Eagle of the Empire

by Martin Ferguson

  ‘Why have you taken him?’

  ‘Who says he didn’t come willingly?’ Leon asks. ‘Who’s to say he isn’t working with us?’

  ‘Drop the blade, punk.’

  I don’t say anything, and I don’t lower the gladius as the men and wolf edge nearer.

  ‘Do the smart thing, punk. Drop it,’ urges Bishop, gun still pointed straight at my head.

  ‘This isn’t worth someone getting hurt over,’ Leon adds. ‘Come with us. Tell us where the Eagle is and you can both go home. Matt and you.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about an Eagle,’ I tell them.

  ‘Why is it I don’t believe you?’ Leon asks.

  ‘Drop the blade,’ orders Bishop.

  Without warning, I throw the blade down, its tip tearing into a flare at Bishop’s feet and igniting it in a blaze of red light, blinding us all. The red smoke becomes a thick fog, filling the tomb, but through it I see the wolf’s eyes glow brighter still. Even though I can barely see, I take my one and only chance, jumping onto the legatus’s casket and leaping past the wolf’s snapping jaws. I’m moving by instinct.

  I land on the cavern floor and roll, ducking beneath Bishop’s swinging arm. The gladius is at my feet and I grab it, circling round, ready to defend myself, but they can’t see me amongst the sparks and smoke.

  ‘Grab him!’

  But I’m already gone, emerging from the billowing smoke as I charge through the waterfall.

  Tucking the gladius into my belt, I run, taking all the care I can to avoid the traps but needing to escape the caverns as fast as possible. Arrows fly from the walls as I catch their triggers across the floor but I am moving far too quickly for them to hit me. I feel one impact into my rucksack but I am undeterred.

  I hear the wolf roar as it thunders towards me. Grabbing the nearest Roman tower shield as I feel the beast’s breath on my back, I turn, the fiend slamming into the ancient iron, clawing and snarling at me. It takes all my strength to hold it back, the relic bending under the pressure but holding the beast at bay.

  My sight falls on the floor, seeing a trigger directly beneath me, between my boots. A quick glance behind, sweat running down my face from the effort to hold off the wolf, and I see my chance. Leaping back with the shield still raised, I let the predator advance, jaws snapping as it tries to bite flesh. It never sees the trigger or the spear rise up, ripping across its face and ruining an eye. I slam the shield into the beast one more time before turning and running, the wolf howling in pain behind me, its pursuit ended. A curse from Bishop tells me his and Leon’s is not.

  Nearing the great stone door, I grab a handful of Roman coins, throwing them over the massed triggers across its entrance. Dozens of spears rise up in front of me and I dart between them, much easier to avoid when already activated than carefully treading around them. My pace grows as I clear the entrance and, taking a run up, I leap across the great chasm and over the river below without thinking of the water or the fear.

  I never make it; a hand grabs me by the shoulder, holding me over the rushing water.

  ‘Do not struggle, Adam.’

  I turn. It’s neither Leon nor Bishop holding me, but another man, tall and thin, face twisted by his manic smile. He is otherworldly – skin so pale that his veins are almost as pronounced as the tattoos that stretch out across his body in the pattern of sharp twisting thorns. His black staring eyes are half concealed by his raggedy black hair. I’m terrified.

  ‘I sense it inside you. Fear,’ he croons. ‘I know where your dear brother is, but there’s a price – the Eagle.’

  ‘Where is he?’ I struggle to ask.

  ‘The Eagle?’

  ‘I don’t know…’ I begin to protest.

  Without warning, blue flames erupt from the man’s hand and over my torso, wracking me with excruciating pain. I scream but he doesn’t release me. The flames engulf us both.

  ‘With the rise of the blood moon, I shall find it,’ he whispers to me, pulling me close. ‘The Eagle shall be mine.’

  The flames vanish in an instant. My skin is somehow unharmed yet steam still rises from me.

  ‘Give my greetings to the afterlife,’ he whispers, before lifting me high and throwing me down towards the river.

  Somehow, I miss the rocks below, but a worse fate claims me. The waters swallow my body and drag me under the current. I struggle to rise up, to breathe, but the river pulls relentlessly.

