Legion Of The Undead_Rise and Fall

by Michael Whitehead

  Fabius waited while Titus composed his thoughts, waiting to learn if his words had sealed his fate. The legions fought on, slaughtering the undead by their hundreds but it would never be enough. The walls were forming a shadow that stretched out over the battle as the sun went down in the west. In another hour the night would close in and the battle would become a nightmare of fighting in the dark.

  “Do we turn our back on the city then? Do we leave Otho to his fate, whatever that may be. Do we leave the fate of the people in the hands of the gods? We have no idea how many Risen are already inside the city. The information we have is broken and splintered. There is no-one with the knowledge we need that can get to us. The men on the gate can see nothing but a small proportion of what is happening. The Risen may already be unconquerable. It could be that we open those gates and seal the fate of hundreds of thousands of people, by letting these monsters in. Maybe when we open that gate we unleash death on the people. It could also be that we are just in time to save the city from a fate worse than death,” Titus explained.

  Fabius swallowed with a dry throat. He knew the next words out of his mouth might mean his own death but he was compelled to say them. They could, at the very least, damage his friendship with Titus forever.

  “Do you care what happens to the people? Or are you just doing this in the hope of taking back what is rightfully yours?” He waited for a reply, but none came. Instead Titus stared at him, daring him to say more. The damage, whatever it might be, was already done, Fabius continued, “If you open those gates in order to save the people and everyone dies, then that is a noble act. If, however, you enter the city to take it from Otho, and in the process save every life, it will still be a selfish thing.” He stopped talking and looked out at the battle. He could not bring himself to look at the man he had spent his life following. Something between them had changed but Fabius would not feel sorry for that. There are moments when a man must do what is right, what is hard, despite the damage it might do him. Fabius had done the right thing, he was sure of it, but he could not look at Titus.

  If he had guessed the man’s motives correctly then the shame was the emperor's. If he had guessed wrongly, then the shame was Fabius’ for not trusting his friend. A man who had proven himself honourable so many times deserved his trust, but his father’s death had changed him. He was blind to the damage his hatred for Otho was doing to his judgement. Fabius saw it as his duty to question that judgement, even if the answer came at the end of a sword.

  Titus turned to the Tribune. “Tell me Fabius, what would you do?”

  Before them men continued to die, blood ran in rivers that were only dammed by the bodies of countless undead. Men and horses littered the field around them. So much death and so much loss.

  “I don’t know, Caesar,” Fabius replied, the honorific seeming fitting, even as life long friends spoke. “I only know that I would act in the interest of the people, they are Rome.”

  “Are they?” Titus asked. “Are they really Rome? They spend their lives in a state of perpetual immobility. Never moving forward, never driving on. Men like my father, the great men who have come before him, and yes, the great men who will come after him. Those are truly Rome, are they not?” He looked at Fabius but the tribune had no answer to the question. “Is it the mob who have made this city great or have they just benefitted from the actions of great men like Julius Caesar and Pompey Magnus? I say the people are the ones who should question their motives, not I. They have gained so much from this great city and men like my father. This is the time that they pay their dues.” He didn’t look to Fabius any longer. He turned to a cornicen.

  “Signal the men at the gate, I want it open, now,” he said.

  The man saluted and raised his large, curved horn to his lips. The signal was given and after a short delay, in the distance the Gates of Rome began to inch open. Finally Titus turned to his life long friend and with ice in his stare said, “Lead the men, tribune. May the gods protect you.” He rode away and left Fabius.

  The tribune bowed his head. He would fight and die with the men as they tried to enter the city. It would be his last act of love for his emperor. He dismounted his horse and strode toward the killing field. He raised his sword and stepped into the ranks. The action raised a cheer from men who would do what they always did, fight and die for men who ordered it. Fabius had given the order so many times that he could not remember any specific one.

  How many years had he robbed men of? How many centuries, millenniums, of life had been wiped from the world because of decisions he had made? Children that might have been born to men that he had ordered to die? Each order to charge into battle, each throwaway order to attack or retreat that cost lives, was a universe of potential life that would never be.

  He pushed his way through the massed ranks. Forcing his way to the frontline. Men found space to allow him to pass. The heat and smell were claustrophobic but he pushed his way forward. Eventually he found the rank that waited behind the dead space that his own tactics had created. His own idea that had allowed the men space to fight the undead on the beach.

  He stood and watched for his moment. Men fought like beasts, savage and proud. They fought for themselves, for the people in the city but most of all they fought for the men around them. They died the same way. Fabius waited until the man in front of him died and he ran. He joined the front rank with no fear in his heart. He had asked men to pay the ultimate price so many times, now he knew his payment was due. He fought hard and killed many undead. The men around him cheered his bravery and were buoyed by it. They fought harder for his presence.

  When he died it was with no regret. He was dragged from the front line and savaged by the Risen. It was such an ending that it would have been the stuff of legends, had men up and down the line not been dying the same way, over and over. Few marked his passing, those that did were dead themselves soon after.

