‘Fire?’ I ask.
‘Car crash,’ Abbey explains, sadness in her voice. ‘Her father pushed her out but she saw them…’
I know what the final word is without it being spoken. Burn.
‘It’s okay, Abbey. You don’t need to say anymore.’
‘Please don’t tell her I said all this.’
‘You have my word.’
There is silence between us for a long while and I look out of the window again.
‘How are the injuries?’ Abbey asks, breaking the silence.
‘I barely feel a thing,’ I reply, before something in my memory suddenly resurfaces. ‘About a year ago, Matt sprained his ankle skiing. That wasn’t true was it?’
‘It did involve snow in a way,’ she says.
‘And the truth?’
‘Caught up in an avalanche climbing Everest.’
‘And the concussion from a car crash six months ago?’ I ask.
‘Run in with a tribal leader in Kenya.’
‘Cuts to his arm from a neighbour’s dog?’
‘Shark bite whilst deep sea diving.’
‘Little liar,’ I say, astounded.
‘He did struggle with lying to you all this time,’ Abbey says.
‘Really?’ I ask suspiciously.
‘Nope, he actually found it quite funny.’ She laughs.
Standing up from my seat, I move towards the toilets, a quick shout from Abbey reminding me that whilst wearing the glasses she can see everything. I take them off and tuck them into my pocket. When I return to my seat and put the glasses on again, I can see the mainland of Italy in the distance through the windows.
‘Not long now,’ Abbey says through the headset. ‘Rome. The heart of an empire that spanned from northern England to Egypt, the Black Sea, and everything in between. One man stood emperor, Julius Caesar, although technically he held the title of dictator. His successor, Augustus as he was formerly known, became the first man with the title of emperor.’
The image of Julius Caesar appears in my glasses, enactments and films depicting his life. Abbey gives me a full commentary of it all, of Caesar’s rise to power as a victorious general, of his rivalry with the senate and his march on Rome to become dictator. Lastly, I see his infamous assassination on the Ides of March.
‘Wasn’t it Titus who was emperor during the time the Eagle would’ve been returned to Rome?’ I ask, showing my own brief research carried out as I waited for my flight via mobile phone and online encyclopedias.
‘His father Vespasian, actually.’ I can hear the joy in her voice at correcting me.
‘So why did you tell me about Julius Caesar?’
‘Because he was one of the most famous men who ever lived and his past and history is interesting,’ she tries to explain herself.
‘I see why Charles has to tell you to keep on track,’ I say with a smile, shaking my head. ‘So none of that was actually relevant to what we’re doing here.’
‘Anyway, on your right in the far distance,’ Abbey says, putting on her best tour guide voice, ‘you will see Mount Vesuvius.’
On the lens of the glasses appears a crosshairs, directing me towards the mountain.
‘The mountain that blew,’ I say; the image of an erupting volcano appears in the lens.
‘Yep,’ says Abbey. ‘Another terrifying piece of history. It was also the site of a great triumph by a group of escaped gladiators and house slaves over the forces of Rome.’
‘I am Spartacus!’ I reply with a grin, already knowing the story.
‘Sorry, Sir?’ a nearby stewardess asks in confusion.
‘Oh, er, nothing,’ I quickly say, looking back out towards the horizon.
‘Where are you, Matt?’ I whisper to myself.
‘We’ll find him, Hunter,’ she says, trying to reassure me and forgetting herself for a moment.
‘That was what you called Matt, wasn’t it?
‘Yeah, sorry. Old habits.’
‘You call the operatives hunters,’ I say. ‘Is that where you got the name from? Matt?’
‘No, that was in use long before Matt came along.’
I hear it, the emotion in her voice. She really does care for Matt
‘We’ll find him, Abbey,’ I try to reassure her.
‘I know you will, Hunter. Sorry, I mean, Adam.’
I let her off this time and look through the plane’s window towards Rome, the capital city of what was once the most powerful empire in the world.
‘Hang on, you never told me your surname,’ I say.
