Since their early Etruscan beginnings the Temporians had remained a remarkably stable group. Celcinius had been a physician in an Etruscan city north of the Po River. He had been experimenting with medical formulations when he had stumbled across what he named the Venenum Immortale, the Poison of Immortality. Animals treated with it could be frozen, then thawed and brought back to life. If given an antidote straightaway they would thrive and live normally. At first Celcinius thought of the Venenum as an interesting curiosity, but soon after he perfected the dangerous oil's use he discovered a most important application.
He had a nephew named Marcoral who was a brilliant young military commander. Marcoral had fallen in love with a noble's wife, and the two had been sentenced to death when the haison had been discovered. Celcinius had "executed" them with his potion, then he had frozen their bodies in rammed snow and had them buried in a perennial ice-field high in the nearby mountains. Nine years later, when his city came under attack, he brought the couple back to life under the guise of sorcery and magic. The unnaturally young-looking lovers seemed to have been deified, and rumors spread among the troops that Marcoral was now invincible. The city's defenders swarmed out behind him to annihilate the enemy in a brief, one-sided battle.
The broader, strategic significance of what he had done did not escape Celcinius. What good was a brilliant commander in times of peace? Why should the best engineers and masons be idle during the quiet decades of a city's development?
Could the best administrators be saved for times of crisis, rather than wasting their years through periods of tranquillity?
Celcinius had a fortified villa built on a mountain in the Alps. Beneath it was a blind ravine filled with ice, and unlike the unstable, fracturing, moving glaciers, the lower layers of this ice were stable and unmoving. It was a perfect site for a permanent, stable ice chamber. He set his apprentices to work, developing and refining his original formula- tion, then he lay frozen himself for three decades to await results that he could not have normally expected to see until he was an old man. Once the Venenum Immortale had been refined and perfected, Celcinius had been revived. He immediately had all his apprentices killed, and after that its secret was never again known to any more than three Temporian men at any one time.
Other talented men and women began to join Celcinius, and gradually the power and wealth of this strange oligarchy grew. His villa slowly expanded until it became the palace Nusquam. As the centuries passed, social structures grew and evolved among the Temporians—as they began to call themselves. The impressive and secret pool of talent grew continually in influence, yet they never allowed themselves to become kings. They always worked as lesser leaders, and from behind the scenes. When the continuity of Temporian administration was added to the vitality of the emerging city-state of Rome, the seeds of a mighty empire were laid.
The keystone of Temporian power was the Venenum Immortale, and its key ingredients were derived from the bodies of snow-dwelling insects. These were gathered by ordinary farmers and their slaves, along with the other harvests that they took from the land. The makers of perfumes, medicines, and the like already paid good silver for bags of odd roots, insects, and dried animal glands, so the collection of the insects for the Venenum Immortale went unnoticed alongside this trade. Every five years there would be enough to brew up several jars of the Venenum, and one of the three Venenum Masters would be revived to do the work.
Experience was never lost to the Temporians, and they learned to disguise their own existence to the point of near-invisibility. Some senior Romans knew that "gods" walked among them, strange and brilliant individuals who only appeared when particular types of demanding work needed to be done. These people did not seem to age at all. They were known as the Eternal Ones, the Gods of Romulus, the Sons of Romulus, and the Immortal Scribes, and it was also known that exceptionally talented mortals were sometimes recruited to their ranks. Outsiders, even if they were kings or emperors, always died or disappeared if their investigations of the Temporians were too persistent. Julius Caesar, Caligula, and Nero had that in common at least.
Nusquam: 17 December 71, Anno Domini
Doria was the current Mistress of Revival. Just as Regulus oversaw the freezing process and maintenance of the Frigidarium, she was in charge of the delicate and dangerous process of restoring the frozen Temporians to life. Regulus lay on a couch in her comfortably heated chambers, recovering from the ordeal of his inspection tour. He contemplated the frescoes on three of the walls, which ranged in subject from battles with Hannibal to erotic frolics involving naked Temporians in Arcadian settings. Regulus was depicted too, standing beside Caesar on the banks of the Rubicon in the most recent scene to be added to the frescoes.
The fourth wall was lined with shelves of colored glass jars, most containing oils and powders. There was also a large collection of scrolls and various medical instruments. The women who conducted the revivals documented their skills and experience in considerable detail, quite the opposite of the Venenum Masters. Doria sat at a writing desk, working her way through a scroll and frowning.
"I can't think of anything more dangerous," she said after she had been writing for some time. "Celcinius is too old, he survived that last revival through sheer luck."
"Who was in charge of that revival?"
"Rhea. She is the leader of Prima Decuria for this revival too."
"Well, that's the best you can do."
"The whole thing is still dangerous. The question remains, but nobody will answer it why revive him? Celcinius is worth more to the Adjudicators frozen than revived. He's our symbol, and a very potent symbol." Regulus turned sadly from her and looked to a fresco of Celcinius experimenting with chemicals in his ancient Etruscan villa. He had been handsome and dynamic when younger.