  I’m pulled deeper. Kicking with all my strength, I’m finally able to surface and fill my lungs with precious air, but it’s not enough. I know it’s not enough. I lived this death before, and every night since. I know this is the end. I have cheated death once, but this time I can’t. This is it. My head is in agony. No air, no breath. All I see is stars scattered across the dark of the swirling water.

  My body strikes a rock and I reach out to grip it, not knowing whether I am saved or not.

  My vision returns and I see trees around me. The loch is beyond them, and beyond that, mainland. Rising in the distance, ushering in the dawn, is the sun. My body shakes uncontrollably, not from the cold but in terror. I have barely escaped.

  The boat remains moored where I left it. I jump aboard and sever the mooring rope with the gladius, the blade still with me somehow despite my fall into the water. Thankfully, the outboard engine roars into life on first attempt to start and I guide the boat away as fast as it’ll go. I head towards Mike and Gillian’s, where my motorcycle is waiting. An argument is growing in my thoughts. Those men have Matt, and I should have played them better, but they had a gun, and they would’ve killed me long before I ever saw my brother. I should’ve tried though. In the end, I reason I need to read more of his journal. I need to find out the secret of the Eagle and why they want it so desperately. Then I will rescue Matt.

  Risking a look back over my shoulder, I see another boat, much bigger than mine and quickly gaining on me. Matt’s captors; the goons from the cavern. Without slowing down, I beach the boat, the hull grinding on the rocks and stones, insurmountable damage done.

  ‘Hey, you nicked my boat!’ I hear Mike yell as he and Gillian emerge from their home. ‘What the hell have you done to it?’ His face is red with anger – and I don’t blame him.

  ‘Sorry!’ I yell as I run for the bike. ‘I’ll pay for the damages! Just get inside and call the police.’

  ‘Too bloody right I’m calling the police! You stole me boat!’

  I reach the motorcycle, dropping my keys in the haste to start up the bike.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mike. I swear I’ll pay you back. I promise.’

  Mike is distracted by the sight of his other stolen boat, heading at speed towards the dock.

  ‘Ruddy hell!’ Mike curses.

  I’m trying to start up the engine, failing twice. ‘C’mon! C’mon!’ I shout at the bike, praying for it to start.

  Just in time, the engine roars into life. ‘Yes!’ I cry in triumph. Pulling on the helmet and turning the bike, I hurtle away along winding roads through the Highlands, over hills and around lochs. My mind races with a thousand options of what to do. All I know for certain is I must escape the area, vanish until I can read Matt’s journal and decide my next steps.

  The growing thunder of an engine and blaring horn behind warns me I am not yet free. In the bike’s mirror, I see a beaten up, filthy four-by-four rapidly gaining on me.

  ‘Come get me then,’ I taunt, increasing the throttle on the bike and heading towards the motorway in the distance. The early morning traffic is already building up ahead. I’ll be able to weave it, but it will slow those goons down.

  I accelerate until my speed is reckless, even for me. Suddenly, cutting across from the fast lane, the familiar four-by-four swerves, hitting my back wheel. All control is lost and I veer towards the hard-shoulder, the bike disappearing from beneath me. The world spins in noise and pain and I land on the grass verge, my body rolling down towards the ditch.

  I look up, not knowing how long I ha
ve been unconscious. My helmet’s visor is cracked and all of me hurts. I try to get up but a figure is rushing towards me. I know their urgency has nothing to do with their desire to help me. My rucksack, straps torn, lies just out of reach, Matt’s journal is inside. It is that which they are coming to rescue.

  ‘No…’ I struggle to say. My body is failing. Darkness is claiming me.

  8

  OPTIO MARCUS AURELIUS—Caledonia, Britannia

  In the sky we see Luna, bright and crimson like blood, bathing the night sky red. The gods honour the dead as we now do. As the fires of the funeral pyres die, I turn to the last remaining brothers untouched by death. I have seen thousands of them laid to rest this day, but this pyre is the one I have dreaded most of all.

