Otho took advantage of Ursus’ brief loss of concentration. He came forward, kicking toward Ursus’ leading knee. The kick connected hard, Ursus felt his leg buckle and he was sent sprawling to the floor. He avoided a knife attack, aimed at his head, by rolling backward, then he kicked out toward Otho’s chest from the floor. His foot hit a solid target and Ursus was rewarded with a grunt of pain from Otho.
The blood around his mouth was gumming his lips together, making his breathing harder. He licked at his mouth and wiped the blood away with the back of his hand. Otho stomped down with his heel but Ursus was already rolling to his feet and wasn’t there when the stomp landed.
Ursus’ leg was on fire, the knee felt almost twice its usual size. He hobbled backward and waited for Otho to come at him again. Outside the door the sound of fighting seemed to have reached the corridor. Men shouted orders and Ursus heard someone try the door to the chamber. He wasn’t sure when it had been locked but whoever was on the other side of the door had no luck getting in.
Otho was being too silent and it was unnerving Ursus. He had known Otho long enough to know he liked to talk to people he was in conflict with. In every fight Ursus had seen him in, Otho had goaded his opponent. He taunted them, called them cowards, told them he was better than them in every way. Even in politics, he liked to belittle the senators. It gave him an advantage, backing up his actual physical superiority with a barrage of words. In most cases it was unnecessary, that was almost the point. He did it because it was easy. Ursus supposed it was a measure of how seriously Otho took him as an enemy, that he was trying to concentrate all his will into beating him.
“You’re quiet,” he said to Otho. This was to be a fight to the death it would seem and only Otho could change that now. Ursus would kill his master if he was forced to.
Otho grunted at him, all the response he would get.
“Seriously, Otho. I’ve never heard you shut up, why so quiet now?” he asked, trying to rub salt into Otho’s wounds. Otho smiled at him but said nothing. Instead he stepped back and drew his Gladius. No more playing with knives, it was all about brute force, the fight would not last long now. Ursus drew his own sword and went on the offensive.
He came in high, driving his blade down with all his might. Otho blocked the first blow and the second but by the time the third strike came in he was backing away from Ursus. He twisted away and drove an elbow into Ursus’ bicep. Ursus felt the blow and then his left arm went numb and dull, feeling heavy when he tried to lift it. He reeled backward as a barrage of strikes came his way in return.
Ursus blocked a number of attacks before he managed to step in and bring his iron shod sandal down, hard, on Otho’s foot. There was a crack of bone and Otho let out a cry of pain.
The two men separated again, both men now favouring one leg over the other and limping. Ursus felt every step he took as a brittle snap of pain that shot up his leg from his knee. He fainted to his left and at the last minute brought his sword around, backhanded. It came in low and metal found flesh. His blade scored a deep gash in the back of Otho’s calf. It should have been enough to tumble most men to the floor but Otho managed to swing his own gladius and strike a blow that dented Ursus’ armour across his back. The blow didn’t draw blood but it felt as if he may have at least one broken rib.
Exhaustion was beginning to takes its toll on Ursus, he had fought on the wall before coming to this room and in the days before he had seen little sleep and heavy work. The blade in his hand felt heavy.
Blood was running down the back of Otho’s leg, droplets of crimson could be seen on the mosaic floor. Ursus tried one last time to make his friend see sense.
“That cut will kill you, stop now. We can both still walk away from this,” he said.
“You took it all away from me,” Otho said, finally talking. Sounding like a sulking child.
“I took nothing from you, fate did. I did everything you asked me to do. I did it well, Caesar,” Ursus replied, using the title in an attempt to speak to Otho’s pride.
“Then why does my city burn?” Otho said pointing over Ursus’ shoulder to the smoking ruin that was Rome.
“Could this all have ended any other way?” Ursus asked, more to himself than Otho. “Those monsters consume everything in their path, they are a plague. Let’s be honest with each other, even if we can’t be honest with anyone else. We did nothing to stop them. They are sent from Hades and we thought we could control them. We were foolish,” Ursus said.