‘And it will remain one of life’s great mysteries,’ Abbey laughs.
26
THE CENTURION—Capua
For many days, I am confined to my cell within ludis, healing and seeing out my punishment, never setting foot beyond the bars, not even to train or fight in the arenas. No further word is received from my wife, and by order of the Dominus, my coin earned from victories is taken, to cover the cost of hiring new guards to replace those wounded by my hands at the arena. The other gladiators shun me also, respect earned since joining their number lost in my maddened attempt to save Garus. In my darkest days, I realise I will never escape this place; my fate is to die in the darkness or fall to the amusement of the crowd.
One day, after my meagre meal of mouldy bread and cup of water, Hader comes to my cell.
‘You should not have acted so foolishly,’ he tells me. ‘You had the crowd chanting your name, the interest of the nobility for all their games, and a portion of the coin raised for your freedom; long sought word from your wife was gained – so why, for the love of the gods, why did you act with such recklessness?
‘Garus did not deserve death,’ I mutter in reply.
‘So you were to charge onto the sands, slay all the guards of the arena and carry him to safety? What fever seized your mind?’
‘He was a brother.’
‘As are all gladiators within this house. It is an honour to fall upon the sands.’
‘Not after claiming victory,’ I argue back, forcing myself to calm as I see the guards take a step closer.
‘The boy was as foolish as you,’ Hader states with frustration. ‘He should have finished; the man was already defeated. His weakness surfaced in his lack of action.’
‘You see mercy as weakness?’
‘Did he not lose his life?’
‘Life taken at the whim of others. We are of equal worth!’
‘You are a slave! Your lives belong to me and all with position as long as you remain under my ownership and still draw breath! You talk as if you are free!’
‘I was!’
‘But no longer! You are a slave!’
We both fall silent for a moment, the heat of the argument settling.
‘Your actions force me to make a difficult choice,’ the Dominus says, breaking the tension between us. ‘The games to honour the naming of Titus, son of Vespasian, as emperor, fast approach.’
‘Vespasian is dead?’ I ask in shock.
‘I thought that would banish some gloom. Disease claimed his life, yet others say it was poison. There were many who wished to remove the tyrant. In his final moments, he declared he was ascending to join the gods. He died with his mind utterly lost.’
By disease or poison, Vespasian is dead, my legion avenged. It brings little joy as I still languish in this cell, and my wife is far away.
‘The games to honour Titus will see gladiators from all across the Roman Empire summoned for the greatest battle ever witnessed in an arena, a spectacle unlike any seen before. Request has been made for three of my best fighters. Two spaces are filled already, but the third… the third causes me struggle. In your absence, I have lost many of our best to injury or death. I have a mind to name you my third champion.’
‘I do as you command,’ I say without emotion.
‘Do you? I cannot recall ordering you to storm the sands in vain attempt to rescue Garus.’
‘As you said, Dominus, a fever-seized mind.’
>
I say no more, silent as he judges my worth once again.
‘I cannot think now without wine in my cup,’ he says in frustration. ‘You irritate me more than any other, Centurion, but the gods for some inexplicable reason, seem to favour you. With a sword in hand, you are like Mars, God of War himself in battle, possessing skill far beyond your years. Perhaps together, we will march to Rome to honour Titus our new emperor. And this spectacle is to be held in the new arena; the greatest ever constructed – sands untouched by blood and death. We will achieve glory unlike any ever seized before – or we will baptise the ground with your blood.’
27
ADAM—Rome, Italy
Hundreds of people are gathered outside the Colosseum; tourists, tour guides, families on holiday of a dozen nationalities.
Images flicker across the lenses of the glasses, depicting the Colosseum in all its glory. Audiences of sixty thousand people, games lasting a hundred days – death always the spectacle. Now, the Colosseum stands a deteriorated tourist attraction, vast sections of its walls long gone. Strikes of lightning and earthquakes have taken their toll but the hands of man even more so, having used much of the stone for other constructions.
