligula and Galba had been conversing quietly prior to my arrival,
and continued after I had taken my place at the table, completely
ignoring my entrance.

Score.

I glanced at Helena and she gave me a concerned
look, which I answered with a slight shake of my head.

Focusing on the maps, I only had to wait a few
seconds before Caligula asked for attention.

“As you all know,” he started, raising his hand for
silence, “we have received very little intelligence over the winter
concerning Claudius and his hold on Rome. What we have learned, as
Galba so astutely predicted, is that Claudius has not contacted any
other legion to support his cause. We have to assume that he
realizes his hold on power is only as strong as his ability to keep
me from reclaiming it. Once I’m eliminated, no one will ask any
questions as to his legitimacy, but until then, he’s
vulnerable.”

He paused, looking each of us in the eye in
turn.

“That said, I also face a problem. We as well cannot
seek help. If we did, my own hold on power may slip, and we could
see a series of attempted coups and power struggles for years to
come. That would not be in the best interest of my empire. No. The
best thing we can do is end this smoothly, quickly, and as quietly
as possible.”

“What happens exactly when this rebellion comes to
an end?” Varus asked, thinking beyond the immediate military
situation. “Even after we retake Rome, the news of Claudius’
betrayal will travel like a wild fire, and we may find recalcitrant
members of the empire also wishing to play their own hands. The
Germans are still beating their war drums since their victories
thirty years ago and the Jews in the East, especially, have been
grumbling for years. A power struggle in Rome may incite them to
take up arms against our legions stationed in Judea.”

Nisus made a dismissive noise. “You’re point, Varus?
Our Eastern legions would crush any insurrection in a matter of
months.”

Some of the military men pounded their fists on the
table in agreement. It wasn’t a surprise they didn’t think much of
their Jewish protectorates in the East, since they hadn’t given
much cause for concern in the past. I knew, however, that not too
far in the future, a Jewish rebellion would take place and last for
many bloody years.

“Both Varus and Nisus make valid points,” Galba
interjected, raising his hands for silence amongst his men. “Our
legions would have no problems dealing with open rebellion anywhere
in the empire, but Varus’ point that we need to contain the news is
valid as well. There is no way to stop those who have traveled from
Rome since we left, but once we retake the city, we can control any
news’ spread.”

Caligula nodded. “Galba is correct. Gods’ willing,
once we retake Rome and depose Claudius, we will quickly restore
order and make it appear as though nothing happened. Remember, news
travels slowly during the winter months. Any persons returning to
Rome, or traveling to Rome solely on the basis to determine whether
or not Claudius staged a coup, will arrive to find nothing of the
sort.” Caligula paused, and looked as serious as I had ever seen
him. “A seamless restoration of power is required. We can ill
afford any doubt in the minds of patricians, equestrians, or
plebeians alike. I am Caesar, not Claudius, and any who wish to
challenge that claim will be dealt with.”

The men, and one woman, around the room nodded,
myself included. Even if I hadn’t already known he was Rome’s true
emperor, I wouldn’t have doubted it now. He spoke with such
conviction and purpose, it was easy to see him as the leader of the
known world, and not some mere mortal like the rest of us.

He looked around the tent again, seeing the hardened
but confident expressions each person present had on their faces,
and nodded. “With that, I turn this briefing over to the
legate.”

Galba cleared his throat.

“The problem we face is that of besieging a city
with minimal forces.” He indicated to the map of Rome with his
hands. “The last few incidents of Roman military expeditions
conquering Rome were the result of those in power fleeing and
leaving the gates open behind them. We will not have that luxury.
Additionally, a lasting artillery barrage is out of the question.
We are not going to destroy half of Rome to simply knock down a few
walls. That said, while our advantages are few, I believe they may
be enough to retake the city.

“What we lack in experienced troops, we make up for
in numbers. My legion and auxilia are at full strength, and alone
consists of more men than the Praetorian contingent loyal to
Claudius. Additionally, our auxilia are of German stock, men always
itching for a fight. In my career I’ve never seen fiercer or wilder
men. They will be very useful. Furthermore, Caligula’s Sacred Band,
along with two thousand additional Praetorians, each seasoned
veterans, will form the heart of our lines. Lastly, we have five
men, and one resourceful woman, each with abilities far superior to
our own, and perhaps worth a cohort of men, each.”