A crude firing range had been set up here, with manshaped targets — cheap plaster statues — standing before bales of hay; the rangemaster obviously did not want ricochets off the brick wall behind the targets. Ten Praetorians in full uniform were standing at firing posts, each with an AK-47. Each soldier had a Militant coach standing beside him, monitoring the way he locked, loaded, unlocked, aimed, and fired. Judging from the fragments on the ground, a lot of statues had been consumed.
Maria descended from her litter and led Pierce to the rangemaster’s shed. A Crucifer, uniformed just as Maria was, stood up to greet them. He was a crewcut young man with frostbite scars on his cheeks and nose.
“Morning, Brother Jeff. I have another pupil for you. Praise God, he’s an endo Christian from Germany, name’s Alaricus. Dear Michael’s very pleased with him and wants him to be my bodyguard. We need to give him a quick course.”
Jeff stared coldly at Pierce, who smiled back and folded his arms across his chest.
“Hail, Alaricus,” Jeff said in bad Latin. “Have you seen what a tormentum can do?”
“I have heard, brother.”
“Watch these men. Iaculari!”
A ragged volley of single shots went off. Plaster exploded on some of the statues, though no one hit what would have been a vital organ. The level of marksmanship was dismal: The Praetorians would have to spray a target to hit it. Pretending to be startled, Pierce grunted and shivered, then recovered himself. Maria smiled and patted his arm.
“You have seen the wrath of God in the hands of His servants,” she said. “Do not be afraid.”
“No, my lady.”
In English, Jeff asked, “What you want to start him with, Sister Maria — handgun?”
“I think so.”
“Makes sense. He’s bodyguardin’, he’s gonna be in close most of the time. We’ll get to long arms in a couple days.”
The rangemaster handed Pierce a Smith & Wesson Model 14 .38 Special — a snubnosed police revolver that must have been at least twenty years old. With some help from Maria, Jeff explained how it worked; Pierce nodded blankly. Then he was shown how to strip it and reassemble it. After watching Pierce do it twice, Jeff turned to Maria.
“Catches on quicker’n most.”
“I’m not surprised.”
The morning wore on through a series of explanations and drills, while Pierce’s ears rang from the AK-47s going off alongside. The Praetorians’ accuracy improved, a little. Not until late in the morning did Jeff finally allow Pierce to load the pistol, aim it at a statue, and squeeze the trigger.
The head of the statue shattered. Pierce grinned and shouted, “Allelulia! Praise God!”
“Well done, Alaricus!” Maria looked delighted. “Again!”
With both hands wrapped around the grip, Pierce lowered his sights and fired again. A chunk erupted from the statue’s chest. Again: the stomach. Again: a miss. Again: the right leg shattered halfway up the thigh and the statue toppled over.
Jeff’s coldness melted. “Praise Jesus, we got us a live one! Sister Maria, this boy was made to use a firearm. Alaricus, reload and let’s see you do that again.”
His shooting was less accurate this time, so that Jeff and Maria could give him advice and point out his errors. But by the time they stopped near noon for cena, a mob of Praetorians was watching and cheering every shot.
Jeff stood by the litter as Maria climbed into it. “Sister Maria, you get Kelly to issue this boy a good weapon, not some old Saturday-night special, hear? Maybe even a Mallory. And you bring him back tomorrow with plenty of rounds. He’s gonna be worth a platoon all by hisself.” Jeff grinned as he patted Pierce’s shoulder. Pierce patted him back, then turned and trotted away alongside the litter.
Almost as soon as they went through the gate back into the city, something seemed wrong. Noon was the end of the working day for most Romans; they would eat cena, have a nap, and then go to the baths later in the afternoon. But the streets seemed quieter than usual, the shops almost deserted. At the Viminal Gate, where he and Aquilius had been mugged in the crowd, no one at all was passing in either direction.
The four Praetorian escorts marched steadily down the Vicus Patricius, only rarely having to warn someone out of the way. Maria’s eight litter bearers moved at a smooth shuffle, while Pierce strode just to the right of the litter.
