by T. A. Uner
“What an understatement,” Lorien replied, “you were magnificent!”
After they had talked some more Lorien retired for the evening. “You must allow me to return your hospitality in my home,” she said. “I admit it isn’t as spacious as your estate but still I am known by my friends to be quite an excellent host.”
“We would be delighted,” Sylvia replied, before Lorien took her leave. One of the slaves handed her her cloak and she wrapped herself in it.
“I look forward to seeing you again, as well,” Lorien said to Eliana before she took her leave. After Lorien had left, Eliana found herself thinking about the mysterious beauty.
{III}
Caligula paced his throne room while Drusilla watched.
“I simply do not know who to appoint as the new Praetorian prefect!” he said. A slave brought in a platter of food but he sent it away. “I didn’t know it would be this difficult naming a successor.”
“If I may be so bold to say so brother,” Drusilla said respectfully, “it was a mistake to remove Macro from office. His suicide, along with his wife’s, may hurt your public image.”
Caligula sniggered. “Beloved sister, Gods do not make mistakes!”
“Still, brother, you must name a worthy successor…and quickly.”
Caligula scoffed at his sister’s words. “Thus the topic grows wearisome, let us discuss something else,” he said before seating himself on his throne.
“Such as?”
“I’ve been hearing disturbing rumors, sister.”
“What type of rumors?”
“The people seem to think that we are lovers.”
“I see,” Drusilla said. Her flushed crimson.
“These filthy tales started circulating shortly after I dissolved your marriage to Lucius Cassius Longinus.”
“This never would’ve happened if you hadn’t annulled my marriage, dear brother.”
“Lucius was a fool. Besides, you knew I could barely tolerate his presence. Ending that farce of a marriage was one of my finest deeds as emperor.”
One of the throne room guards approached Caligula. “Your Godship, there is someone here to see you.”
“Who is it?” Caligula asked, wondering who could be calling on him at this late hour.
“He claims he is an old friend of yours, Excellency, Marcus Aemilius Lepidus.”
Caligula’s eyes lit up. “Marcus Aemilius Lepidus?”
The guard nodded.
“Well, by all means,” Caligula said as he stood up from his throne, “Allow him in.”
The guard left the throne room. “Who is this man?” Drusilla asked, “I have never heard his name before.”
“A childhood friend,” Caligula replied. He straightened his toga, “I haven’t seen him in years.”
The guard returned with a young man and two more guards trailing them. Marcus wore a loose-fitting beige tunic and had curly brown hair. Upon seeing Caligula he smiled. “It is good to see you again, Gaius,” Marcus said.
Caligula embraced Marcus and looked him over. “Marcus Aemilius Lepidus,” he said warmly. “It has been too long, old friend, too long indeed.”
“I apologize for not coming sooner to congratulate you on your ascendency to Emperor.” Marcus said. “I also hear you recently recovered from a dire illness and wanted to see how you were doing.”
“What a kind gesture,” Caligula replied, “but if you must know, after awakening from my illness I shed my mortality and realized my true omnipotence as a God.”
Drusilla smiled. “Well, yes, of course you are, Gaius, of course you are.”
Marcus smiled nervously, but looked confused.
“Where are my manners,” Caligula said turning toward Drusilla, “Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, this is my beloved sister and chief advisor, Julia Drusilla.” Marcus bowed his head respectfully at Drusilla and kissed her hand. “You never told me your sister was so lovely.”
Caligula laughed while a slave brought some wine and poured everyone a glass. Caligula raised his goblet. “I offer a toast,” he said proudly, “to Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, friend to both Rome’s emperor and benevolent god: Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus.”
Everyone chinked their glasses together before savoring the wine. They made more small talk before Lepidus excused himself. Caligula ordered his personal guard escort his friend home.
After Marcus had left, Caligula stared at Drusilla intently.
“Brother, whenever you get that look in your eye I sense you are up to something.”
“I was thinking.” Caligula interlaced his fingers. “I may have a way of putting an end to those nasty little incest rumors.”
