Helena tried to smile at me, but her facade of bravery faltered, revealing just how afraid she really was, even though her eyes looked as angry as ever.
“Miss me?” She asked.
XI
Siege
Rome, Italy
April-June, 38 A.D.
I looked away from my dark clad rescuer to figure out exactly what was happening. I saw three figures dressed similarly as Helena, looking more like ninjas than soldiers, move towards a still unconscious Santino. I saw the largest of the three remove the nails from Santino’s wrists, cut his bonds, and catch him as he fell onto him. The smallest figure pulled off a large bag, and tended to his wounds. I also noticed a number of Roman Praetorians moving through the room as well. I looked back at Helena, trying to form words, but my throat was too dry to utter a single one.
She looked at me expectantly. “Well? Nothing to say?”
A few seconds passed while I let my throat moisten.
“What took you so long?” I croaked.
She smiled while pulling a knife from a sheath around her calf, and cut my ropes. Unable to bare my own weight, I collapsed into her arms, the pain threatening to knock me out again. She staggered only slightly under my weight, but refused to drop me. Gently, she lowered me to a sitting position and offered me the tube from her CamelBak. I accepted it and drank eagerly as she placed a large blanket over my shoulders. Choking on my last gulp, I spit water all over her, but immediately felt my head start to clear.
Frowning at her wet pants, she looked back at me. “So this is the thanks I get?”
“Sorry,” I sputtered. “Couldn’t help it.” I wiped my mouth on her sleeve, and she gave me another look. “I hate to sound ungracious here, but what’s the plan?”
In answer, another figure moved over to where we sat, and pulled off his mask, revealing Vincent’s weathered face.
“The plan is to get you two out of here,” he said. “Unfortunately, getting in was the easy part, because the city is under siege now. Caligula has ordered an artillery strike. We’ll have to dodge incoming fire as well angry rebels. Can you walk? Can you fight?”
I shook my head. “I can walk, but not without help. My head feels like it’s about to explode, and I can’t see very well. If I look worse than I feel, I can only imagine how hard you guys must be working to keep your lunch down.”
Helena angled her head to inspect my face. “It’s not… that bad,” she said, clearly lying.
“Santino is unconscious,” Vincent continued, “and needs to be carried. We have fifty Praetorians with us, so that shouldn’t be a problem, but we could still use all the help we can get.”
I nodded. “Just give me a gun.”
Helena placed a familiar object in my hand. “Here’s Penelope.”
I tried to look at her. “Umm… who?”
She shrugged. “You talk in your sleep.”
I felt my cheeks get warm. It was only a little embarrassing that she knew I gave my rifle a name, and only slightly more that she knew I uttered it in my sleep.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’m not jealous.”
I gave her a quick smile, at least what I thought might have been a smile had I been able to feel my face.
Wang came rushing over with an outreached hand. “Here, Hunter, take these.” He held what I assumed were pain killers.
I swallowed them quickly with some more water. “Thanks, doc.”
“Let’s go,” Helena said, pulling me to my feet with a strength I knew most women couldn’t equal. She cradled me in a similar fashion to the way I helped her the very first day we arrived in ancient Rome, and dragged me out of the room.
“Man, this is kinda nice,” I commented. “You’re not allowed to get hurt anymore. Only me.”
“Deal, but lay off the desserts next time.”
“Har har. Don’t quit your day job.”
I couldn’t even remember the last time I had a non-MRE style dessert. Her struggles keeping me upright had nothing to do with my weight, but because I was offering far less help than she had been when I carried her months ago. I could barely limp, and it didn’t take long before I realized she was mostly dragging me, as opposed to just supporting me. Just like the days carrying my drunk friends home back in college, their dead, fish-like state made them impossible to carry easily. I had to give her credit though because she was keeping up with the group well enough.
Vincent hung back with Helena and me, but Wang and Bordeaux were upfront with the vanguard of Praetorians breaking us out. I saw that we were rushing through the streets of an unfamiliar portion of Rome. Although, again, it probably only looked unfamiliar because I couldn’t see shit. A part of me was thankful for that, but the other part wished I could see what was happening. It looked like an interesting fight.
“What’s going on?” I asked Helena, blindly trying to get my bearings.
Before answering, I saw her tilt her head to look at the sky. Following her look, I tracked a dozen blurry and glowing red ball flying through the air.
“You’re missing quite the show,” she answered. “People are panicking and running through the streets. The city is in chaos. We’re meeting only scarce resistance so far, easy kills for Wang and Bordeaux. Oh, Caligula’s artillery is also lobbing balls of fire over the walls. I had no idea they could do that.”
“You’d be surprised. They’re pretty crafty,” I told her as I stumbled on a rock, nearly falling to the ground.
I felt my head swim again.
“Jesus, you’re a klutz, Hunter. You should have stuck to being a teacher,” she said, trying to keep my spirits up as I found myself fighting harder and harder to stay conscious. After another dozen steps or so, I felt my eyes close and I started losing control over my legs. After another few steps, they gave out altogether, and I felt my hold on reality slip away.
