“Then start commandeering men from the city. Have them work the wall in groups, under the supervision of our men. It should give the rest a chance to recuperate. We cannot have our men worn out before the real enemy arrives,” Otho said, and as he did, the assassin struck.
The young woman who had served them wine had been trained from a young age to be proficient in all forms of combat. Julia was her Roman name, no-one knew her given name, it was sacred. Titus had paid much gold for her services. She had been in place almost as soon as Vespasian had been killed. In the confused first few days after the siege, she had manoeuvred her way through the slave markets and into a place of servitude in the palace. Then she had waited. Her orders had been to take the emperor and his second at the same time. It had taken weeks to be in the same room as both of them.
Otho finished speaking to Ursus and motioned for the woman to serve more wine. She leaned forward to pour the wine and instead arced the jug into the Emperor’s face. The blow caught him above the eyebrows and a gout of blood poured down his face. He was rocked back on his sofa and clawed at his face to clear his eyes of blood.
Ursus reacted quickly but not before he took a hard kick to the chest. He caught the impact on the chest plate of his armour but the impact toppled him backwards in his seat. For a second, both men were vulnerable and despite all of her training, Julia hesitated. She was torn between the emperor or his guard dog.
In her hand she held a short, round bladed needle. It was easy to conceal and despite all the security in the palace she had carried it with her most of the time. She lunged for Ursus. He was the bigger of the two and Julia judged him to be the worst threat. If she had to face either man on an equal footing, she decided it was better that it be Otho.
“Guards!” shouted Otho as he managed to clear the blood from his eyes. He saw the diminutive figure of the serving girl stalking around to where Ursus lay sprawled on the floor. She seemed to be brandishing a weapon. Otho swore that if he lived through this, he would have every guard on duty tonight executed in the morning. There was a banging on the door from the outside. Evidently the assassin had managed to lock them in before she had struck.
Julia stepped towards Ursus as he floundered on the floor, hindered by his armour. She held the needle outside her fist and backhanded it towards his throat. Ursus held up an arm to block the blow and the needle pierced his forearm, emerging from the other side, inches from his face. She quickly withdrew and stabbed down again. This time her aim caught Ursus just under the chin and the needle pierced his throat with a slight whisping sound. The Prefect tried to cry out but found his throat constricting. No more than a strangled hiss of air came out.
The bangs and thumps from the door were becoming more urgent, as the guards outside realised their emperor was in real danger. Julia withdrew the needle once more and felt a warm squirt of blood flick across her face from the wound in her victim's throat. Despite his injury, Ursus was able to bring a fist up and punch the face in front of him. Julia managed to partially block the blow but was thrown hard by the big man. She hit the cold marble floor and rolled quickly to her feet.
Her agility was a thing of beauty but she faced two bigger opponents and time was not on her side. There was a further crashing from the far side of the door, which ended in a cracking sound. Evidently the door did not have long before it would give way and allow the guards access.
She rolled into an attack as Otho got to his feet. The false emperor had no sword at hand but pulled an ornate dagger from his belt and swung at her as she came at him from below. The blade scored her shoulder at the same time as she drove the needle deep into Otho’s thigh. The pain was immediate and she felt the strength leave her arm. She managed to pull the needle from her opponent's leg and tried to roll away.
Otho grabbed at her and found himself with a fist full of her tunic. She yanked at the cloth, trying to free herself from his grasp. She kicked down at his shins with her heel but the soft shoes the palace slaves wore did no more than graze the skin.
Otho pulled her toward him half blindly and swung hard with his free hand. He connected with her face and Julia felt the bone in her cheek snap. One side of her face exploded in a rush of pain. It felt swollen and huge compared to the other side. She tried to shout in hurt and anger but her jaw screamed in pain.
