The Bane of Gods

by Alaric Longward

  “Hraban!” Wandal called out, horrified.

  I didn’t listen. Long months of frustration for the role of a Guard were pushed aside, and I laughed with savage joy as I killed.

  It was the gate and the men between us that I thought about.

  I thought about making widows and sad mothers.

  Braving blades, crashing on enemy shields, I hacked down, then sawed the ax into a neck, and put down two more men. A champion, a bearded brute in chain, danced for me, a large sword high, and I laughed at his enraged face and rushed forward. He came for me, sword coming down with a savage hack, but Wandal’s spear caught him in the chest, he staggered to a halt, and my ax sunk to his face, felling him onto his back. Romans were with me as I inexorably walked the wall for the nobleman. His face was pale, a delicate young man with a sword that had a spectacular golden hilt, and pearls in his ears. His men’s shields shifted, and the men stepped forward. The shields were decorated with stars and flowers, and I stomped the flowers, and spat at the stars. We met them, struggled in the press, until Romans pushed their swords under the shields, past the guards, into the flesh of the men, into their legs and groins. The ranks collapsed, two men fell before me, and into that hole I stumbled with Wandal in tow.

  Slashing left and right, moving like a vaettir of the woods, I danced though the enemy. Chopping off a leg, then an arm, Wandal’s sticky, red spear was there to save me half a dozen times. My helmet took a cudgel, but I ignored the pain and went for the nobleman.

  “Raven, Raven!” I heard Wandal yelling hoarsely, and like an evil god full of gleeful joy, I stepped on bodies, danced on corpses, barked like an animal at the enemy, and before I could reach the nobleman, his last rank of men dropped their weapons, and ran, forever shamed. His banner fell as the standard-bearer caught a pilum in the belly, and he went to his knees, eyes full of fear.

  I was not in a mood for mercy.

  I grasped him by the throat, laughed at the foe, who, along the wall, were staring at me with horror. I thrust the rebel noble to the wall, and hacked down with the ax into his skull. Then I kicked the dead man out of the parapet to hurtle down to the stone below.

  Then I threw his standard after.

  The enemy in sight fled.

  I noticed Wandal was next to me, pulling off a man who had tried to push a broken sword into my chainmail, his eyes full of terror. He threw the man after the nobleman, and we stood there, panting, as the enemy fled along the wall, avoiding the Romans. Some even jumped down to the city, breaking their bones in their desperate need to get away.

  I took a moment to assess the situation.

  The gate was surprisingly close and it was already being challenged. The Romans were pushing through the wavering enemy, even routing defenders on the stairs that led up to the gate’s roof, and though there were losses to Rome, the Armenians had lost, and only the Parthians beyond the gate and over it kept up the fight. The Parthian flag, and that of the traitor Abaddon were still on top of the gate, and I could finally see the man I sought. Vonones was with a group of Parthian warriors that were in a tight ring at the edge of that roof, and with them was likely Abaddon, who looked uncannily like the man Wandal had exposed the night before. Older, gray, noble-faced, the man now looked horrified.

  Wandal was pushing me forward. Behind us, the Romans moved. I eyed the ax. The shaft was bent and the metal nicked, and dulled. I dropped it and pulled Nightbright. Wandal was holding his bloody spear, which he stroked with loving care.

  “The gate?” he yelled as he pushed. “Hurry up!”

  “Follow me,” I snarled and loped forward.

  We went past some of the foe that still had a bit of fight in them. We dodged heaps of corpses and wounded. Roman legionnaires swarmed around us, looting and stabbing at the wounded. Many were following a centurion and an optio up a wide stairway to the gate, and we forced our way after them. I kept my eyes on the horse flag, around which milled men who would be from Parthia. Many held swords and small metal shields and guarded also Abaddon, whose banner was a bloodied rag, apparently having been torn back from the Romans at least once. There were a hundred of the enemy on top of the gate, but the Romans pushed into them in a bitter fight that could only end one way.

  Down in the city, the Roman legions were pushing into the terrified defenders, and then swarming the streets.

