“The next person who speaks to me had better step forward so that I can see their face,” he called to them.
Nobody moved, nobody spoke. Alba nodded, just as he thought.
“Go home, before it’s too late,” he said to them but still nobody moved. Fine, let them die, it was nothing to him. What were these people compared to his brothers who died behind the gate? Nothing at all.
“Open the gate,” he called to his men.
The team at the gate had removed the beam and placed it to one side. Now they split into two teams of five and began pulling the gate itself. Slowly at first, then with more speed, Alba saw the blue sky appear between the two sides of the gate.
When fully open the gate left a space wide enough for twenty men to pass through side by side. It was into this opening that the Risen poured. Alba gave orders to his men to run, they did so without hesitation. Before he retreated, Alba saw one of his men caught in the tidal wave of undead that poured through into the city. The legionary was tumbled to the ground and lost from sight almost immediately.
Alba turned and sprinted after his men. They passed into the city and onto the streets, past scenes of utter devastation. When he drew them to a halt they were in a small district square. He formed them into a square and waited for the Risen to find them. They had to hold out until Titus and his legions passed through the gate. He would sell his men’s lives at as high a cost as possible but each knew they would probably be dead by the time the main army found them. It was a cost they had accepted when they had been given the mission.
To be a part of the legion was to understand that your life might be sacrificed in order for a greater purpose to be achieved. Now, in order for Titus to gain the city, it was the turn of Alba and his men to pay that price.
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Titus watched the Gates of Rome open before him. Infuriatingly slowly the sun, low over the buildings, shone though the opening that appeared. He stood up in his horse’s stirrups in order to get a better view, undignified, but he was beyond caring. His men knew how much he needed to get inside the city, it didn’t hurt to show them once more.
The effect was immediate, the horde of undead seemed to begin pouring into the city. Those facing the legions continued to fight. It was savage and bloody but there was finally a chance that the legions would succeed.
It was on his lips to turn to Fabius and give him orders, but the Tribune was gone. Such a betrayal at the time Titus needed him most was unforgivable. His failure to carry out orders in the midst of battle was treason of the highest order. Titus wept for the loss of his friend and cursed the man who had made him punish him in such a way.
Titus shook himself out of his thoughts, they did no good and would only damage his decisions. He turned to his staff officers. “How many cavalry are still fit to fight?” he asked.
The men around him looked at each other, all of them hoping that someone else knew the answer. Titus despaired, he cursed Fabius once more for his absence.
“Get a message to what is left of the cavalry units. They are to split their force and clear the flanks. I don’t care how it is done, kill the Risen, lead them away from the gate, sacrifice their horses to cause a distraction. Just tell them to get it done.”
The staff officers looked back at him, dumbfounded. He had just ordered his cavalry into an impossible suicide mission and no-one wanted to be the one to ask if the order was real or if Titus was just venting anger. Titus refused to acknowledge their unspoken question and was finally rewarded by the sound of one of the officers riding off toward the rear of the legion, where the cavalry were recovering from the fight.
Through the gate Titus could see a massacre taking place. The Risen were inside the city and were destroying whoever or whatever was on the other side of the wall. Good, it was having the desired effect, each one of the undead that stepped through the gate was followed by another and another. They were easy to control, if you knew how to do it, he thought.
The army of monsters facing his men was still huge but there were thin parts in their ranks and his men were getting a foothold back in the battle. Titus wondered if Fabius was aware that he had made the right decision.
Horses thundered past him on both sides, he watched as they swept past the flanks of the Risen army, taking heads as they went. They had been a valuable force since reaching Rome but inside the city they would be next to useless. Better that they spend their last energy here than save themselves for a fight they could not be a part of once inside the walls.
Titus turned to the cornicen. “Sound the advance, I will have the Risen crushed against the wall. We will remove their manoeuvrability.” The man put his curved brass horn to his lips and sounded several short notes, followed by one long one. In the ranks he heard centurions shouting orders and slowly, the ranks began the steady push and move of the advancing shield wall.
It was ten long minutes of devastating fighting later that Titus knew his fight for the gate had succeeded. The cavalry had sustained massive losses but there was space at the edges of the Roman line. He had lost over half of his total force according to the reports he was receiving but they had gained the gate.
He looked out across the battlefield with a weary eye. The dead lay as far as he could see, piled three and four deep in places. True Roman heroes lay in loving embraces with the rotting corpses of the Risen. Thousands of lost lives and thousands more undead brought to an end. It was sickening that the actions of Otho had brought this day about. The assassination of Emperor Vespasian had cost an empire of people their lives. The towns and cities up and down Italy, the countless legionaries, the people of Rome. Titus had finally put himself in a position to begin to put it all right.
He would hunt Otho down and have him pay for everything he had done. The Praetorian guard were no more than disparate bands of fighters, according to his reports, there was no battle to be won against them. Titus would declare an amnesty and bring the men into his fold. There would be no amnesty for Otho or that dog Ursus. They would pay in flesh for what they had cost the empire.
