The Lost Centurion

by Monica La Porta

  The vampire laughed. “Well, isn’t that funny?”

  Marcus managed to raise his chin to look at the man from under his lashes. “We don’t share the same sense of humor I’m afraid.”

  “In a way, that agreement has saved you from me as well. At least in regards of this last century.” Claudius stopped his manic ambulation and crouched before Marcus. One of his cold smiles illuminating his face. “At first, I wanted you alive. Then, when I tired of you, it didn’t make sense to me to go against the Council”—he waved a hand in the air—“but you wouldn’t possibly understand. When you kidnapped one of my newborns and broke the agreements, you made possible for me to come after you.”

  Marcus closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’ve given up everything to kill you. I’ve lived estranged from my race.” He shrugged. “And yet, at the end, it didn’t matter.”

  “Seeing you suffer matters to me.” Claudius stood and dusted his pants with swift gesture of his hands.

  Marcus saw the vampire had tired of the conversation. “That night—?”

  Claudius had already exited the cell, but froze at the door.

  “Did you try to turn Aurelia?” Marcus didn’t want to die without knowing.

  “She was dying already.” Claudius grabbed the doorjamb, the knuckles on his hand whitening as he spoke. “Did you even know that?”

  Marcus slowly got on his feet. His legs shook from the effort and he saw white light exploding behind his eyelids, but he reached out a hand toward the wall to keep himself up. “No. It isn’t true.”

  Claudius turned halfway to look at Marcus from over his shoulder. “She had a tumor growing inside her womb.”

  “No. I would’ve known.” Marcus stepped back to lean against the wall.

  “When she told me she was pregnant with our child, I bought a house for us in Apulia. It was a farm nested on a ridge overlooking the sea with orchards, pastures, horses.” Claudius’s lips curved up in what looked like a genuine smile. “A place where we could raise our family far away from Rome, far away from you.”

  “Aurelia was never pregnant.” The temperature in the cell had dropped by several degrees. Marcus knew he was going into shock, but refused to succumb to his body’s desires.

  Claudius opened his hand and looked at it, then flexed his arm. “No, you’re right. She wasn’t. We discovered it when she started losing weight and her belly never grew. I hired the best physicians in Rome who prescribed all sorts of remedies, but she wasn’t getting any better. Finally, one told us the truth. She was dying.”

  “I would’ve known she was sick.” Marcus couldn’t accept the vampire’s words, but Aurelia had been withdrawn for a long time before she died.

  Claudius lowered his hand by his side, then turned and stepped back inside the cell. “You were never home. Either warring or whoring. She couldn’t stand your presence and was so much happier when you weren’t around.”

  Marcus’s strength left him suddenly and he was on the floor, his back to the wall, black dots obscuring his sight. He and his wife had lived separated lives for almost two years and she had never let him close during that time. She had claimed all sorts of ailments to avoid marital duties until he had stopped seeking her embrace.

  Claudius headed for Marcus and stopped before him. “Even before she became ill, I would’ve killed you, but she wouldn’t let me. She wrote to her father asking for a divorce, so our union would’ve been legal.”

  Marcus pressed his palms over his eyes to dissipate the flickering lights that had exploded inside his head. Despite himself he smiled. It was typical Aurelia to organize the end of their marriage taking account of the legal aspects. She would have lost her social status for nobody.

  “I watched as she withered before my eyes and it killed me that I couldn’t be the one sleeping with her at night. She refused to leave your house as a married woman.” Claudius’s voice broke.

  Marcus pitied him. Aurelia hadn’t loved Claudius. Diana had taught him that true love wouldn’t care for social status. Love didn’t care for possession. Or revenge. Love only cared about love. “You turned for her?”

  Claudius looked down at him; his eyes were liquid, red pooling at the corners. “I would’ve done anything to save her. Anything.” He wiped a tear from his right cheek. “One of the physicians I had hired dabbled in dark magic and told me there could be a way if I was willing to sacrifice my humanity.”

