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

by Crichton, Edward

  He was clearly in over his head with something.

  I bent over and picked up a handful of his notes, written on a thick, stiff writing medium known as papyrus. Titling them towards the candle light, I tried to discern what was written.

  After living in the future and spending years in the past, I had become fluent in both Latin and English, the latter of which I was sadly finding myself using less and less as time went on, as I almost always conversed in Latin these days, even around Helena and Santino sometimes. It was depressing to think of it as yet another piece of home that was slowly slipping away, knowing I would probably abandon English all together one day. If I ever had children, I hoped to pass it on to them. Maybe they could use it as a secret code or something, but that’s all it will ever be to them.

  It must have been even worse for Helena, Bordeaux and Vincent, whose native languages had long been without use in the ancient world.

  Unfortunately, the text was in neither language, and while some of the letters appeared familiar, most did not. I’d taken a year of Greek in college, and had brushed up on it a bit these past few years, so I could at least identify it when I saw it.

  It wasn’t Greek either.

  “What language is this?” I asked Varus.

  “Hm?” He mumbled, pulling himself up from the bed. He had been lying on his stomach with his knees bent like a child’s as he searched behind the bed. “Oh, it’s Etruscan.”

  “Etruscan?” I asked rhetorically, lost in thought. “You mean like…”

  “Found it,” he said happily, holding up a clutch of papyrus in his hands.

  “Found what?” I asked, not quite sure if I wanted to know. My plans were complicated enough. I didn’t need him adding anymore variables into the equation, and anything dealing with Remus’ orb would be a big one.

  “Do you remember the document I discovered with Remus’ orb?” he asked.

  He looked at me and didn’t continue. He seemed to be waiting for an answer to a complicated question. I wondered if he actually thought I could forget.

  “Uh, yah. Its kinda hard not to,” I replied, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

  “Right. Good. Then you will be happy to learn that I have completed a rough translation of most of it.”

  “Really?” I asked in abrupt interest. “What does it say?”

  “Sadly,” he said, suddenly squeamish, “I have found nothing that describes the orb’s origin. Nothing I have translated so far has offered any insight into what it’s used for or where it came from, but there is still more to translate. However, it could take my entire life to finish it, and I am disappointed to admit that what I have translated is not fully reliable.”

  “So you basically founding nothing then,” I pointed out, perhaps a bit too obnoxiously.

  “That is inaccurate,” Varus countered. “While I have yet to understand its true purpose, I was able to discover that the way in which you used the orb to arrive in Rome was not how it was intended to be operated.”

  Before I responded, I had to remind myself to keep my thoughts succinct. Varus still thought we were from a distant land, but still from this time period, and that’s how it had to stay. While he was probably the only Roman I could truly trust, even more so than Galba, he was too close to Agrippina. I couldn’t let that information fall into her hands. All it would take is for her to think that maybe Varus had more information than he was letting on, and that he needed a little more coaxing before he gave it up.

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked. “It seemed to have worked pretty good last time I checked.”

  Varus waved a hand at me in an irritated fashion. “You listen, but you do not hear, Hunter. I’m surprised. After our first meeting, I had thought you to be more than just a mere barbarian, unlike that savage over there,” he said indicating to Santino.

  Hearing attention directed at him, Santino’s head snapped around with a big grin on it.

  “Think,” Varus continued, tapping temple. “You are right that it did indeed perform a most fascinating function, in this case, bringing you to Rome from wherever you are from, but did it not seem almost… random? Crude? It seems to me that your arrival was little more than blind luck. What good does it do Remus to have a handful of advanced people find their way to Rome five hundred years after his death?”

  “Well, maybe something went wrong with his plans,” I offered. “He thought he could use the orb somehow but something happened, and he never got around to using it.”

  “Exactly. But for what then? Do you remember the message and how it referred to only those of his own blood possessing the ability to use the orb? If that were so, then at the time, only he and Romulus could wield its power. So why didn’t they?”

  I cupped my chin in my left hand and thought about it. Varus’ logic was sound, but he didn’t have enough information to create an effective hypothesis. From his perspective, the orb didn’t work through time. He had no idea what the thing really does. But, it did make me think about one thing, something I hadn’t thought of before. If Remus knew how to wield the power of the orb, which he clearly must have, how come when Varus first touched it years ago, the first person to do so in possibly five hundred years, did he not get sent back to the days of Remus, instead of me showing up, also not in the days of Remus? Or how come he didn’t go to the future?

  “I’ve got nothing,” I said. “What do you think?”

  “I believe your experience was merely an accident of circumstance,” he answered. “It is a transportation device, yes, but I do not think the way you used it was the way it was supposed to work.”

  “Then how?”

  Varus shrugged. “That, I do not know, but I am convinced it is meant to be used in a different way. Unfortunately, I have not seen the orb in years. Once it was brought to me during the battle outside of Rome, I had it taken to Galba’s praetorium. It was gone when I went looking for it after the battle.”

  “Someone stole it?” I asked.

  “I believe so. It has put me in a very limited position. However, I have transcribed the odd mantra found at the bottom of the manuscript and I want you to have it. I am confident that it will be important one day.”