The street took them down past the ruins of the Hesperian embassy and on into the Subura slums. Now the looks of bystanders were indeed hostile; teenagers gestured obscenely while old men and women looked sidelong and spat. Pierce looked up nervously at the overhanging balconies. Someone could tip a heavy potted plant off a railing, or launch a few roof tiles.
“Christiani!” The cry was a mocking warble. Out of a cross-street to the right came a swarm of street kids, boys and young men in ragged tunics. They carried rotted vegetables and chunks of bricks.
“Praetorians! Fall back on the lady!” Pierce shouted. They obeyed instantly, swords out and shields up as turnips and onions sailed toward the litter.
Pierce shoved his way between the litter bearers, under the litter to the other side of the street. Two hardbitten men with long daggers were within five steps of the litter.
The distraction would have worked beautifully, Pierce thought as he lunged forward. The assassin on his left took the sword just below the sternum; the man grunted, the wind knocked out of him by the force of the thrust. When he looked down and saw the blade in his chest he tried to draw breath to scream, failed, and sagged. Before the man could fall, Pierce swung him into his accomplice, knocking the second man off balance. Yanking his blade free, Pierce let the first man drop to the pavement. He seized the second man’s wrist, pulling the dagger away, and ran him through.
The crack of Maria’s Ruger echoed off the insula walls. Seeing no one else threatening on this flank, Pierce ran back around the litter, which the bearers had quickly lowered to the pavement. Maria was on her feet amid the bearers and Praetorians. One of the street kids was shot, writhing in a pool of blood and muck while a severed artery spouted from his throat. The others were running for their lives back up the alley.
“Anyone hurt?” Pierce asked. One of the Praetorians had been hit in the face with a half brick, but was still on his feet. No one else was injured. Pierce turned to Maria. “My lady, the litter is too dangerous. Let two of the bearers carry it while the rest of us surround you.”
She turned on him with a snarl, shoving her pistol into his face. “Where were you? Timidus! You ran just as they attacked!”
“My lady — ” With his bloody sword he pointed over the litter at the two dead assassins. “These two were the real homicidii. The children were a distraction.”
“Oh — “ She looked appalled. “Oh, Alaricus, forgive me! You saw the true threat. Truly, Satan lies in wait for the unwary. The Lord’s Providence sent you to us.”
“My lady, I praise God for granting us victory. Now quickly, let us get back to the palace.”
The Praetorians kept a box formation around most of the bearers, who were closed in around Maria. Then came two bearers with the litter, and Pierce covering the rear. He looked at the shot boy, still shivering and pulsing his short life away while people watched from balconies. You’ll be avenged, Pierce silently promised him.
The party moved several blocks in silence: A kind of bubble enveloped them, within which the slumdwellers would not stay. From the balconies, wrinkled old women peered down with index and little fingers extended to ward off the evil eye.
When they were at last out of the Subura and hurrying between the Amphitheater and the gladiators’ school, Pierce moved up to join Maria. She smiled shamefacedly at him.
“I owe you my life.”
“No, my lady. Had I not been there, God would have slain them with some other instrument.”
She touched his arm. “Your humility is an example to us all, Alaricus … But why would they attack us?”
“Many Romans hate Christ
ians, my lady. They think we hate mankind, that we disturb the state by not worshipping the gods and the emperors. They even think that Christianity leads to atheism.”
She looked shocked. “Why?”
“To the Romans, all religions but their own are superstition, crazy and foolish ideas about false gods. The Romans think people believe in superstition only because they are afraid not to believe. They say that once you recognize how foolish your ideas have been, you reject all belief in gods and sink into atheism.”
She nodded. “In a way they’re right; it’s just that they’re the ones who are superstitious, not us. We will have to work hard to show them the light.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“But the people who attacked us were — criminals, nefarii. They wouldn’t care about religion.”
“My lady, the Romans think themselves the only truly religious people in the world. But I suspect they attacked us not for our religion but for the death of Domitian. Many of the common people liked him because he gave such good games and shows.”
Maria listened thoughtfully. “You’re a godsend in more ways than one, Alaricus. We thought only about the hones tiores, the rich and powerful friends of Domitian, not about the humiliores in the slums. I will mention this to the Elders.”