  Marcus placed his arms on his bent knees, his head resting on the wall.

  “The physician took me to his master and I was turned the same night. As soon as I woke from the change, I asked my sire to save Aurelia, but he wasn’t interested in turning her and punished me for having dared asking something of him. I was kept away from her for more than six months. Meanwhile, you had come back from your campaign. You were with my woman while I was chained to a wall. She was alone with you.” Claudius didn’t bother to clean the bloody tears staining his pale face. Red splotches stained his immaculate button-down white shirt and his charcoal-gray silver tie.

  Marcus pitied Aurelia as well. She had refused him, his love, and had preferred to die alone.

  “The night I was released I ran to her…” Claudius looked at a point on the wall beyond Marcus. “I was late. She had died already.” He slowly reached for the floor and sat. “But I couldn’t accept that. I tried to turn her anyway. I drained the diseased blood from her and tried to feed her mine. I almost drained myself as well.”

  The image of Aurelia reclined on the triclinium, blood on her pleated toga, played back for Marcus.

  “She had been waiting for me. She wore that dress made from the silk I had ordered for her. She had dyed her hair with that shade of red I loved so much… it accentuated the black in her eyes. And I was late.”

  “Why did you leave her?” Aurelia’s father had to pry Marcus from her side, and he would’ve followed her shortly if his slaves hadn’t taken care of him and kept him alive. Even so, he spent the first month after her death at her tomb, lying on the cold marble covering her burial site, crying, talking to her, asking her forgiveness for being a failure of a husband.

  Claudius closed his eyes, blinked, then looked directly at Marcus. “Because I knew that if I stayed I would’ve killed you.”

  “I loved Aurelia. Why do you hold me accountable for her death?” Marcus wanted to understand. “She stopped loving me. She refused me.”

  Claudius stilled for a moment as if considering his question. “I should’ve married her.” He shook his head. “Not you.” He lowered his head to the floor and fisted his hands. “I was there for her long before you appeared.” He opened and closed his hands several times. “Aurelia and I grew up together. Our families owned adjacent, prosperous lands—the combined acreage enough to feed the Roman Army. It would only make sense we would marry.” He paused to sneer. “Then, one day, the centurion decided to court her with exotic gifts and promises of adventures, and I wasn’t enough anymore.” Claudius leaned and grabbed Marcus’s shirt to raise him up. “I had waited for her as she deserved—” He shook Marcus. “And you took her without a thought.” He opened his hands and let go of Marcus who fell with a thump on the floor. “But she soon saw through your deceit and lies. Aurelia came back to me and I forgave her.” He spat by Marcus’s feet. “Since you didn’t have the decency to die in war and free her to be with me, you didn’t deserve to have your sufferance cut short either. If I had to live forever without Aurelia, you deserved the same fate.”

  Marcus swallowed. “You didn’t…” He struggled to get up, but his legs were made of lead.

  “I had already lost my humanity. I studied dark magic under the most powerful magi in existence at that time. I mastered my skills until my teachers became my students. I was the first true necromancer the Roman Empire had. Both Caligula and Nero sought my services. Do you think summoning gods was such a stretch at that point?” Claudius let out a chuckle. “In fact, cursing you with immortality was one of my first assignments.�
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  Without warning, Marcus was thrown back to another time and age to a dreary morning that had started in the worst of ways two thousand years before.

  Chapter Eleven

  He had chosen to conduct a grueling training the night before because the anniversary of his wife’s death was the next day. Lately, the drinking wasn’t helping him. He didn’t seem to be able to lose consciousness as easily as before, so he had thought that extreme physical activity combined with opium-spiked wine would put him out of his misery when the sun set on the horizon and the memories would assail him. But he had to endure several hours before he could drag his tired body to Laurentius’s minuscule taberna—no more than one person could stand upright inside that stall at the Trajan Market, but it was the only place in the whole Rome that sold his favorite wine, a red from one particular vineyard in Pompeii. Marcus had gotten acquainted with that vineyard’s production during one of his most recent campaigns and soon became addicted to the sweet bouquet of their wine.