  Varus held out the scroll of papyrus he had found, and I tentatively accepted it. Unrolling it, I noticed a small paragraph written out twice.

  “What does it say?” I asked.

  “I do not know,” he answered. “It reads as gibberish to me. Many of the words have no Latin equivalent that I have been able to discover, and the rest of it speaks of mathematics and calculations, something I am certainly not well versed in.

  “But as you can see, I have provided the original Etruscan and then transcribed it phonetically for you at the bottom. I still need time to work on a proper translation, but I fear I may never succeed. At times I almost wish Claudius was still alive. He was the only other man I knew who could read Etruscan, and his vocabulary far outweighed my own.”

  Gears in my mind churned at his words. I’d almost forgotten that in the original timeline, Claudius had been one of a handful of people who could still read and write Etruscan. Something about that seemed important, but I wasn’t sure what. I shook my head and returned my attention to Varus.

  “But why me? I thought I was just another annoying plebian.”

  “Hunter, you insult yourself. After that night you risked your life to save my own, when we had only known each other a few hours, it would be unthinkable of me to still perceive you as such. You’re a good man, and now that Caligula is gone, certainly the only man I would ever trust with this information. If there’s anyone who can discern this mystery, it is you.”

  “That’s… nice.” I paused. “I guess. Look, Varus, we need to talk,” I told him as I rolled up the small piece of papyrus and placed it in my waterproof pouch. “Don’t you find it strange that we’re here?”

  He blinked. “Well, yes, it does seem odd that you would be sneaking aboard Agrippina’s ship.”
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  I rolled my eyes. It was always the smart ones who were always so dumb.

  “We could really use your help, Varus. Can you tell us where Nero is?”

  “Nero?” He repeated. “No, I cannot. I haven’t seen him in months, very few people have. Agrippina keeps him very secluded.”

  I looked over at Santino who remained focused on the door.

  “We have intelligence that he’s onboard,” I said.

  Varus looked confused. “I suppose he may be. Agrippina hardly lets him out of her sight. If he were here, he should be with her.”

  “Can you take us to her?”

  “Yes, but why?”

  I sighed, there was no way I could explain the whole thing to him quickly. “It’s a long story, but I’m satisfied Agrippina is going to lead Rome into ruin, and if not her, it will be Nero. I’m planning to blackmail her by capturing him and put someone else on the throne.”

  Varus looked relieved. “You are!? Thank the gods. I cannot stand her, and Nero is almost as bad. Such a spoiled brat. He’s horrible!”

  “Shh, keep your voice down,” I whispered. At least he took the news well. “What’s your gripe with her anyway?”

  He opened his arms wide to encompass his small room. “She is the one who has tasked me with all of this. I do not know how she even knew about it, but she does, and she is determined to take advantage. She constantly comes to me, hoping for answers, taking up hours of my time discussing my translations which should be meaningless to her…” His voice trailed off, as though there were more to the story.

  “What?” I asked.

  “She is relentless,” he moaned. “Every week she comes to my home and whispers seductively in my ear. Her intent is obvious, but she only uses her sexuality to frustrate and aggravate me. It was nice at first, for she is very beautiful, but after years of forced servitude in her employ, I would now prefer her dead or gone. My wife has not been happy with her antics and it has placed considerable strain on my marriage.”

  “We’ll deal with it,” I reassured, “but our main concern now is getting her away from Germany. We need the professionals to handle the war, not some amateur with great legs.”

  “I agree. Her decision to come here was rash and not agreed upon by many of her military advisors back in Rome.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Can you take us to her room?”

  “Yes. Follow me.”

  Santino relinquished his position by the door and fell into step behind Varus as he lead the way out of his small room, throwing Santino one last look of annoyance before stepping through the door. Following his lead, we traveled up one floor and took a right turn at the rear of the ship. He led us to a large door only a short walk away from the stairwell.

  “This is her room,” he whispered, indicating the only door along the rear wall. “Be careful.”

  “Don’t worry about…”

  Before I could finish, a candle flickered around the corner and a man dressed in legionary armor came face to face with the three of us. No longer confined to the pomerium, the sacred boundary around the original borders of Rome, the Praetorian before us was allowed to wear full combat armor – gladius and all.

  His face expressed shock and hesitation, but Santino’s did not. Acting on pure instinct, he leapt on the man, just as he had done Varus minutes ago, and wrapped his arm around the Praetorian’s throat. Santino’s face was intense as he choked the man unconscious, dropping him to the ground when the man’s struggle ceased.

  He brushed himself off, smiling.

  “Barbarian,” Varus muttered.

  I looked over at him. “Marcus, I’m very, very sorry about this.”

  “About what?” He asked in confusion.

  Before he had time to wrap his large brain around what I meant, I pulled out my air pistol and shot him in the thigh with a tranquilizer dart. I caught him as he fell, his legs buckling underneath him.

  “Like I said. You’ll thank me later.”

  His eyes glazed over and his eyebrows narrowed, but he’d figure it out in a few hours when he recovered. The Praetorian saw him working with two people who clearly didn’t belong onboard. If he wakes up and discovers Varus was working with us, Agrippina might crucify the poor guy. Instead, by shooting him, hopefully the Praetorian will think Varus was working against his will.