The last thing I remembered before blacking out completely was Helena screaming my name.
***
I opened my eyes.
Flicking them left and right, the first thing I noticed was that I could in fact see. After a few minutes of blinking, my surroundings began to focus, but what continued to worry me was that I couldn’t see much at all, just a bright white light.
Was I dead?
The only thing I remembered since being hung up in Claudius’ torture chamber was a dream about two strikingly beautiful women, one dressed in a white, loose garment, the other in a black, tight fitting body suit. The two women had battled one another in vicious hand to hand combat for what seemed like days, neither one of them ever gaining the upper hand. They didn’t fight in the comic, cliche cat fighting, and bitch slapping style normally associated with two women duking it out, but with intense punches, kicks, eye gouges, hair ripping, but with absolutely no fondling.
This was my dream, damn it! At least some clothing should have come off.
But I wasn’t sure a lack of clothing would have saved me from the end because when both women finally noticed me, their duel ended and they shifted their attention towards me. Literal fire burning in their eyes, one set blue and the other green, both women turned to rush me, fists at the ready.
Hallucinations were a bitch.
I tried to put the disturbing dream out of my mind, and attempted to get a better look around. For all I knew, I may have been reacquired by Claudius. Maybe he was waiting for me to wake up before he tortured me again. I craned my neck to the right and noticed that I was in a tent, but the only objects I could see were a few empty tables and a desk.
I was distracted from my observation by a dark shape that positioned itself over my head. It took me a second to focus on the shape, but I didn’t need my eyes to know that it was Helena. She smiled down at me, her smile more gorgeous than I’d ever seen it, and placed a hand on my cheek, stroking my brow with a thumb.
“Nice to see you up, sleepy head.”
“What happened?” I choked. “Where am I now?”
“You collaps
ed unconscious and Vincent had to carry you. We fought our way out of the city and made our way to the legion camp. We lost six men getting you out. You’re in a hospital tent, and you’ve been out for two days.”
That seemed like a good enough summary to me.
“Santino?”
She pulled back so that I could see past her. Behind her lay the figure of my friend, still unconscious, but breathing. I saw numerous bandages over his bare chest, arms and legs, and an IV drip poked into his forearm. In particular, I saw a bandage around his right wrist, renewing the image of his crucifixion in my mind.
“He’s fine,” she informed. “He’s in worse shape than you are, but he’ll make it. He lost a lot of blood, but Wang took good care of him. He says he’ll make a full recovery.”
“Good.”
Satisfied he was all right, I straightened my head to rest my neck, and Helena loomed over me again.
“Can you sit up?” She asked.
I strained my back, but I didn’t budge.
“Nope.”
She frowned and I saw her glance away. She obviously had something on her mind.
No surprise there.
I smiled up at her. “Well, this is awkward.”
She didn’t return my smile. She pulled away instead, and looked at her hands in her lap. I turned my head to look at her, but didn’t say anything.
“Jacob, I… I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I acted that night. I overreacted.”
My back was starting to hurt from idleness so I tried to shift my position on the table again. The slight movement shot pain through every inch of my body and I felt my body fighting against the inevitable blackout I knew was coming. I thought the combination was going to kill me, but the pain slowly went away and my sense sharpened. I looked at Helena whose concern was very clearly evident.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” She asked. “I could come back if you want to rest.”
“No,” I said quickly. “Don’t leave. I… I need you right now.”
She leaned back. “Need?”
I closed my eyes. Maybe if I couldn’t see her, this would be easier. “I fucked up, Helena. All this time I thought I had all the answers and knew what was best for me, you, the team, everyone. But I don’t.” I opened my eyes when Helena didn’t say anything, but all she did was lean in closer to hover only a foot above me. “You didn’t overreact. Not in the least. The past few months have changed a part me, and not for the better. I don’t like it, and it’s…”
I trailed off when I noticed how intently Helena was staring at me. Her eyes were sad and distant but their intensity threw me. I couldn’t interpret what the expression meant. I was about to continue when Helena thrust herself at me and pressed her lips against mine, much as I did to her all those months ago. The shock wore off quickly and I found myself struggling to move my hand into her hair as she continued to work her lips lovingly against mine. I failed and the sound of my arm slapping against the table surprised Helena into pulling away.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”
I gazed up at her lovely face and wonderful green eyes and smiled. “Of course not. I’m just a little surprised.”
“I know,” she said meekly. “Me too, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“You couldn’t help yourself, now??” I asked with a weak smile. “When my face looks like I twelve rounds with Rocky?”
She smiled. “It’s not your face that made me kiss you, Jacob, but what you said. I’ve felt you pulling away for months now, placing more and more burdens upon yourself and slowly pushing me away. What you said before you left about not needing me hurt.” She looked at me almost angrily now as she relived the memory. “I didn’t want to accept where that comment came from, but it had become difficult not to.”
