Eagle of the Empire

by Martin Ferguson

  ‘How did you get these?’ I ask.

  ‘Your phone and laptop were utterly ruined in the crash,’ she explains, ‘but I was able to recover the data files from the remains and your SIM card. A lot of text messages came through as well. Who is Sara? I’m guessing she’s the pretty girl who takes up most of your phone memory.’

  ‘On track, Abbey,’ Charles says. I’m grinning with a mix of embarrassment and pride.

  ‘From the photos of the legatus’s tomb, I was able to transcribe some of the Latin inscriptions on the walls,’ she says.

  ‘You can read Latin?’ I ask in surprise, thinking it a dead language.

  ‘Everybody needs a hobby.’ She shrugs. ‘Anyway, most of the inscriptions on the walls are names of battles and the legion’s past glories. Colchester was one of them. I wonder if they fought Boudicca… Anyway, there is mention of the Eagle but the photos are not clear enough to make out the rest. When our teams breach the tombs they will send me further images.’

  ‘How does this help us find Matt?’ I ask.

  ‘Until we know where they have taken Matthew, all we can do is pick up his trail,’ Charles says. ‘If they took Matthew to find the Eagle, they will likely be on the same path. We don’t know where Matthew or his captors are, but we know what they are after. Find the Eagle and we will likely find your brother.’

  ‘You hope,’ I say doubtfully, but Charles doesn’t reply.

  ‘We need only one thing from you,’ Charles says. ‘The journal.’

  ‘You already have it and the rest of my belongings,’ I say, not quite able to hide the irritation from my voice.

  ‘It will be given to you in due time. But Matthew’s journal… can you decipher his encryptions?’

  ‘You already know the answer to that,’ I reply.

  ‘Unless Matthew told you directly, there was no other way you could have known to travel to Inchlonaig and how to enter the tombs,’ Charles says, waiting for my reaction. ‘In the pages of his journal it said exactly where he was going.’

  ‘And it also says for me not to trust anyone with his journal.’

  ‘Does it have any mention of the Eagle or where it might have been hidden?’ Abbey asks.

  ‘I have seen some information on the legion, mentions of it, and the Eagle,’ I lie. I have been beaten once already by Matt’s captors. If I help Charles then he and the rest of them may help me in finding my brother.

  ‘Translate it for us and we will do the rest.’ Charles is doing his best to be coaxing and friendly, but I’ll not make it that easy for him.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you mean, no?’ Charles says, a flash of anger rising. ‘Why the hell not? If you want out, if you want your brother to suffer and die at the hands of those madmen, then go ahead, leave. You know where the stairs are.’

  I turn, about to leave. I can’t trust them, not completely. I don’t need them and I will find Matt on my own.

  ‘Wait,’ Charles says, stopping me. ‘Abbey, bring up Delta’s live feeds onto the screens.’

  It shows a city burning.

  ‘This was Tatunkech, a thriving city in Morocco,’ he explains. ‘Seven days ago, I sent Charlie team in to recover a chalice rumoured to gift healing powers to the drinker. They were not the first to reach the city in search of the chalice, but were the first to find it. Their rival brought entire buildings down to stop my team, destroying the chalice in the process. He burned the entire city, starting the fires with blue flames.’

  Blue flames. The man in the tombs.

  ‘Did your team get out?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes but not without injury,’ Charles says, his sadness laced with anger. ‘That city still burns. Thankfully, we were able to conduct a full-scale evacuation, but lives were lost. We failed. I will not let that happen again. I will not lose Matthew.’

  ‘Who is he?’ I ask. ‘The man with the blue flames?’

  Charles indicates for Abbey to flick up the screen. There he is; the same twisted tattoos, the same terrifying black eyes. Despite his clothes changing, one thing remains in each image: a chain hanging from his neck from which a black crystal pendant hangs.

  ‘His name is Vladimir Makov,’ Charles says. ‘The British Museum has encountered Mr Makov many times over the years. He is judged as a highly dangerous individual, for more than a few reasons.’

  The images on the monitors change to show more photos of the man, going back several years based on the quality of the images.

