Santino, Helena and I had grown so close over the first few years of our joint friendship that it seemed so insane to me now that, suddenly, I was losing them both.
I turned and pressed my back against the bars. I stood there a while before smacking the back of my head against them once, and then twice.
“What’s wrong with me, John? How did I lose Helena? How am I possibly losing you?”
Santino pushed himself off the bars and walked towards the center of the room. “Hey, don’t go all weepy-eyed on my, Jacob. You know you can’t get rid of me that easy. Helena, on the other hand, well, she is a woman, and they do things in mysterious ways and all that, so I can’t really be much help there. That said, you do have a way of pushing all your personal shit on others, whether you know it or not.”
“How so?”
Santino took a step forward to answer, but the sound of his boots clinking against the stone floor jarred the sleeping girl awake. She bolted to a sitting position, her eyes terrified at the mere sight of us. Neither Santino nor I knew how to react, but we were lucky enough that we didn’t have to when recognition finally spread across her face. As soon as the realization took full effect, she slumped against the wall again and was out cold.
Santino tiptoed his way back to the gate, an effortless endeavor for a man whose sole purpose in life was to remain as much like a ghost as a man could without actually being dead.
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Who planned this operation?”
“We did,” I answered.
He didn’t say anything. All he did was continue to look passively at me.
“Okay, okay,” I relented, “I did. I planned it. So what?”
He raised an eyebrow at me knowingly. “And the one before that?”
I sighed. “Me.”
He threw me a smug grin. “Think about it, Hunter. You…” Our cellmate stirred again despite our hushed voices. The poor girl. I couldn’t begin to imagine what she had gone through. Santino turned his attention back to me. “Mind if we drop it for now?” He flicked his head towards the girl. “For her sake?”
“Yeah,” I answered distractedly. “Okay.”
I spent the next few hours trying to get some rest, but my mind kept wandering back to what Santino had tried to say and sleep never came. Thoughts of a Helena who never wanted a thing to do with me kept coming to mind, scenarios where she and Santino simply walked out of my life, not with each other, just… at the same time. That they would just leave me alone to deal with a life under Agrippina’s constant pursuit alone was disturbing. The idea kept invading my mind bit just when I felt sleep take a more permanent hold on me, gunfire erupted from within the cavern. It drifted into the small cell in muffled tones at first, the crisscrossing corridors breaking up the movement of the sound waves, before growing louder. I stood up and moved to the bars again, Santino joining me. Julia seemed unconscious, hiding beneath her blanket in the corner.
“Helena?” Santino asked.
I tried to concentrate on the gunfire. “I don’t think so. She’s only supposed to rescue us if we don’t check in after nine hours. Besides, it doesn’t sound like her P90.”
“Then, who?” Santino asked, perplexed.
“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say it was…”
I was interrupted by a very large figure rounding the corner to the corridor, moving towards us with an ominous slowness as dust billowed around him. He held a torch in one hand and a very large gun in the other, and his identity became instantly known. He was wearing his own set of night ops combat fatigues and his face was covered by a black balaclava, only a narrow slit for his eyes visible.
He looked between Santino and me before pulling off his mask, revealing the face of my favorite Frenchman. “Bonjour, mes ami,” our friend Jeanne Bordeaux said, nodding to each of us in turn. “Perhaps one day you will rescue me for a change, no?”
II
Planning
Mission Entry #2
Jacob Hunter
Valentia, Transalpine Gaul - April, 42 A.D.
The reason I ended my last entry so abruptly was because Santino, Helena and I had to take care of a little business.
Hostage negotiation, if you will.
The original plan called for Santino and me to infiltrate a band of thugs responsible for the death of an equestrian Roman family and the abduction of a young girl. Our insertion had gone smoothly, but when we arrived at their hideout, our cover was blown and we had to improvise. Jeanne Bordeaux, formerly of the National Gendarmerie Intervention Group (say that ten times fast) and a former Praetorian squad member, came to the rescue.
When Helena was on supply run duty a few days ago, part of her orders had been to get in contact with him, tell him what we were planning, and ask if he’d help out. She reported that he said he’d think about it. I guess we were lucky he was a quick thinker, and I was happy to see him. He was another connection to our lost home and his mere presence was a reminder of better times.
When he arrived, Santino had joined him in clearing out the rest of the cave while I helped our charge, a seventeen year old girl named Julia. She’d been stripped naked by her kidnappers and all she had to cover herself with was a blanket I gave her. I was as careful and gentle as I could be with her, but she wouldn’t budge from her corner so I had to carry her out. Luckily, Santino and Bordeaux had done a good job clearing the cave complex. On the way out, I noticed the leader of the group, Madriviox, dead with a neat little hole through his forehead.
He got what he deserved.
We immediately returned to the tavern we’d left from. Helena is comforting and talking to the girl while Santino has run off with his barmaid again. Bordeaux is at the table with me, and with him here, we can move on to the next phase of my plan.
Until next time.