She stabbed at the hand that gripped her clothes with the needle and was rewarded with a satisfying shout of pain from Otho. The emperor let go of her and held his hand to his chest. The two faced each other panting, she with a bruised and broken face and he with blood leaking down the inside of his thigh. She whipped in to lunge at him once more, finally finding a target that would do real harm to the emperor. She stabbed the needle at Otho’s face. The emperor was a breath too slow to stop the needle from entering his eye. He screamed in agony as Julia backed away, panting.
The door behind her crashed to the ground, twisting on its broken hinges. Guards streamed into the room brandishing gladius swords. Julia took one final attempt on Otho’s life. She ran at him and at the last second jumped and twisted in the air. She was aiming to plunge the needle into his throat. Her final destination was the window behind Otho, she would not be caught alive. Pain and suffering were the only rewards for such as her.
The needle missed its mark by mere inches as it grazed along the line of Otho’s neck. Her last roll of the dice had failed. At least she could end her life honourably, by leaping to her death, rather than be caught by the guards who would tear her to pieces.
She took two steps toward the window and the death she deserved, when her foot was cut out from beneath her. Ursus lay sprawled on the floor and with a wild swing of his sword had managed to slice deep into her ankle, bringing her crashing to the floor. Searing pain was followed by anger at her failure to fulfill her contract. She lashed out at the hands that grabbed at her. She kicked out with her one good leg and felt it connect with an unknown assailant.
Desperation got her up onto her good leg and she threw herself toward the balcony. Pain seared her from the cut to her ankle and she sensed hands reaching for her as she clambered up the ornate railing and fell to the paved courtyard below.
As she let go of the curved iron work of the balcony, she got a glimpse of Ursus staggering to his feet and fell to her death knowing she had failed in her mission and disgrace was hers.
Otho lashed out at the hands that tried to aid him. Blind in one eye, he felt the room spin. Dizziness overtook him but he fought for control. Anger gave him strength. He lunged at the nearest guard, snatched a handful of tunic and pulled him toward his bleeding face.
“How did you allow an assassin into my private quarters? Have you seen what she has done to me?” he growled, allowing the anger to dull the pain he was feeling.
The guard tried to answer but a dry mouth and lack of words meant all that came to his lips was a string of stuttered syllables.
Otho punched a fist, hard and fast, into the man’s face. The man's head rocked backwards with the force of the blow. The contact brought a measure of relief to Otho’s burning fury. Again and again he stuck the face until the guard’s legs gave way and the guard fell to the floor unconscious. Otho let the weight fall from his fist and the body dropped to the floor. The emperor stomped down on the man’s head, over and over. Sickening cracks filled the room as the skull gave way and finally Otho found himself slipping on the mush and gore beneath his feet. He stepped back and looked at the pulp on the floor.
“Clean this up. I want the body in the courtyard examined,” he said in short, stilted sentences. Then he turned to the head of his personal guard. “I want half of the guards on duty in the palace tonight, put to death.”
The senior man went cold but he nodded and saluted. Otho let the man turn away to carry out the order. “Oh, make sure you are one of them,” he said to the man’s back before turning away himself.
Chapter Six
The century of horsemen rode toward Titus with banner raised high. They
were splendid in their polished armour. Even the horses they rode were immaculate. This was the man they called emperor, that they had been sent to escort into camp. As they closed on Titus and his escort of one, it dawned on Tribune Decius Fabius that they had made a grave mistake.
They had debated sending a century to escort Titus along his whole journey but the emperor had insisted that speed and stealth would serve him better than a full unit of cavalry. Now, seeing the battered and smoke blackened men riding towards him, Fabius saw that the decision had been wrong. He drew his men up in formation and rode forward alone to greet his emperor. He stopped short of the large, balding man and saluted.
“Hail Caesar,” he said and waited for the response.
Titus came to a halt less than a horses-length from the tribune and his single escort drew in slightly behind.
“It is good to see you old friend,” Titus said and the tension that had gripped Fabius on his first sight of Titus, dissipated. “It has been an eventful journey, to say the least.”