  ‘We can’t be sure of his true origin, his age, or even if Makov is his real name, but what we can say is, he has been sighted many times over the years around the world.’

  A map appears on another screen, dots appearing to denote his locations, covering hundreds of countries.

  ‘He has many rumoured talents,’ Charles says. ‘Conjuring and manipulation of blue flames is one, as well as control of certain beasts and some form of telepathy...’

  ‘Utter rubbish,’ Dave moans. ‘Children’s stories.’

  ‘…but his most profound ability is proven by these images,’ Charles finishes.

  I look at the many photos, the images going back decades until finally, they are in black and white. In every single one he appears exactly the same, those haunting black eyes, the dark veins and twisted thorn tattoos – the man shows no sign of aging.

  ‘He doesn’t age.’ A knot is pulling tight in my stomach. I shiver at the memory of his touch – his ice-cold touch – like the hand of death himself, and of course, the flames.

  ‘Exactly.’ Charles sighs heavily. ‘The earliest sightings we have of him are these photographs from 1916 at the outbreak of the First World War.’

  ‘Over a hundred years old but still looks in his late thirties,’ Abbey says. ‘His sightings include many events that have shaped history, crossing paths with world leaders, revolutionaries, and inventors.’

  On the images Abbey shows on the monitors, I spot Makov’s face behind possibly the most famous band in the world.

  ‘Is that him with…’

  ‘Yep,’ Abbey replies. ‘All this and he is even rumoured to be a necromancer.’

  ‘There’s no such thing,’ Dave says with unmasked laughter.

  ‘He can summon and control the dead?’ I ask in disbelief.

  ‘I am impressed,’ Abbey says.

  ‘It is only a rumour,’ Charles intersects. ‘How he gained any of these so called talents is unknown to us.’

  ‘A deal with the devil,’ Abbey adds, nodding sagely. Emma rolls her eyes but Abbey is not deterred. ‘There are other beliefs, such as the crystal pendant he carries is the source of his power and…’

  ‘What we do know for certain,’ Charles continues, ‘is that he is highly dangerous and cares little for loss of life.’

  ‘He mentioned a blood moon,’ I say, remembering his taunts before he threw me into the river.

  ‘A blood moon is the term for a totally eclipsed moon, where it has a reddish shade,’ Abbey explains. ‘There are many prophecies associated with it, some stating a blood moon will usher in the end of the world. The Book of Joel of the Hebrew Bible states, ‘The sun will turn into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes.’’

  ‘That’s not foreboding at all,’ Emma says sarcastically. ‘Perhaps that is what Makov wants. To usher in the end of days.’

  ‘What is interesting,’ Abbey says, ‘is in many of the stories about the Ninth Legion and the Eagle, it is reported that there was a blood moon on the night of the battle.’

  ‘Whoever… whatever Makov is, necromancer, fraudster, or gangster, he has Matt and I need to find him,’ I say.

  ‘Wait a second…’ Dave begins to argue but I stop him before he can say more.

  ‘Thank you for patching me up, really, but this is something I have to do. In Matt’s journal he warns me not to let it fall into the wrong hands. Until I can trust you people completely, I can’t let you have his secrets.’

 
‘You’re not the only one who wants to find Matt!’ Emma bites, showing her anger for the first time. ‘Why don’t you grow up and help us?’

  ‘He’s my brother.’ I look her straight in the eyes. ‘If anyone will find him, it will be me.’

  ‘You’re just like your brother,’ Charles says with resignation. ‘He’s always bloody difficult too. There’s only one way I will allow this and that is if you take the trials, just like every single one of our operatives.’

  ‘Trials?’ I ask.

  ‘Tests of your physical and mental capabilities,’ Abbey explains. ‘They’re designed to train and better our hunters…’

  ‘Operatives,’ Charles corrects her.

  ‘…and as a proving ground for those seeking to join their ranks.’

  ‘I don’t have time for your games, trials, whatever you call them,’ I say. ‘I need to find Matt.’

