Empire Of The Undead

by Ahimsa Kerp

  He popped a chestnut into his mouth and chewed slowly. Without thinking about it, he looked over to Rowanna and she was sleeping. Her breasts rose and fell with deep breaths and her mouth hung open. She was really out, sleeping as though she hadn’t a care in the world. He wondered how he felt about her. At first, she had been someone who could keep him alive, but who had also needed his help. She didn’t need his help anymore, but his feelings were changing. He was nearly as worried for her as he was for himself, and that was saying something.

  He munched on another nut and wondered how they would be able to get away. For the first time, he wondered if there could ever be an end to this scourge. If so, how would the world be different? These thoughts fragmented into a thousand others, and he never even noticed that his eyes were closing.

  ****

  The cold woke him up in the night. His little fire had gone out and someone had covered him with an itchy, thin blanket that reeked of animal. Blearily-eyed, the alchemist looked around in the gloom. There was enough torchlight coming from the top of the walls to see most of the camp.

  Rowanna still slept. She, too, was wrapped in a few blankets. Beside her, he noted, were several Roman soldiers he did not know. Zuste fought a surge of jealousy, as he realized that Rowanna was perhaps the only living woman for a good many days. Iullianus was easy to spot, as the big red haired Roman was close by, talking to two of his men. They, too, had large blankets draped over their shoulders. Their breath steamed into the dark mountain air.

  He noticed the alchemist’s glance at once and smiled at him. “Zuste. Pray, join us. We are discussing survival, bedding women, and other likely futile subjects.”

  The bearded man made his way over to them. His blanket trailed in the earth behind him. The cold night settled assertively in his bones and he shivered. “Amicus,” Iullianus said, “when the two of you arrived, I assumed you were a couple. Since then, however, I have noted that your interactions lack a certain kind of intimacy.”

  “We are not married,” Zuste instantly realized it would have been better to lie, but it was too late. “But we have been through a lot together, these last couple days.”

  The Legatus nodded sagely. “Indeed, you have.” His voice was all understanding, but his eyes sparkled at Zuste, belying his tone.

  “Couple or not,” one of the other men said, “she might be the last piece of flesh most of us get to experience.” He was tall with sandy blond hair and looked to be a Gaul or Northern Italian.

  The other soldier scoffed. “Typical. It’s the end of the world and all you can think about is getting your dick wet.”

  “We are not going to gang rape anyone,” Iullianus said. “Least of all, an ally and a friend.”

  The sandy haired man did not give up. “You can do what you want, when those things get through. Just don’t try to stop me from mine.”

  “When those things get through?” Zuste asked. “Will the gate not hold?”

  There was an awkward silence. “I mean, this not as an insult, friend,” Iullianus said, “but I fear you may be too big to climb up and see for yourself what we three have seen.”

  “What? What have you seen?”

  “Outside the gate are more of the lifeless than we have ever seen—maybe four or five times more than the horde that smashed our army yesterday,” Iullianus said. His tone said he wasn’t finished, that the worst was yet to come. Zuste could not imagine anything that would feel him with more fear. Then the red-haired man said, “We lost many elephants out there today. Now we have seen the cost of that lost. We are faced with lifeless war elephants, rampaging against us with a power we cannot contest. No, our gate won’t hold for long.”

  CHAPTER XVI

  Rome: 88 CE, Winter

  Rufus sat in the peristylum, the shady open courtyard beyond the atrium. Floral notes wafted from his garden, and from his stool he could admire his garden. It was one of the best in Rome, but this morning it did not please him. Another morning was passing outside around him as petty men whined for his favor. It was almost, he thought, almost enough to make him miss exile, though he still savored the lack of salt and fish in the air. The only good news was that Sparsus had left the city. For now, Rufus had as much power over the Emperor as anyone, though that meant little these days.

  “Senator?”

  “It cannot be done,” he told the freeman cringing before him. “Though I can claim him as a friend, Caesar invites whom he wants to his parties. And I truly don’t believe he cares how beautiful your daughter is.”

  It’s remarkable, he thought. Give anyone a bit more money or power, and next thing they want is to cozy up to the Emperor. That man's father had been a slave.

  The man nodded, obviously displeased, but he knew better than to press his case too far. “Gratias, Senator,” he said, backing out of the room. He was met by Fulvius, who sternly led him away through the atrium.

  Rufus rose from his stool and filled his glass with water from a large pipe. He had just installed new lead pipes and they were massive. This was good for bathing, drinking, and gardening, but the Emperor taxed heavily on pipe size and Rufus rued more of his money going to Domitian. It seemed you just couldn’t get rich enough—there were always more people who wanted some of his money.

  Rufus looked up suddenly. There was shouting coming from outside. An abruptly muffled scream half-rang out. Rufus took three long steps toward the atrium before the sudden disbelief flooded through him.

  Three dirty and rough men sauntered into the peristylum. They’d obviously forced their way past Fulvius. One was eating an apple, snapping into it with juicy bites.

  “Salve, Senator Gaius Sulpicius Rufus,” said the tallest of the men, “we are here to give you a message.”

