The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One)

by Edward Crichton

  I looked at Santino. “I guess we probably should have thought this through, huh?”

  “Here. Let me try,” he offered, reaching into the crib. Picking the child up, Santino held him out in front of him, his elbows locked, keeping Nero as far away from his body as possible. The child didn’t cry though, and both baby and Santino looked at each other curiously. Apparently satisfied at what he was seeing, young Nero started gurgling and even cooed at Santino.

  “Aw,” I said, “I think you made a friend.”

  “Yah,” Santino said with a smile, cradling the child against his chest. “I guess I did.”

  Santino’s motherly glow quickly evaporated once he patted Nero on the back, enticing the small child to spit up all over his toga. Santino wrinkled his face in disgust as young Nero gurgled and giggled at his expense.

  I laughed with him. “Come on, mum. We need to get out of here.”

  Santino nodded and placed Nero in a small carrying cradle, little more than a piece of cloth wrapped and tied into a type of sling bag. The bag was in common use in ancient Rome as a baby carrier, and Agrippina had set it up for us before we arrived in the city.

  With the baby secured against Santino’s chest, we made for the exit. Since Santino was stuck playing babysitter, I took point this time, no need to place the child at any further risk. Back in the hall, we continued past the main hallway we had originally walked down, and counted three doors, entering the last one on the right. Finding the storage room, just as Agrippina had said, I located the cabinet and strained muscles to pull it aside.

  And there was the door, again, just as she said.

  Maybe she was on our side after all.

  Reaching for the handle I gave it a yank, but it didn’t budge. Frowning, I tried pushing against it, again with no effect. Frustrated, I threw my entire weight against it, but with no more success. I leaned closer to the door and analyzed the seam. I discovered that it had been cemented together, and no matter how hard I tried, the door wasn’t going to budge.

  I turned to face Santino. “We’re burned.”

  “Figures,” he replied, pulling out his knife.

  I didn’t waste any time replying. Instead, I moved towards the hallway we’d just come through, and gave it a quick glance. Still clear. Maybe the door was just another product of Claudius’ growing paranoia. Quickly abandoning the storage room, I led Santino back to the main hall. Another quick glance showed the immediate area to be clear, but with all the flora and fauna in the area, I couldn’t be sure. Knowing no other way out, I walked as calmly as I could down the hall.

  We were about half way down the hall when doors started to open up all around us.

  From the two rooms in front of us, a half dozen Praetorians emerged, and took up defensive positions to block our escape. From behind us, another door opened and only two Praetorians came out. The first of which was unlucky enough to walk into Santino’s knife, which he held in a reverse grip, and had thrust behind him through the man’s neck. The second man went down after I tore off my toga, pulled out my Sig, and put a round through his skull. No more Praetorians came from behind us, so we stood side by side, in defensive positions facing our remaining attackers. It didn’t take long before I realized we had nowhere to retreat to, so we held our ground, waiting for our foes to make the first move.

  The Praetorians didn’t budge though, at least not at first, appearing as if they were waiting for someone. Two minutes later, I realized who it was. Trailing behind another fifty or so Praetorians came Claudius, looking disheveled and unkempt, psychotic but alert, a devilish grin on his face.

  As he approached, his Praetorians opened a lane for him to travel through. He was accompanied by a senior centurion I didn’t know.

  He stepped out in front of his men, which was nice of him, because it gave me a clear shot at his head. His men tensed, but no one moved, while he opened his arms wide, and frowned.

  “Jacob Hunter,” he said. “Is this how you treat friends from wherever it is you come from? I thought we had become instant ones the day we met.”

  I didn’t dignify him with a response.

  “Jacob, Jacob, Jacob,” he taunted. “You pain me. First, you accept my invitation to come see me, but you don’t visit, and now I find that you have kidnapped my son. Tsk, tsk.” He waggled his finger at me. It was easy to see the man had lost all control over his faculties, and was quickly descending into a Jeffery Domer state of insanity, just as Caligula should have, perhaps proving Vincent’s theory.

