Eagle of the Empire

by Martin Ferguson

  ‘Finally, I am to end you, boy!’ he taunts, blade raised and already swinging towards my head. I close eyes and think only of Lucilla.

  The sword never touches my flesh, the prefect’s chest impaled from behind by a spear thrown by Titus.

  ‘Leave that man to your emperor!’ he bellows with his hand raised toward me. The praetorian guards part and fall back. I am left there, kneeling before the Emperor of Rome who, just moments ago, I attempted to kill.

  ‘I gave my word,’ Titus yells, loud enough for all to hear. ‘I swore that this man, this centurion, would be free if he could best his emperor. I stand bested by the greatest gladiator seen upon the sands and I will not see him cheated of his prize. Rise now and stand a free man.’

  I cannot believe what I have heard. With all that I have, I try to rise but I stumble and fall. He catches me, the Emperor of Rome, greatest empire in the world, helping me to stand. He raises my hand high to salute the crowd.

  ‘You earned this,’ he tells me, but all I hear is the crowd as thoughts drift to Lucilla, seeing her smile and feeling her touch again, soon.

  29

  ADAM—Rome, Italy

  The glasses highlight a particular area along the wall to the right of the arch, zooming in to give a better view. Abbey translates for me over the headset.

  ‘79. Marcus Aurelius. The centurion, Legio IX Hispana.’

  Finally, proof that this man, this gladiator, was of the legion. The inscriptions on the wall of the legatus’s tomb said the centurion returned to Rome with the Eagle, but no record existed of him or the standard ever reaching their destination. Before me, on this very wall, is the only proof he ever made it back to Rome. Matt’s journal was right.

  ‘Granted freedom in victorious contest with Emperor Titus,’ Abbey continues to translate.

  ‘A high honour,’ I reply in surprise. To hear that the emperor himself fought a gladiator is shock enough, but that the gladiator, viewed as no more than a slave in the days of the Roman Empire, was victorious and won his freedom, is an even greater revelation.

  ‘Returned to wife in…’ Abbey continues before stopping her translation.

  ‘Where?’ I ask. ‘Where did he return to?’

  ‘Returned to his wife in Pompeii.’

  ‘When was Pompeii destroyed?’ I ask. ‘When did Mount Vesuvius blow?’

  ‘You don’t want to know the answer to that,’ she says after a pause. Her voice has sunk, betraying disappointment.

  ‘Abbey?’ I urge her.

  ‘The same year,’ she relents.

  The chances of us tracking down this man were slim at best before, but now, with his destination the cursed city of Pompeii, all hopes of finding the Eagle are lost.

  ‘Where does that leave us now?’ Abbey asks after a few moments of silence between us.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I tell her, forcing the issue to the back of my mind. ‘We can sort it out later. I need to get back to Emma and Dave.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about that now,’ a male voice calls to me from above.

  Peering up, I see him crouched atop a tall pillar. There are no ladders or accessible routes to suggest how he got there. He rises to stand and jumps down, ricocheting off the wall behind and landing directly in front of me; a cloud of dust rises from the impact.

  As he turns to face me I both recognise and see him properly for the first time. His long black trench coat has its collar raised, but I know what tattoos are hidden beneath. His shirt, with loosened tie, adds a strange twist of ironic comedy, as if he has walked straight out of working at an office – and there is that black crystal pendant swinging from his neck – which I am convinced holds some form of dark energy. With hands stuffed in pockets, he circles me nonchalantly, kicking a rock along the stone floor, as if he has not a care in the world.

  ‘We meet again, my friend,’ he says to me, eyes black as night.

  ‘Adam, don’t….’ Abbey tries to warn before her voice is obscured by static.

  ‘Enough from her, I think,’ he says.

  ‘Abbey?’ I call, but there is only static.

  ‘I am afraid you won’t hear from her for quite some time.’ He chuckles. ‘Technical difficulties, shall we call it.’

  ‘Makov,’ I mutter, my hands balling into fists. ‘Where is my brother?’