“I was foolish, you mean,” Otho said. His voice calm, and Ursus saw the tip of Otho’s blade dropping slightly. “If you thought so, why did you do what I asked?”
“Because you are my emperor. Because you are my friend. You wanted it all and I wanted to give it to you. Don’t you understand?” Ursus lowered his sword, hoping to demonstrate the truth of his words. “What will killing each other achieve?”
“How can I trust you? After all this?” Otho asked him, once more pointing toward the city outside the window.
“I didn’t start this fire, you have to know that,” Ursus said. He looked at Otho and made a decision, one he would live or die by. He didn’t know if he could trust the man he called emperor but he was about to find out. He lowered himself to one knee, trailing his beaten and broken leg behind him. The pain was excruciating but he knelt anyway, he lowered his sword to the mosaic floor and took his hand from it. His head was lowered but he saw Otho’s foot as the emperor walked to stand over him.
Ursus sensed rather than saw Otho reaching out a hand toward his lowered head, not knowing whether or not the hand held a blade. No shadow gave his fate away. He felt the hesitation in Otho, this act of contrition had taken the most powerful man in the empire by surprise.
Ursus watched a single drop of blood fall from the wound in Otho’s leg and waited. Time played games with him, making this moment count for all the moments of his life. Finally he felt Otho’s hand on the back of his head.
“Get up my friend, accept an emperor’s gratitude for all you have done,” Otho said from above him and Ursus began to breathe again. Two men at the point of killing each other had found it in themselves to be brothers once more. He tried to raise himself to his feet but his knee would not allow him. He saw a hand appear in front of him and took it, Otho pulled him to his feet. The two men stood and looked at each other until the spell of the moment broke.
“We have work to do,” Ursus said.
“We do,” Otho agreed, as he walked to the heavy curtains that framed the window. Taking his knife he cut thick strips of cloth. He handed a few of these to Ursus and cut more for himself. The two men began to bind their wounds, one supporting his knee while the other stopped the bleeding from the deep gash in his calf.
“Can we win back the city?” Otho asked. The question was short but full of weight. He would trust his friend's judgement but still keep his own council on the matter.
“As we are right now? Not even close. We are out numbered and the situation is getting worse. I think we may have to accept that Rome is gone,” Ursus said flatly. The pain he felt at the words was reflected back at him in Otho’s eyes. He knew the man across the room was almost incapable of guilt but that was okay, he felt enough guilt for two. It was crushing him, suffocating him. The city outside the window had almost certainly been doomed the moment the first Risen reached the base of the walls. Its fate was probably never in doubt but their actions had done nothing but speed the destruction.
“Do I leave the city to Titus then?” Otho asked under his breath. Ursus heard the question but let Otho answer himself. “What city?”
What city? Indeed. The centuries were being burned away as they stood in that room in the palace, bandaging their wounds. The village that had been home to Romulus and Remus would soon be ash. The Republic that had made this city the greatest in the world would be nothing but a distant memory, wiped away by a grey and rotting hand. The Empire was a lost and broken thing.
“We retreat. Ev
ery good general in history has known defeat at least once. It is how we react to defeat that makes us the men we are. We leave Rome and regroup. We put out a call to arms, send messengers across Italy, gather the men that survive,” Ursus said. He saw a sickening thing in Otho’s face, hope. There really was no point in hope, was there? These were surely just words to make the despair easier to swallow.
“Can we do it?” Otho asked.
“I believe you can,” Ursus lied. He would continue to tell that lie until there was no-one to tell it to. Rome was dead but the idea of Rome was not. The city had rebuilt itself, more than once. He would tell anyone who listened that it could be done again. If false hope was all men had left then false hope would be what he would give them. He would give it to the man they called emperor and help him pass it on to the people.
