To Crown a Caesar (The Praetorian Series: Book II)

by Crichton, Edward

  I immediately regretted not bringing Helena.

  Thankfully, before I had to endure the discomfort much longer, Santino sent the grappling hook flying over the railing of the ship, about twenty meters above the surface of the water. He stood and climbed. I followed, the weight of my soaked gear threatening to pull me down, but I barely felt it as adrenaline coursed its way through my body. I stubbornly pulled myself upwards, one hand after another. I reached the railing, and with one last exertion, threw myself up and over it, landing quietly in a crouch. Santino already had his rifle at the ready, automatically waiting for me to secure the hook and rope to his back.

  I gently squeezed his right shoulder, the signal for him to lead the way. As I followed him, I also sent Helena the all clear signal. She returned it. Only two minutes had passed. So far, so good. We followed the Romans’ patrol route around the starboard side of the ship, their return leg keeping them on the port side.

  The deck of Agrippina’s pleasure barge looked like any random high class district back in Rome. At the aft end of the deck stood a building that looked like a smaller version of the Parthenon. It was rectangular in design and had columns holding up the roof all around the exterior of the structure. It had to be a temple. Romans were a very superstitious lot, and never went anywhere or did anything before paying tribute to any number of their gods, going well out of their way to ensure they didn’t piss them off.

  The second of the two structures sat at the bow of the ship, the one we were just passing along the starboard side of. We paused at its corner and looked out over the plaza that dominated the area between the two buildings. The deck was lined with marble in an intricate design of shapes and colors, intertwined in a rather impressive artistic motif. Columns stretched along the port and starboard sides of the plaza, connecting the two structures, and benches dotted the edge as well.

  Since the ship’s arrival, we had observed day time parties where scantily clad men and women cavorted about, dancing and eating on the deck. Word had it, Agrippina’s court in Rome acted in a similar fashion, harkening back to the debaucheries of Tiberius’ time as Caesar not too long ago. Agrippina made the rare appearances, but most of the time she was in the camp. Not once had we seen a small boy.

  The parties were irksome affairs. Any military commander worth his pay grade would never taunt an army with such shows of frivolity. Flaunting wealth and privilege in front of excessively underprivileged foot soldiers, paid in many instances with little more than salt, was an idea born from a mind steeped in madness. It was only because of their discipline and the threat of a centurion’s olive branch that the legionnaires hadn’t rebelled outright.

  I shook my head as I remembered the gluttonous, drunken attendants of those parties. They were amongst the foremost reasons for Rome’s eventual fall. Corruption and apathy had spelled Rome’s downfall equally as much as the inefficiency of their military or the invading barbarian hordes, and certainly more than Christianity, despite what Edward Gibbon said. It was because of those ineffective leaders, leaders who spent more time drinking and finding new ways to stab their peers in the back, that the barbarian invaders had been able to extinguish the flame that was the glory and civilization of Rome, driving Europe into a time of darkness that regressed society hundreds of years.

  I tried to push those thoughts to the back of my mind when Santino held up a clenched fist, signaling me to stop. The night was dark, and despite torches secured to the pillars, we were hidden deep in shadow. We had confirmed only one patrolling pair atop the deck, so we figured getting inside the ship would be the easy part, but we had no idea what we would encounter once inside and Galba’s description of its honeycombed interior didn’t inspire much confidence.

  Santino kept his hand up for a few seconds before flicking his wrist, indicating it was clear to move out. We rounded the corner of the second building, which resembled the curia in Rome: plain and unremarkable. There was nothing left between us and the interior of the ship, so we slipped through a door and quietly descended a small flight of stairs.

  We were greeted by complete darkness, forcing us to utilize our NVGs. Securing mine in front of my eyes, the world instantaneously brightened in a sea of green. A random memory surged into my mind, about a cheap night vision scope I had when I was a kid. Cheap was a relative term, because I saved my allowance for what seemed like forever to buy the thing. I vividly remember my mom reluctantly placing the order when I was thirteen, and every last penny of my hard earned four hundred dollars disappeared that day.

  Needless to say, the NVGs had been garbage.

  Its picture quality had been poor, manual focusing was required, bright flashes would wash out images, and it projected a small red beam that always gave away my position when my friends and I would shoot at cars with our BB guns. It probably hadn’t been the smartest thing to do, but it was fun, and boys will forever be boys.

  But the goggles I had now would have made my thirteen year old counterpart piss his pants. These NVGs cost close to four thousand dollars, focused automatically, compensated for bright flashes, projected crystal clear images, and gave off no ambient light. There were the two, small, green circles around my eyes, a result of the green backlight displayed within the goggles, but they were hard to notice unless you were really looking for them.

  I smiled in the darkness as another memory jumped to mind, of the time my SEAL platoon volunteered to play bad guys during a training exercise with a deployed Marine Force Recon unit. I remember sitting in compete darkness at one point, waiting for the scenario to end after I had been “killed” by a Blackhawk’s miniguns. It had been two in the morning, but I was wide awake and sharp, and I hadn’t noticed a thing until I heard the heavy panting of one of the unit’s K9s breathing heavily against my cheek. It was then that I finally noticed the small green glows around their eyes as the Marines traveled back and forth down the hall, searching for anything suspicious.