Drusilla wanted to throw her head back and laugh, but she had a bad premonition. “About us being lovers?”
“Yes, I see Marcus has already taken a liking to you. I wonder how he would feel about a little proposal I made to him.”
Seven/Septem
The cold front had moved out of the area, but Vulcan’s heart was numb inside his chest.
After the light snowfall had ceased, Vulcan emerged from his tent to survey the camp. The troupe had dismissed most of the freedmen along with Renfrus the cook and his family. With Anna’s death, and Tullus off to find Hradack, there wasn’t much sense in carrying a full staff. Besides, neither Gansu or Masego felt like working, and Vulcan could hardly blame them.
The German trudged over to his makeshift forge which had been dusted with snow, while some of the ground snow had turned to frozen slush. Next to the forge, the remaining three freedmen huddled around a campfire talking amongst themselves and drinking spiced wine. The wind had died down as the mild snow fall had moved off. Yet a mild chill in the air remained. Above the sky was overcast; he could only see a faint glow of hazy sunlight as it attempted to penetrate the waxy clouds coating it.
The freedmen called Vulcan over and he slowly walked through the slush before seating himself on a wool blanket they had spread out for him on a dry patch of land. One of the freedmen, a Thracian named Ober, smiled as he handed Vulcan a cup of warm spiced wine which Vulcan was grateful for.
“I don’t suppose you’ll have much work for us now, huh Vulcan?” Ober asked.
The German took a sip of wine and swallowed. It warmed his chest as it eased down his throat and into his stomach. The first taste of alcohol he had drank since Anna’s death.
“Not much,” Vulcan replied dourly. The other two freedmen nodded.
“When do you think our Chief and his Incantra will return?” Chief was Ober’s nickname for Tullus.
Vulcan sighed, exhaling a breath of cold air. Who knew when Tullus would return? Of course the men had a right to ask. Rude as it was, Vulcan did not feel like answering Ober. Instead he shrugged. The campfire embers crackled as they burned, a light orange glow surrounded by charred pieces of wood. At least it offered heat, much like the wine. Vulcan rubbed his nose. His nostrils were sore. He watched Masego emerge from one the tents and trudge toward him. He wore a fur cap and thick animal skins to shield him from the cold. Vulcan took another sip of wine before Masego seated himself around the fire. Ober offered Masego some spiced wine, but the large African declined, instead he warmed his gloved hands by the fire.
“So, what’s the plan, Vulcan?” Masego asked. “Are we going to sit here and freeze our cocks off?”
Vulcan shot Masego a churlish glance; he had never seen the African behave in such an unwrought manner.
Chalk it up to Anna’s death, I suppose.
“It’s not that cold Masego. Besides, we can’t break camp until Tullus returns,” he replied sternly. “Have you seen Gansu?”
Masego grunted and pointed toward the camp. “Meditating in his tent, as always.”
Vulcan grinned. “You could learn some patience from our Chinese friend. He never complains, he fights through difficulties. Perhaps you should focus on finding us some dinner since Renfrus is no longer with us.”
“Bah,” Masego replied, “I haven
’t seen any game in days, besides, I thought you didn’t like my cooking, Vulcan?”
Vulcan swallowed another mouthful of spiced wine and belched. “It was Anna who disliked your cooking, not I. You know me I’ll eat almost anything, as long as it’s dead.”
Masego stood up and stretched. “Well, I best get going, that dinner’s not going to catch itself.” He left Vulcan and the two freedmen to their fire.
“I better get going as well,” Vulcan said to the freedmen, “Have to check our supplies, make sure we can get through this winter.” The freedmen nodded and Vulcan stood to take his leave. As he slowly made his way toward the larder, he noticed a hooded figure in the distance approaching the camp from the east before rounding a dense patch of shrubbery covered in snow. At this distance he could not make out if it was a man a woman, friend or foe. Vulcan grasped the hilt of his throwing axe as the newcomer crept closer.
“Hello, there,” Vulcan called out. “Bit of a cold day for a stroll don’t you think?”