  ‘So you know my name.’ He smiles, ignoring my question. ‘Of course you do. After all, how many times have I faced and defeated your friends of the British Museum? I guess there are not too many immortals running around out there.’ He laughs lightly, gripped by his own amusement. ‘Which is rather ironic when you think about it, isn’t it!’

  Moment of mirth over, his hands stretch out, blue flames dancing from his fingertips to the far corners of the chambers, illuminating everything. As the flames gather, I see the crystal pendant shining. Makov turns, looking towards the marble arch.

  ‘Hic statis honoratum victores. Here stand the honoured victorious. This is truly a staggering find. No wonder the Italians didn’t want the world to know of it.’

  ‘You read Latin?’ I ask and then sigh. ‘Of course you do!’ Rage is building. He has Matt. He is the one who threw me into the river in the cave – knowing my darkest fear.

  ‘Latin and a great many other languages, my young friend, but I do not mean to boast. I have lived the lives of a hundred men, learning all that I can, becoming all that I can until I stand as you see me, supreme in every way.’

  ‘Leon and Bishop? What use are those buffoons to you if you are so supreme?’

  ‘They are acquaintances of mine,’ he reveals. ‘Not the kind I would usually associate myself with, but they get the job done.’

  ‘Where’s my brother?’ I demand.

  ‘You worry for dear Matthew?’ he says, turning to look around the vast chamber around us. ‘Of course you do. You are surrounded by history, seen only by a few people in the world, and yet you are focused on only seeing your troublesome older brother. How you mortals disappoint me. Your concern might be seen as commendable by some, but not me I am afraid,’ he says shaking his head. ‘Human bonds are what keep the human species weak.’

  ‘What have you done with him? If you have harmed him…’

  ‘You are in no position to be making threats!’ Makov laughs. ‘Besides, you already know my acquaintances have had a few close, personal chats with your dear brother. I’m afraid they’ve not ended well at all. All I wanted was information on the treasure I seek, but he gives us nothing. He has tried to escape a few times and came pretty close, too. Very resourceful and clever your brother. Luckily enough, his loving younger brother, so worried for his older sibling, went on his own search for answers and led us straight to what we needed. You followed the clues, so we followed you.’

  ‘How did you know I’d be here?’ I ask.

  ‘You never know who is listening, Adam.’ He laughs loudly. ‘Or who you can trust. On that subject, I have a question for you. Matt’s organisation, the British Museum – you’ve known them, what? Three days? Four? How well do you trust them?’

  ‘More than I trust the man who holds my brother captive and threw me into a river,’ I say back in defiance. ‘You knew I was terrified of it. You knew I fear water, didn’t you?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Makov concedes, grin growing. ‘I do apologise for that. It must have been hard for you, what with your past. It is one of my gifts, to see into the heart and mind of someone, to see their fear and their tragedy, the sorrows of their lives. Yours was very easy, I must say, as was Matt’s. We gave your brother a choice, an offer. Treasures and riches, all the resources he could possibly ask for at his disposal. He turned them all down, some sort of loyalty to the crumbling, forgotten relic that is your British Museum. I would make the same offer to you, for you have proven your worth already just getting this far, but I am afraid this is where it ends.’

  ‘Why do you want the Eagle?’ I ask. ‘If you are immortal, if you are all you say, then why do you need it?’
>
  ‘The same reason mankind wants for anything,’ he replies. ‘Power and glory.’

  ‘Power?’ I repeat. ‘The power of the Eagle? What if it’s just a myth? All this, kidnapping, murder, all for a story told centuries ago.’

  ‘How is it they put it? C’est la vie,’ he says with a smile. That’s life. ‘Not all ventures produce reward. This is far from my first endeavour and it certainly will not be my last. Oh, you would not believe what has already been achieved and is in the pipeline. Funny that this all began with a long forgotten vase, depicting the Eagle and its strength.’

  ‘What does the Eagle mean to you?’ I ask.