  Burn, I thought and laughed, as I joined the throng of Romans trying to push the enemy off the gates. Swords stabbed, daggers flashed, century standards waved, and we found a way into the throng, through two embattled legionnaires.

  Wandal followed me, and I saw the familiar primus pilus—alive after all—leading the savage Romans around us, and right when we attacked, the enemy line collapsed under Roman swords, and dissolved into stabbing, murdering chaos.

  I remember kicking a man in the face, as he lay before me. I remember shields being lifted by the miserably wounded, and Nightbright stabbing fast and with deadly accuracy at the foe that might kill from below, before dying. The enemy was howling, attacking in ones and twos, but the Roman army went in stabbing, ever stabbing, sawing at the throats of the wounded and Wandal’s spear was pushing such men to me, while I killed them. Romans were falling with the Parthians, cursing the gods and the enemy, men tumbling off the gate even, and then, finally, a group of rich looking men with metal shields appeared before us, in the middle, and the edge of the gate’s platform. Arrows were being loosed from amongst them, and one clanged into my helmet. Wandal roared as one wounded his bicep but he surged before me, his shield taking an arrow, then another, while his spear stabbed at an enemy that ran.

  That enemy was determined to die well

  Large men in chain, in expensive coats and pristine tunics, with shaved chins and wide of shoulder, dozens strong, defended their master with bitter, dogged bravery. I saw Abaddon amongst them, and then the fool man fell with a pilum quivering in his body.

  I pushed into their midst.

  I grasped a wrist, stopping the sword from impaling me, and pushed the man away. I was battered by two shields, and men were spitting over them. I stabbed blindly, felt a man grasping my helmet, and was pulled forward. I fell at their feet, and sawed the blade on a knee, taking a man down. Someone was striking my back with a shield, then hacking with a sword, but that stopped and judging by a feral, animal-like snarl, Wandal was there, his dulled spear still working. Panting, I pushed up, heaved around, roared as I pushed the enemy away, and saw Vonones struggling with three legionnaires, until his men tried to rescue him, and in that savage battle, the Romans died, stabbed and pushed down. I ran at them, Wandal breathing on my neck, his spear ready, I secured a shield from one of the fallen legionnaires, and finally we were eye to eye with Vonones. He looked mad with fear, a spear loose in his hand, and two Parthians with arrows on bows were standing before him. A man with a hammer was guarding his back.

  “Wait! I only did—”

  I walked forward. “Gaius. You tried to slay Gaius.”

  “Yes, Gaius. Of course! Spare me!”

  “Who helps you in our ranks? Speak, and live!” Wandal roared.

  His eyes looked confused, and then he spoke. “Sejanus!” His eyes went to Wandal, then to me. “Sejanus! Spare me. I shall not tell—” he said and faltered, as one of his men fell to pila. He backed off towards the edge and Wandal charged the other archer, who flinched and fled, only to fall off the edge. Vonones licked his lips as the hammer holding Parthian stepped before him. Vonones stopped him, staring at me with hope. The hammer-warrior hesitated, but I went forward. The hammer went up in surprise, but I roared and pushed the blade through the man’s chainmail, grating and pushing back and forth until the enemy fell back. I rammed my shield at him and he stumbled off of the walls, falling below.

  He took Vonones with him, the man screaming in fear as he plummeted.

  Wandal was snarling at Romans to stay back. “Shit. We needed him alive! You pushed them both off!”

  I rubbed blood from my eye
s “Vonones should have dodged. But he gave us Sejanus,” I said stiffly. “He shall tell us more.”

  We watched how the city died. The enemy gave up all attempts at organized fight, and instead tried to defend their homes. A third of the city was sacked, and hundreds fell to the blade, before Gaius’s legati could recall the troops.

  Back in the camp we found Sejanus was missing. Gaius raged, and we tried to find him, but to no avail.

  The city burned for two days, and in the end, Gaius left, alive and victorious, and the new King of Armenia settled amid the dead to rule his unhappy people in the name of Rome.

  For a time, the threat had been thwarted. Gaius was healing.

  CHAPTER 23 (Limyra, Lycia, February 21st, 4 A.D.)

