The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (44 page)

The Praetorians didn’t budge though, at least not at
first, appearing as if they were waiting for someone. Two minutes
later, I realized who it was. Trailing behind another fifty or so
Praetorians came Claudius, looking disheveled and unkempt,
psychotic but alert, a devilish grin on his face.

As he approached, his Praetorians opened a lane for
him to travel through. He was accompanied by a senior centurion I
didn’t know.

He stepped out in front of his men, which was nice
of him, because it gave me a clear shot at his head. His men
tensed, but no one moved, while he opened his arms wide, and
frowned.

“Jacob Hunter,” he said. “Is this how you treat
friends from wherever it is you come from? I thought we had become
instant ones the day we met.”

I didn’t dignify him with a response.

“Jacob, Jacob, Jacob,” he taunted. “You pain me.
First, you accept my invitation to come see me, but you don’t
visit, and now I find that you have kidnapped my son. Tsk, tsk.” He
waggled his finger at me. It was easy to see the man had lost all
control over his faculties, and was quickly descending into a
Jeffery Domer state of insanity, just as Caligula should have,
perhaps proving Vincent’s theory.

I was curious about one thing though. “What
invitation?”

“What invitation?’ Why, the one I sent you, of
course. Didn’t you get the message? I had to make sure it was you
who came to see me after all, and not one of your other…” he waved
dismissively at Santino, “whatever they are.”

“You don’t mean Agrippina?” I asked, confusion and
anger swirling in my mind simultaneously.

“Agrippina? Did I send her? I do not know. Did I? It
seems I’ve forgotten. What does it matter? She’s served her
purpose. What does matter is that you are here, and now, we can
have some fun. Centurion, retrieve my son. When he’s safe, the rest
of you take them. Alive. No exceptions. Even the other one.”

The nameless centurion moved towards us.

“Wait!” Santino called, carefully removing Nero from
around his shoulder, and gently placing him on the floor.

The movement hid his true intention. As he placed
the child on the floor, I saw him move his right hand, the one
holding his knife, across his body, resting it near the left side
of his waist. As he stood, he flung his arm upwards, releasing the
knife, sending it flying towards Claudius. The knife missed,
imbedding itself in the chest of the centurion instead, who had
been standing just to the side and in front of him. The man looked
down at the hilt of the combat knife for the briefest of seconds,
before his head lulled backwards and he collapsed.

True anger brewing in Claudius’ eyes, he yelled,
“Get them! Save my son first!”

We retreated as soon as he started issuing orders,
utilizing the few seconds the Praetorians needed to avoid trampling
Nero to our advantage.

“Move to the storage room!” I yelled at Santino.
“Get the C-4 ready.”

As we ran, I still had my pistol pointed in the
general direction of the Praetorians, so I emptied my magazine into
their formation, confirming at least four kills with the seven
rounds I had remaining. Holstering my sidearm on the run, I pulled
the P90 from my back, and pulled back the cocking lever, chambering
a round.

We reached the storage room in seconds. I posted
myself at the door, while Santino moved towards the smaller escape
door, fiddling with a brick of C-4. He’d need to shave the brick
into a much smaller portion, or the concussive blast from the
detonation might kill us. He’d need a few minutes.

Seeing the first wave of Praetorians turning the
corner, I unleashed a volley of gunfire in their direction.
Helena’s gun was perfect for this kind of work. Its small size
allowed me to move it around easily in the cramped area with one
arm, and its fifty round magazine was larger than any other rifle’s
we had, except Bordeaux’s SAW, which I really wished I had right
now.

For now, the P90 would do, and as I raked my fire
left to right, mowing down man after man in a quick fluid motion, I
started feeling like we might actually make it out of here. Each
round struck a target in the narrow hall, and most men received
more than just one wound. Claudius must have known this would
happen, and yet he still sent these men to their graves. He really
was nuts.

Unwilling to blindly sacrifice themselves, the
Praetorians pulled back.

“How’s that C-4 coming?” I asked Santino, who was
still using a smaller knife on the stuff.