I put my pen between the pages and wrapped a rubber band around the small leather bound journal, capturing the pen within. Having spent a few years working at my college library, I knew it wasn’t the best thing for the binding, but I was lazy and it made finding my spot again just that much easier. Not to mention a pen. I dropped the book into a bag and turned my attention to the large man seated across from me.
To say the man was large was like calling the Himalayas a series of rolling hills. He was taller than me, significantly broader across the chest and shoulders and had the build of a professional wrestle. His sharp nose and angled chin gave him a look I always associated with the French, and his bright blue eyes, scruffy light brown hair and short facial stubble made him a pretty good looking guy.
He’d joined the Papal Praetorians after his wife had been killed in a terrorist attack outside the Vatican, something that still haunted him deeply, and was not something he discussed very often. It was a defining moment for him, an event that brought him into my circle of friends and subsequently to Ancient Rome. Once Claudius was defeated, he no longer had a reason to remain an active combatant, and made the decision to explore the territory he had once called home – France. While it was only Gaul these days, a territory that had very little in common with its modern equivalent, he had said it was where he felt he belonged.
Two years ago, Santino’s UAV, which was almost always active and broadcasting, had picked up a data package from him. He must have uploaded it to his computer and set it to idle transmission. When the UAV came into range by a stroke of pure luck, it had automatically connected and received the email. We had been on the run at the time, just passing through yet another random part of Europe, so we didn’t actually notice it until we were out of range again.
He hadn’t written much, just a simple message that he was happily married to a likewise widowed woman of German ancestry, which also means little in modern terms, and had bought a tavern near the one we were now in. It was why we chose to come to Valentia in the first place. He had finished by saying he was living a quiet life of relaxation which, for the first time in many years, was completely devoid of war. He had also written
that his wife was pregnant and that they were expecting a child.
“Sorry, Jeanne,” I said, forgetting my manners. “The journal was Helena’s idea. A way to record what we’re doing. Just in case.”
“Not a problem, mon ami,” he said while sipping some wine. I always got a kick out of the fact that despite being perfectly fluent in both English and Latin, he always insisted on throwing out a few choice French words as well. He was a typical stubborn Frenchman. “Although, I am curious as to what it is you’re doing. Exactly.”
“We’ll get to that,” I reassured him, “but first, how have you been? Are you a proud father yet?”
That forced a smile to his face. “I see you got my message. I had been wondering. And yes, I am actually. My wife and I had twins two years ago. Here,” he said as he reached for his bag. He pulled out a digital camera, which he held out to display a photograph of two young boys. They were good looking kids, but they seemed too big somehow, out of proportion with their surroundings.
“How big are they?” I asked, still squinting at the camera.
Bordeaux gave me a knowing smile. “I know. They are going to be huge!”
I gave the pictures another look, eyes widening. “If that’s what the kids are like, what about the mother?”
He smirked and manipulated the camera to show me a picture of a lovely woman with fiery red curly hair, and a pale complexion. Her round face and doe eyes made her more cute than beautiful, but there was no denying her attractiveness. He switched to a different picture that showed the two of them standing next to one another and I was finally able to see her with some perspective. She might have been taller than I was. I looked away from the picture to his smiling face.
“Oui,” he said in response to my silent question. “I have my own little Amazon now.”
“‘Little’,” I said in amusement. Helena had always been jokingly referred to as an Amazon by the legionnaires we’d spent time with five years ago because of her height and prowess at war. “I didn’t know they made women that big. She could be a star in the WNBA, a model or both.”
“I got lucky,” he said, pulling back the camera to look at the picture, a broad smile on his face. “I am quite happy.”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” I started, curious. “What did you tell her about you? About all of us? I mean, how did you explain the camera? What about marriage? How did you work that out?”
Bordeaux put away his camera and leaned back in his chair, linking his fingers together as he laid them on his abdomen. “Well,” he began. “It was not easy at first. I told her there were things I simply couldn’t explain and that she would have to trust me. It was for her own safety after all. But once I gave her some of the warm clothes I’d brought, not to mention the medicine and first aid supplies I had, she realized my differences were all for the best. She loved me the day I gave her a pain killer for a headache.”
“Must be nice to have such a loving woman,” I remarked dryly.
He tilted his head back and looked at me oddly before continuing.
“It… is,” he said slowly. “But it was not easy. It took a long time for her to bring herself to really trust me. As for the marriage, I knew finding a priest was out of the question, so I took her rights. It’s what she wanted. She hasn’t forced me to worship some random pantheon, but I respected her wishes. We have been spending the past few years discussing the ideas and concepts of Christianity, and she likes them, and I know my kids will not be trapped into worshiping a set of gods they think might actually smite them.”
“I’m happy for you, Jeanne, I really am,” I said, shaking my head at the table. “I know you were hurting after the Vatican attacks and it’s good you were able to find someone else you can be happy with.”
“Merci, Jacob, but you sound almost jealous. Shouldn’t you and Helena be madly in love still? In fact,” he said, glancing around the tavern, “how come I don’t see any smartass kids with a good right hook running around?”