"It seems wrong that he can be allowed to neither live nor die," he said. "It's so undignified for one so great." Doria looked up, then tapped her scroll with a char stylus. "He may be more safely revived in another three or four hundred years."
"How so? His condition is unchanging as long as he lies in the bath of ice."
"I've been looking at the records of revivals since the earliest times and compiling figures. We Temporian women are getting better at revivals, Regulus. When Celcinius first began freezing people the revival rate was two in three. Within a century it had risen to ninety in one hundred."
"Nine out of ten, we all know that."
"Not so. Since then the rate has risen to ninety-four in one hundred, and that is in spite of the mean age of Tempo-rians having risen from thirty-five to nearly fifty. Our techniques and skills are slowly improving, and I can see a time when every revival will be a success." .
"But that time is centuries away, your own figures prove it. The Adjudicators want Celcinius awake now." Doria stood up and stretched, flexing her stiff joints. Regulus beckoned her over, patting the couch, but she remained standing beside the writing desk, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
"We are making a crisis where one need not exist," she said, picking up her scroll and brandishing it. "Celcinius can give us no more than his decision, one way or another. I don't see what makes the situation so very special. Vespasian has made himself Emperor of Rome, and Vespasian is one of us, a Temporian! Why are they so worried?"
"It is a precedent of the most alarming kind, it threatens our whole philosophy of controlling Rome from behind its administration. In the 540 years since the Frigidarium was built, not one of us has ever taken the rank of a major public leader."
Doria clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace. "Who is to say that Vespasian's action was not a good thing?
You have said as much yourself, many times. Caligula was a monster, Nero was a buffoon, and then we had those clowns Galba, Otho, and Vitellius struggling with each other
for control while what we really needed was strong and stable leadership. Vespasian may have a common manner, but he is doing a lot of good. Laws are meant to work, n
ot just be kept for their own sake." Regulus chewed on a dried fig, then picked at his teeth as he assessed what she had said. Now that he was physically old he needed to think more slowly, and he used little tricks to stall for time in every discussion. He took a deep breath.
"We need the authority of Celcinius to call another Grand Temporian Council. We have not had one since the Punic Wars, and there is much to decide. Perhaps Temporians should become emperors if it is appropriate, in fact perhaps all
emperors should be Temporians. Whatever the case, we need a decision with the greatest authority or there will be division."
"We could deduce his opinion from the precedents of his past decisions. It has been done before."
"No, no, there is also the expansion of the Empire to consider. How far can Rome's reach be safely extended? Some say we should conquer the world. Marcus Bassilius has secretly sent ships to India, to the even more distant Silk Empire, and right around Africa. He wants to lay the foundations of a world governed by Rome, and he wants the Frigidarium expanded to take the extra Temporians needed to govern the larger empire."
"How many does he have in mind?" asked Doria.
"His lowest estimate is two thousand. He has given me a list of preliminary names."
"I've seen it, and I don't like most of the names proposed. They should all be like that young legionnaire Vitellan who survived five days in the ocean. He has wonderful resistance to cold, and he is young enough to be revived dozens of times and remain healthy. Youngsters like him are our future, not the spoiled and sickly sons and daughters of nobles and senators!"
When Regulus did not reply Doria gave a short, humorless laugh, then returned to her desk and wrote down the figure two thousand on a wax tablet. She did several calculations before looking up again.
"That raises another question," she said. "Only three
Temporian men know the Venenum's secret, and one of those is Celcinius. Thus two men produce the Venenum Immortale for 370 people. That cannot be allowed to continue."
"Why not? It is a secret of power, the ultimate secret that all Temporian control rests upon."
"I have some figures here, figures about how much time two men would have to devote to making enough Venenum Immortale to allow two thousand people to be refrozen every five years—on average, of course. Two is just not enough. Even ten Venenum Masters would have trouble meeting such a quota. The process should be common knowledge among us."
"But no more than three have ever needed to know it in the past."
Doria walked slowly across to the couch where Regulus lay and sat down stiffly, grimacing at the pain from her arthritis. She handed him the wax tablet and pointed to figures with her stylus as he read.
'Two thousand Temporians would need five times more oil if they are to be frozen and revived at the same rate. Now just think. There are sufficient women in the revival teams to meet the quota. Women could produce all the Venenum that we need."
"Then women would hold a total monopoly on both freezing and revival. The Adjudicators would never agree to that."
"If more Venenum is not made, there can be no extra Temporians to govern a bigger empire."
"There might be if we governed differently." "As kings and emperors?"
"Exactly. Whatever decision is made, it's going to be a sharp break from tradition, and it will need authority and unity behind it. Only Celcinius can give the Adjudicators that."