  Marcus looked at the half-completed palisade while sharpening the point of a wooden log. The sun was high and the day promised to be hot and humid. His men stoically accepted his orders, but the auxiliaries the general had sent to him to train were openly complaining. He sighed.

  “Tullius.” He pointed his spatha toward his recently appointed first aid in the field.

  “My Dux.” My Leader. The man was several years older than him and very experienced.

  “Give my troop an hour break, food and retsina on me.” He knew his men loved the aromatic wine spiced with rosemary and kept a good number of amphoras in his quarters for such occasions when he wanted to reward them.

  Tullius bowed and left to execute his orders. Marcus braced for the unpleasantness of what he had to do next. He pushed his helmet up to his forehead, inserted one finger under the unyielding metal, and scratched his itchy scalp. His hair had grown too long again. He made a mental note to ask his barber to shave his head the next morning.

  Not wanting to lower his helmet, he shielded his eyes from the sun, and walked toward the auxiliary’s army. “Garonne.”

  The Gaul was crouching over a trench. He turned and gave him a disgruntled look from over his shoulder but didn’t stand to salute him.

  Marcus inwardly groaned, then marched toward him and hauled the huge redheaded barbarian to his feet, then shoved him down the trench. Fueled by anger, it didn’t take long for the man to stand again. Garonne was taller than Marcus by several inches, and he looked stronger too.

  “You’ll show respect to your commander.” Marcus drew his spatha and pressed it against the man’s throat. The point of the sword nicked his skin and a rivulet of blood fell down to his Adam’s apple.

  “I’ll never obey an effeminate.” Garonne reached for a small pugio Marcus hadn’t seen the man wearing.

  Before Marcus could react, the Gaul had reached for his face. The small dagger’s blade was sharper than it looked because it took a moment for the pain to arrive, but when it did, it blinded Marcus. Garonne kept slashing at him, and by the time Marcus’s centurions had made it back to help him, he was lying in a pool of his own blood. He was taken to the camp physician who, upon laying eyes on him, declared the long gash cutting his face from his left eyebrow to his cheek would require more than thirty stitches. The physician also whispered to Tullius that Marcus would probably pass away before the night was up—the wound to his stomach was fatal, so he wasn’t going to inflict more pain than necessary. Marcus heard every word and smiled.

  One by one, all his centurions came to give Marcus their last salute. Just before dawn, he was ready to be reunited in Hades with Aurelia. His senses were already dulled by the sweet wine he had been served the whole night. He knew Tullius had spiked the beverage with strong opiates because once he had started drinking it, the stabbing pain in his abdomen had dimmed to no more than a sting. He closed his eyes for a moment and heard his aid ushering everybody out of the tent.

  Finally alone, Marcus called Aurelia to come and pick him up.

  “You aren’t ready.” A male voice boomed inside his skull.

  Marcus was terrified.

  “You’ll serve me.”

  A bright light exploded before his eyes.

  “Open your eyes and accept my gift.” The voice sounded louder, closer, inside of him.

  Marcus opened his eyes and stared into white pupils. He screamed.

  Golden wings fluttered and objects were scattered all around the tent. “I am your god, Apollo. I chose you to be my loyal servant for eternity.”

  Marcus tried to unlock his eyes from the white orbs, but he couldn’t move. Warm breeze caressed his face and he was given permission to blink. An invisible, spidery net fell on him and left him breathless. His skin tingled as if brushed by hundreds of feathers, enhancing his senses. Unbearable physical pleasure mixed with heightened fear as his body arched and light shot from his extremities. For a moment, Marcus was filled with the deity’s essence and he was one with creation. He lived the lives of many who had come before him in his paternal lineage. He was the sun in his eternal voyage. The sensation was soon gone and he felt spent and alone.

  You are now reborn. Immortal. Apollo’s words echoed inside Marcus’s mind.

  The wind ceased to play havoc inside the tent, and the bright light disappeared.