“My lady, please do not tell them I advised you; I am only a simple bodyguard.”
She smiled fondly at him. “Don’t worry, Alaricus. I won’t embarrass you.”
*
The guards at the palace gates had an urgent message for Maria. A special meeting of the emperor and the Elders was under way: The consul Plinius had disappeared after sending the senate a warning to confer no powers whatsoever on the self-proclaimed emperor Martellus.
Fifteen
Six Crucifers, all carrying Uzis, were patrolling the terrace outside the meeting room; no Praetorians were in sight. One of the guards held up a hand to bar Pierce as Maria was going through the door.
“Elders and Crucifers only, Sister Maria.”
‘This is my bodyguard, Brother Elliot. Where I go, he goes.”
“Sorry, sister. Those are our orders.”
Maria glared at him, then turned and gripped Pierce’s wrist. Together they barged into the meeting room.
Greenbaugh looked up annoyedly. “Didn’t they tell you, Sister Maria?”
“Brother Alaricus goes where I go, Brother David. He’s already saved my life today.”
“Praise the Lord. But you’re safe here, even without him.”
Pierce agreed. Four Crucifers, all with Uzis, were stationed around Martel at the head of the table. Six others stood by the terrace doorway and the inner door. He wondered what had provoked the increase in security.
“With respect, Brother David, I think he might be of some help.” She described the attack on them in Subura, and Pierce’s remarks on anti-Christian attitudes.
“Please let him stay. We need his perspective on what’s going on.”
“I don’t — ”
“He may stay.” It was Martel. He smilingly waved off Maria’s thanks. She went to her chair by the wall; Pierce stationed himself beside her.
“Just to bring you up to date, Sister Maria,” said Greenbaugh. “This morning Plinius sent word to the senate not to recognize the emperor. Then he disappeared. We’re questioning some of his house slaves, but I don’t think we’ll get anywhere with them. The Praetorians have brought in the other consul, Comutus, but he says he won’t do anything until he’s talked things over with Plinius.
“What’s more, Brother Dennis and his men have vanished completely. Several of our people have been harassed in the streets today. And now you’ve brought us news of an attack on yourself. Obviously we’re facing some opposition, maybe more than we’d expected. We’re discussing how to overcome that opposition.”
Maria nodded but said nothing. The discussion had clearly been going on for some time. Pierce gathered that most of the Elders and Crucifers wanted to crush the opposition as quickly as possible; a minority wanted to wait, to let more opponents show themselves.
“Brothers and sister,” said Elias Smith, “this is a society completely dominated by class. The ruling class calls the shots and everybody else has to obey. It looks pretty clear to me that all the aristocrats are against us, even the ones who didn’t like Domitian — even the ones who didn’t like the so-called Hesperians. So they’re stirring up the ordinary people against us. We were on the right track with the proscription, but we didn’t push it hard enough.”
“We still are pushing it, Brother Elias,” Willard interrupted. “This is more than a handful of aristocrats we’re up against.”
“Mr. Chairman,” Elias said to Greenbaugh, “please remind Brother Willard that we operate by rules of order here.”
“Brother Willard will wait until recognized before speaking,” Greenbaugh mumbled.
“Now,” Elias went on, “think about this opposition. One of our teams has gone missing; is that really serious, or has Brother Dennis simply found he had more work than he counted on out there in the countryside? Sister Maria is attacked in a horrible slum by some criminals; we’re glad she escaped, but is that evidence of resistance? A few other people are insulted in the marketplace. The only real resistance has come from a couple of pagans at the top of the totem pole. Once we show them who’s boss, the majority will come around.”
“Sister Maria,” said Greenbaugh.
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman.” Maria Donovan’s eyes glistened; her beautiful features looked tense to Pierce. He wondered if she was on the edge of falling ill. “I have to take exception to what Brother Elias says. First of all, we’ve eliminated at least five hundred major Romans, not counting their families and the Jews. I agree they should have been eliminated, but we’re going to need the ruling class. If we wipe it out completely, how do we govern? Secondly, the attack on me wasn’t just some casual mugging. They were waiting for us, and the whole neighborhood knew it. Nobody warned us. They just got out of the way and watched. To me, that means a lot of these people don’t yet see us as a way to be saved.”