Outside, there was a change in the sound of the city, subtle at first then growing stronger. It was the panicked cry of a thousand voices. The city was already crying out in terror but this was different, the two men rushed to the balcony to see what was causing such a reaction.
Down in the courtyard, guards were fighting a pitched battle with the Risen who had poured over the walls. The palace was not over run yet, but unless something changed, it soon would be. It wasn’t this that was causing the uproar they could hear.
They looked out over the city toward a huge crowd that had gathered in the distance. With little choice left to them the people had started to gather at the Gates of Rome, hoping to escape the city. The men looking from the balcony knew there was no escape in that direction but the truth had been hidden from the people. It must have been a feeding ground for the Risen. Hunters taking weaker members of the herd while the prey sought sanctuary in the middle of the crowd.
It wasn’t this that had caused the panic, however. As they stood at the window watching, Ursus and Otho saw something that made the blood freeze in their veins. The Gates of Rome were opening. A sea of Risen washed into the city and over the crowd of people. If Rome wasn’t lost before, it was now.
Chapter Twenty Five
Vitus sat in a chair on the opposite side of Domitius’ desk, across from the Praetor. He looked at the grey haired man he had grown to respect and love, as if he were his own father. There were more than two decades between them in age but they had found each other to be kindred spirits in so many ways. They enjoyed each other's company and both valued the opinion of the other.
The other people in the house were busy making last minute preparations for leaving the city. Bags were already packed but each had things they wished to do before they set out. Food that needed to be prepared and weapons that needed to be sharpened.
“I’m not coming with you.” The words were short but the message they carried drove a dagger into Vitus. He had almost been expecting Domitius to say something like this but to hear the words was hard.
“You will almost certainly die if you stay,” Vitus said. He knew it would not change the Praetor's mind but he felt that it needed to be said.
“I know, I’ve discussed it with Flavia. In fact, I think she wants it more than I do.”
“What will you do?” asked Vitus.
“Bide our time, to start. Give the legions, those inside and outside the walls, a chance to win through and reclaim the city. After that, I’m a Praetor, Vitus, a senator of Rome. The city may need me, when this is all over.” Domitius said it all with no sadness, he was as matter of fact as always.
“When this is all over, the city may be in ruin. Please reconsider,” Vitus pleaded.
“Tell me, what do you aim to do after you leave Rome?” Domitius asked.
“Find somewhere away from people. I thought we might head back toward the Alps. Find somewhere high and defendable, in the foothills. Make a camp. Make a life. It won’t be easy but it can be done,” Vitus said.
“I’m too old for such a life. I’m soft, living in this city has made me soft. At best I would slow you down and at worst I would cost someone their life. My place is here.” Domitius looked at Vitus with a steady gaze.
“We have the doctor, he must be twenty, maybe even thirty years older than you, Domitius,” Vitus countered.
“And he is useful to the group, Vitus. I am so much dead weight. My skills are here, the city will need to be rebuilt, that is what I’m good at,” Domitius sighed. “I will miss you, Vitus. You’ve become a good friend. I bless the day you brought Lucia to me. Flavia has fallen in love with the girl and her young man, I, however am grateful to have met you. You make me proud to be Roman.”
Vitus waved the compliment away. “I’m honoured to have known you, Praetor. This has been a good time, despite everything. Are you sure I can’t convince you to change your mind.”
“I’m sure.” The Praetor spoke two words but Vitus heard a quiver in his voice that had not been there before.
“Scared?” Vitus asked.
“Completely terrified,” admitted Domitius with a nervous chuckle. He rubbed his hand across his face and looked tired.
“Who will you have here with you?”
Domitius shrugged. “I asked Paulus to go with your group but he is refusing to leave me. He’s a good man but I’m not sure he would be very good in a fight. We will hide here for as long as it takes and then try to help after the fighting is finished, one way or another. Even after you have all taken as much food as you can carry there will still be enough to last us for a couple of months.”