  The Lycian Federation had a proud history. The Greek cities had been built by ancient, brave people on a rich land, and had been Roman allies and enemies both, and the city of Limyra especially was a fine haven at which to heal. The much-diminished court of Gaius had left Antioch and taken refuge in the city, which was a slave trading center formerly allied to Cilician pirates in the Western Anatolia, but the pirates were gone, and peace reigned. Wounded in mind and body and slowly recovering, Gaius had requested a villa, and Limyra had proudly welcomed the former consul, and wounded Roman hero. The locals enjoyed relative calm as part of Rome, and Gaius was their welcome guest.

  The officia was small. Only a dozen scribes remained, and a doctor or two, and fewer than fifty servants and slaves. Even his pet historian was gone. Juba II had left for home, and even the Praetorians had sailed away. After Sejanus had been caught scheming for the life of Gaius, his men had become a liability. The man had not been found, and Publius had gone back to Rome to give his reports, and had been ordered by Gaius to coordinate the capture of the man.

  Parthia had been blamed for it.

  Parthian gold had made Sejanus a murderer and a traitor. It was so simple in the mind of Gaius. It was, of course, the best explanation and old as time. Greed moved mountains.

  Now, Gaius was drawing breaths, as he contemplated everything he had learned. Much like Tiberius, Gaius had taken a step off the service, and enjoyed his silence and peace. He took walks to the mighty Temple of Apollo at the end of the peninsula; he measured the walls with his strides, and listened to the birds screeching as they played in the air. He admired the ancient tombs that littered the mountainsides, and wondered at the deep history of Limyra, and the harbor some six miles to the south, where brisk trade took place.

  There were six Germani Guards, and some scribes, who were his only companions on these walks. Livilla, unhappy with her husband, lived with him, but rarely took a step outside the domus.

  In truth, he had not done badly in his service. He had navigated the East as well as most experienced men could have. Augustus and Lollius had trained him well, though his heart was never in it. He had made the hardest of decisions, he had been ruthless, and he had been victorious. He had even survived.

  He was all grown up.

  He had nightmares. They were of children dying, of the heavy weight Augustus hoped to place on his shoulders, and so in our evenings we spoke of many things, but mostly on how he would give Rome back to the Senate.

  I had those discussions with Drusus aplenty.

  For now, he was in no hurry to go home. We were waiting for Publius, for any official communications, or even orders, and Gaius was just soaking in the rays of Sunna, enjoying life as best he could.

  News from the East still came to him.

  The legions had gone back to camps and road-building. No war with Parthia was coming, though Parthia richly deserved it. It would wait. Legati sent reports on Armenia, and the news was mainly good. The land was growing politically stable and seemed to have fallen in love with their king. Parthia was still in chaos, and some even said Phraates had died, along with his new wife, who was also his mother.

  That evening Wandal and I stopped to stand behind our young, fateful man, who was hugging himself at the steps of the Temple of Apollo. A pair of temple guards eyed us warily, wondering at our war-torn armor, savage faces, and the dutiful scribes, but they knew us, for this is where Gaius always came to gaze over the sea. Occasionally, he would clutch his shoulder, and touch his chest. There was still pain from the wounds, or perhaps of the memory of receiving them.

  He eventually turned, as Sunna went lower and lower in the sky.

  Wandal grunted. “Ships.”

  He turned and frowned.

  From the west, being rowed along the coasts, came two quinqueremes.

  “Last Odyssey, and Hades’ Finger,” Gaius muttered, as he saw the ships. “I dreamt of ships like that, last night. Their names sound like a play, a tragedy. In my dreams, the ships sailed over the Styx. If these are named thus, I shall hide in my room.”

  He smiled and I snorted. “I’m sure they have been named something far less original. Perhaps Neptune’s Cock?”

  He nodded, frowning. They were large ships, and looked fateful indeed. I had no doubt they were there on a mission.

  “Who is it, do you think?” I asked, frowning at the ships. “Publius?”

  He sighed, as he saw a colorful group of men and slaves on the deck of the closest ship. “It is Tiberius. Come to fetch me home. Augustus released him from Rhodes, see? He is a nursemaid now.”