Fabius nodded. “I can see that, sir. The rest of your escort?” he asked.
“Proved themselves worthy of an Emperor's trust. They gave their lives in my name and I will honour them,” Titus said. “We were ambushed on the road in a cowardly move that Otho is probably very proud of.”
Fabius scowled at Titus’ words. “Caesar, if you will allow me to escort you into camp. I’m sure you will find it to your satisfaction.”
“No, Fabius. I’m happy to see the landing went well and I will have a full report from you in the fullness of time but I wish to be escorted into camp in the same manner I have made the journey.” He turned to Sergius who sat astride his horse, unmoving, while two of the greatest men in the empire spoke. “This is Manius Sergius and he is the reason I stand before you now.”
Fabius nodded to the cavalryman and turned back to his emperor. Titus continued, “I wish him to escort me into the camp and I will have the men honour him as he does so. I am happy for you to ride with us, Fabius. I will not have you think me ungrateful for bringing my legions to me but I want this young man to be known amongst the legions as the man who saved my life.”
Fabius nodded to Titus and signaled to one of the officers in his unit of extraordinarii. The man rode forward immediately and Fabius whispered instructions to the man. Titus waited patiently, despite his obvious need to get to camp and recover from his journey. With the officer heading back to camp the two men continued.
“Caesar. If you will both lead us in.” Fabius motioned for Titus and Sergius to lead them past the cavalry unit. The two road-worn and bloodied men rode slowly past the immaculate unit of Rome’s finest horsemen. Sergius allowed his emperor to take the lead and saw the looks of envy the men gave him as he passed them. His face was passive but his heart was full of pride.
The gates opened to reveal every man of the legions lined up in formation. Uniforms were polished and the ranks had been dressed. Silence reigned amongst units until Titus passed over the threshold of the gate. As if to a silent order, a roar of approval rose from the assembled men. At first it was an inarticulate boom but out of the tumult rose a chant of “Titus! Titus!” that sounded out from every throat.
Titus stood before them, impassive. He allowed his men to show their love for him and he loved them in return. He held his arms high and wide above his head and the volume of the cheering increased.
Titus turned to Sergius and spoke in a voice that rang clear, despite the cheering crowd only yards away.
“Move forward Sergius. I wish my men to honour you. I wish them to honour one of their own.”
Sergius felt a wave of panic that he had not felt when fighting the enemies they had faced on the road, alive or undead. The thought of standing in front of the crowd terrified him but he steeled himself and allowed his mount to step beside his emperor.
For an eternal second the sound died away and Sergius felt panic grip him once more. Then, with an explosion of noise, the legions began to chant his name. Over and over it rang out across the camp and the fields beyond. Sergius flushed and felt his face redden with heat. He raised a hand and accepted the adulation before he gigged his horse and stepped back into place behind Titus. As he passed the emperor, Titus gripped his arm and said, “I have something special in mind for you . Report to the tribune’s staff after you have taken time to recover from our ordeal.” With that said, Titus turned to Fabius and thoughts of Sergius were gone from his mind.
“You have done well with my legions, tribune. I thank you. They are in fine shape. I wish to hear of your victory over the creatures and the sea journey but first I wish to bathe and eat. I presume you have already had it taken care of?”
Fabius smiled and nodded. “My staff have everything in order, Caesar. I will continue with my work until you are ready, with your permission.” Titus gripped the tribune's arm and allowed his second to go about his business. As the tribune turned to go he nodded to an officer, who signaled to the waiting Centurions in the assembled ranks. As one they turned to the men behind them and bellowed orders. The legions began to dissolve as men went to their assigned duties or, in many cases, the free time they had been enjoying between shifts.