He turned to one of his staff, a short, skinny man who could not have lifted a shield for more than a second or two. “I want the area inside the gate secured. Two hundred yards in all directions. I want no-one alive or dead inside the cordon unless they are wearing my colours. I will not have Otho leave assassins amongst the bodies.”
The officer saluted and turned to give the orders to a messenger, after a moment the man raced off to pass the orders among the centuries. Titus allowed himself to drift behind his legions as they went about securing the area. He had his personal guard of two centuries, that was never too far away but he was content to look over the battlefield until the word was given that he was safe to enter his father’s city.
He walked over the field, his staff officers giving him a respectable amount of privacy. He had waited a long time for this moment, to enter Rome. Otho had denied him his homecoming and Titus would make him pay for that, for now, Titus would concentrate on freeing the city from the Risen. It would be hard fighting, moving street to street, cleaning as they went. Each building would have to be emptied. The fires would have to be extinguished, if they hadn’t burned themselves out already. Much of Rome would need rebuilding. All of this would have to wait until the undead were gone.
Titus saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see a Risen in Roman armour, one of his men, bitten before he died. Titus walked toward the unfortunate creature, hoping to put it out of its misery. It wasn’t until he got closer that he realised that it was Fabius. Of all the thousands of bodies that lay scattered on the killing floor, Titus had been drawn to this spot.
He looked at Fabius and the Risen tried to raise himself onto his elbows. The damage to his neck and shoulders was such that he couldn’t even manage to raise his head. He flailed and flopped on the ground like a fish that longed to return to its pond. The mouth and eyes hunted
for Titus’ flesh, feeble and broken as he was, the Risen thought of nothing but killing and eating.
Pity filled Titus’ heart. This man had been a traitor in the end but he had been a good friend and servant for many years. To see a Tribune of Rome brought to such an undignified end was hard to see. Titus drew his knife from his belt and knelt down on one knee next to his former friend. Fabius snapped his teeth at him but could manage no more, the flailing arms had no control. Titus took hold of a handful of Fabius’ hair and put his knife to the soft spot under his chin. For one moment Titus thought the Risen might had recognised him, there was a gleam in his eyes, as soon as it appeared it was gone. He stabbed the blade up into the creature's brain, stilling it instantly.
Titus never saw the Risen that bit him, so intent was he with ending Fabius’ indignity. His kneeling leg presented itself to an undead woman who had been covered over by the body of a legionary. She wriggled free while all eyes were on Titus and Fabius. Nobody saw her raise her head until it was too late. The tendon at the back of Titus' heel was exposed to her teeth and she bit hard. If she had only known that her mouth was tasting royal flesh.
Titus rolled away from her, ripping flesh from his leg as he did. Men rushed to his aid from all sides but it was too late, the damage was done. They carried Titus from the battlefield, blood pouring from the already festering wound in his leg. They destroyed the Risen that had bitten their emperor but soon enough he would join her in Hades.
Titus screamed as he was picked up and carried by many arms. He felt the world move in and out, spinning as it went. A voice sounded above the rush of blood and panic in his head.
“Get him to the palace,” was all it said.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Otho watched in horror as the Gates of Rome opened. Though he could not see enough to know exactly what was happening at the gate, he could see the flood of Risen that poured into the city. The crowd of people inside the gate was overwhelmed, almost immediately, by a boiling mass of bodies. The screams inside the city reached a new volume, even to the two men who watched Rome burn from high in the palace.
“We need to get you out of here, Caesar,” Ursus said with a finality that would not be brooked.
“Agreed, gather as many men as you can muster,” Otho said without taking his eyes off the gate. Thousands of Risen were rushing into the city. People were running from the undead but numbers overwhelmed them. There was no escape and hundreds died in the first seconds. The Risen spread across the part of the city Otho could see, like a dark stain on white cloth.
He was vaguely aware that Ursus was no longer standing with him. He turned to see he was alone, the Prefect having left to gather an escort. He looked around the opulent room and wondered how it had all come to such an end. He had played his part, there was no point denying it. Pride had made him think he could control the undead. He knew now that they were a force of nature, something only a god could control. For all his folly, he was never under the illusion that he was a god, not like some of his predecessors on the throne.
Never could he have foreseen the damage the Risen could do. He had allowed them to roam across Italy in the false belief that he could finish Titus and then turn his mind to the undead. It had been a fool's dream to think he could fight these creatures at all, he knew that now. It was like trying to hold back water with only his hand. He could do it for a while but eventually the floor would get wet. These monsters were unstoppable, every time you thought you had one in your grasp, two more were coming up behind you.
Outside in the corridor there was the sound of fighting, it was brief and then there was silence. Titus drew his sword, an ornate blade he had taken from Vespasian’s private rooms when he had first taken the throne. He waited, easy and ready, for whatever or whoever came through the door. He may be emperor and let others do his fighting now, but he had been a powerful soldier until very recently. There had been no relaxing of his exercise regime in his time on the throne.