  ‘Nothing.’ He shrugs, his grin broadening; his eyes alive with fire and fury. ‘Everything. Power and glory. It is the way of the world, is it not?’ He turns to the point out the names on the walls. ‘All these men… it was just the same, despite the eons passed. I have travelled the world a hundred times, and in that passage of time, I have learnt one fundamental truth; mankind is the only form of life that will lie, cheat, and betray one another to get what he wants, all in the pursuit of power and glory. It is this principle that drives us all. Look only to yourself for an example. You, Adam Hunter, were talked into working with a powerful organisation, to travel the world in search of a fabled relic. Why? For personal gain, to save your brother. I am not sure if powerful is the right word to use for the museum though. I mean, after all, they did send a schoolboy to do their dirty work.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I tell him, knowing he is trying to get into my head, to confuse me. ‘You didn’t answer my question. Why do you want the Eagle?’

  He grins at me menacingly. ‘You possess more wisdom than I gave you credit for,’ he concedes. ‘As I explained, I have travelled this world for a long time. I have seen a lot and learned a lot. I have lived long enough to notice that this world is spiralling out of control. The human race kills its own planet as readily as it kills one another. Mankind will destroy itself or this world, or more likely both. I will see that it fails in that destruction. Now, as the blood moon rises and beckons this new age, I will rise. Regardless of cause or reason, I will see this new age begin.’

  ‘By taking command?’ I ask in disbelief. ‘You want to rule with a mythical Eagle as your standard?’

  ‘I have seen much in this world that cannot be explained,’ he says, a single blue flame igniting in his fingers. ‘Can you not feel it? This is a time of change. Events are approaching, circling us like a coming storm. The blood moon is the sign. After all, the moon ran crimson when last the Eagle rose. Perhaps that is the source of its power.’

  ‘You’re insane,’ I say, aghast at his madness.

  ‘Perhaps. After all I have given, all I have sacrificed to become the man I now stand, perhaps it has turned me lunatic – or maybe prophet; the line between the two is faint. Maybe it is I who sees clearly. Perhaps it is I who truly understands the sacrifice needed to bring this world out of the darkness. The burning city in Morocco was but the beginning.’

  ‘You could have killed thousands of people. You destroyed their homes, nearly killing one of the museum’s teams. You did all that just for…’

  ‘Power and glory,’ Makov says manically, his eyes crazed for a moment before smiling broadly.

  ‘All I want is for my brother to be returned,’ I warn him. I take off the now useless headset, tucking the glasses into my jacket. ‘Let Matt go and I will join you willingly.’

  ‘What possible value could you hold over your brother?’ He laughs.

  ‘I know where the Eagle is,’ I lie.

  ‘Whether that is true or not, your loyalty to your brother is to be commended. No, I will only let Matt go for one reason; I will release him if you can stop me.’

  He stares straight into my eyes, daring me to attack.

  ‘Well?’ he asks. ‘What are you waiting for? Is not your family motto, Why postpone what can be done today?’

  ‘How do you know that?’ I demand.

  ‘Your dear brother, Matt, told us …’

  All I see is a red sea of rage. I charge him, fists ready to wipe the smile from his face. I will beat his flesh until he gives Matt back to me. I will punish him for what he has done.

  Nothing happens as I think it will. My fists hit nothing but air. Makov evades me, ducking away and to the side, kicking me hard in the chest before striking a fist across my face. There are stars before my eyes, but ignoring them, I fight on. He moves with a speed and agility I can’t hope to match.

  ‘You’re making it too easy,’ he taunts, but I kick out, forcing him back.

  ‘Where is my brother?’ I demand, rising up and charging him again.

  Again, Makov evades me, stepping back and leaping up, propelling himself off the wall behind and sending me crashing into the bars of one of the cells. I turn just in time to see him attack again and I duck away, rolling clear and rising up before he forces me to the ground. He is on me with no moment to pause or recover, his fist striking me hard and splitting open my bottom lip. The rancid taste of blood, sweat, and centuries old dust coat my tongue. My enemy steps back, leaving me on the ground before the statue of Mars.

  ‘My how you disappoint the mighty God of War,’ he taunts as I struggle to rise up. ‘Do you really wish to continue this?’

  He doesn’t breathe hard nor look as if any effort has been given, taking only the briefest moment to straighten up his jacket.

  ‘Where is my brother?’ I repeat, but all he does is smile.