Titus made his way across the camp toward a tent that most people in Rome would be happy to call a home. Sergius watched him disappear inside and was left alone to contemplate his fate. In two days he had gone from being a cavalryman to part of the Emperor’s personal guard. The sound of the legions chanting his name was still fresh in his ears but Sergius had an idea that he would hear the sound until the day he died. He dismounted and stepped down. He wasn’t even sure what tent he belonged in now. Every legion camp had the same layout and every man knew his place. He was now not the man he had expected to be when they had set out on the journey. He would have to learn his new place in the order of the camp. He set off to find the Tribune's staff and his new role in life.
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The senate chamber was cool compared to the sun-drenched streets outside. Despite the empty spaces that still remained since Otho’s purge of foreign senators, the noise inside the chamber was such that each man had to fight against the men around him in order to speak to his neighbor. Domitius bent low in order to hide his mouth from the room at large as he spoke to a fellow supporter of Titus.
“What news my friend?” Domitius asked holding his hand to his mouth as if stifling a yawn.
“Nothing to tell, Domitius. Since the arrest of Fascallus no-one will speak to anyone else. I fear the rebellion has come to a feeble end.” As if to prove a point, the man slid sideways on the bench, away from Domitius. The praetor looked around the chamber and saw, almost at once, a phenomenon that had eluded him until now. Not one member of the rebellion sat next to another member, at least not close enough to speak.
The Praetor's heart sank. Did it really take so little to crush the spirit of the most powerful men in Rome? Maybe it did, he had to admit. The city had seen so much in the last couple of months, the assassination of the emperor, the kidnapping and eventual murder of hundreds of citizens and the invasion of the undead. Add to that, the purge of senators and the destruction of many parts of the empire. It was, Domitius surmised, no surprise at all that the rebellion had faltered. Still, it was a dagger to the heart to know that when Titus arrived at the city walls he would have no support inside.
Otho stepped into the chamber and caused a ripple of muttering that lasted for several seconds. His right eye was covered with a black leather patch. He gave the assembled ranks time to whisper about him and then spoke.
“It is the mark of a coward that he will send assassins in the night to do what he himself cannot.” There was another round of whispering, not all of it quiet. “Last night Prefect Ursus and I were the victims of an attempted murder. The attacker failed, as I am sure half of you are pleased to see.” There was a smattering of laughter from the senators at this rare show of hu
mour. Domitius winced, in his experience humour was often followed by violence.
“I assume the person who paid the assassin was Titus,” he said, looking round at the senators, laughter died on many lips and soon the room was silent. “I would hate to think that any of the men in this chamber were of a mind to send a killer after me. I was deeply hurt to learn that Fascallus was a traitor to the empire. Imagine how I would feel if I found out that anymore of the men in this room were working against me. Men, this empire depends on to run smoothly. Have I not demonstrated the lengths I will go to in order to make this empire stronger?”
The Chamber was utterly silent. No man on the benches dared cough, scratch or fidget in any way, through fear of attracting attention to himself. Nobody looked around at friend or foe because the idea that someone might look at them, terrified them. Domitius was as silent and still as the rest but he sat in his place on the bench and seethed. Indignant anger filled him but it was impotent rage. Without the backing of the men around him, what could he do? The answer was simply nothing.
The tension broke as Otho chuckled to himself. “Of course it was Titus! Who else could it be? After all, we are all friends here.” Without another word the moment was over. Otho turned towards his seat and motioned towards Ursus, who took the floor.
The Prefect wore a red scarf tightly around his neck. His voice sounded strained, as if he suffered from a sore throat.
“Gentlemen we have news of the traitor Titus. Despite valiant attempts to bring him to justice, he has escaped our grasp. His rebels have murdered the men we sent to uphold the law and apprehend him. It is believed he has now joined with the traitor legions and we should expect an attack imminently. To this end we wish to push through emergency measures allowing this house to commandeer men to work on the wall defences.” There was a cheer of general approval at this proposal and Domitius silently sighed to himself. Yet another proposal to use the people of Rome to strengthen Otho's tyrannical grip.
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