I glanced at Santino again to make sure he was still asleep. Our conversation was becoming increasingly personal and I didn’t want him overhearing us. Luckily, he still seemed out cold. I turned back to Helena and frowned. “Helena I’m still the man I was before. Just…”
“No you’re not. You’re darker, more selfish, and more introspective, but not in a good way. It’s become obsessive. I can understand not coming to me, but you’ve neglected even your best friend.” She pointed at Santino. “I can count the number of conversations you’ve had with him over the past winter on one hand. You never go to him for help or advice, and you know damn well it’s not always that bad. Why do you think he volunteered to go with you and Agrippina?”
I didn’t have an answer.
“Because he’s your brother! The story you told me about what happened in North Korea forced it on you two, and you should be grateful for that shithole because of it. But he’s just as worried about your recklessness as I am and wanted to keep an eye on you.”
“How do you know that? Did he tell you?”
“He didn’t have to, Jacob,” she said softly. “I know.”
“So why now?”
“Because I care for you, Jacob. I have for a very long time. I want to be with you and be there for you. When I saw you on that cross I was horrified. I couldn’t believe how close I came to losing you. ”
I stared at the ceiling, the memory of my torture the only thing I could focus on despite Helena’s loving words. “They were crucifying me, Helena. Crucifying.”
“I know,” she said, her tone shifting dourly. “When I came in and saw you and Santino hanging there, I couldn’t believe it. Seeing it actually happen… it’s hard to believe.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’m sorry. I can only imagine how painful it must have been.”
“I really doubt it.” I took a deep breath. “I’m just glad it’s over.”
“So am I,” another voice chimed in, interrupting us, “and I am extremely happy to see you awake.”
As the voice came closer, I looked to my right to see Vincent approach and stand opposite Helena. He looked down. “How are you feeling, son?”
“Better,” I answered. “Come to give me my last rights?”
He smiled. “No.”
As I lay there, looking up at him, an epiphany sparked in my head. It was as though I had finally figured out this nagging feeling I’d had about him since we first arrived here. I didn’t know why, maybe it was the drugs, but something in his expression and mannerism just screamed at me, triggered by how he had called me, “son.”
I turned my head, and studied his face. “You’re not a priest, are you?”
Vincent straightened while Helena shifted her look towards him, a confusion spreading across her face. He stood there for only a few seconds before he crossed his arms, and looked at me. His face suggested he was trying to find the best way to answer and he shifted his feet and looked at the floor.
“What gave me away?” He replied, looking up with his eyes.
I heard a sharp intake of breath from Helena, just slightly more surprised than I was. I met his eyes before responding.
“I’ve had my suspicions for a while, to be honest, but it wasn’t until just now that I confirmed it. The way you called me “son” and not “my son” did it. You’ve done it before, but maybe my drugged up state has given me some advanced powers of observation, but the way you said it just clicked. The fact you’ve never insisted on presiding over Mass on Sundays didn’t help much, either.”
“There’s just no fooling you, is there?”
I shrugged, immediately regretting it.
“Well… you’re right. I am no priest. I’ve spent my entire life since leaving the Swiss military in the Pope’s Swiss Guard, and I’ve spent more time in the Vatican than I have anywhere else. The Pope himself suggested the idea that we have a member of the clergy on the team, and he wanted me ordained, but I told him no.” He sighed. “I’ve felt lots of things in my life, but never the calling to become a priest. Pope Gregory understood the sentiment, himself not having felt the call until somewhat later in his life. Instead, knowing I was the most experie
nced and willing man for the post, he gave me his blessing to assume the role, to act as a symbol and a reminder of who and what we were working for.” He stopped himself, and looked at the floor again. “I guess there’s no need to keep pretending then, is there? Ancient Rome has no need for Catholic priests. Especially phony ones.”
“That doesn’t exactly sound like something a pope would just allow,” I said, skeptically.
“Desperate situations call for desperate answers, Jacob. Not many priests are fit for military duty.”
“So, why didn’t you go through with it?” Helena asked.
He looked thoughtful as he glanced at her, his look lingering ever so slightly. “I think it’s because I still want to have a family of my own, one day. I’m not that old, you know.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” I asked.
He sighed. “At eighteen our convictions are a hill from which to look out from, at forty five they are a cave in which to hide.”
I squinted. “Hemingway?”
“Fitzgerald,” Helena answered for him with a smirk. “F. Scott.”
I returned the look. “Smart ass.”
Vincent smiled at us. “Were I a younger man, I may have come out with it, but time slows us down. Helps us think. Makes us patient. Hell,” he paused, suddenly taking a moment to ponder his next thought. After an awkward moment, he continued, “Hell, were I a younger man, I may have taken my vows. Either way, it seemed best to keep my cover locked in a cave until you figured it out for yourself.”
“Seems this outfit is full of surprises,” I said. “What’s next? Is Santino really a cross dresser?”
“I heard that,” said a weak and raspy voice, “and could you keep it down? I’m trying to sleep.”
The three of us turned to look over at Santino, who had his eyes open, but kept his head facing towards the roof of the tent. Helena pulled her chair next to him, and gripped his hand.
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