  Marcus woke from the nightmare, his heart racing.

  “Dux!” Tullius entered the tent and ran to his side. “What happened? Are you…?”

  Several soldiers had followed the aid and they were all staring at Marcus.

  “You are okay.” Tullius stepped closer to him, his eyes traveling up and down Marcus’s body, lingering at his stomach then up again to his face.

  Marcus blinked, unnerved by the strange looks his men were exchanging. He stared back and some of them lowered their eyes. But not all of them. One kept staring.

  “Dux?” Tullius waved one hand before him.

  “What is it?” Marcus snapped back. He felt different. His skin was itchy, and he passed a hand over the wound on his face. Absentmindedly, his fingers followed the ridge of hard skin that crossed his left eyebrow. He tried to look past Tullius, but the man’s huge bulk covered the rest of the tent from him.

  “You look okay.”

  “You just said that. Twice.” Marcus reached out one hand and pushed Tullius by the side. “Who’s the new recruit?”

  Tullius’s hesitation in answering him angered Marcus even more.

  “The one standing behind you.” Marcus sat on the bed and shoved his aid out of the way with a thrust that surprised both Tullius and himself for the unexpected strength.

  Tullius ended legs up in the corner, a stunned expression on his face, his mouth hanging open.

  “Where is he?” Marcus was on his feet and towered over his men now crowding the small exit.

  “Who?” Tullius scrambled to his side, then stood on visibly shaking legs.

  “There was a soldier with dark hair and a pale complexion, gray eyes, tall… He was here until a moment ago. I haven’t met him before.” Marcus prided himself to personally know his men by name.

  Tullius frowned then looked to the side, as if unable to bear Marcus’s sight. “Maybe he was one of the physician’s servants?”

  His men parted as Marcus stormed out of the tent, only to be stopped by the doctor who ordered him back inside.

  “Enjoy the trip down memory lane?” Claudius’s voice resonated in the small cell.

  Marcus focused on the present moment, his mind processing the truth. He crossed his arms hugging his chest, his hands gripping his upper arms through the shirtsleeves drenched in sweat. “It was you.”

  Claudius bowed with a flourish of his right hand. “You’re welcome.”

  “I had forgotten about that man. You.”

  “I admit showing up at the tent wasn’t clever, but I had to see for myself that my summoning had worked.” Claudius walked back to the opposite wall and leaned against it
, hands in his pockets.

  Marcus bit his lower lip and shook his head. “How did you manage to have a god do your bidding?”

  Claudius gave him a look as if debating answering or not, then his lips thinned in a hard line. “Gods are predictable. Apollo owed me a favor for services received that he didn’t want the rest of the Olympians to know about.”

  “Such as?”

  “He’s always had a penchant for unavailable women, and once or twice he went too far in his pursuing. I acted as a mediator between the parties.”

  Marcus couldn’t help but shiver. “You made the complaining party disappear for him.” He was tired of Claudius’s game. “You’ve always had the power to destroy me. Why haven’t you? I’m a renegade. Nobody would’ve cared. The Council wouldn’t have cared.”

  Claudius canted his head. “I already told you. Your death wouldn’t have brought Aurelia back, but your eternal suffering has pleased me greatly. And I also liked the idea of having the full permission of the Council to dispose of you. Call it poetic justice.”

  The vampire moved to leave, but Marcus wasn’t done with the questions. “Why didn’t you give Virgil permission to change Diana?”

  Claudius straightened his stance. “Nobody in my nest has permission to turn a dying person. I wasn’t given permission to save Aurelia. Nobody else will.”

  Marcus had expected some farfetched reason, but the man’s answer still had the power to hit him in the guts.

  Claudius pushed himself off the wall, then called the vampires who had waited for him out of sight. “I want him washed for the ceremony.”

  “What ceremony?” Marcus was hauled up by the two men.

  “The one taking place tonight. I’ll ascend a vestal to the role of my new bride. No human has ever been allowed to attend to an inner circle ritual. I think you’ll find it interesting.”