  I rested my friend on the ground gently and quietly reloaded the air pistol and shot the Praetorian in the arm, reloading again. Santino smirked at me. “Varus is not going to be happy.”

  “He’s a smart guy. He’ll deal with it.”

  “You really are a sadistic bastard aren’t you? I bet Helena has a real good time with you in bed.”

  I looked from the snoozing Praetorian to Santino. “Shut it.”

  He chuckled. “Let’s get these two inside.”

  I nodded and gently opened the door leading into Agrippina’s room. Removing the dart from Varus’ leg, I pulled him into the room and set him down next to the entrance. Santino did the same with the Praetorian. Shutting the door, I turned around and took in Agrippina’s room in a glance, which wasn’t nearly enough time.

  Her room was decorated like an art museum, with sculptures, paintings and murals arrayed all throughout its interior. There were red and purple fabrics draped across the walls and furniture, oriental style rugs on the ground, and enough window space to allow natural light to brighten up the room. I pulled off my goggles, letting my eyes’ natural night vision develop, and took a closer look around.

  I looked specifically at the displayed art, quickly noting a common theme. Every piece seemed to prominently feature the same character: Venus, the Roman version of the Greek goddess Aphrodite. As to see why Agrippina would choose her, I had not a doubt in my mind. Of every classical deity, Venus was the only one I could see Agrippina relating with. She was seductive, vane, prone to anger and was a rash decision maker, personality quirks she shared with Agrippina. I wasn’t an art history major, but I recognized many of the paintings and sculptures from mythological context alone.

  I saw a painting of Venus emerging from the sea upon her birth, naked and riding an open sea shell. It was eerily similar to the painting by Botticelli, but completely original in of itself. Another depicted the event where Vulcan, Venus’ husband, learned she was having an affair with the god of war, Mars. Intending to catch them in the act, her husband trapped the pair in an inescapable net during one of their sexual encounters. The story continues when Vulcan called all the gods and goddesses to view the spectacle, hoping they would take his side and punish Mars. Unfortunately for the lame-footed and gimped Vulcan, all the goddesses were too in awe of Venus’ beauty to look upon them, while all the male gods simply joked and laughed at Vulcan’s expense, wishing they could take Mars’ place, naked and entangled with the loveliest creature that ever existed.

  I always found that story amusing.

  One piece depicted of the judgment of Paris, where he chose Venus’s gift over Minerva’s and Juno’s, sparking the Trojan War. Another showed Pygmalion sculpting a model of Venus to create an image of the perfect woman, only to fall in love with the sculpture. Yet another displayed Venus’ rescuing of either Aeneas or Paris at the hands of either Diomedes or Menelaos respectfully during the Trojan War. The final painting was another naked image of her wearing nothing but the cestus, a girdle forged by Vulcan that made her even more irresistible to humans and gods alike.

  Her cestus always seemed redundant to me, since she was already supposed to be the most beautiful woman, mortal or god, in the eyes of all people, both male and female. It was always my impression that those who looked upon Venus saw in her what they considered perfect beauty. She was supposed to resemble the pinnacle woman, a paradigm, a true ten on any bar hoppers scale, and since every person’s opinion of beauty was different, so would she have to be as well.

  I squinted at the closest picture, the one with Venus wearing the cestus and noticed two things. First, was that in each piece of art, Venus was a
lways completely naked, hiding no shame, not that a goddess would have any to speak of. There were plenty of art pieces I remember from home that portrayed her naked, but most tried to maintain some semblance of dignity by covering up her goods with a fig leaf or something. The artists of these works were unaware of any such concept and left nothing to the imagination.

  The second thing I noticed was that Venus’ face looked familiar, and it didn’t take long before I realized the model for these pieces was none other than Agrippina herself. I almost laughed at the vanity of the woman. By using herself as the model for the goddess of love, the most beautiful woman the world will ever know, she was practically claiming that mantel for herself.

  But I had to admit, she made for a pretty convincing model.

  “Are you seeing all this?” Santino asked, his eyes wide like a kid’s in a candy store.

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “That’s Aphrodite isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, pleased at his insight, even though since we were technically in the Roman era, Venus was probably more appropriate.

  “She’s… naked, and… smoking hot.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, still drinking in the details.

  “Think I can…”

  “No,” I said sharply, playing the part of his mother refusing to buy him something from the store. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

  “Damn,” he replied, disappointment obvious in his voice. “That sculpture over there would go great in my bathroom, right next to my gold plated toilet.”

  I looked at the sculpture in question. It was an image of Venus, wielding a sword and wearing armor fit for an Amazon. Some Amazonian armor allowed their breasts to hang out over them, so as not to constrict their movement, but according to at least one ancient writer, mothers of new born girls would use a special tool to cauterize the area where the girl’s right breast would grow, preventing its development completely. The absence of a right breast was thought to enhance the strength of the right arm and shoulder, making them more formidable warriors. While it was an interesting story, something told me modern science could probably disprove that theory.