The door handle did not turn, nobody knocked on the door. Otho relaxed and put his sword back in its scabbard. The room was one of the most opulent in the palace. There were bigger and better decorated rooms in the public areas but every piece in these private quarters was fit for an emperor. Some of the public areas looked rich but much of it was facade. Gifts from poorer nations and tithes that turned out to be nothing more than trinkets. They filled the rooms and looked nice but the things in the private quarters were the real treasures.
Now they would all be lost, maybe forever. If Rome really was at an end, a wealth of history and treasure would be forever forgotten. He wondered about having some of the men gather up some of the more valuable pieces but to what avail? The world had changed now. Gold had less value than a good sword, the written word meant less than the next meal.
The door opened and Ursus rushed into the room, carrying a sword and looking flustered.
“Caesar, the palace is lost. The men are scattered and I’m afraid we are on our own.” Ursus wiped thick black fluid off the blade of his sword with a cloth that was tied to his belt.
“What do you mean lost? Are you telling me that we can’t escape the city?” Otho demanded.
“I’m telling you we can’t get out of the palace,” Ursus replied. His eyes looked panicked and his breathing was heavy. “I got to the bottom of the stairs but I could go no further. The whole place is in chaos.”
Otho moved toward a marble and gold table in the corner of the room. He took a large jug from the table and filled two heavy silver goblets. He marvelled at how steady his hand was as he poured. Taking both goblets, he passed one to Ursus.
“I ask myself if things might have turned out better, had I acted differently. Could I have taken the legions to the field and beaten the Risen? Did I do what I did because I thought it was right or because I was scared?” Otho asked.
Ursus felt that the emperor wanted an answer but knew there was none he was willing to give.
“Would Titus have behaved any differently than I? Would he have given up the throne in order to save it for somebody else, to save it for me? I’d give everything up to ask him.” Otho drained his drink in one long draft and walked back for the jug. He returned and walked past Ursus to the balcony. After pouring another drink he passed the jug to Ursus and leaned on his elbows, looking out over the city once more. Dusk was falling and firelight lit the city now. An orange glow full of hatred, capped by bellows of thick smoke, filled the darkening sky.
“I tried to take it in my hand and ended up crushing it,” Otho said to his oldest friend.
“You just didn’t know it was already broken,” Ursus replied.
Out of the darkness there came a noise so familiar, yet so out of place among the screams and fighting that reached the palace from the city. It was the sound of legionaries in formation. Not a full legion but, to a trained ear, the sound of organised men.
They both leaned out to see where the sounds were coming from. At first they could see nothing through the gathering smoke but, after a while, they caught sight of the banner and eagle of Titus' legions. The men carrying it were no more than a few hundred strong, but they fought with organisation and motivation.
Otho watched as they moved steadily up the street outside the palace wall. Destroying anything that moved in their path, they stopped for nothing. As they reached the palace entrance they halted and seemed to be putting up a defence while they worked on opening the gate. A number of men climbed the palace walls and soon the large wooden gates were opening.
Inside the courtyard, they brought discipline to the chaos. The Praetorian guards who still fought to defend the palace joined ranks with the men who should have been their enemy. Someone gave orders for the walls to be defended once more, and more than a hundred men fought in formation to clear the courtyard of the undead. It was Roman strength put to its best use, Otho had to admit. Titus was good. If a man judged himself by his enemies, then Otho could be proud.
After they left
the courtyard, Otho lost sight of the new troops. For the present time a relative peace held inside the walls, men fought to keep out the Risen and the palace was strangely quiet compared to the chaos of the city beyond.
The following moments were strange indeed. They could hear the troops moving through the palace, at times they could even guess which room or corridor they were in. The shouts and sounds of fighting carried along the mosaicked halls. Twice the centuries seemed to halt, this was when the sounds of combat reached a crescendo. These fights were over quickly but sounded frenzied and intense.
Soon the sounds of dozens of footsteps could be heard in the private parts of the palace. Otho drank another goblet of dark, red wine and waited for the inevitable moment when his door would open and his life would end. He held out no hope of escape. His fate was sealed and that was probably right.
He had done so much damage to the empire and for that he was truly sorry. He would not apologise to Titus for the death of Vespasian, however, that act did not weigh on his conscience. He had played the game of power, as had so many great men before him. For a while it looked like he had won, but in the end no victory is forever. Vespasian had sat on the greatest throne in the world for longer than most. Had it not been Otho that had removed him from it, then somebody else would have done. The idea that he might pass the empire to Titus was laughable, no emperor had ever done so before. Fathers did not pass the empire to sons, it was not the Roman way.
The door was thrown open with a crash that almost unhinged it from the frame. Legionaries and centurions flooded into the chamber, looking dusty and bloody. The room was filled with noise and energy that was shocking after the last few, quiet moments. Otho turned to Ursus and the two men shared a final look before the pain and death began.
Four men moved toward Otho with gladius’ drawn, the same number confronted Ursus.
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