I laughed. “After four years? I wish. And Kids? You’re kidding right? Besides, we’ve already got one. His name’s Santino!”
“Oh, right,” Bordeaux said with a laugh. “Still, I hear the tension in your voice. Is something wrong?”
“I really don’t know.” I sighed and leaned back in my own chair. “I feel like I’ve had this conversation a dozen times already in the past few days. Helena’s just been acting distant lately, and every time I try to get close, she just pushes me away. I don’t know why. I haven’t cheated on her or ever given her reason to think I have, but every time a barmaid or other female comes around, she gets immediately jealous. I don’t know. Sometimes, I wonder why I try anymore.”
He pulled his cup from his lips and pointed it at me. “You try because you love her. If you didn’t, it wouldn’t bother you so much. And she loves you, or else she wouldn’t be afraid to talk to you. If she really didn’t care, she would throw all her problems at you at once, and make you figure them out. Many relationships are torn apart because many people are simply unable to talk to each other. It’s all about trust. If you don’t trust each other, and you won’t talk to each other, then perhaps you don’t belong with each other. But if you do, and you do, you’ll be just fine.”
“Thanks, Dr. Love,” I said with a half-smile. “But it really couldn’t have come at a worse time. We’re going to have our hands full for the next few months.”
“Ah, the plot thickens.”
“Yeah, basically,” I muttered, taking a deep breath. “Ready?”
“Oui.”
“Okay. First thing’s first then. What do you know about what happened to Caligula?”
“I heard he was poisoned at a dinner party and that no suspects were ever named. Agrippina is in control until Nero is old enough to become emperor.”
“Sure it’s easy to believe the national propaganda,” I said, “but the truth is, I know who killed him. It was Agrippina.
He was clearly taken aback. He didn’t know her like the three of us on the run did. “How do you know?”
“Trust me, I know. She was also responsible for Santino and me being captured that day we infiltrated Rome.”
“Interesting,” Bordeaux said, stroking his chin. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Who are they going to believe? Me or the new empress of Rome?”
“Ah,” he said. “I really should not be surprised. Her taxation policies are strangling many families here in the provinces and her forced enlistment draft is completely unnecessary. She has made many enemies amongst the Gaulic aristocracy from what I have heard.”
“I know, Jeanne. That’s not the worst of it. She’s placed puppet administrators all over the empire. They fear for their lives because of how Agrippina disposed of their predecessors and do little to counteract her overaggressive policies. The Senate hasn’t fared much better. It’s been gutted like a Christmas turkey.”
Bordeaux shook his head. “She started off so well.”
I almost smiled at his comment. “That’s exactly how Caligula started as well.”
He angled his head. “You don’t think she’s been affected by the orb, do you?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? I’ve recruited some feelers over the years to get an idea of what’s been going on in Rome but I haven’t heard anything about her mental state. I just think she’s a piece of merde head of state.”
Bordeaux smiled at my well-chosen French expletive. “What makes you think you have the right to do something about it? Just because she’s a bad administrator doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility to remove her.”
“That’s an excellent question,” I said, collecting my thoughts before I continued. “It’s an interesting moral dilemma, isn’t it? Do I have the right? And I’ll tell you my answer in a word: yes. It’s my fault she’s in the position, so, yes; it’s my responsibility to fix it.”
“Hunter, no one blames you for bringing us here.”
“I blame myself,” I
snapped before staring at the table in embarrassment before returning my attention to Bordeaux. “Sorry. This shit has really been weighing on my mind lately.”
“I understand,” he consoled. “What’s your plan, then?”
“Nero.”
“Nero? He’s a child.”
“You have to look at the big picture. Nero was one of the most despicable tyrants to ever grace the annals of history. He may have been a half decent administrator, but he murdered thousands, and his vainglorious attitude drove him to focus his imperial power on his own glory, not Rome’s. Those same feelers I hired have reported that even at four years old, he’s a monster. Torturing animals, abusing his staff, demanding anything and everything; he’s become the same spoiled brat he was always meant to be.”
“Sounds familiar,” Bordeaux joked lightly.
I smiled for his benefit, but quickly lost it. “It gets worse. In our history, Nero was betrayed by his Praetorians when factitious portions of the empire rebelled against him. His Praetorians did this because by then, it’s what they did. They controlled who became emperor, starting with the assassination of Caligula and their support of Claudius.” I sighed, realizing once again it was our interference that led us to this point. “But four years ago, Vincent had a plan to mold the Praetorians into the ardent defenders of the Caesars they had been under Augustus. He succeeded.”
Bordeaux nodded. “The Sacred Band.”
“Yep. In fact, the entire Praetorian Guard is now more devoutly loyal than maybe even the Pope’s Swiss Guard.” I threw a hand in the air in frustration. “Damn it, to be fair, I thought it was a good idea at the time with Caligula showing such promise. Now? It couldn’t have backfired more. Augustus was almost eighty years old when he died, and there’s no saying Nero won’t last that long either. Who knows what will happen to the future after eighty years of Nero”
To Crown a Caesar (The Praetorian Series: Book II) Page 4