  “Who sent you? Is this another of Cornellius’ pranks? What are you about?” Rufus asked, bristling at the use of his cognomen by a mere servus.

  “No prank, Senator, no prank. We are deadly men, and dangerous.” His hand fell to the blade at his hip.

  “We are sent to tell you,” said the man beside him, “ that my master knows about the land you’ve bought. He knows about the slaves you’ve taken. He’s not happy, and he wants you to stop. Your rank won’t save you if you continue.”

  The first man reached into his clothes and emerged with his penis in his hand. “Consider yourself warned,” he said. He began pissing on the marble floor, and the scent of acrid urine hit Rufus almost immediately.

  A few of Rufus’ household slaves moved forward but he stopped them. His slaves were not armed and he had no doubt the men before him were indeed deadly. Even more, he wanted to see this message delivered to its fullest. He could be sure to respond in kind.

  “Who is your master?” he called out to the trio. The pissing man was just beginning to run dry.

  Harsh laughter greeted his words. “We surely don’t have to tell you that, Senator,” the second man said. “Just hope you never have to meet him. Next time, he might not be accommodating.”

  The man wheeled around, followed closely by the apple-eater and the pisser, who had hurriedly tucked his member away.

  Rufus summoned his slaves to clean the mess and canceled the rest of his appointments. It was mere moments later that a scream alerted him to the full extent of the message. Foreboding filled him as he strode into the atrium. It was, as he had to admit, exactly what he’d expected, and it was also exactly what he would have done. He sighed deeply and stared at the scene before him.

  Fulvius lay dead on the ground, his throat slit deeply and savagely. An apple core lay on his chest.

  ****

  The moon was high in the night sky by the time Rufus left his home. It had taken time, but his home was full of armed men—some conspicuously so, others hidden throughout the household. Pairs of ex-gladiators guarded the entrances to his home, and his litter was surrounded by a dozen of trustworthy ex-soldiers. All this preparation had come too late, but better to stop that particular attack before anticipating
future ones.

  It had been expensive, however, especially on such short notice. Rufus was not used to having problems with money. With his recent purchases, he had spent much of his savings and even had many of his properties outside Rome sold off. Though he tried to keep it quiet, rumors were coming back to him. Maybe he should not have added those new pipes after all, he thought with a rueful smile.

  He wished again that he’d been able to add the new quarters to his home. This would have meant guards at only one place, and less vulnerable travel time between the two places. However, there was no room, and his neighbors were as wealthy and inquisitive as he was. His new training quarters would not be far away, but they would be essentially invisible from everyone who mattered. They were located in the heart of Subura, the most dangerous slum in Rome.

  Rufus reached the first of his training centers without incident. “Two guards come with me,” he said. “The others stay here by my litter. This won’t take long.”

  There were guards here already, eyeing all who approached what had until recently, been the ground floor tabernae. It was a big building, and the inside looked like the interior of a ludus, where gladiators trained. Strong men from all over the Empire, men that he owned, practiced their sword play and developed battle tactics. It’s no wonder that the owners of other gladiator schools felt threatened. He really should have seen that coming. He realized it could look like a threat to the Emperor as well, and decided to tell Domitian of his actions before the ruler could grow alarmed. A sudden idea bloomed from that thought. If he did not have to be circumspect, he could have the best men in the city.

  “Senator,” the guards greeted him with aloof reverence. There was no mistaking the conditioning of former gladiators, and no other slave had been broken as thoroughly, as exceptionally.

  He was met by Buikhu, the Egyptian servus who would be administering Rufus’ growing army. His tunic was rumpled and appeared to have been hastily thrown on. His forehead glistened with small beads of sweat, and his black hair was tousled messily. Though Rufus had not met him until recently, the servus came highly recommended by a friend of his in the Senate.

  “Senator, I was not expecting you this evening. Please forgive my appearance. Can I serve you wine or some food?”

  Rufus waved his hand negligently. “It is of no concern, and I won’t be here for long.” He sat down on the lectus wearily. “I’ve made a mistake. I’ve looked so far that I missed the threat before me. There may be, I don’t know, warnings, attacks, or other unpleasantries coming your way. I want you to be ready to repulse them. Without losses, but without showing our strength either. Do you understand?”

  The dark-haired man nodded. “Indeed I do, Senator. You want me to perform the impossible,” he said, without a trace of humor.

  “You understand perfectly. That is good,” Rufus said, equally dryly. “One more thing. I am going to be buying more slaves soon, perhaps as early as tomorrow. Make sure you are ready for them, and their needs may be exotic. And what of your connection?”

  Buikhu blinked at the sudden conversation shift. “Senator, my cousin is a liar and cheater, but he says he can get us into the Hippodrome. I am inclined to believe him.”

  “Good,” Rufus said again. “On second thought, I will have some wine.”

  ****

  The crowd roared their approval for him. Men chanted his name, women flashed their tits, and all worshipped at his feet. Felix stood before them all for a brief second, letting them see him in his glory before he disappeared into the tunnel leading back down to his team.

  He was the star of the gold faction, a group created by the Emperor himself. He had just won his fourth consecutive race. More impressively, at the age of twenty-four, he was amongst the oldest aurigae still alive. There were a few legends in their thirties and forties, but none had started at such a young age. It took great skill, and perhaps more importantly, great luck.