  ‘With our current information, we do not know where Matthew is or where Makov has taken him,’ Charles says. ‘With no clues, where should we look? Tell us because we are all eager to hear. We need you to decipher his journal for us, but you’re an outsider and you’re still behaving like one. If we’re going to work together, then you need to join the team, and to do that, you need to pass the trials.’

  ‘You can’t be serious,’ Dave blurts out. He’s risen from his seat and is looking at me hard. ‘Look, kid, no offense, I’ve seen you in action and I can tell you have potential, but there’s no way we can send him out there as one of ours. He’s barely recovered from the crash or the injuries sustained in the tomb.’ He pauses. ‘How old are you, anyway?’

  Charles steps forward, his voice low and soft. ‘Although he’s far too arrogant to admit it, Adam needs our help, and if we’re honest, we need his. Our end goal is the same, but I’m not prepared to give unofficial personnel access to our resources or to operate under our protection. Think about it,’ he says, placing a hand on my arm. ‘You need us as much as we need you, and you’ve already demonstrated such a similarity with your brother that I know we’re all going to get along just famously.’

  Dave tuts and sighs, but backs off.

  I do think about it. As much as it pains me to admit it, Charles is right – and this could all work in my favour. Exploit the exploiter – what’s that saying about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer? I still don’t know which these people are, not yet.

  ‘Fine, I’ll do your damned tests,’ I say.

  ‘If he thinks he can handle them.’ Emma chuckles in disbelief.

  ‘I’ll prove myself.’

  ‘Sure you will, hero,’ Abbey says. Dave throws his hands in the air in exasperation. ‘Aw, come on, Dave. What’s the worst that can happen?’

  ‘You do remember what happened to Tristram…’ Dave begins to say before Abbey hushes him to stop.

  ‘He wasn’t that bad,’ she says quietly in his defence, cheeks blushing.

  ‘Good luck,’ Emma says to me as she heads off towards the door. ‘You’re really gonna need it!’

  ‘This is a load of…’ Dave begins to protest.

  ‘You can coach him and see him through them yourself,’ Charles orders the former soldier.

  ‘Babysitting duty, fantastic,’ Dave mutters.

  ‘First things first,’ I say. ‘Where is my bike, my clothes, my rucksack, and Matt’s journal?’

  ‘About the bike,’ Abbey replies with a pained expression, sending dread coursing through me.

  ‘What about my bike?’

  14

  MARCUS AURELIUS—Rome

  Buckets of water rouse me from the darkness. An unknown hand drags my head up. As my eyes clear, I see my men dying upon crosses throughout the Campus Martius. Acer is amongst them, the eyes of his lifeless body finding me. I led my brothers to this end; to this terrible death.

  ‘No…’ I try to stand; there is fight still in me, but the fists of the bruised and bloodied praetorian prefect force me to the ground. Again, I’m beaten before being stripped naked and dragged into the open square of the camp before hundreds of recruits. As my hands are tied about a post, the prefect speaks to all gathered.

  ‘This man and all who followed him are traitors of Rome. Their oaths forsaken, the sacramentum sworn to the gods broken and abandoned. Emperor Vespasian commands they be put to death, the Legio IX Hispana struck from the lists of honourable legions, and this man, this centurion, be condemned as a slave to spend the last of his days fighting for his very survival.’

  The prefect approaches me with a glowing iron heated in fiery coals.

  ‘Upon the arm of all who fight, is the mark of their legion. This man… this boy,’ he corrects, adding to my humiliation, ‘is not worthy of such honour.’

  The iron is lowered to my skin and searing pain wracks my arm as my flesh burns, filling my nostrils with its wretched stench until the mark of H IX is stricken through. Then the flagellum strikes, the whip tearing the skin and flesh of my back apart until the darkness seizes me again. The last thing I feel is the blood running down my legs. One word passes my lips before I fall. ‘Lucilla…’

  15

  ADAM—The British Museum, London, England

  After seeing my first attempts at the assault course, they allow me to watch them in action. ‘An example of how it’s done,’ they tell me. I must admit, I’m impressed. Abbey gives clear direction and instructions efficiently like a commander from base, and seeing Emma and Dave in action is a sight to behold. Dave is like an action hero of old; all military, all testosterone and strength. He shows no weakness, never slowing or admitting defeat, powering through the course.