  I was curious about one thing though. “What invitation?”

  “What invitation?’ Why, the one I sent you, of course. Didn’t you get the message? I had to make sure it was you who came to see me after all, and not one of your other…” he waved dismissively at Santino, “whatever they are.”

  “You don’t mean Agrippina?” I asked, confusion and anger swirling in my mind simultaneously.

  “Agrippina? Did I send her? I do not know. Did I? It seems I’ve forgotten. What does it matter? She’s served her purpose. What does matter is that you are here, and now, we can have some fun. Centurion, retrieve my son. When he’s safe, the rest of you take them. Alive. No exceptions. Even the other one.”

  The nameless centurion moved towards us.

  “Wait!” Santino called, carefully removing Nero from around his shoulder, and gently placing him on the floor.

  The movement hid his true intention. As he placed the child on the floor, I saw him move his right hand, the one holding his knife, across his body, resting it near the left side of his waist. As he stood, he flung his arm upwards, releasing the knife, sending it flying towards Claudius. The knife missed, imbedding itself in the chest of the centurion instead, who had been standing just to the side and in front of him. The man looked down at the hilt of the combat knife for the briefest of seconds, before his head lulled backwards and he collapsed.

  True anger brewing in Claudius’ eyes, he yelled, “Get them! Save my son first!”

  We retreated as soon as he started issuing orders, utilizing the few seconds the Praetorians needed to avoid trampling Nero to our advantage.

  “Move to the storage room!” I yelled at Santino. “Get the C-4 ready.”

  As we ran, I still had my pistol pointed in the general direction of the Praetorians, so I emptied my magazine into their formation, confirming at least four kills with the seven rounds I had remaining. Holstering my sidearm on the run, I pulled the P90 from my back, and pulled back the cocking lever, chambering a round.

  We reached the storage room in seconds. I posted myself at the door, while Santino moved towards the smaller escape door, fiddling with a brick of C-4. He’d need to shave the brick into a much smaller portion, or the concussive blast from the detonation might kill us. He’d need a few minutes.

  Seeing the first wave of Praetorians turning the corner, I unleashed a volley of gunfire in their direction. Helena’s gun was perfect for this kind of work. Its small size allowed me to move it around easily in the cramped area with one arm, and its fifty round magazine was larger than any other rifle’s we had, except Bordeaux’s SAW, which I really wished I had right now.

  For now, the P90 would do, and as I raked my fire left to right, mowing down man after man in a quick fluid motion, I started feeling like we might actually make it out of here. Each round struck a target in the narrow hall, and most men received more than just one wound. Claudius must have known this would happen, and yet he still sent these men to their graves. He really was nuts.

  Unwilling to blindly sacrifice themselves, the Praetorians pulled back.

  “How’s that C-4 coming?” I asked Santino, who was still using a smaller knife on the stuff.

  “I have no fucking clue how much of this I need so that it doesn’t kill us. What the fuck are these walls even made out of? Christ, I wish Bordeaux was here, and I never thought I’d be saying that about a Frenchy.”

  “Just hurry up,” I yelled, slapping a fresh magazine in pla
ce. “They’ve pulled back for now, but they’ll be back.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t rush me,” he mumbled.

  I ignored him, peaking around the corner. So far it was still clear.

  “John…”

  “I know. I know. I got it. Stand back.”

  Pulling back from the door, I joined him in the corner. Overturning a table to block the force of the blast, we crouched behind it. I saw Praetorians tentatively peak around the door just as we knelt behind our cover. Thinking our impromptu defenses were meant to counter their attack, they rushed us, confident a mere table wouldn’t be enough to stop them.

  “Now!” I yelled, almost pleadingly to Santino.