  He greeted some of the younger racers, children who weren’t much older than he had been when he’d started. Racing worked up a large appetite for him, but first, he had to meet with his equos nutriebat.

  The man was young, just into his thirties, and if he had ever raced, no living man in Rome had witnessed it. He had clearly been given the post as a favorite of the Emperor. He was, for all that, fair and even-handed, and Felix almost liked him.

  “You raced well today, Felix, and you earned more coin. If you stay alive, you may actually be free in another ten years.”

  “Oh, I will be alive,” Felix said, “and I will do it in less time than you think.”

  The stable-master laughed. “Such confidence. If every grown man had the immortality you lads think you’ve got, the world would be a different place.”

  “I’m too important to die,” Felix said, laughing, though he did not jest. “You heard them up there.”

  “If every man they loved was too important to die, there would be too many charioteers for the all the grain of Egypt to feed.” The man’s face grew serious. “Have you done anything unusual recently?”

  Felix thought for a moment. “No, not that I can think of. Why?”

  “After you bathe, there is someone who wants to meet you.”

  “Who is it? Can it wait until after I eat—winning gives me such an appetite?”

  “He’s the kind of man you don’t keep waiting.”

  That only meant one thing to Felix. “He represents a new owner? Blood and piss, how many times must I be bought and sold?”

  There was a brief silence. “He doesn’t represent your new owner, boy. He is your new owner.”

  “An equestrian? In the bowels of the city?” Felix asked.

  The other man spoke softly. “He’s not an equestrian, Felix. He’s a Senator.”

  Felix ran to the meeting, forgetting both bath and meal.

  ****

  The man before him was a personification of a Roman. His graying hair was still thick, but he was balding at the top. His patrician nose was sharp and disproving.

  “They tell me you are a Jew. Do you follow that religion’s precepts?”

  “My parents were Jewish, Senator, and they were traitors. I am a Roman,” Felix told him stoutly.

  “Good. In your races, you’ve caused the deaths of many of your competitors, but face-to-face is different. Could you kill a man while staring him in the eyes?”

  “I believe I could, depending on how much harm that man meant me.”

  “Excellent. It is known throughout Rome that you are fearless. I wonder though. Privately, is there anything you fear? Many otherwise stout men fear fire or the night, for instance.”

  Felix paused. “There is only one thing.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m too old to get angered by anything you say. Go ahead, tell me,” Rufus said.

  “The only thing I fear, Senator, is obscurity.”

  Rufus laughed. “Oh yes. Slave or free, all young men dream of greatness. I fear your duties with me will earn you no songs, no kisses from pretty women."

  "Senator, why toy with me? You own me, and I shall do as you say."

  "You misunderstand. I own you, but I want you to embrace the role I have for you. You may even enjoy it. I also have a large, Greek flower at my home. Very large indeed, if you take my meaning.”

  A breath passed and then another before realization dawned. “I have known such a flower, but it is lost to me. If you have found it, I am greatly pleased.”

  “It is indeed true. Why would I lie to a slave,” the Senator said. “Come.”

  Felix followed the Senator out of the building, scarcely remembering to wave farewell to his former faction-mates.

  CHAPTER XVII

  Dacia: 88 CE, Winter

  There was no transition from sleeping to wakefulness. Rowanna’s eyes snapped open and she was immediately awake. The night had grown colder and darker and someone had thrown blankets over her. They reeked, emanating a base animal smell that was almost too intense to bear. Much worse was the
low moaning, audible even from here that came from the other side of the gate. She wondered if the unearthly sound was what had woken her up.

  It had stopped raining, and the only remaining clouds were wispy things that did nothing to shade the starlight. The moon was half-full. Most of the Romans gathered around a small fire, dicing. The three elephants loomed as dark shadows against the night sky. She had seen them sleeping standing up and wondered if they were now resting. There was no sign of Iullianus. Zuste was over by the stream, head down in thought.

  She made her way over to him. His eyes were dark, and he did not even attempt to smile.

  “What is wrong?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Ask Iullianus,” he mumbled.

  “Zuste. Are you angry with me?” she asked.

  “What does that matter?” he asked. “We have hours at best to live. Why worry about something like that now?”

  “Hours?” Rowanna asked. “The gate will hold longer than that.”

  “Maybe,” Zuste said doubtfully, “but look up there.”

  He pointed up to the top of the gate. There was a pair of men up there, balanced on the top of the wall. Even in the dark, one was obviously Iullianus. “He thinks and plans…but they have seen more lifeless. Many, many more. And, Rowanna, there are now undead elephants.”

  His words sunk into her brain, instantly drowning her hope and cheer. “Those noble creatures, it doesn’t seem right,” she said.

  “Not right?” he said angrily. “What’s not right is that they will break through those doors and we will all be dead. Or worse—we will become like those things.” He paused, breathed deeply. “Maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe they were the smart ones all along.”

  Without thinking, she slapped him. Not as hard as she could, but as though he were her misbehaving son. The bearded alchemist stared at her in shock, rubbing his cheek.