  Emma is something else. Lithe and agile, strong when needed, and with a pace I have never seen before. She roars in triumph as she beats Dave’s recorded time. The girls I know from home are only interested in their beauty, clothes, and shopping, but this one, Emma… she is different. Sweat drips down her muddy face, arms marked with cuts and scars of old, punching the air in success. I can’t take my eyes off her, and the memory stays with me as I prepare for my next attempt, despite her attitude towards me.

  ‘Go! Go! Go!’ roars Dave, urging me on, trying to snap sense into me.

  Sweat drips from my face as I run, finishing the last of the three mile course before hurling myself at the cargo net. I clamber up as fast as my legs and hands can move. At its top, I grasp the high wires and shimmy along them like a trapeze artist. At the far side is a zip wire and I fly down it, all the while being judged, timed, and ranked. A vast clock ticks above me as Dave and Abbey watch on from the control tower, monitoring the very environment around me and selecting the trials I will face next.

  As I near the ground, hurtling down the zip wire, a climbing wall rises before me, emerging at Abbey and Dave’s command. On landing, I leap to the wall, finding the grips quickly and pulling myself up and onwards. At the summit is a rope bridge and rows of monkey bars. I swing across the course, my arms bearing all my weight and carrying me from bar to bar. After that, finally, the end is in sight. I drop down onto the final stretch, a one mile sprint.

  An alarm sounds to signal the trial’s completion and I fall to the ground, shirt soaked through with sweat, panting for breath.

  ‘How…did…I…do?’ I gasp.

  ‘Sorry, Adam,’ Abbey apologises. My time flashes on a large screen over the tower window and then the required time. Three seconds short.

  ‘Run it again,’ I demand.

  ‘This will be the fourth time,’ Dave says.

  ‘Why put off what can be done today?’ The family motto.

  Three seconds, three measly seconds.

  My time flickers away and I see Dave standing in the tower, looking down on me with arms crossed.

  ‘Your speed and agility are not good enough,’ he judges. ‘Though I disagree with him, Charles has ordered me to train you. It’s my job to help you to survive out there. If you want to join in the search for your brother, you must pass these trials. This is only the first tr
ial too. There are more you must face. More physical and mental challenges that will test your intellect beyond any exam you took in school. Very few people succeed and even less become operatives. Your brother was fortunate, the youngest to pass the trials at the age of eighteen. I’m not going easy on you just because you are now the youngest to take these tests, and the fact Matt is your brother.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t help with you keep changing the course,’ I protest, though I know expressing that frustration was stupid of me.

  ‘The outside world will not be predictable,’ Dave states in a voice from the army ranks. ‘There are dangers you will face and serious threats to your life, as you did in the tombs in Scotland. It’s a miracle you survived. We will only allow you out there to find your brother if I deem you ready. Abbey, bring up the listing.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ she replies in her own army voice.

  On the tower’s window are a list of names and times which appear under the heading, Trial Leaders. Matt’s name is on there, thirty-eight seconds faster than me. At the top of the list is the name Gabriel, his time a whole three and a half minutes faster than my last attempt.

  ‘These are all people who earned their place among the operatives,’ Dave states.

  ‘Hunters,’ Abbey tries to correct.

  ‘There are plaques in the operations rooms of each team, dedicated to the fallen,’ Dave explains. ‘Walls of Honour, we call them. Operatives, analysts, technicians, they all died for what they believed in. I don’t want Matt joining the names on those plaques – or yours by association.’

  ‘Run the tests again,’ I order.

  16

  SLAVE—Capua

  For days, I slip between life and death. I am in terrible agony. It is only the skill of the medicus that ensures I live and heal in body, if not in mind. My head is full of my wife’s touch and haunting voice, the legion’s roar of laughter and cheers of battle won, the screams of Lucilla’s fear, the agonised cries of my dying brothers.