No reply from the stranger. Vulcan didn’t like the look of this.
And what if this person is unfriendly, he thought. Gods damned bad timing for Masego to leave camp.
“I say,” Vulcan called out again, “state your purpose here.”
The hooded figure stopped ten steps in front of Vulcan. Its face was shrouded in shadow, but after studying the stranger, Vulcan suspected the newcomer’s build belonged to a woman.
“I’m looking for the one who calls himself The Leopard King,” a female voice said as tendrils of cold air emerged from the front of the hood.
Vulcan drew his axe. “What business do you have with him?”
The woman approached Vulcan and lowered her hood. Vulcan’s eyes widened as he gazed upon her face, and he dropped his axe.
It was Anna.
{II}
“Who are you?” Vulcan said.
“Anna never spoke of me?” said the woman. “That makes sense, we didn’t always get along.”
Vulcan knelt and picked up his axe, his eyes still wide with shock. “Anna had a twin?” he said disbelievingly. “Orcus take me.”
“Yes, I’m Artia Bellovaci,” the woman said. “Is there someplace warmer we can talk?”
Vulcan nodded. “This way,” he said, still half-shocked by the unexpected visitor, “we can speak inside my tent.” He led Artia to his tent as their footsteps made a crackling sound upon the snow. Inside, Vulcan lit a taper and closed the flap of the tent to conserve warmth.
“Can I offer you something to drink? Wine, Water?”
“Water,” Artia said as she sat down on a couch and stretched her legs out.
“I apologize for the cold inside the tent,” Vulcan said. “I shall light the brazier shortly.”
“There is no need for that,” Artia said as she pulled a small vial from inside her cloak. After emptying its contents into a small jar, a small green flame arose. Vulcan felt a sudden ring of warmth surround him.
“How did you…”
“It’s quite easy, actually,” Artia said, “I’m a Potion Mistress.”
Vulcan handed Artia a cup of water and settled into his chair. “I did not think your order existed anymore. Especially after Augustus’ edict which banned the use of magic.”
Artia sipped her water. “There are a few of us left, but we try to remain hidden to avoid detection. But I did not travel here to discuss my occupation.”
Vulcan grimaced. “You wish to talk about Anna.”
Artia nodded. “How did she die?”
“She died fighting for something she believed in,” Vulcan said, “in bringing justice to a man we all loved.”
“Paullus Gabinius,” Artia muttered.
“I see you are familiar with our departed friend.”
Artia grimaced. “Yes, I have heard of him,” she replied, “but what of this Leopard King? I wish to speak with him on a subject of great importance. Before her death, Anna wrote to me about him. He is your new leader…is he not?”
“You are well-informed Artia, but, as you can see, he is not here at the moment,” Vulcan said. “I have assumed temporary leadership duties until he returns.”
Artia exhaled. “Do you know when he will return?”
Vulcan shook his head to indicate he didn’t.
“I would like to visit my sister’s grave,” Artia said. She stood up and pulled her hood over her head.
“Of course,” Vulcan said. He wasn’t looking forward to the experience, he had already spent more than a week trying to purge the pain of Anna’s death from his memory. But he knew Artia had a right to visit Anna.
Vulcan pulled back the flap of the tent and allowed Artia through the opening. The cold air greeted his face and he scratched his beard before making the short trek to Anna’s resting place north of their camp, underneath a great laurel tree.
The snow had covered the cairn where Anna lay buried. Vulcan helped Artia clear off some of the snow and ice that covered it. “This was one of Anna’s favorite places. She spent many, happy moments here.” He stepped back from Artia to give her privacy. “Well, I’ll let you two be alone,” he said, moving off from under the tree. He felt apprehensive. The tree’s branches cast a triangular shadow on Anna’s grave.
Vulcan wondered if he should tell Artia about Anna and Tullus. Perhaps it would soothe the potion mistress if she knew her sister had found love before her death, and the happiness she and Tullus shared. But for now, he would wait.
