Rogue Emperor

by Crawford Kilian

  “When I came to your house that night, I told you that the Christians have many factions, and not all want to see Martellus in power. Your message to the senate was a serious blow to him, but he has recovered. The Praetorians are still strongly behind him, and many of the populace were impressed by his show in the Amphitheater. If he continues without further challenge, he will soon win over the senate, one man at a time if necessary.”

  “Or he can simply execute Comutus and me, and appoint new consuls.”

  “He must not be made to feel that desperate. Martellus wants to be seen as the legal emperor, not as usurper.”

  “And what service may I now perform?”

  “Come before Martellus. Tell him you have reconsidered, but that you must confer with the senate and with the popular assemblies as well.”

  “The assemblies? They have no real power. To hold Rome, one must control the Praetorians, the armies, and the aristocracy — not the people.”

  “As one who understands Roman politics, you can assure him that such consultation will help to strengthen his support among the common people and therefore among the three real powers. You might tell him that vox populi, vox Dei — the voice of the people is the voice of God. The true purpose of all this will be to delay.”

  “Just as Fabius Maximus Cunctator delayed Hannibal until he had no hope of victory.”

  “Precisely.”

  “So I will find tedious problems on the road to the official granting of the imperium. Very well. We were doing more than a little of that with Domitian for years.” Plinius smiled faintly. “Is your Amazon companion your ally in this?”

  “No, sir. In fact, if you had compromised me in her hearing, I would have had to kill her.”

  “Eheu! I suspected as much. This plotting and counterplotting is just like Domitian.”

  “It will be much less necessary under Trajan.”

  Maria had paused to let them catch up. While she was still out of earshot, Plinius murmured, “One thing all Christians seem to believe — that tomorrow will be better. Very strange, when fortune rules our lives and each day brings us closer to death. And as for vox populi, vox Dei — that’s positively blasphemous.”

  “My superiors could not agree with you more,” Pierce answered with a smile.

  But he felt cold anxiety: Fortune ruled his own life, and every hour brought him much closer to death.

  Twenty-one

  They reached the Ostian Gate not long before nightfall. Maria warned the Praetorians at the gate not to mention who was with her and Pierce; but they recognized Plinius under his hooded cloak, and Pierce was sure the news would be all over the city within hours. They made no objection to the donkey cart, which by law should be barred from the city until dark.

  Pierce felt terrible. In the course of the day he had consumed all of his capsules, but they had given him only brief respites. Even the fading sky of twilight hurt his eyes, and he ached as if brutally hung over. Yet somehow the pain did not mask the sensitivity that caused it. He could smell the faintest scent, hear the softest whisper, see the flies buzzing on the meat in a butcher’s stall a hundred meters away. He yearned for sleep, but first he would need to raid either Maria’s store of Pentasyn or Brother Samuel’s pharmacy.

  At this hour the city was relatively quiet, with most people indoors and the market carts not yet free to crowd the streets with their noisy night traffic. The three riders and the cart made good time, and reached the Palatine Hill while sunset was still red in the west.

  “I’m worried, Alaricus,” Maria said as they dismounted at the stables. “What if Dear Michael is still angry with me? And with you?”

  “Don’t worry, my lady — Maria. He will be overjoyed.” She paused for a moment and looked deep into his eyes, anxious and needing reassurance. He smiled and lightly touched her hand.

  Plinius walked between them into the palace, looking surprisingly fresh and alert after the long ride. He seemed impressed despite himself by the fluorescent lamps, the warbling telephones, and the strangely dressed Militants striding so confidently through the halls.

  A Crucifer told them the night’s meeting was being held in the throne room; Pierce felt alarm, and forced himself to ignore his headache. Why would the nightly meeting be held there?

  Four more Crucifers, backed up by six Praetorians, guarded the immense six-meter doors. One was Brother Kelly, the armorer, who seemed surprised to see Maria. He slipped into the throne room and returned almost at once.

  “He wants to see you, Sister. Right now.”

  Maria and Pierce crossed themselves while Plinius adjusted his toga, and they walked in.