“I have no fucking clue how much of this I need so
that it doesn’t kill us. What the fuck are these walls even made
out of? Christ, I wish Bordeaux was here, and I never thought I’d
be saying that about a Frenchy.”

“Just hurry up,” I yelled, slapping a fresh magazine
in place. “They’ve pulled back for now, but they’ll be back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t rush me,” he mumbled.

I ignored him, peaking around the corner. So far it
was still clear.

“John…”

“I know. I know. I got it. Stand back.”

Pulling back from the door, I joined him in the
corner. Overturning a table to block the force of the blast, we
crouched behind it. I saw Praetorians tentatively peak around the
door just as we knelt behind our cover. Thinking our impromptu
defenses were meant to counter their attack, they rushed us,
confident a mere table wouldn’t be enough to stop them.

“Now!” I yelled, almost pleadingly to Santino.

He didn’t hesitate, triggering the charges before I
could even finish the word. Shielded by the table and our
protective ear pieces, the small charge didn’t faze us much. The
shock wave was just enough to knock us on our asses, but the
rushing Praetorians took the full brunt of the blast. Those who
rushed into the room sustained injuries from shrapnel and flying
debris or died, while those in the hall were disoriented from the
concussive blast. Even those still in the hall were stunned.

One step ahead of me, Santino rounded the table and
made for the door. Hot on his heels, I bounded over the table, and
followed. I saw that Santino had used a bit too much explosive and
instead of just blowing the door off its hinges, he took out a
large chunk of the wall as well.

Too interested in the wall, I didn’t see Santino go
down in front of me. Just as he left the room, a large wooden
cudgel hit him right in the forehead dropping him like a rock. Only
partially prepared, I was able to roll underneath the second swing
which came at me from the other side of the blown wall.

Rolling to my feet, I shot my attacker, but was
unable to shift my aim around to get the other man as well. His
blow took me in the temple. My head swirling, I fell to my
knees.

Gathered around me were dozens of blurry figures in
white togas. As I knelt there, facing the hole we had just made, I
saw Claudius emerge. He walked straight up to me and back handed me
across the face.

“I am not stupid!” He said, mad with rage. “I may be
many things these days, but lacking in foresight is not one of
them. As a god, how could I? I knew you would use your explosive
devices to try and escape, and I posted guards accordingly.”

I barely understood a word he said, as the world
darkened around me. Falling on my side, I struggled to keep my eyes
open.

The last thing I saw was a woman with light colored
hair walk up to Claudius and kiss him intensely. I couldn’t
recognize who she was, or even determine who she might have been.
Instead, all I could do was look at her menacingly familiar smile,
just before a Praetorian slammed the hilt of his sword into my
head, and watch as the world cut to black.

***

I woke to find myself suspended in the air. I had no
idea how long I had been hanging like that, but I knew it wasn’t
long. The only thing I felt so far was pain. Hunger or thirst
hadn’t quite taken its hold on me yet. Craning my head to look
around, the only things I saw were stars when another blow to my
head knocked me out again.

***

Around the tenth time I was awakened and summarily
knocked out again, I realized this must have been some form of
torture. Just keep beating someone to the point of unconsciousness,
let them sleep it off, and wake them up before starting all over
again. I knew it was torture because each time it happened, it hurt
more and more, and not only did the physical pain increase, but so
did the pain in my stomach. I had to have been hanging for at least
a day, but there was no real way of knowing.

After this latest beating, I was allowed to maintain
consciousness. My head hurt so much I was having trouble
remembering things, and I couldn’t even picture my mother’s face,
or the empty platitudes my father would drill into my head. I
couldn’t remember where I was, or the name of the woman my mind
kept drifting towards. All I knew were flashes and glimpses of a
life I guessed were mine.

Finally able to keep my eyes open, a painful
movement in its own, I forced myself to figure out where I was. The
room was dark, gloomy, and had spider webs hanging all over the
walls. I hated spiders. That much I remembered.

Of course, it might have just looked like spider
webs because my eyes were practically swollen shut.