Doria returned to her writing desk and sat with her arms folded, staring at her scrolls but reading nothing. It was some time before she spoke, and Regulus was not inclined to disturb her?"
"All right then, when do you propose to disturb his rest?"
she asked, resigned at last and sounding as if she no longer cared what happened.
"Tomorrow."
"As soon as that?"
"The pressure on us is already great. Can your revival teams be ready?"
"Yes, but Venus is still in the evening sky. Revivals are best done when Venus rises before the dawn, and we shall need the best planetary alignment possible for reviving a ninety-four-year-old man."
By that time you will have passed your office on to someone else as well, Regulus thought to himself as he swung his legs over the edge of the couch and stiffly rose to his feet. "I shall make my report to the Adjudicators this afternoon. If I am any judge of politics they will vote to take their chances with Venus, and break Celcinius' seal on the equinox." The Cliffs Below Nusquam: 21 December 71, Anno Domini
Lars and Vespus lay hidden in their sacks of cloth on the altar while the light faded. The cliff beside them towered away into gray mist, but they could see nothing of it. The muleteers had unloaded their shipment of grain, dried fruits, and cloth in the mid-afternoon, leaving the sacks in five neat piles at the center of the altar. Now they were gone, and everything lay unguarded amid the snow and rocks. Nobody came to inspect what was there, no thieves appeared to steal even a single sack. Lars and Vespus had no doubt that they were under observation from somewhere, however, and the two thieves lay very still until after sunset.
Nusquam, the ancient palace of the Temporians, could no longer be reached by any path. Centuries earlier, when the palace had been completed, the access path had been systematically demolished, leaving only the sheer mountainside. Food, fuel, slaves, and Temporians all came by mule, to be left on the altar.
The snow had stopped around sunset, and a brisk breeze moaned by the cliff. Somewhere in the distance there was a dull, irregular thumping. Small rocks pattered down around them.
"Something on the way," said Vespus. "Something big. A god's footsteps."
"It's just a noise," Lars snapped impatiently, annoyed at ' his companion's fright. "The footsteps of a real god would shake the very ground beneath us." He listened for a time. "Something is being lowered from above, and the wind is blowing it against the cliff, knocking loose the stones that are falling around us. It's probably a great basket to carry all these goods."
"Soon it's us who will be thumpin' against the cliff," replied Vespus, still unhappy.
"They'll have some arrangement to keep the goods safe, and if the goods are safe then so will we be. Think of yourself as a bundle of fine garments, Vespus. No harm will come to you."
The thuds grew louder, but they were the hollow booms of a great drum rather than the footfall of gigantic feet. Suddenly it seemed to them that all was darker than before, then there was a soft thump nearby followed by footsteps crunching through the snow. Someone had ridden down on the crane's hook.
"Lupus? Vulpus?" asked a voice with a curiously twisted Roman accent.
Lars hesitated, but those were the codenames that they had been told to use. "Lacerna?" he called softly in turn.
"Yes, yes, where—ah, this pile. Quickly now, out with you for a stretch and a piss. It'll be your last chance for hours."
"But we'll be seen from above," said Lars.
"Impossible," said the slave, laughing. "Take a look."
Lars had the impression of a huge canopy resting on five thick legs. It straddled the altar. The slave was an indistinct shape doing something with ropes nearby.
"The hand of the gods," said Vespus behind him.
"That's it, the mighty wicker and cloth hand of the gods," Lacerna replied. "A hook beneath each finger, and above it all a crane driven by five horses at a windlass. It's made to boom like a huge drum when the wind bangs it against the cliff, and it sends the yokels screaming."
Each of the piles of sacks had been placed on heavy net-
ting, and the slave tied the corners of these to the hooks below each finger.
"How long is the arm?" asked Vespus, looking up the black center.
"When fully extended, about two hundred feet. At night, in the mist, it looks to be the arm of a mighty and gigantic god. When we wind it back up it reaches a spar near the top and is furled like a sail. Now, back in your sacks and lie still and quiet. I'm to whistle in the guards."
"Guards?" exclaimed
Vespus.
"Aye, there's four guards been lying out of sight down here since before dawn. Sometimes we let curious muleteers see the arm of the gods to keep the. legend going, sometimes we make 'em disappear to show that the gods are dangerous." The slave blew a shrill, piercing blast on his whistle. Soon they could hear the tramp of feet in the snow.
"Bad hunting tonight, sir?" called the slave.
"Thirty came, thirty went," someone called. "What of the sacks?"
"All in order, sir."
'Then whistle us up. I'd kill for a warm fire and a pot of stew after a day down here." Lacerna blew another three quick blasts, and almost at once Lars and Vespus felt themselves crushed by the sacks around them as the net was winched up. The wicker hand began swinging as soon as they left the ground, and it hit against the cliff with deep, resonant booms.
The Centurion's Empire Page 3