“They’ll see it clear enough when they realize they need saving,” Elias said with a wet-lipped grin.
Maria was about to answer when Martel raised a pale hand. The Elders and Crucifers seemed to freeze in their places, their eyes on him.
“Mr. Chairman. We have two problems here, not one.” Martel paused, steepling his fingers before his mouth as if deep in thought. “Popular resistance was expected, and we’ve worked out a strategy to minimize it. I’m concerned about attacks on our people, yes, but God made us to be attacked, and to be strengthened by attack. The pagans will come around soon enough. Remember — the old emperors ruled this city with five thousand Praetorians; we have that five thousand, plus over two thousand of our own, and plenty of equipment. Civil disturbances are not a worry.
“But the second problem does concern me. If the senate refuses to legitimize the change of government, we don’t have just the city against us; we have the empire, fifty or sixty million people. Even then we could win. It would take time but we could win.
“We don’t have time, brothers and sisters.” His blue eyes, deep-set and intense, swept their faces. “The Federation will be upon us any moment. We have all agreed that they will accept us if the cost of fighting us is too high. As it would be with fifty or sixty million people behind us.” They all nodded.
“But if they come through and find us fighting in the streets, and the provinces in revolt, they will rightly consider us weak — and then they’ll come in and destroy us.”
The room was absolutely silent.
“They will destroy us, that is, if we act foolishly, or if we fail to act at all. Because we would be telling God we aren’t wise enough to deserve His blessing and His covenant.
“So we must win the approval of the senate. We must be legitimized by these pagans before we can win their souls for Christ. It wouldn’t be enough to force the senate; the
people would still have to be won over, and we don’t have the time. But the people can make the senate act.”
“How, Dear Michael?” asked Greenbaugh.
Martel smiled dazzlingly. “We’re not the first to face this problem, brothers and sisters. Most of the cities and empires of ancient times were ruled by aristocrats. They kept the ordinary people in their place, just as the Romans do. But sometimes a leader would arise. A man who’d win the support of the people against the aristocrats. A man who gave the people what they wanted.
“The aristocrats didn’t like these fellows much. They never do. When a man gained power from popular support, the aristocrats called him a tyrant, didn’t they? And that was an ugly name. No one wants to be a tyrant.
“Well, brothers and sisters, a better name for such a man is plain old ‘leader.’ He’s a man with the confidence of the people, and no one better stand in his way. That was the foundation of the late lamented United States of America, and the other Western democracies.”
Martel’s eyes flashed. “And why did those countries fall, brothers and sisters? Not because the people failed; the so-called leaders failed. They didn’t have the will to be tyrants, even when the people demanded it of them. They prattled on about the Constitution, about democracy, about the rule of law, when what their people wanted was action. And we’ve seen, yes, we’ve seen the folly of that lack of will. We, especially, have paid a heavy price.
“I suggest to you that God has been teaching us, and teaching us well. He taught us what happens when leaders grow weak. Now He wants to see if we’ve learned our lesson. We’ve eliminated our rivals, yes, we’ve purged the Jews, yes, we’ve proclaimed Christ crucified and risen again, yes, yes. And I know God is pleased with us, pleased with how we’re standing up to the test. So He wants to see now if we have the will to lead these wretched pagans out of their idolatry and win them for salvation.”
“Amen,” the Elders chorused.
“Here is how we will do it,” Martel went on. “Tomorrow we will hold a great celebration in the Colosseum. We’ll bring in the common people of Rome, and show them what we showed the Praetorians. Brothers and sisters, we’ll show them Heaven and Hell; we’ll show them divine providence. We’ll win the people to our side, and then the senate will follow. The aristocrats will have no choice, unless they want the people rising up against them. And then the Federation will have no choice but to accept us and recognize us.”
Rogue Emperor (The Chronoplane Wars Book 3) Page 17