Even in its current condition, the Colosseum is impressive, towering over the surrounding area. It’s easy to imagine thousands of people flocking to see the grand spectacles held by the emperors and nobility of Rome. The greatest fighters in the world fought inside those walls.
‘I’ve always wanted to see it,’ I say in wonder, thinking of the map on my wall at home; Rome and the Colosseum marked as future destinations. ‘I can see why Matt took this job.’
‘It’s why most of the hunters join up,’ Abbey says.
‘Tell me more about it,’ I ask of her.
'The construction was begun by the Emperor Vespasian in 72AD but he was to never see it open. Completion was overseen by his son, Titus,’ Abbey explains as images on the headset match everything she says; names, dates, maps, and more. ‘The inaugural festivities lasted a hundred days with five thousand wild beasts said to have been killed in a single day; ostriches, tigers, lions, panthers, bears, and even hippos. Combat between gladiators and wild animals was said to be the most popular event, but there were many variations, and without exception, all were fights to the death. It saw one million animals slaughtered and half a million people, all to keep the mob entertained. All kinds of weapons were used; swords, nets, tridents, daggers, and offensive shields, and the people involved were formerly listed as including professional gladiators, convicted criminals, Christians, hunters, dwarves, and women.’
‘You’re better than any tour guide,’ I tell her.
‘Thank you,’ she replies politely.
‘It still doesn’t answer how we get inside,’ Dave mutters beside me. ‘Especially with all those civilians.’
He and Emma are fully kitted out in the dark grey uniforms with blue lining, as am I, all of us wearing ordinary jackets over the top so as only the trousers are visible. They each wear their own earpieces and mics so all of us can communicate, only I am wearing a headset.
Standing in an abandoned office building across from the Colosseum, we watch the circuit of the security guards and plan our infiltration.
‘Looking at the schematics I gained from the Italian national records…’
‘Which you hacked into their Government system to gain,’ Emma interrupts, talking with pride in her voice.
‘Maybe,’ Abbey admits. I don’t need to see it to know Abbey is most likely throwing one of her scowls. ‘Anyway, from the schematics, there are two main sets of iron gates that lead to the closed off restricted areas, including the lower levels you need to access. The nearest to you is the east gates. They are generally used as a secondary entrance but right now they’re already locked shut. The gates reach ceiling to floor and they don’t have typical locks, requiring unique keys to open. Each gate has a sensor that will sound if anyone stands at the gates for too long without passing through the walkway. Basically, picking the locks is not an option so you need the keys. Then you need to get through before entering the lower levels, which is where the animals were caged and gladiators prepared for combat. No members of the public are permitted, but it is where you will find the records of victorious gladiators carved into the walls.’
‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ I tease Abbey, sensing the rising excitement in her voice and the broadening of her brogue.
‘Maybe,’ she repeats.
‘Enough,’ Dave mutters. ‘So, first of all, we need the keys.’
‘Who would have them?’ Emma asks.
‘Not likely to be the guards patrolling the outside,’ Abbey says. ‘We will need whoever is in charge of tonight’s security detail. I bet a hundred pounds they’ll have the keys on them.’
Dave, Emma, and I have been watching the security of the Colosseum since dawn. There are teams of three circling around the structure, passing the entrances every three minutes. One person seems to be in charge, a woman, standing near to the entrance we planned on using.
I scan the area and see her. She’s in her mid-thirties; dark hair, and wearing a smart uniform. A firearm is sheathed at her hip. The serious expression on her face gives the impression she is skilled in its use.
‘That looks like our girl,’ Dave says, drawing his own handgun and checking it’s loaded.
‘Whoa!’ I say, ushering for him to lower the gun. ‘You’re not going to kill her.’
‘Who said anything about killing,’ Emma says with a dark grin, drawing her own firearm. ‘Maybe just scare her a little.’
‘I still can’t believe you managed to get them and the rest of the equipment through customs,’ I say, looking back to our target. In Dave’s rucksack are handguns, a dozen of Tristram’s gadgets, smoke grenades, flash bangs, and bolas among them.