Artia kneeled before Anna’s grave and patted the mound where her sister lay. Vulcan saw her wipe a tear from her face.
It must be difficult to say goodbye to a loved one, Vulcan thought, especially if you hadn’t parted under good terms. He remembered his own relationship with his brother. Perhaps, one day, he would return to his tribe in the north and settle his differences with his brethren.
Artia collected her composure and approached Vulcan.
“If it’s any consolation, Anna was much loved by all here,” he said.
“Thank you,” Artia replied as swirls of cold breath floated from her lips, “but since your leader isn’t here it is my duty to warn you.”
Vulcan scowled. “Warn us of what?”
“That you’re all in great danger.”
{III}
“I assure you, Artia,” Vulcan said as they walked back toward his tent, “my comrades and I are perfectly capable of defending ourselves. So, we’re quite safe here.” He pulled back the flap of his tent again and allowed her inside.
“You don’t understand,” Artia said, “I have felt a coming evil in the land. The first great disorder since the end of the Serpent Wars.”
“How can you be sure of this?”
“I am blessed with Gift.”
Vulcan smirked. “It’s going to take a lot more than that to convince me.”
Artia she lifted an oil lamp off its hook and poured a green liquid into it. A green flame sprouted from it before she closed her eyes. “I sense there is something you are not telling me. I see you have knowledge of something I seek.”
Vulcan felt lightheaded.
Does she know Elemence? Why do I feel a presence inside my head. It’s as if someone is reading my thoughts.
“That’s enough,” Vulcan said. “I don’t like people poking around in my head without permission.”
Artia opened her eyes. “Now do you believe I have Gift?” she insisted. “I’m looking for the Door…you know about it.”
“Aye, I know of it,” he said cautiously. “But I don’t know exactly where it is hidden. Only Tullus knows its exact location, besides what do you want with that cursed thing?”
Artia said, “I want to destroy it.”
“If you know anything about the Door you know it cannot be destroyed by conventional means.”
Artia nodded. “I know that,” she exhaled, “that’s why I’m going to Rome, to seek the help of the Elders.”
Vulcan scoffed. “The Elders are all dead,” he replied, “an
d even if any of them survived you don’t think they’d come out of hiding to reveal themselves. That would warrant an automatic death sentence. In case you’ve been sleeping for the past twenty years they’re laws against the use of magic.”
Artia smiled. “Of course I know, what I meant was I am going to seek out the wisdom of The Elders, inside the Apex.”
“You can’t be serious! How?”
“The Elders may be gone but their wisdom lives on,” Artia said, a quaint smile glossed her lips, “I plan on destroying the Door through magical means. As far as I know nobody has visited the Apex since The Last Stand, so its magic secrets are probably still intact.”
“Yes, and there’s a reason for that. It’s off limits.”
“That’s why I need your help, Vulcan. You and the others. I cannot undertake this endeavor alone.”
Vulcan sighed, when he did the green flame inside Artia’s taper flickered brightly. “I promised my friend, Tullus, I would wait for him until he returned from his visit. Now, you are asking me to forsake my promise?”
Artia’s eyes narrowed. “The fate of millions rests on our actions, if the Door is not destroyed, soon, a great evil will consume the world.”
“So you say!” Vulcan retorted. “But I’ll need more proof before I change my mind.”
“I see,” Artia replied. “Come closer, and look into the flame.”
“Why?”
“You asked for proof. You shall have it.”
Vulcan hoped this strange woman wasn’t about to dupe him. “Very well, Artia.”
He eyed the flame. It burned brightly and for a moment he could only see a white aura within it. Then, slowly an image formed inside of it. He saw Tullus, his friend’s face was mired in pain. Vulcan shuddered and the image disappeared.
“Tullus,” Vulcan muttered.
“Yes,” Artia said, “Your friend is in danger as well. We must find this Door and destroy it as soon as possible.”
Eight/Octo
“I herby appoint you Praetorian Prefect, complete with all powers associated with its office,” Caligula said.