  ‘Sir,’ Legionary Ocullus, one of the few survivors of my cohorts, calls to me. ‘It should be you, Sir,’ he says, offering me the flame, ‘He would be honoured.’ I look to Centurion Decimo, the highest ranked survivor and my superior. He nods in approval.

  ‘And so we honour him,’ I say, pacing towards the pyre. The eyes of all those who remain of our legion are on me. One hundred and seventeen of us from what was four thousand. We are no longer an army, barely a single cohort. We were betrayed, by both Romans and Britons, torn apart.

  ‘My brothers,’ I call to all those who remain. I am the youngest on the field yet must speak to them as a brother, a leader. I swallow any fear and doubt, forcing it from my mind as I honour the fallen. ‘The Legio IX Hispana will forever live on in us who still draw breath and in the memory of all of Rome, our enemies slain and scattered, our victories and valour legend.’ My words do little to cheer the men, but nor do they jest or mock. They are silent.

  ‘We have honoured our fallen brothers this day, but there is one last man we must bid farewell to. He will live on forever in the Elysian Fields – our legatus, Antonius Thadian.’

  Though he marched us north to this barren land where all we found was death, no man speaks against him, nor betrays his memory. Their loyalty is true and fast.

  ‘For seven years he has led the legion, never once forsaking us, fighting beside us, giving blood and sweat in our struggles. He was a righteous man. An honourable man. He gave all for this legion.’

  I do not mention his final acts, nor his words of self-blame. Instead, I lower the torch to his pyre and let the men’s final memory of the legatus be untainted. He lies with his armour and weaponry removed. Coins have been placed upon his eyes to pay the ferryman for safe passage to the afterlife across the River Styx. The wood beneath him catches flame; the legatus’s final journey has begun.

  It is because of him that I stand upon these foreign shores. My father fought in the legions, a friend of the legatus for many years. When my father died, I was left penniless and alone in the city of Rome. Barely fourteen years of age, I was inducted into the legion and raised to the rank of optio as favour by the legatus. I struggled to earn the respect of the men, small and feeble to many I outranked. It was only thanks to the training and instruction of the legatus over almost three years that I truly earned place as soldier. Now he is gone.

  The men are striking sword and spear upon shield. The beat continues until the flames are at their highest and our once commander is engulfed in the blaze. It lifts my heart to see the men united, especially after all we have endured. None of us can understand what we saw. It is beyond a mortal’s mind. Only the gods can conceive such a thing and return the dead to fight amongst the living.

  I stand at Centurion Decimo’s side and he hands me a flask of wine. The taste is rancid and sour, but it matters not; it numbs the pain and memories.

  ‘What will you do next?’ he asks in a hushed tone so as to be unheard by the men. He is the eldest of us all, a veteran of wars long before I was even born.

  ‘What do you mean, Sir?’ I reply, confused. I thought our course was set; return to the garrisons south and report what happened here.

  ‘Only you and I, and a handful of others, are true Romans,’ Decimo informs me. ‘The rest of our brothers were taken from lands and homes far from here. We took farmers and merchants and made them soldiers.’

  ‘So now what do you propose? Let them go? Disband? One legion rebelling against all of Rome, our home.’

  ‘You are still young, Marcus. Look around you. The legion is no more. We are barely a cohort and half of us are injured, unable to ever march or fight again. What I am saying, and most of the men are too, is that we should stay here. Let the legion die, with our brothers. We can live on. Those under the dragon banner, Uther’s tribe, they stood and bled with us when all others turned and drove daggers in our backs. They are here now, honouring us and our dead. They will need protection if those who betrayed us return. It’s the least we can do and they have offered us shelter and food. We can have new lives here.’

  ‘And what of the garrisons, Sir?’

  ‘They betrayed us as well! Rome betrayed us! We were promised reinforcements, three additional legions, but none came. We were sent here to die and so our brothers and our legatus burn. The men we led were taken from their homes and forced to fight for an empire they have never known. Their leaders are gone...’

  ‘We are their leaders.’ I insist. I do not like this dangerous talk.

  ‘We are barely more than they; risen from the gutter and given purpose,’ Decimo rants at me, heard by all who still draw breath upon the fields. ‘Do not be the foolish boy. No titles or land await me when I return, nor do they for you now your guardian is gone.’