  Tiberius? I stiffened and took a step forward, and watched. The wide, powerful figure of a gold-encased soldier, and dark- cropped hair was visible even from that far. Yes, it was Tiberius.

  “Come, then, we must feast him,” Gaius said wistfully. “I do hope he has forgiven me my earlier words. It seems my holiday is over and Tiberius will watch over us now.”

  We had succeeded, or gods had helped us, but Tiberius was serving Rome again.

  ***

  The feast was a somber one. The heat was oppressive, as the air stood still and no wind from the sea graced us with the soothing kiss of Neptune, as it usually did in Limyra. Gaius and Tiberius lay side by side on their coaches, chatting amicably, and I watched Tiberius, whom I had not seen for a while. His face was rock-hard, eyes red-rimmed. He had obviously been travelling plenty.

  “When Gaius was wounded, Augustus finally recalled him,” Publius said, for he had arrived with the ships. “Sent him here to fetch him home.”

  Livilla had cried. Tiberius had spoken with her at length, and she had not seemed happy. She had no doubt told him about Gaius’s decision to step down.

  I nodded, while staring at Tiberius. Wandal spoke. “Has Sejanus been found?”

  He sighed. “No, he has not. He is at large still, but not as dangerous as before. Perhaps he went to Parthia? Or south to Arabia? Excuse me, for I must go.”

  He turned away, and walked off.

  “Back to Rome?” Wandal asked. “We go back to the cesspit?”

  I nodded and watched Livilla, seated with the other ladies, who all sparkled with jewels. The lot were swathed in colors and most were full of soft-spoken gaiety, but not Livilla. She was somber as a storm.

  “But if Tiberius is free,” he asked me, “are we done with the service?”

  “You are,” I told him. “No more is required of you, friend.”

  “But—”

  “Tiberius watches Gaius now,” I told him. “And I shall stay as long as he asks. Adalwulf and I shall both serve until he is securely in his position.”

  “What will secure him his position?” Wandal asked. “War didn’t release him, but war will—"

  “War will,” I told him. “I don’t know what he is planning. I will support him for a while longer.”

  “In no hurry to your family, then,” he muttered. “I cannot understand it.”

  “I do all for my family,” I answered. “All of it.”

  He went silent, and we watched on as the soft discussion between Gaius and Tiberius went on for a long time. An hour more passed, and then I saw Tiberius grasping Gaius’s hand, as if bidding him goodnight. Then he got up and spoke briefly wit
h Publius Quirinius, who bowed to him.

  Then he saw me, and walked for me.

  He stopped before me and smiled, as his eyes visited those of Wandal. “Still alive then? Good. Postumus is fine, in case you wondered. Augustus wanted to see him the other month, but was left bitterly disappointed as Postumus was ‘ill’. You well?”

  I smiled. “Good. I am good. New scars.”

  “Yes,” he said. “That’s the lot of milites. Scars carved on their hides, to map their routes.”

  I nodded. “It has been a long service in the East.” My eyes went to Gaius. “How long have you been back in Rome?”

  “Lord,” he said softly. “I am your lord. Am I not?”

  I gave him a bow. “Lord.”

  He nodded. “Not long. I’m here to take him home.”

  I nodded towards Gaius. “What did he say, lord?”

  He smiled. “He told me he will travel with us, and told me of his adventures. Thanked me for my service. And I think he will not take the powers of Augustus. Livilla told me she suspects he is tired of power.”

  I gazed at him. “I think he won’t. In fact, he told me he wouldn’t. That he would—”

  He shook his head, and stopped me with a clap on shoulder. “Indeed. We shall see.”

  “And your mother, lord?” I asked him.

  “She is unhappy with me but also… patient,” he said. “I keep an eye on her. She is tamed now, finally. Most of her connections are broken, and her influence is draining away, and I shall keep her on a tight leash.”

  “Good.”

  He said nothing for a while, and then sighed. “You have done well, and I salute you. Now, it is time to go home. I shall deal with everything from now on.” He smiled. “Augustus trusts me now. Leave guards for Gaius this evening, Hraban, and you have your men pack up everything. We have the night.”