‘You wouldn’t believe what Lovell is capable of – he’s a very influential man,’ he replies.
‘So what’s the plan then, Adam?’ Dave asks. ‘This is your show after all. We’re just here for the ride.’
Emma catches my gaze with hard eyes; she is unimpressed.
I think for a moment, weighing up a few options. If what Abbey says about the gates is true, then picking the locks will be impossible. I need the keys.
‘We could wait until nightfall,’ suggests Dave.
‘We don’t have the time to wait,’ I say. ‘Matt’s captors could be on their way, if they aren’t already here. Besides, the quicker we find the Eagle, the quicker we find Matt.’
‘What about all these people?’ Emma says, her eyes assessing the crowds of tourists.
‘There’s only one choice,’ I say to them. ‘Why postpone what can be done today.’
‘Now you’re beginning to sound like Matt,’ Emma says with a slight smile on her lips.
I zip up my father’s biker jacket, brush my hair down out of nervous habit, and take a map of Rome from my pocket. I tighten the straps on my rucksack as much as possible, trying to give the impression of an ordinary lost tourist.
‘I will go and have a talk with her,’ I say nodding in the direction of the woman in the uniform. ‘You never know, she might just kindly hand the keys over to me.’
I leave them bemused, weaving through the masses of tourists. Emma makes a small effort to call after me from the empty office but I ignore her.
‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ she demands over my headset.
‘We’ll soon see,’ I tell her.
‘If not, you’ll be arrested and of no help to your brother,’ Dave warns angrily via his earpiece and mic. ‘Just be ready for when I need you,’ I tell them. ‘Distract and act. Dave, be ready. When I say the word Hunter, I need a distraction. Emma, at the same time, I need you to make your way to me as quickly as possible.’
‘Can you even speak Italian?’ Abbey asks as I near the security guard.
‘Nope,’ I admit.
‘Not a word?’
‘Not a word,’ I confirm.
‘Say what you want to tell her and I will repeat it in Italian for you,’ she says.
‘I’ll try,’ I tell her.
‘You’re going to get arrested,’ she warns. ‘Or shot.’
‘Probably both,’ Dave adds.
‘Definitely both,’ Emma agrees.
‘Where’s your optimism, guys?’ I ask. ‘No wonder Matt went to Scotland without you.’
I walk across the road and force my way through the crowds. As I near, I see that she has already spotted me, eyeing me warily as I make a beeline straight towards her. She wears a badge saying ‘Chief of Security’ according to Abbey.
‘Hi, sorry,’ I say as I approach with map already open. She nods a greeting, already annoyed at my intrusion and speaks briefly into the intercom at her shoulder.
‘Can you please tell me how to get to the Pantheon?’ I ask her, naming one of the other landmarks I can remember on the spot.
‘Per favore mi puoi dire come arrivare al Pantheon,’ Abbey says through the headset, pronouncing the words as they appear across the lenses.
‘Por favour my pui dire come arrivei all Pantheon,’ I say in terrible Italian. The security guard eyes me suspiciously, clearly not understanding a thing I have said.
‘My God that was simply awful,’ Abbey says. ‘You’re definitely going to be arrested. Try; in quale direzione è il pantheon.’
I try to repeat the words again but the woman is even more confused until suddenly she understands one word.
‘Pantheon?’ she asks.
‘Oui, oui,’ I say.
‘That’s French, you idiot! You mean si,’ Abbey says, barely able to contain her laughter.
‘Si, si,’ I repeat, pointing at my map. The security guard looks at the map and starts indicating the route to the Pantheon, but as she does, she leans forward and I can see straight down her top, flashing me an eyeful of white girlie lace – a stark contrast to her masculine and authoritarian uniform.
‘Uh, Adam,’ Abbey warns, ‘Remember I see whatever you’re looking at. Be a gentleman.’
‘Hunter,’ I whisper.
Eagle of the Empire Page 16