  The room was as vast and intimidating as before, but now Pierce sensed an unusual mood in the people who sat and walked about under the high ceiling. Martel sat on Domitian’s throne, with David Greenbaugh sitting beside him at a flickerscreen. The Trainable’s face reflected the rapid flash of data from the screen; occasionally he muttered something to Martel or the Elders sitting below the emperor’s raised marble platform. Facing the emperor and Elders were dozens of Romans: soldiers, senators, tribunes. Pierce looked for Comutus but didn’t see him; the consul had vanished after his speech at the Amphitheater.

  “What have we here?” Martel called out in English, looking up at the newcomers.

  “Dear Michael, we have brought the consul Plinius Caecilius to speak with you.”

  Silence fell. The Romans turned and stared, some grinning maliciously and others looking horrified. Greenbaugh looked up from his computer.

  Plinius raised his hand in salute. “Hail, Martellus.”

  “I am to be addressed as imperator.”

  “And so shall I address you when the senate confers upon you the powers of imperium. I intend to urge the senators to do so.”

  Martel leaned back on his throne, surprised and evidently pleased, while the Romans murmured to one another. “This is welcome news, honored consul. What has changed your mind?”

  “I have had time to reflect, Martellus. To consider the realities of the day. When your servants here came to see me at Laurentum, I was ready to return.”

  “How did you know he was at Laurentum?” Martel demanded in English.

  Maria smiled nervously. “Alaricus heard a rumor. I decided to follow it up. I hope I haven’t angered you by sneaking off like that, Dear Michael. But I wanted to help you, and this seemed like a mighty good way to do it.”

  Martel’s face showed nothing for a moment. Then he smiled. “You’re forgiven. You’re a good and faithful servant, Sister Maria, and I’m well pleased with you. As are we all,” he added, and the Elders all nodded and murmured “Amen.” Pierce thought Greenbaugh and a couple of the others looked annoyed at Maria’s return to grace.

  “Alaricus,” Martel asked, “why did you turn to Sister Maria with this rumor?”

  “I serve the domina Maria, Emperor; naturally I turned to her with my news, and sought her advice.”

  “You have done well. In time I am sure you will bring forth the Christians as you have brought forth the consul. Now, Plinius Caecilius — when may we expect you to go before the senate with your recommendations?”

  Plinius launched into a long explanation of how he proposed to approach the senate, what he wished to tell the popular assemblies, and what the precedents would be for his arguments. Martel listened politely for a time, then raised a hand to silence him.

  “Consul, I leave the matter in your capable hands; follow the procedures you think best, and accept my gratitude for your support. But we have an urgent issue before us tonight. News has just come that Marcus Ulpius Traianus has marched into Italy with two legions. He is now near Trasimenus, and could be at the gates of Rome within four or five days.”

  Plinius was visibly startled by the news. “Does the senate know this?”

  “Those present here tonight know it; the senate will be officially informed the day after tomorrow, when Trajan’s head is displayed in the Capitol. You have arri
ved, dear Plinius, as we are discussing the means by which Trajan will be destroyed tomorrow.”

  “Do you have an army in the field?” Plinius asked incredulously.

  Martel smiled. “None of our men are more than fifty miles from Rome, but tomorrow by noon Trajan will face the greatest armed force this world has ever seen. We have means of transportation that make the Hesperians’ bicycles look like a peasant’s oxcart. Tonight we are making our plans and giving instructions; tomorrow before dawn we leave for Trasimenus.”

  “I confess myself astounded by this news,” Plinius said. “A single courier can cover five hundred miles in a day and night, by changing horses every few miles. But an army?”

  “I wish we could bring you with us, Plinius, but you will be needed here. Someday soon, though, you will travel from Rome to your ancestral home at Comum between sunrise and sunset. Now forgive me, but we must turn to other matters that do not concern you. Sister Maria and Alaricus, please arrange for the consul’s accommodations and refreshments, and then return to attend us.”

  Leaving the throne room, they took Plinius to a lavish apartment not far from Maria’s. A dozen slaves welcomed the consul.