  He didn’t hesitate, triggering the charges before I could even finish the word. Shielded by the table and our protective ear pieces, the small charge didn’t faze us much. The shock wave was just enough to knock us on our asses, but the rushing Praetorians took the full brunt of the blast. Those who rushed into the room sustained injuries from shrapnel and flying debris or died, while those in the hall were disoriented from the concussive blast. Even those still in the hall were stunned.

  One step ahead of me, Santino rounded the table and made for the door. Hot on his heels, I bounded over the table, and followed. I saw that Santino had used a bit too much explosive and instead of just blowing the door off its hinges, he took out a large chunk of the wall as well.

  Too interested in the wall, I didn’t see Santino go down in front of me. Just as he left the room, a large wooden cudgel hit him right in the forehead dropping him like a rock. Only partially prepared, I was able to roll underneath the second swing which came at me from the other side of the blown wall.

  Rolling to my feet, I shot my attacker, but was unable to shift my aim around to get the other man as well. His blow took me in the temple. My head swirling, I fell to my knees.

  Gathered around me were dozens of blurry figures in white togas. As I knelt there, facing the hole we had just made, I saw Claudius emerge. He walked straight up to me and back handed me across the face.

  “I am not stupid!” He said, mad with rage. “I may be many things these days, but lacking in foresight is not one of them. As a god, how could I? I knew you would use your explosive devices to try and escape, and I posted guards accordingly.”

  I barely understood a word he said, as the world darkened around me. Falling on my side, I struggled to keep my eyes open.

  The last thing I saw was a woman with light colored hair walk up to Claudius and kiss him intensely. I couldn’t recognize who she was, or even determine who she might have been. Instead, all I could do was look at her menacingly familiar smile, just before a Praetorian slammed the hilt of his sword into my head, and watch as the world cut to black.

  ***

  I woke to find myself suspended in the air. I had no idea how long I had been hanging like that, but I knew it wasn’t long. The only thing I felt so far was pain. Hunger or thirst hadn’t quite taken its hold on me yet. Craning my head to look around, the only things I saw were stars when another blow to my head knocked me out again.

  ***

  Around the tenth time I was awakened and summarily knocked out again, I realized this must have been some form of torture. Just keep beating someone to the point of unconsciousness, let them sleep it off, and wake them up before starting all over again. I knew it was torture because each time it happened, it hurt more and more, and not only did the physical pain increase, but so did the pain in my stomach. I had to have been hanging for at least a day, but there was no real way of knowing.

  After this latest beating, I was allowed to maintain consciousness. My head hurt so much I was having trouble remembering things, and I couldn’t even picture my mother’s face, or the empty platitudes my father would drill into my head. I couldn’t remember where I was, or the name of the woman my mind kept drifting towards. All I knew were flashes and glimpses of a life I guessed were mine.

  Finally able to keep my eyes open, a painful movement in its own, I forced myself to figure out where I was. The room was dark, gloomy, and had spider webs hanging all over the walls. I hated spiders. That much I remembered.

  Of course, it might have just looked like spider webs because my eyes were practically swollen shut.

  I looked to my left, and saw a man-like shape hanging in what I assumed was a similar fashion to how I was. His hands were tied to a cross beam, which was mounted on a wooden pole in the ground, forming a lower case t. His body was limp, and his head was hanging on his chest. The pose reminded me of something, but I couldn’t quite place it. When I looked at my own hands, I confirmed that I was similarly hanging, and the only other support I received was from a small block under my feet that protruded slightly from the vertical pole.

  Trying to shift my body, so that my legs took up some of the slack, I found I could barely move my arms. All the blood had drained from the veins, and my muscles refused to cooperate. To compensate, I used my legs to painfully push myself upwards, and immediately wished I hadn’t. The act of taking pressure off of my arms forced all the pain towards that location, creating a whole new level of hurt to deal with.

  Crying out, I woke my companion.

  “Whe... where am I?” He said, likewise oblivious to our situation.

  I tried to speak, but my mouth was too dry. I saw the man look over at me, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Who… who are you?” He said slowly, before recognition finally dawned on him. “Jacob? Is that you?”