  I ignore the jibe about our legatus. ‘We are men of Rome.’

  ‘Rome abandoned us. By the gods will you not see sense or reason?’

  My loyalty will not waver. ‘We swore oaths, sacramentum before the gods to forever serve Rome.’

  ‘Our oaths were fulfilled the moment we were abandoned. You saw what the gods did! They cast down their might, blinding our foes. They opened the gates to the afterlife and let our fallen brothers stand and fight beside us one last time. They did that because they knew we were wronged. We were saved for a reason.’

  Decimo gestures towards the hilltop where our standard still stands, marked by blood, battle, and the gods own touch; the bronze shines in the light of the burning pyres. The Eagle, raised by the legatus one last time, called the gods to our aid. A magical totem. A light surged down, blinding our enemies yet we were unharmed. Our brothers and legatus swept over the battlefield, striking down all in their path, all who sought to destroy our legion, all who claimed their lives. Once the battle was over, our fallen brothers were gone.

  ‘Unlike you and the men you have turned, I am a true Roman,’ I tell him. ‘I have a wife in Rome who I must return to.’

  ‘Wife?’ he scoffs. ‘You held her for a single night before departing with the legion? How old are you, boy? You’ll soon learn that one night with a woman and some words from a priest doesn’t make her your wife – thank the gods!’ He tries to goad me, but I will not bite.

  ‘I cannot forsake her nor my orders. I have made oaths in front of the gods.’ I turn my gaze to the pyre of the legatus. ‘It is what he would have wanted.’

  Some of the fire in his belly is waning. ‘I know,’ he states, nodding his head and letting out a smile of regret. ‘I knew you would be like this. That is why I raise you to the rank of centurion. Return to Rome, Centurion Marcus Aurelius. Return with what remains of the legion. The men respect you, and those who choose to, will follow you home – especially after how you fought this day.’

  The rank of centurion, it is honour and rank I never thought I would survive to see. It is bitter-sweet. I did not wish to gain it as a consequence of the legion being all but destroyed.

  ‘I will stay here,’ Decimo declares, ‘along with any who wish to remain. We will lay our brothers to rest and see that they are never disturbed or desecrated. We will protect them. As far as Rome knows, we are dead alongside them. Do you understand?’

  I know for certain no words I say will c
hange his mind. His path is set, unchanging despite all argument. Though I do not like it, I have no choice but to accept his plans.

  ‘I will leave at first light,’ I say, drinking deep from the flask.

  ‘To the garrisons south? I do not think that the best course.’

  ‘Agreed,’ I reply; their betrayal is raw. ‘We shall travel west and then follow the coast south. There we will find a ship, cross the ocean, and tell Rome what happened here, of the honour gained and the sacrifice given. I will tell them you perished here with our brothers and if it is the gods will then hopefully you will be left in peace.’

  ‘That is all I ask,’ Decimo says. ‘Take the legatus’s mark and what coin and jewels he carries to buy passage to Rome. He won’t need either anymore.’

  ‘What of the Eagle?’ I ask, dreading both the question and the answer.

  Both of us turn our gaze to the hilltop, where our last stand was fought. It stands there still on the hill, not one man daring to approach it.

  9

  ADAM—No idea, but in agony

  The pain comes in waves, as does my consciousness. I can’t make sense of where I am or what is happening. The hum of a vehicle’s engine and distant rock music is my first grasp of the real world. My eyes flicker open and I begin to understand that I am in a car. It looks like the four-by-four that was chasing me, but I don’t see Leon or Bishop. I try to move but my body is like lead, weighted despite all effort, strength and energy gone.

  ‘Em, you clear?’ The gruff male voice alerts me to his presence beside me.

  ‘Just about,’ she replies from somewhere. It doesn’t sound like it’s from within the car - maybe over a phone or radio, I’m not sure where. ‘They’ve given up the chase anyway,’ she adds.

  ‘You okay?’ he asks, his accent unmistakeably northern.

  ‘Ask me on another day,’ she replies. Car horns blare in the distance, making me wince. ‘What about him? How is he?’