The Last Roman (The Praetorian Series - Book I)

by Edward Crichton

  ***

  An hour later, we were joined by four Praetorians.

  Leaving our wetsuits in the room, we wore navy blue BDUs Bordeaux found in the supply container, and donned our full complement of combat gear, sans headgear. The men who came for us had not been involved last night, so when they got a good look at us, they were humorously shocked. We had to have looked even more imposing than we did in the dim moonlight.

  Hesitating, the centurion stuttered slightly when he spoke to Vincent, making him a little tough to understand. The message seemed to get across, however, and we soon found ourselves walking through the streets of Rome on a warm, late afternoon day.

  As opposed to last night, where there had only been a few drunken miscreants about, there were now hundreds of people lining the streets going on about their daily lives. Men were gathered in small groups, discussing the day’s events, while the women carried baskets, and bundles of clothing, going about the day’s errands. As each noticed our arrival, their attention immediately shifted to us. A few women dropped their baskets, while plenty of jaws dropped all around. Some of the more confident children braved an attempt to touch us. They were rewarded with warm smiles, and maybe tousled hair, all in an attempt for us to show our friendliness.

  Our march through Rome was short lived. We passed through a gate, beneath a large wall that must have stretched around the city. Since we had arrived in the days of Caligula, it must have been the Servian Wall, the original wall named for Rome’s sixth king, Servius Tullius. The Romans weren’t big on defensive walls, relying on their legions to defend them instead. It wasn’t until the Aurelian Wall was erected that there was a defensive barrier around the entire city. The Servian Wall didn’t even cross the Tiber River, and there were many buildings and structures outside its defenses such as the Campus Martius and the Castra Praetoria, near where I believe we had just spent the night.

  I knew the layout of ancient Rome fairly well. I’d studied the city extensively in college, and knew that since we were heading southwest, and had passed through the walls, we had to have come from the barracks that housed the emperor’s Praetorian cohorts, the Castra Praetoria. While we probably didn’t actually go inside their fort, built by Tiberius at the prompting of his prefect Sejanus to house the entire force of Praetorians, we probably spent the night in a nearby house.

  I felt a slight rush as we passed into the pomerium, the sacred city limits, thought to have been drawn by Romulus as he drove his plow around the Palatine Hill and surrounding area, hundreds of years ago. The ‘line’ wasn’t real, but I estimated we were in the right place.

  The pomerium was an interesting piece of history. Only the land within its imaginary border was considered to actually be “Rome,” while everything outside was simply territory owned by Rome. Foreign sovereigns could not enter into it, weapons were not allowed and only Praetorians had permission to carry them as long as they were concealed by their togas, which was why you never saw them walking around in their armor.

  Rounding a large hill, I saw what I could only assume was the Circus Maximus, just a few miles southwest of where we stayed the night. My eyes widened with awe as they were drawn to the enormous structure, still in the prime of its life. The stadium held various races, gladiatorial fights, and other spectacles and was the largest open-air stadium on the planet, a record which would still stand in 2021 were there more than just remnants of its foundation left. It was here that in the movie Ben-Hur, Charlton Heston raced his childhood friend-turned-enemy, an event which took place only a year or so ago from this point in history, during Tiberius’ reign.

  At least it had in the movie.

  I felt a chill as we passed through the gates. I started thinking about just how many charioteers and gladiators never made the return trip home. I wondered if we would meet that same fate in this historical structure. Hopefully, all would go as planned, and we would leave with the key to the city instead.

  We made our way through a maze of hallways before emerging onto the field. It reminded me of my old football field, with the track running along the perimeter, except this field was much larger, and had a large structure which ran through the middle. It was known as the spina, which acted very much like the vertebrae of the field. On the spina were roman idols and an Egyptian obelisk, put there by Augustus, captured in Egypt. That obelisk was moved by Pope Sixtus Something to the Piazza del Popolo, just outside of St. Peter’s Basilica, and was still there the last time I checked. The stadium also sported bronze dolphins, which could pivot downwards to indicate how many laps had elapsed in a race.

  Walking along the dusty track, we made our way to the imperial viewing stand, where I noticed Caligula and a number of other men and women were already present. The women sat in the back, quietly chit-chatting among themselves. There was one young woman in particular who was pregnant, and had a kind of beauty that was unrivaled amongst the group. Her blond hair and sharp nose gave her a sinister hotness found mostly in the movies. She looked familiar somehow, and when she winked at me, I almost dropped Helena. Last, but not least, I couldn’t help but notice the small man I had seen in the cavern the night before, who was very quickly beginning to annoy me.

  Coming to a halt in front of the grandstand, I realized just how ragtag we looked, with Bordeaux limping along, and me practically carrying Helena. I hoped we didn’t look so weak that Caligula would jump to the conclusion that we were of no worth to him after all.

  No, he was aware of our wounded. The man knew combat, and would understand our situation. He’d wait until he saw what we could do before he made any kind of judgment.

  Vincent, taking the initiative, snapped to attention and pounded his fist against his chest before extending his arm in a very Hitlerian type salute, used by the Romans long before that menace had slandered it’s meaning, the only difference being that Vincent’s hand was closed.

  In as commanding a voice as he could manage, Vincent laid out our case for those present. “Hail, Caesar. My comrades and I are here to prove our loyalty through a demonstration of our skills and technology. Should we succeed in doing so, we would like the opportunity to retrieve our fallen leader, as we discussed, as well as some equipment left behind.”

  I froze for half a second. Vincent did a good job of surreptitiously adding the fact we had gear down there, but I hoped he hadn’t overplayed his hand. We didn’t need Caligula getting suspicious.

  The Roman emperor approached a railing and lean over the edge on a forearm almost nonchalantly. “Should you meet my expectations, I will agree to your request. To help facilitate my decision, I have requested the presence of some of my closest advisors, friends, and family.”

  That sounded odd coming from an emperor with a reputation like Caligula’s. Maybe historians got more wrong than they thought, but I had to remember to keep things in perspective. We knew little of his few sane months, but for all intents and purposes, he had been a promising young man.

  “Gathered here are some of my generals, members of the senate and my uncle, Claudius,” Caligula continued, sweeping his right arm behind him.

  Claudius?

  I looked among the gathered men, but could not spot anyone who fit his description. I wasn’t sure what he looked like, but he was known to stutter and twitch, not to mention he was described as feeble and weak. Unfortunately, none of the men present displayed any of those qualities. One man was tall and blond, with the short hair reminiscent of Caesars, but was far from the feeble stutterer I imagined.

  Claudius must have been in the back, out of sight somewhere, which wouldn’t have been a surprise considering his reputation.

  “With their help,” he finished, “we will determine whether your existence shall continue, and whether you have a place amongst my people. Now, what will you require?”

  Vincent answered immediately. “First, we need our weapons. With them, we will demonstrate their range, accuracy and l
ethality. In order to do so, we will need a dozen spare suits of armor set up to appear like men. We will also require a large piece of fruit, and a marble column as thick and strong as you can spare and move here.”

  Smiling, Caligula replied, “Is that all? Perhaps I should have the entire Gaulic war band present for you to defeat. Perhaps then,” he said, the arrogance and depravity that was missing earlier now surfacing, “you would be able to do enough.”

  Vincent returned his smile. “I think we’ll be all right.”