  Jacob?

  Yes. Jacob. That was my name. Jacob Hunter. Service number… no, too many numbers. I was a US Navy SEAL, no former. I transferred to special service to the Pope. On a mission, we… and it all came flooding back to me.

  Everything. Pope Gregory. McDougal. A blue sphere. Helena.

  For some reason Helena’s image burned brightest in my reclaimed memory. I remembered how much anger there’d been between us and how I’d left on such uneven terms. My first reaction was regret for how it turned out and how I had to make it right. I had to get back to set things right between us.

  “Santino?” Yes. That was his name. “Do you remember anything?”

  I looked over at my best friend. With that look my memory snapped into focus and I almost panicked when I realized what was happening to him. What must be happening to me as well.

  We were being crucified.

  Always considered one of the most drawn out, painful, and dehumanizing ways to die, I never really realized just how utterly horrendous it was. I remembered all those Sundays at Mass, looking up at Jesus of Nazareth hanging from his own cross, but his sculpture never seemed to reflect the sheer pain he must have been feeling, like the pain I was feeling now.

  Santino must have regained his memory as well.

  “We’re being crucified?” He asked. “Crucified? Who fucking does that!?” At least his personality hadn’t diminished, but as he finished his statement, he started coughing uncontrollably.

  “Romans. That’s who.” I glanced around the room again. “Hang in there buddy. We’ll get out of this.”

  Just as Santino was about to reply, another voice cut in.

  “My, my, my, so eager to get down are we?” The demented voice I knew to be Claudius’ said. “You’ve only been hanging there for a day or so, surely you aren’t ready to leave yet? I have so many questions to ask you.”

  Hiding in the shadows, I watched as he stepped into the light, holding something in his hands. I struggled in my restraints, not because I thought it would help, but because I was too stupid to realize it would hurt. The action alone nearly caused me to pass out again.

  He stepped closer, a foot from my dangling body.

  “What do you want?” The question came out resigned and defeated. I couldn’t muster much else.

  “Why, to expand Rome’s power of course. And do you know how?”

  Unable and unwilling to respond, I just hung there.

  “So unexcited. How sad.�
�� He pulled his hands out in front of him, which were holding something covered with a piece of heavy cloth. “With this, of course.” He pulled the cover away revealing the blue ball that started this mess. It shone dimly right now and I wondered if it was on.

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “With you? Why, everything! You’re the one who made it work. Don’t play ignorant with me. That sniveling insect Varus said he saw you holding it when you first arrived. You are the fulcrum. The key. You can make it work.”

  “You don’t understand what it does,” I argued hoarsely. “It hurts people, makes them crazy. Don’t you remember how you used to be just a few months ago? You were normal.”

  “Normal is such a relative term,” he said, pulling the ball away and waving his hand in my face. “To you, it may seem like one thing, but to me, another. Who determines the normality of society if not those controlling it?” He paused, cocking his head to the side as he looked at me. “Why, me, of course! Now. Make it work,” he said, thrusting the sphere in my face.

  I looked wearily at him, feeling my life hanging by a thread. A thread I knew he could force me to dangle from for days to come.

  “I… I don’t know how.”

  Did the thing even have an on button?

  Claudius slapped me. “You lie!” He slapped me again. For good measure I guess.

  “Leave him alone, you fucking bastard,” yelled Santino, coming to my defense. I would have smiled, if I wasn’t doing everything I could just to remain conscious. Claudius was not amused, however, and signaled with his hand in Santino’s direction.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two men rush forward, one man with two very large nails, the other with a large hammer. They didn’t wait for further orders, and the first man placed a nail between the two bones connecting Santino’s wrists, while the second man slammed the hammer against it.

  Santino’s scream was louder than my own after I had struggled against my restraints. Satisfied the first nail was secured, the two men moved on to his other wrist, likewise staking it to the cross in the manner science had proved was necessary for the body to not tear away from the nails. I saw my friend’s head slump.