  I charge again, but this time he grabs me, turning and throwing me into one of the glass cabinets housing recovered relics. It shatters, the impact sending pain rippling through my shoulder, head, back, all of me. His hands are on me again, dragging me up and throwing me across the chamber, landing hard at the centre of the ancient lift. The floor beneath me begins to move, the lift activated by Makov.

  ‘It is a testament to the craftsmanship that this lift still works after all this time,’ he says, walking back closer as we rise higher.

  He stands over me, shaking his head.

  ‘You were foolish to accept my challenge, Adam,’ he tells me. ‘As I said, I have lived the lives of a hundred men. From each of them, I have built on their strength and speed. I have endured countless wars, massacres, and slaughters, yet I still stand. You had no hope of defeating me, especially in this place. I can feel the dead all around me, the fallen within this great arena. I can feel their lives, their hopes, their fears, and most of all, their anguished deaths. It gives me a strength you could not possibly understand or compete against.’

  ‘In the end, there is only one reason you fell,’ Makov continues to taunt. I try to rise up, to fight on, but he forces me down again with a boot pressed on my back. ‘You are simply not worthy.’

  The words tear into me, just as his pendant shines and he lowers a hand to my chest, letting searing blue flames engulf me. I cry out in agony, my screams unending.

  ‘NOT WORTHY!’ he screams before releasing me.

  The ceiling above us opens and the lift rises out onto the arena. Around us is the grand Colosseum, our viewpoint seen by hundreds of men and beasts that fought for their lives upon the sands.

  ‘Have you even seen anything so magnificent?’ Makov asks. ‘Ravaged by nature, man and time, yet it still stands impressive to all.’

  He raises his foot from my back but then lowers a knee, leaning in to whisper in my ear, his weight pinning me down.

  ‘This ends now for you. If you go any further, I will burn you and your brother and all those close to you. It was good to meet you, Adam Hunter. I hope for your sake, our paths do not cross again.’

  And then he is gone and I am left alone in the centre of the vast Colosseum.

  ‘Yeah, you’d better run,’ I struggle to say.

  The wind suddenly picks up around me, the sound of rotors growing until it deafens me, a spotlight bathing my body in light. My body aches, every movement is a struggle, and I am blinded by the spotli
ght of the police helicopter overhead. The headset crackles into life in my pocket and, though aching all over, I pull on the glasses.

  ‘Hunter…Hunter…’ Abbey’s voice calls through the static. ‘You need to get out…. run! Hunter, get out of there!’

  ‘Emma,’ I struggle to say, forcing myself to my feet. ‘What about Emma and Dave?’

  ‘You can’t do anything for them now, just get out!’

  I run away from the aggressive words shouted overhead by the crew of the helicopter. I am fleeing as fast as my legs can take me, ignoring the pain wracking my body. The map returns to the lens of my glasses, somehow undamaged in the fight with Makov. Abbey leads me on into the darkened walkways and beyond, until I reach what I can only describe as a staging area. There are ambulances parked and paramedics administering care to the injured security guards. I see police, too, co-ordinating their advance into the Colosseum, but none approach where I hide among the shadows.

  Picking up a police jacket discarded by one of the wounded guards, I fasten it around me and walk on unhindered by others, just another officer of the law. If they saw my face or paid attention to my growing limp, a pain growing in my left leg, they would think otherwise. Thankfully, most of their efforts are focussed on what’s happening deeper within the Colosseum, the battle between Dave, Leon, and Bishop. There is one who sees me though, the chief of security, Francesca Visiers.

  ‘You!’ she roars in accented English, tearing at the tails of my police jacket and forcing me against a pillar, only just out of sight of the police. Her words occasionally come in Italian as she struggles to translate.

  ‘You were with them. You stole from me!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ is all I can say.

  ‘You caused this?’ she demands. ‘You shot my men!’

  ‘No, that was…’ I plead, trying to escape her grasp, but my body is still in immense pain.

  ‘Who?’ she asks, confused.

  ‘Others.’ I shake my head. There’s too much to communicate and no time. ‘They hurt my friends. A man and a young woman, they were down there. The woman is injured…’