“Please, take a seat,” Numarius motioned toward his own chair on the far side of a huge dark wood desk, looking expectantly at Otho. He waited until the emperor was seated before joining Ursus in two chairs in which Numarius would normally expect visitors and subordinates to sit. It was a show of respect, but one that Otho would never the less have expected.
“How was the journey?” Numarius asked, meaning the sea voyage.
“Not too eventful, thankfully,” Ursus answered as Numarius turned to a boy who was standing to one side holding a large jug. The boy rushed over and placed the jug on the table producing three goblets seemingly out of nowhere, and proceeded to pour dark, red wine. Numarius took the goblets as they were filled and passed them, first to Otho and then to Ursus. A look of concern passed across his eyes as he saw a glance between Ursus and Otho.
“Am I missing something?” he asked, looking between the emperor and the prefect. A moment held, neither man gave any indication to Numarius what they held between them. Eventually Otho spoke.
“How well do you know the local magistrate?” Otho asked, he saw Numarius take a drink of his wine as he asked the question and smiled.
“By reputation, nothing more. He’s the usual, low level, petty bureaucrat. Do you mind me asking why?” Numarius answered, leaning back in his chair, obviously relaxed in Otho’s company.
“The man tried to kill the emperor, last night,” Ursus answered. Numarius’s eyebrows raised in obvious surprise.
“Really? How did he do that?” Numarius asked
“Poisoned wine. Ursus spotted the ploy before it could work, but it was a close thing,” Otho answered.
Numarius nodded to himself, as he looked at the wine jug on table. “Well, only the finest wine here, Caesar,” he said raising his glass to Otho and making a point of taking another drink from his goblet before the emperor could raise his own to his lips. “I have to say, I’m surprised, by all accounts the man is no killer. Did he say why he did it, before you had him killed?”
“He’s still alive, we have him under guard. He claims it was to stop the legions from leaving and exposing the locals to the Risen,” Ursus said.
Numarius laughed, nodding to himself. “They get used to having us in the area, get used to the peace and security we bring, and it upsets them when we leave. Shall I have his family brought to him? Better a clean break than have the locals find out what’s happened before we are ready to leave.”
“A good idea, Numarius,” said Ursus. “I’ll have them all taken care of, nice and clean. What about Governor Glabrio? I don’t know him. Have you had many dealings with him?”
“A lot, he’s a good man, as honest as a Spanish summer day,” Numarius said, without hesitation. A look of confusion came over his face and then he continued, “Don’t tell me he had something to do with it too.”
“I’m inclined to think not,” Ursus said. “He was there, however, and I wanted to make sure.”
“Well if you want my opinion, the man is trustworthy. I wouldn’t stake my life on it, but I’d wager a fair amount of coin,” Numarius said, putting his goblet back onto the table.
“Your opinion is all the word I need, old friend,” Otho said, smiling.
“Do you mind me asking how long you’ve known each other?”
Numarius smiled, “Has he not told you?” He turned to the emperor, “you must be getting modest in your old age, normally you can’t wait to tell people this story.”
Otho shrugged over his goblet of wine, smiling broadly enough that it could be seen on both sides of the vessel. “I was just hoping Ursus would ask so that you would have to tell it for a change.”
“Well, I suppose you are a Caesar now, I can humiliate myself in order that you feel good about yourself, if you command it,” Numarius said with a grin of his own.
Turning to Ursus, Numarius started, “It was early in the war with Parthia, late in the year, just after Nero took the throne.
“General Corbulo was pushing toward the Armenian border with Parthia, and he left a garrison behind to keep the peace in a few towns along his trail. King Vologases wasn’t putting up much of a fight, at that point. He was busy with his own fight in Parthia. I was one of those left behind, cursing our luck, stuck in a backwater with nothing but patrols and sleep to occupy our days.
“Anyway, we were on one of those patrols. I can’t even remember the name of the town, but it was evening and we were marching through the market square. There was no sign at all that there was anything wrong. In fact I was thinking that next time I had a night off, I might get a few of the men together, come back and try to find a drink. It was a peaceful place.
“Then out of nowhere our decanus goes down with an arrow in his back, two legionaries dropped straight after, we were wide open and had no where to go.”
“Sounds like a serious situation,” Ursus said, genuine interest showing on his face.
“I’ve been in worse since, but I was a young man and this was definitely the worst up until then. Anyway, we ran for the far end of the square, there was this temple or something with a wide archway over the door and it gave us enough cover to get out of sight.
“We peeked out and everyone else in the square were acting as if nothing was happening. People still eating outside a restaurant, a musician playing in the corner of the square, and a group of men drinking off to one side. Nobody had moved. It’s like the Romans were invisible to them.”
Numarius leaned forward to take his wine from the table, obviously enjoying telling this story to a fresh audience.
“the next thing we know, there is a group of men heading straight through the square toward us, huge curved swords in their hands. We were starting to panic, we had no idea if the archers might pick us off if we stepped out to fight these men. Then I noticed the one at the back. He was massive, absolutely huge, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen bigger. The whole group is acting like they are only there to escort this mountain of a man.