I looked to my left, and saw a man-like shape
hanging in what I assumed was a similar fashion to how I was. His
hands were tied to a cross beam, which was mounted on a wooden pole
in the ground, forming a lower case t. His body was limp, and his
head was hanging on his chest. The pose reminded me of something,
but I couldn’t quite place it. When I looked at my own hands, I
confirmed that I was similarly hanging, and the only other support
I received was from a small block under my feet that protruded
slightly from the vertical pole.

Trying to shift my body, so that my legs took up
some of the slack, I found I could barely move my arms. All the
blood had drained from the veins, and my muscles refused to
cooperate. To compensate, I used my legs to painfully push myself
upwards, and immediately wished I hadn’t. The act of taking
pressure off of my arms forced all the pain towards that location,
creating a whole new level of hurt to deal with.

Crying out, I woke my companion.

“Whe... where am I?” He said, likewise oblivious to
our situation.

I tried to speak, but my mouth was too dry. I saw
the man look over at me, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Who… who are you?” He said slowly, before
recognition finally dawned on him. “Jacob? Is that you?”

Jacob?

Yes. Jacob. That was my name. Jacob Hunter. Service
number… no, too many numbers. I was a US Navy SEAL, no former. I
transferred to special service to the Pope. On a mission, we… and
it all came flooding back to me.

Everything. Pope Gregory. McDougal. A blue sphere.
Helena.

For some reason Helena’s image burned brightest in
my reclaimed memory. I remembered how much anger there’d been
between us and how I’d left on such uneven terms. My first reaction
was regret for how it turned out and how I had to make it right. I
had to get back to set things right between us.

“Santino?” Yes. That was his name. “Do you remember
anything?”

I looked over at my best friend. With that look my
memory snapped into focus and I almost panicked when I realized
what was happening to him. What must be happening to me as
well.

We were being crucified.

Always considered one of the most drawn out,
painful, and dehumanizing ways to die, I never really realized just
how utterly horrendous it was. I remembered all those Sundays at
Mass, looking up at Jesus of Nazareth hanging from his own cross,
but his sculpture never seemed to reflect the sheer pain he must
have been feeling, like the pain I was feeling now.

Santino must have regained his memory as well.

“We’re being crucified?” He asked. “Crucified? Who
fucking does that!?” At least his personality hadn’t diminished,
but as he finished his statement, he started coughing
uncontrollably.

“Romans. That’s who.” I glanced around the room
again. “Hang in there buddy. We’ll get out of this.”

Just as Santino was about to reply, another voice
cut in.

“My, my, my, so eager to get down are we?” The
demented voice I knew to be Claudius’ said. “You’ve only been
hanging there for a day or so, surely you aren’t ready to leave
yet? I have so many questions to ask you.”

Hiding in the shadows, I watched as he stepped into
the light, holding something in his hands. I struggled in my
restraints, not because I thought it would help, but because I was
too stupid to realize it would hurt. The action alone nearly caused
me to pass out again.

He stepped closer, a foot from my dangling body.

“What do you want?” The question came out resigned
and defeated. I couldn’t muster much else.

“Why, to expand Rome’s power of course. And do you
know how?”

Unable and unwilling to respond, I just hung
there.

“So unexcited. How sad.” He pulled his hands out in
front of him, which were holding something covered with a piece of
heavy cloth. “With this, of course.” He pulled the cover away
revealing the blue ball that started this mess. It shone dimly
right now and I wondered if it was on.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“With you? Why, everything! You’re the one who made
it work. Don’t play ignorant with me. That sniveling insect Varus
said he saw you holding it when you first arrived. You are the
fulcrum. The key. You can make it work.”

“You don’t understand what it does,” I argued
hoarsely. “It hurts people, makes them crazy. Don’t you remember
how you used to be just a few months ago? You were normal.”

“Normal is such a relative term,” he said, pulling
the ball away and waving his hand in my face. “To you, it may seem
like one thing, but to me, another. Who determines the normality of
society if not those controlling it?” He paused, cocking his head
to the side as he looked at me. “Why, me, of course! Now. Make it
work,” he said, thrusting the sphere in my face.