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  Lee stared at the back of the door he had just closed. The Risen slammed themselves against it. He kept expecting it to crash inward with every thump but it held fast. He mother was shaking and crying with the shock of what had nearly happened to her. Her father knelt down to calm her, to quiet her crying in the hope that the undead might leave. She reached up and touched the corner of his mouth with infinite care, the blood there was already drying. The act of caring for someone else seemed to soothe her own fears.

  The noise behind the door changed. It was no longer the sound of the undead trying to break the door, it was more like fighting if Lee was any judge. He could hear metallic sounds and human voices, male voices. One seemed to be giving orders to however many others were out there. Lee put his eye to the door, hoping for a crack to see though through, the door was well made and he could do no more than wait for what was to come. Was it more raptores, in search of easy prey or salvation?

  Lee turned to see his grandfather had found a jug and was drinking from it. The storeroom was definitely for a shop of some kind. The old man looked at his daughter before getting a nod, he passed the jug to Lee. The young boy looked in the neck of the jug and saw a dark red liquid that could only be wine. He smelt it and the acrid stench made his nose tingle.

  “Drink some, it will calm you,” his grandfather said.

  Lee put the jug to his lips and took a mouthful of the rich, earthy liquid. It attacked his throat as he swallowed and left a bitter taste in his mouth but as it reached his stomach, he did begin to feel calmer. He tipped the jug again and his grandfather reached for it before he could drink a second time.

  “Not too much, child,” the old man laughed. “A little is good, a lot is not.”

  At that moment there was a knock on the door, a regular, human knock. Lee moved toward the door but his grandfather put a hand on his arm. The old man stepped toward the door and the knock came again.

  “Doctor? Lee? Are you in there?” a deep male voice asked. Lee thought he
knew the voice but couldn’t be sure. His grandfather seemed to know who it was, however. He unlatched the door and opened it.

  Two big men in military armour who looked too big for the doorframe stood looking into the room with expressions of relief on their faces. Lee recognised the two from Domitius’ house, they were friends of Vitus. The boy ran to the nearest one and threw his arms around him. The big man patted Lee awkwardly on the head. Not a man used to children, he did his best to console the boy.

  “We need to get out of here,” Gallus said to his partner. He turned to Naoki and Handan. He took in how shaken they both were, the drying blood around Naoki’s mouth and asked. “Are you two okay to run?”

  Lee translated the words, speaking mainly to his grandfather. The two members of the Chin family nodded in affirmation, making Lee smile. They each took another drink of the wine and before long they were heading out into the city once more.

  The house of Domitius was no more than a few streets away, but the chaos in the city meant that not even this was an easy task. As they exited the storeroom a man ran into the far end of the alleyway, chased by a Risen. The undead must have been a huge man when alive, it ran in a hunched over run and was still almost a head taller than the man he eventually caught.

  The victim went down with a thump as the Risen thundered into his back. His chin hit the ground with a crack that made them all wince. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he was knocked cold by the fall. The Risen was on him in an instant, taking a mouthful of flesh from the back of his neck. It was a blessing that he was unconscious, he died without being aware of what was happening to him.

  The party left the alleyway with Gallus in front and Tatius bringing up the rear. They moved as quickly as they could, and didn’t stop. Gallus hacked a Risen out of their path as they made their way up a narrow side street. It came at him from the side, he stepped toward it and stabbed up under its chin. It was dead before it knew what was happening. Gallus stepped back in line and they continued up the street.

  All around them people died. Men and women were dragged to the ground and feasted on by groups of five and six undead. They moved between the groups, hoping that easier prey would keep the Risen from attacking them. The bodies that lay already dead were distracting many of the creatures. Their need to eat was at least as powerful as their need to kill, or so it seemed.

  A group of four undead blocked their path as they neared the end of the street. It looked like it would be a hard fight for the two legionaries but at the last moment a young couple ran across their path, holding hands. The woman was screaming as they ran, tears streaming down her face. It was enough of a commotion that the Risen turned and chased the couple, distracted like a cat with a piece of string.

  Lee pulled at his mother's hand as they turned the corner and into the last street before they would see Domitius’ house. He tried to hurry her along but it was a pointless gesture. The group was moving at the speed of its slowest member, his grandfather. The pace made his jaw clench with fear and impatience in equal measure. He would never say such a thing, love and respect kept his tongue still.

  A row of houses were on fire. It was causing a screen of smoke to drift across the street and Gallus reached behind him to take Naoki’s hand. The old man reached behind him and took Lee’s hand in his own. In this manner they entered the bank of smoke in a chain.

  The smoke made Lee’s eyes water immediately, he could see nothing. A scream to his left made him jump, he would have run if he hadn’t been holding the hand of his mother and grandfather. He never saw who made the sound but it was cut short almost as suddenly as it started.

  It seemed to take forever to move through the smoke, which was probably no more than a hundred yards long. By the time they made it through, Lee was coughing uncontrollably and his chest burned.

  They pushed on from the smoke and within another minute they were at the house of Domitius. As they reached the door it was thrown open to show Lucia framed in the doorway. She stepped back to let them rush past and slammed the door behind them.