“Then, almost as they reach us, the group of men who were drinking in the square stand up and attack this pack from behind. The huge man drops down with a knife in the back of his neck, four more fell before he reaches the ground.
“It turns out that Otho and half a dozen of his friends were drinking in civilian clothes and had just been too drunk to react when the arrows started flying. By the time the men came at us with swords they had figured out what was happening, and they saved our necks. Either the archers were among the men who came into the square or they had the sense to run after their friends fell.” Numarius stopped talking and turned to Otho.
“We were not too drunk to react,” Otho said a grin and a mock scowl. “He always tells it that way. We realised what was happening, stayed calm and waited for our moment.”
“I’m sure that was how it happened,” Ursus teased.
“Either way, my patrol was saved by this man and a few of his mates, unarmoured and carrying knives. It made us look really stupid, and made me a new friend. The following night, we came into town, and got drunk in exactly the same spot. Nobody bothered us.”
“Well, except those couple of whores,” Numarius said, with a roaring laugh.
“Yes, there was those,” the emperor replied, wincing at the memory.
The three men lapsed into agreeable silence. In a world full of subordinates, it was rare to be surrounded by friends and equals and not a chance to be spurned.
Later, a guard entered the tent, trying not to look surprised at the sight of the emperor and two senior officers sharing a joke together. He waited for permission to speak and eventually Numarius nodded for him to report.
“Sir, the tents are ready for Caesar Otho and Prefect Ursus,” the guard said.
“Very well, thank you,” Numarius replied. The guard left looking relieved to be allowed out of such high company.
“I suppose we need to talk about our plans, if that’s okay with you Caesar,” Ursus said, looking to Otho.
Otho nodded and
Numarius signalled to a clerk in the corner of the large tent. The man started to carry files and ledgers to the huge desk, adding a number of scrolls and maps.
“Legion ledgers, personnel, equipment and so on,” he said pointing to one pile of papers. “Then we have local maps and other sundries here,” he said indicating the scrolls.
“Give me a rough idea of what we are working with,” Ursus asked Numarius.
“We have two full legions, well equipped, there are veterans among them but most have only seen limited action. They’re good men but I’d rather have more veterans. I’ve taken the liberty to start levying local men, they’re completely green but we will need to provide the undead with some form of bait,” Numarius said. “We don’t have too many ships, a storm destroyed three of them in the winter and the local shipwrights are as lazy as the fishermen on a hot afternoon. I trust that isn't going to affect your plans too much?” it was more than half a question.
“No, I don’t think so, I have other ideas,” said Otho. He began to explain his strategy to Numarius. Ursus had heard some of the emperor’s ideas, but now he heard them all.
It was good to hear him talk this way. For too long on the ships he had lapsed into a melancholy that had worried Ursus. Those men out there were the last fighting force the Roman Empire had at its disposal, but Otho was the last leader that could unite the people. He was the emperor. Ursus or Numarius could rally the troops but they could not command the respect of the people of the empire, only the weight of the emperor’s seal could do that. Now Otho looked like the man who had taken the throne, at last.
Chapter Five
Men moved through streets of the undead, silent and weary.
Once this had been the greatest city in world, ruled by the most powerful men who had ever lived, now it was nothing more than a graveyard of memories. Julius Caesar, Emperor Augustus, Pompey, and Scipio had once graced these streets with their imperium, all that was left now was an army of the dead.
The men wore little armour, the noise it made was a death sentence. They carried weapons but each man prayed that they would not have to use them. If they came across any of the Risen, they dispatched them silently or allowed the undead to move on without engaging them. If it came to a stand-up fight, the chances were that they had already lost. The undead outnumbered the living a thousand fold. Gone where the days when the undead were the invaders in Rome, now it was the living that trespassed on the streets.
Some survived in the city, however. A few desperate people and even families had chosen to stay when everyone else had fled or been killed. Some had stayed because they had no other choice, the infirm or those too old to escape the city and travel. Others stayed because they had a duty to fulfil. Legionaries had looked around them at the end of the fighting and understood that, despite the odds, they lived when everybody else had died. They had found other survivors and eventually those that lived had gathered themselves together.
Centurion Vibius Secundus had been such a survivor. He had entered the city in the army of Titus. He had fought outside the walls and seen thousands of his fellow legionaries slaughtered. Hour after hour he had stood in rank, waiting for his turn to reach the front line and die. He had been ready to do what was necessary for his emperor but then the tide of the battle had turned. The Gates of Rome had opened and the undead had flooded into the city. The pressure on Titus’ army had been lifted and the legions had followed the Risen into Rome.
What followed had been a broken night of exhausting fighting. Secundus had tried to stay with his century but the cohesion of the legions had broken down almost as soon as they had stepped through the gates. The men had been reduced to fighting whichever enemy had appeared in front of them, alongside whomever would stand with them.
They had been told they were to take the city from Otho’s men but the fight had been between the living and the dead not separate factions of the legions. Men had died all around Secundus. Each time he had moved to the next fight, lending his sword to whoever needed it the most.