  Those green eyes spooked me and probably will for the rest of my life.

  The Marines themselves had been almost invisible in the darkness, little more than two green circles bobbing in midair. It wasn’t until after they’d left and the scenario had ended that I realized there had only been one entrance to the hallway, and that the Marines had spent at least ten minutes walking back and forth over my out stretched legs before I even noticed them. Those guys had been ghosts, and even though I was a Navy man and had inherited an intimate rivalry with Marines, after that moment, I had nothing but respect for that particular bunch.

  I shook my head again to get myself back on task. I really had to kick the bad habit of letting my mind wander while on a mission. Santino glanced back at me, having to turn his entire head to do so. If NVGs had any drawbacks it was how they diminished your peripheral vision and decreased your depth perception. Minor annoyances, but it beat grasping around in the dark with our hands stretched out before us like two of the three blind mice.

  Catching his look, I nodded, an exaggerated gesture as well. He turned back down the corridor and started moving. Like the caverns we had found ourselves in back in 2021, we didn’t know where to go, but like then, I wasn’t worried. Even if he didn’t know where he was going, Santino had a sixth sense that guided him instinctually. It was an interesting and almost supernatural ability, but it had served him well over the years. He was a born tracker, hunter, and scout, and he rarely missed a thing.

  He didn’t really understand it either, but he theorized it was a skill he developed over the years as a kid. He’d grown up in one of the seedier areas of New York, and every day had been a quest just to stay alive. Gangs, pedophiles, rapists, and murders had been everywhere, and only a kid with a will to survive could make it home unscathed. He’d told me that not once over the years had he been beaten up or hurt because he had become adept at simply avoiding contact with those around him. He’d gotten really good at it, and had honed his skills by later tracking those he’d just as soon avoid.

  How
ever he received the ability, I was just glad he was here. It made my job easier. I technically could have been replaced by Helena on this mission, but Santino had to be here. All I had to do was follow him and cover his ass.

  ***

  Galba had been mostly right. While I wouldn’t describe the ship’s interior as a honeycomb, it was certainly complex. Constructed similarly to ships of the future, it was constructed around long hallways and stairwells that took us between decks, offering a familiar environment to work in.

  After discovering our first staircase, Santino descended three levels and headed aft. His logic probably centered along the notion that Agrippina’s stateroom would probably be near the middle and rear of the ship, the boat’s most secure part.

  We passed room after room but saw nothing that appeared to be an entranceway to a room meant for an empress. We were just about to the stern stairwell when I saw a dim light coming around the corner of an adjacent hallway. Santino motioned for me to halt, and quickly flicked his hand towards the left side of the hall. He remained to the right, edging inside a door frame while I moved to the left, doing the same.

  The candlelight grew brighter, and my NVGs grew dimmer to compensate for the increased illumination. When the figure holding the candle rounded the corner, my goggles compensated as well as it could, but the sudden brightness washed out my vision. I could still make out the target as a man, but his face was behind the flame, making it impossible for me to ID him. Santino, on the other hand, opted to act first and ask questions later, leaping on the man like a panther from a tree limb. He body checked him into the wall and pushed his forearm into the man’s neck, cutting off his air supply.

  Frightened by Santino’s attack, the man dropped his candle and the flame went out as it fell to the deck. My goggles refocused immediately and brightened. I saw the man’s eyes roll into the back of his head as Santino slowly choked him into unconsciousness.

  And then I recognized him.

  Before Santino could finish the guy off, I leapt on him, just as he had just done the hapless passerby. I pulled his arm away from his target’s neck, and the man fell to the floor, flinging his hands to his throat as he attempted to coax air back into his lungs.

  “What the hell?” Santino asked, confused at my intervention.

  I held up a finger, signaling for him to hang on and wait.

  I knelt in front of the man, letting him gaze into the floating green dots that were my eyes. There was no way he could have recognized me, but it was impossible to mistake the technology.

  “Hu… Hunt…?” He croaked, unable to sound out the word.

  I smiled. “Burning the midnight oil are we, Varus?”

  ***

  “What in the name of Mercury are you doing here?” Marcus Varus asked as he ushered us into his decent sized stateroom, referencing the god of travelers.

  If I had been the key to transporting us through time to ancient Rome, then Varus had been the lock. While it had only been through a twist of fate that we found ourselves in ancient Rome, without Varus, it may never have happened at all. Remus’ orb only worked with his direct descendants, or so we assumed, and as it turned out, both Varus and I shared that in common.

  “What?” Santino asked. “We can’t stop by and visit a friend?”

  “I am hardly a friend of yours, brute. I remember the dinner four years ago and what you did to me,” he finished, sneering at Santino’s grinning face.

  I smiled, despite the cruelty of the joke Santino had played on poor Varus.

  It was a sad fact, but the truth about Santino’s jokes was that they were sometimes more childish and cruel than clever, especially when he was intoxicated. It had happened at one of our last dinner parties, the last happy one we had attended before the party that resulted in Caligula’s death.