  “Why should I not simply return to my own house?” Plinius asked.

  “The emperor will need you close at hand for advice and consultation,” Maria said. “We don’t want to lose you again.”

  Plinius’s calm expression did not betray the contempt he must have felt for such a thin excuse. “Very well. Perhaps, young lady, you might return to Martellus while I keep Alaricus with me for a moment. I would like him to convey some messages to my household.”

  “Of course.” Maria looked at Pierce and her smile vanished. “Alaricus, are you ill?”

  “I have a slight headache, my lady.”

  “You look feverish.” She touched his forehead. “No fever, but you’re clearly not well. Would you like something for it?”

  “Perhaps my lady would send me to the pharmacy for one of the sovereign remedies you have there, such as the one I obtained for you.”

  “Of course. She scrawled a note and handed it to him. “give that to Brother Samuel in the pharmacy.”

  “Bene facis, domina.” When she had gone, Plinius dismissed the slaves and took Pierce onto a small balcony overlooking a garden; across the way was Maria’s own apartment.

  “What am I to make of Martellus’s boasts?” Plinius asked quietly.

  Pierce rubbed his temples. “He can probably make good on them. If he takes a cohort or two of Praetorians armed with tormenta, Trajan’s men will be slaughtered.”

  “And at Trasimenus, of all places.”

  Pierce understood. The Carthaginian Hannibal had destroyed a Roman army at Lake Trasimenus two centuries earlier; now another foreign invader threatened to destroy Rome itself.

  “Have we chosen the wrong side, Alaricus?”

  “No, Consul. And it would not matter if we had.” Plinius snorted with amusement and took Pierce by the arm. He looked into Pierce’s face. “A man of principle, masquerading as a spy. You are like the eiron in a Greek play, a man who is more than he claims.”

  “And Martellus is a miles gloriosus, a braggart soldier.” Plinius laughed. “You’re no Goth, Alaricus; you’re too well educated. You’re a Hesp — ”

  Pierce’s thumbs were at the consul’s throat. “Hush,” Pierce said softly. Plinius nodded, startled by the strength in Pierce’s hands and the coldness in his eyes.

  “Your pardon, good friend. I forgot where we are.”

  “I must leave you now. If you need to send a message to your household, or to anyone else, go to the palace baths and ask for a young slave named Terentius.”

  “Good luck, Alaricus.”

  “I will need it,” Pierce mumbled.

  *

  Samuel the pharmacist doled out six Pentasyns while Pierce thought seriously about killing him to obtain the rest of the supply. With an effort he only nodded and turned away.

  Two capsules brought some relief. He sat in a darkened doorway for a few minutes, enjoying the absence of pain. Soon he would have to rejoin Maria, but he was only a short distance from David Greenbaugh’s office and its computer. At this hour the palace was relatively quiet; the Romans were off to bed, and the Militants had gathered in their dining halls for supper and gossip. He would never have a better chance.

  Greenbaugh’s office had a cheap combination padlock on it; under Pierce’s fingertips, the tumblers fell with easily detectable clicks. The fluorescent lights were still on, and the computer was flickering to no one. Pierce realized it must be linked to the one in the throne room; he would not even have to outwit the machine’s defenses. He sat back and watched page after page of data flash past.

  It was discouraging news. One of Martel’s knotholers, located just north of the city wall, had actually moved ten big Fiat trucks downtime, along with ample supplies and gasoline. Martel could easily move a cohort of Praetorians — or Crucifers, if he wanted the Militants to enjoy all the glory of destroying Trajan. Worse yet, the location of the motor pool meant he would have no hope of reaching it, penetrating its defenses, and sabotaging the trucks.

  Greenbaugh’s computer also told him what weapons and ammunition they could take to Trasimenus: plenty of automatic rifles, grenades, CS and CN tear gas, more T-60 antitank missiles, even two flamethrowers. Pierce shook his head, wishing Aquilius had somehow reached Trajan and warned him off.