  Lucia shepherded them further into the house, before taking each in turn, hugging them fiercely. When she got to Lee she dropped to her knees and squeezed him tight. As he stood in her kind embrace he looked over her shoulder. Garic stood at the far end of the hallway looking, if anything, worse than they all did. Blood was drying at one temple and the eye on that side was swelling and turning black.

  Lee gently removed himself from Lucia’s embrace. He moved around her and toward his friend. For a second they both looked at each other and said nothing, then Lee jumped up and threw his arms around Garic’s neck, laughing.

  “It’s good to see you,” Garic said. His mind going back to the day he had been taken and the bravery that the boy had shown.

  “I missed you,” Lee said in return, thinking of the same day.

  Chapter twenty four

  “Caesar, I didn’t betray you,” Ursus said. It was a pointless gesture but one he felt he had to make. He had known this day would come, had been expecting it for years. Sooner or later, men like Otho turned on everyone close to them. In most cases, when they least deserved it.

  Otho backed away from him slowly, removing the blade from Ursus’ throat. Ursus let his emperor go, keeping the dagger at the man’s groin still. Each man watched the other's eyes as they allowed the space between them to grow.

  “How long have you been planning to overthrow me, Ursus?” Otho asked. “When did you hatch the plan? Have all of my men turned against me?”

  Ursus shook his head but knew there was no point trying to convince this man, his paranoia was legendary. “Your men are gone but not because of me. They’ve deserted us both, they are out there fighting for their own lives, just as we should be. There is still a chance to get you out of Rome. We can start again, somewhere else. Let me get as many men together as I can and we will use the tunnels. If we get to Ostia we can get a ship, sail to Sicily.”

  “Stop. I’ve heard enough of your lies,” Otho said. His back was arched forward and his knife was still in his hand, pointed at Ursus. “You tell me the tunnels are safe and now the city is overrun, you tell me you are loyal but have a dagger ready for me, when I test you.”

  “Try to kill me, you mean?” Ursus replied, all attempts to reconcile the situation ended.

  “If I wanted to kill you, then you would be dead,” Otho said with a grin fixed to his face.

  Ursus scanned the room. He could not trust Otho not to have guards secreted away behind curtains or elsewhere. It would be just like the man to pick an unfair fight. The sounds of fighting still reverberated around the palace, some so close that they sounded like they were in the next room. Was the palace already lost then?

  “You’ve always wondered who would walk away from a fight between us, haven’t you Otho?” Ursus taunted. He stepped forward, holding his own blade low.

  “Your true colours are showing at last then, Ursus?” Otho threw back at him. The two men began to circle each other, each being careful not to step too close to furniture which might foul their footing. Ursus tried to get onto Otho’s blindside, the black patch that covered the missing eye must put him at a disadvantage, it was one Ursus would try to exploit. Otho knew what he was trying to do, he would have been attempting the same thing, were their roles reversed.

  The two men had known each other for over a decade, between them forty years of military experience was being brought to this fight. This was not a barroom brawl, this was a meeting of experts.

  Otho stepped forward, testing Ursus. He stabbed the blade in, toward his opponent's stomach but withdrew just as quickly. Ursus didn’t react with any more than a step backward, controlling his feet with years of practice. He continued to circle to Otho’s blindside, forcing his opponent onto his back foot.

  Otho lunged in a second time, thrusting with his right hand and then swinging a punch in with his left. Ursus was ready for the move, he lifted his right arm to block the blow. Otho kept co
ming, he aimed a head-butt toward Ursus’ nose. Ursus managed to sway his head backward, deflecting most of the force of the attack. He still felt his nose fill with blood that stopped his breathing.

  Otho laughed as he backed away from the man who had been his most trusted ally. Ursus felt drops of blood running over his lips and down his chin. He fought to keep his mind clear, knowing that panic would mean his end.

  Otho attacked once more, Ursus took a step to his opponent's blindside, ramming a punch into Otho’s cheekbone, the emperor’s head swayed back but the man kept moving forward. Ursus drove his fist into the same place twice more before ducking under a return blow, aimed at his own face.

  The two men separated again, looking each other up and down.

  “We can still walk away from this,” Ursus said. “Neither one is as strong without the other. With Titus coming we need to stand firm.” He looked at Otho’s face and wasn’t sure the man was even hearing his words. There was a detached look that was close to insanity. Ursus kept talking, hoping, if nothing else, to distract Otho.

  “You can’t possibly think I would do all this to depose you. Look out the window, Rome is doomed, who would want to sit on a throne in a dead city.” He realised he was asking the wrong person, the man in front of him had done everything in his power to bring about this end, by design or folly. He destroyed everything he touched and Ursus had been there to help him at every turn. Did he regret it? No, not really, but it all felt like a waste now that he faced Otho at the end of a blade.

  He glanced quickly out of the window, Rome was now burning in more than one place. Fires raged that would eventually gut the entire city. Such a tightly packed place was open to fire spreading at such a rate that the only choice was to drag buildings to the ground in order to stop the fire from spreading. With the city fighting for its life this would just not happen.