  It was also the wildest one we had attended during our short time spent in Caligula’s service.

  I wouldn’t have described it as an orgy, but it wouldn’t have taken much to escalate it to that point. We’d been taking the whole, “when in Rome,” saying literally, and it had been fun. We’d feasted and drank till everyone had eaten more than they should have and were damn near plastered drunk. Helena and I had been making out on a couch in the corner, Caligula had two floozies with him, and every other patron was either singing, dancing, drinking, kissing, or leaving to get extra frisky with their dates. Caligula, after all, had some standards, and he wouldn’t have people fornicating in front of him.

  Even before the party, Varus and Santino hadn’t ever really gotten along. Varus was a squirmy intellectual type and Santino enjoyed nothing more than to bully such targets. He did it with me, occasionally, since I actually had a brain, but he knew Helena would kick his ass if he took it too far, so he generally directed his attention elsewhere.

  In his typical, juvenile way, Santino had decided to “de-pants” Varus, but it had apparently escaped Santino that Romans didn’t wear pants. But that hadn’t deterred him. Cleverly, Santino effectively fused two stereotypical bullying rituals into one devastating attack. By grabbing the hem of Varus’ toga and pulling it over his head, he’d not only technically de-pantsed him, but had simultaneously performed an atomic wedgie as well. It wasn’t really a wedgie, but the fact that he had been able to yank the toga over Varus’ head and shoulders dictated the title.

  But sadly, as was tradition, Varus hadn’t been wearing any undergarments, and he’d flashed the entire party as he spun around in circles, trying to dislodge his robes. Helena and I had laughed along with everyone else, too drunk to know any better. After fixing his toga, poor Varus had been bright red and fled the party in shame, his wife chasing after him after she’d taken the time to smack Santino with a single slap that knocked him to the ground. I hadn’t seen Varus for almost two weeks after that, until Caligula’s last party, and we hadn’t had a chance to talk since either.

  I could imagine he was still pretty angry about the whole thing.

  “Yeah, about that,” Santino said quietly, almost apologetically. “That was pretty funny, right?”

  I knew Varus wanted to kill Santino, but his trembling quickly subsided. He was an intellectual after all, and Santino was obviously much bigger and stronger than he was. I supposed I wasn’t giving Varus as much credit as he deserved because he was in good shape, lean and probably pretty strong to. He also wasn’t a bad looking guy, as no ancestor of mine would be, of course, and his wife was very attractive.

  Without comment, Varus moved towards his bed and I followed him, making my way carefully so that I didn’t knock over the stacks of papers and notes strewn about the floor in a chaotic mess. The room was a disaster, filled with all kinds of random documents and manuscripts. I noticed a vacant chair in the room and headed towards it, accidentally knocking over one of the stacks in the process. Varus sent me a look of disinterest.

  “Sorry about Santino, Marcus. You know how he is. I’m also sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk after Caligula’s death.” I paused. “I know it’s been four years, but I am sorry for your loss.”

  The room was eerily silent, and even Santino was respectfully quiet. Varus and Caligula had been very close, probably the closest friends each of them had, and I knew Varus had taken his death pretty hard.

  His relationship with Caligula had always interested me because it was a case of historical ambiguity. As a student, I’d spent much of my focus researching Caligula and his family tree, but not once had I encountered a man remembered as a confidant of Caligula’s with Varus’ name. That either meant his name was lost to history or it had been stricken by someone who didn’t want him remembered. Of course, there was also the chance that he was supposed to die that night we’d went back in time and became even less remembered than Galba had been.

  I’ll never know.

  “Thank you, Hunter,” he replied sadly. “I still miss him.”

  “He was a great man, and could have been greater. He died well before his time.”

&nbs
p; Varus nodded, accepting my words, but it took another moment before he snapped himself from his lamentation and started rummaging through his papers again, randomly tossing errant ones over his shoulders.

  “It is interesting that you reveal yourself now, Hunter,” he said distractedly, forgetting our conversation had even happened. “I actually have something for you. Something I think you will find most interesting.”

  “Umm, okay.” I said, looking at Santino, who had taken his goggles and mask off and offered me a shrug.

  Varus had a one track mind, more focused than obsessive, but even so, I found it humorous how he didn’t even seem remotely curious as to why we were here.

  Taking a moment while Varus searched for whatever it was he was looking for, I decided to check in with Helena.

  “3-2, 3-1, over.”

  “This is 3-2, go ahead.”

  “We’ve made contact with target Victor. He has important intel so we’re waiting him out. Hopefully he can provide directions to November. Howcopy?”

  “Solid copy, 3-1.” She paused. “Be careful. 3-2, out.”

  I glanced towards the door and found Santino already posted next to it in a crouch, his knife held in a reverse grip at the ready. I turned back to face Varus, who was still rummaging through disorganized papers thrown behind his bed.

  I frowned. It wasn’t like Varus to be so disorganized and messy. For as long as I’d known him, his toga had always been perfectly clean and wrinkle free, his face always shaven, and the few times I had visited his home in Rome, I was always impressed with his neatness and organization. He was a taciturn fellow, contemplative and scholarly, a man who had a place for everything and preferred everything in its place.