  He got up and was heading for the door when he heard footsteps in the corridor. They stopped; the missing padlock must have been noticed. Pierce stepped to the side of the doorway, behind a filing cabinet, and waited. The door opened. A young Militant poked his head in.

  “H’lo?”

  Receiving no answer, he stepped back and shut the door. Pierce waited a minute; two minutes; five minutes. Then he stepped through the door, slipped the padlock onto the hasp, and walked out into the corridor without bothering to check first. If the kid had decided to watch the door, Pierce would bluff his way out of it somehow, playing dumb.

  No one was watching. By the time the palace security people came to check — if they did at all — they would find only a locked door and an undisturbed office.

  His head was not throbbing quite so badly as Brother Kelly admitted him back into the throne room. Most of the Romans had left, and the discussion between Martel and the Elders was in English. He found Maria seated off to the right of the Elders, and stationed himself beside her. She smiled quickly at him, and he smiled back.

  “So we leave here at four A.M.,” Greenbaugh was saying. “The first two maniples of the first Praetorian cohort will be here, armed with AK-47s and Uzis. We’ll have Alfa and Bravo platoons of the Crucifers, and twenty palace servants as ammo carriers. Arrival time at the motor pool will be 4:45 to 5:00. Departure at 5:30. ETA at Lake Trasimenus will be 9:30 to 10:00, assuming no major delays. By noon we have Trajan mopped up, and we’re home for supper.”

  The Elders laughed. Martel grinned. ‘Tell me, Brother David, can we arrange a triumph for tomorrow?”

  “Uh, I don’t think so, Dear Michael. But if you want to spend tomorrow night outside Rome, we could bring you in on the morning of June third, put on a real show. If Plinius gets the senate to ratify you tomorrow, we’ve got a real one-two punch. You’re the emperor, Trajan’s history, and you’ve got the whole empire in your hands. By the middle of June the whole city will be baptized, and most of the empire by the end of the year.”

  “If the International Federation gives us that long, I’ll be surprised,” said Martel.

  “Dear Michael, I’m beginning to let myself think that the Iffers have given up already,” Greenbaugh answered. “In their shoes, I’d’ve sent in whatever I could find, soon as I could — even a couple of dozen carabinieri. But I think the Lord has put a cold hand on their hearts, made ’em think about what they could be getting into. They’re thinking about the political backlash, thinking about all the good folks they haven’t m
anaged to deport yet, who might decide we’re in the right and the Iffers are in the wrong. And the longer the Iffers delay, the harder it’s going to be for them to do anything at all.”

  “Five or six months from now,” said Elias Smith, “we’ll have schools in every town, no more slavery, no more gladiators, no more superstition. After what the Iffers allowed, we’ll look like guardian angels.”

  “Amen,” the other Elders murmured.

  “Amen,” Martel echoed. “But I’m not sure we’ll move all that fast, Brother Elias. It took the original Church Fathers three hundred years and more to stop the gladiators. We may find the games are a way of strengthening our support while getting rid of our enemies.”

  Willard nodded and laughed, stroking the beard over his weak chin. “We can throw the Jews to the lions!” he guffawed.

  Martel joined in the merriment, then stood up to end the discussion. Pierce observed that Robert’s Rules of Order did not govern meetings in the throne room.

  “It’s getting late, brothers and sisters,” he said. “We have a date with destiny tomorrow morning. I wish you all a good night. Sister Maria, will you lead us in prayer?” Maria sprang to her feet, hands clasped before her face.

  “O Lord,” she said, “bless us who give our lives to Your service, and guide us to victory tomorrow when we go into battle for Your sake and the salvation of all mankind.”

  “Amen,” everyone chorused, even the Romans who had understood nothing of their new masters’ conversation.

  Pierce escorted Maria back to her apartment. She was exhilarated. “We’re going, Alaricus! Dear Michael is allowing us to go into battle with him against Trajan. Aren’t you excited?”

  “It is a wonderful honor, my lady.”

  She shut the door behind them and shot the bolt. “In here, I am not your lady but your lover.”

  He smiled and took her in his arms, wondering what he might be able to do to sabotage the expedition.

  Twenty-two