Around midnight they had heard a rumour that Titus was dead. The news was that he had been bitten by a Risen. Otho had been named Emperor, and the men had rallied, knowing they all fought under one banner. For a short time, maybe an hour, maybe less, the living had looked like they might win the fight and drive the undead from the streets.
Soon after more news came to them that Otho had fled the city and despair had passed among the men. They were leaderless, but worse than that, they had nothing left for which to fight. No emperor, no city and with each passing hour, no people.
Secundus had tried to lead the men around him but the two challengers to the throne had done what the Risen could not, they had broken the spirit of the legions. Men drifted away and Secundus had found himself roaming the streets, a lost soul in search of a haven.
He had killed anything that crossed his path but he no longer looked for the fight. His fellow legionaries had given up and it was now every man for himself. Late in the night, almost as the sun was rising above the city, he had broken into a small terraced house and climbed to the top floor. He had barricaded the small window and fallen into an exhausted sleep.
It had been days before he had found the first fellow survivor. He had eaten every scrap of food in the small house before he had dared venture outside. The Risen were everywhere, a city of over half a million people had died and become undead. He had broken into local houses and killed the Risen he had found in them, eaten what he could and moved on. Then he had seen two men moving between the houses across the street. It had taken all his courage to call out to them, but it had been the start of something.
Now they moved about the city in groups of four or eight, depending on where they were going and at what time of day. It had become easier to get around after they had learned a few rules.
The first was a simple, noise attracted the Risen. The living quickly learned to remain silent at all times, but they also learned to use noise to their advantage. A thrown stone or piece of pottery was sometimes all it took to clear a street of the undead.
Secondly, they learned that it was easier to get around at night. The Risen did not see well in the dark, it seemed. The groups started to go out at dusk, allowing them the chance to see a little in the now completely dark city. No torches or lamps on the streets, not anymore.
Lastly, the Risen were becoming lethargic. The city was a maze of streets and alleyways and the food the Risen desired was gone. There had been a day or two of frenzied searching, the undead appeared to be frantic in their hunger. After they had realised that there was no more food, they had almost begun to hibernate. They had taken to wandering the streets, slow and subdued. At the first provocation, the Risen would revert to their predatory selves, but left alone they seemed docile and listless.
All of this gave the survivors the tools they needed to move about the city. They had lost men - this was still a city filled with the undead and losses were inevitable, but Secundus and his men had adapted.
The main reason for venturing out into the city was to gather food and supplies. As the days had passed, their need to find more of the things people needed had increased. Water was a particular problem, it required a constant stream of men to be moving around the city, finding new sources. The aqueducts still brought the water to the city but the storage tanks were overrun by undead.
New survivors were being found all the time. The men who went out had become adept at spotting signs of life in the dead city. Glimmers of light through shuttered windows or wisps of smoke from fires had the men coming back to base and reporting families trapped in homes. The decision had been made early that the legionaries had a duty to help anyone they could. There was no honour in surviving without helping those that needed it.
They moved through the city tonight in search of such survivors. While out on a supply gathering mission, one of Secundus’ men had spotted a house that showed the promise of life inside.
Secundus had volunt
eered to lead this mission; he couldn’t expect to keep sending his men out without being willing to take his turn at risking his neck. They had set out at dusk and now the city around them was almost totally dark.
They had moved slowly, keeping to the darkest parts of the streets and alleyways, until the darkness had gathered around them like a cloak. Now, with cloth wrapped around the soles of their boots to deaden the sound, they were in a small alleyway opposite the house in question.
Secundus looked up at the top windows of the town house and could make out the vague, yellow light of a lamp. It was almost too dull to see and he wondered at the eyes of the man who had first spotted it. Behind him, Secundus could feel the breath of one of his men as he leaned out to see their destination.
“What do you think, sir?” asked the young legionary. He was a tall, thin man with shocking blonde hair, named Lepidus.
“The street looks clear, as far as I can see,” Secundus answered in a whisper. “We move quickly and quietly down the side of the house. I want two men in this house here, keeping watch.” As he spoke, Secundus patted the bricks of the house against which they leaned.
Lepidus passed the order back down the line and the two men at the rear turned back the way they had come. After a few seconds they heard the sound of wood being forced open, it was quiet but in the dark and dead city, everything sounded like a clap of thunder.
Secundus waited, listening for sounds of a struggle but no sound came from inside. He took one more look into the darkness, up and down the street, then signalled his men and moved towards the house opposite.
The passage between the buildings was narrow and they had to move along it in single file, so the Risen that was wandering in the yard at the back of the house came straight at Secundus, having no other target at which to aim.
Secundus dropped to one knee and avoided the reaching arms that grabbed at his face. He pushed up from this crouching position and drove his shoulder into the Risen’s stomach. The undead lost its balance and fell back against the wall behind it. Secundus felt, rather than saw, one of his men step past him to drive his blade into the creature's forehead.
Ruin and Rebirth Page 4