Vitus stood up and held out his hand to the senator. The older man raised himself slowly from his chair and took the hand in a firm grip. When the two men had first met it had been in the hopes of averting the exact disaster that had now befallen the capital. They had been hindered at each step but they both felt the failure. The assassination of Vespasian, the senatorial rebellion that had been no more than a whimper, the civil war between Titus and Otho that had turned out to be nothing more than two powerful men refusing to use their power for anything more than their own ends.
All of these events had meant that the two of them had been almost powerless to stop the events of the last few months. It felt like a bitter draft that they were forced to drink. Now their options had been reduced to surviving. If that was all that was left to them, then that is what they would have to do.
Vitus walked out into the hallway and Domitius followed. The rest of the group were almost ready, he looked around them, Garic had his wife Atia and young son, Regulus was with Lucia and the Chin family were all together. That left himself and the two legionaries, Tatius and Gallus, it would be their job to act as the honour guard. Keeping the group together and safe. As he looked at them all he realised that this was his family now. The legions were far behind him and he had no family of his own. These people in this crowded hallway were all he had.
Lucia had red rings around her eyes from too much crying. Flavia wore the same look, it seemed that while Vitus was hearing the news from Domitius, Lucia was hearing the same from Flavia. He reached over and took the young woman in a one armed hug. She gave him a weak and watery smile in return.
They spent a little time saying goodbyes and making promises to be safe, that they almost certainly couldn’t keep. Those that left felt they were making the right choice in leaving the city. Those that stayed did so out of a loyalty to Rome that was hard to argue with. Eventually there was nothing more to say and they were ready at the door.
“We move as quickly as we can all manage,” Vitus said looking at them all. He knew the slowest would be Naoki, although he wouldn’t single out the old man by looking at him for too long, and Regulus who still walked everywhere with a stick. “You all have some sort of weapon but unless we are forced into a fight then we keep moving. No matter what you see out there, your own safety is more important.”
Half of the faces looking back at him had fighting experience. Regulus, as weak as he was, had seen battle, more than once, the two legionaries had a wealth of experience and even Garic now knew how to fight the undead, the r
est would need protecting. He looked up onto the stairs where Domitius and Flavia were standing with their arms around each other. He nodded wordlessly to them both and gestured to Paulus to open the door.
The street was a running battle. Praetorian guard fought alongside civilians against the undead. Bodies lay in the street, some with Risen eating from them. Vitus led the way along the front of the houses, Tatius and Gallus kept the group together, while Garic kept the back of the group safe. It was a box designed to keep the fragile contents safe.
Smoke was drifting across the city, not thick here where the houses weren’t too close together but there must have been serious fires elsewhere. It lingered like a mist and hindered the chances of seeing too far ahead.
A Risen appeared from around a corner just in front of Vitus. It had a broken jaw that gave it a surprised expression. It might have been funny in other circumstances. Vitus swung hard, splitting its face almost in two. It lay crumpled on the street and the group stepped over it.
They ducked between two houses and found a little space to move quicker for a short distance. Out onto the next street the smoke began to thicken. At times they almost lost sight of what was in front of them, Vitus felt a hand holding the back of his tunic and glanced back to see Lee with a fist-full of material. He gave the boy a brief smile and led them onward.
The steps of a temple that Vitus didn’t know, were the scene of a massacre. Bodies lay strewn around the door that was closed. Candlelight shone inside the high windows but nobody had found refuge with the gods on that day, it seemed. They skirted the area and slipped down another alleyway.
As they reached the end, a group of about a dozen legionaries ran across the entrance to the right. Vitus stopped the group and approached the street ahead. He put his head out and checked the way. The legionaries had joined a fight against more than twice their number of Risen. They were holding their own, using shields and spears but the fighting was ugly. He watched one man go down, set on by three Risen, he died screaming on the dirt.
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