The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (35 page)

Caligula answered for him. “Do not blame Centurion
Quintilius, my friend. Without his loyal Praetorians, most of whom
lie dead at this moment, I would not be here. It is obvious that
Claudius has been planning this for months, maybe even before it
was decided that I would succeed Tiberius. We are quite lucky. I
had planned a trip to my family’s island estate on Capri. Had I
been there, it would have been far easier for him to seize power,
but the unexpected arrival of these individuals delayed that trip,”
he finished, pointing towards me and my squad mates.

And another piece of the puzzle falls into place.
Had we not shown up, Caligula would have gone to Capri and been
poisoned there. That would match up with history’s record of where
and when he got sick. Claudius wouldn’t have tried a grand
assassination attempt, because all he would have needed to do was
let nature take its course, and be appointed emperor himself once
news arrived that Caligula had died from a mysterious illness. He
never thought that Caligula would actually survive the poisoning,
only to return as a total nutjob.

Instead, Caligula had gained newfound allies. Us.
Allies who were far more powerful than anything Claudius could ever
imagine, and he went ahead with his poisoning plans anyway, this
time with a backup plan. He had recruited a small army to do his
dirty work for him should the poison plot fail. The mob itself must
have been formed around those who felt Claudius was overlooked and
slighted when Caligula took over. Its size was probably augmented
with people distrustful of us time travelers. There wasn’t a soul
in the city who didn’t know of us, or what we could do. During
those runs Helena and I took, we didn’t just run into adoring fans,
but also shady groups of men who would have stabbed us right then
and there if they had the chance.

“Ah, yes. These curious looking people,” Galba
remarked dismissively, sounding just as Caligula had during our
first few encounters. “You have explained their exploits, and I
have no reason to doubt you, but I find it hard to believe you so
easily trust those who won’t even tell you the place of their
birth.”

Caligula chuckled. “You can trust them, Legate.
We’ll need them. Now, how are we to reclaim my empire?”

Galba sighed. “Claudius couldn’t have picked a
better time to start a civil war. Africa and the East are quiet,
although Jewish rumblings may bring trouble in the future. Germany
is quiet as well and I’ve just received word that an expeditionary
force of Britons has ran back to their island. I’ve had word of
lightning strikes and a man’s head spontaneously exploding as
though the gods were involved. Very odd, but it allows us the
freedom to focus on Claudius. Now, as for this legion, it was to go
north to Germany, to help alleviate the loss of Quinctilius’ three
legions thirty years ago.”

“But why are you here?
Training
a fresh
legion?” Caligula asked, dumbfounded. “I recall commissioning the
inception of this legion, but you were not assigned its commander.
You have lead veteran men in battle throughout Germany and Spain.
This is a demotion, and I never would have authorized it had you
been ordered.”

“I volunteered,” Galba replied with a shrug, “and
the Senate approved. After the incident in the Teutoburg Forest, I
knew I couldn’t let the fate of a legion rest on their commander
alone. Rome’s legions are the finest military forces the world will
ever see, but I felt I could make them better. That’s why I
volunteered to train this legion, to make them the best. I’ve seen
my share of combat, and I’m sure I will see more, but for now I’ve
decided to turn my attention to training.”

From what I knew, Galba had been a notorious
disciplinarian, and a strict drill master. He would train good
legions to replace those lost in the north.

When Publius Quinctilius Varus, no relation to my
ancestor, Marcus Varus, at least as far as I knew, had been
stationed in Germany in 9 A.D. he was taken by surprise and
ambushed by Germanic tribes during what was later known as the
Battle of the Teutoburg Forest. He had been killed and his three
legions annihilated. Only a handful of men survived, literally only
enough to count on a hand or two, and their trio of standards were
stolen, a very embarrassing moment in Roman military history. I’d
read theories claiming the loss of those three legions was one of
the earliest precursors to Rome’s downfall centuries later. A
boisterous claim, but definitely one worth considering.

“Unfortunately,” Galba continued, “I am not
finished, and this legion, the
XV Primigenia
, hasn’t
completed its training yet. It was scheduled to be pressed into
service next year, but in my opinion, can be rushed into deployment
now. We have a full complement of legionnaires, as well as auxilia,
and my command staff is well seasoned. My first file, Maximus
Nisus,” he pointed towards a stern looking man who nodded in
greeting, “served under Tiberius and started his career under
Agrippa. We are not lacking experience from them, but the boys are.
With your two Praetorian cohorts, we can muster around twelve
thousand fighting men. If Claudius manages to contact your
remaining Praetorian cohorts, he can field around six thousand, and
gods knows how many auxilia and levied troops from Rome itself.
Plus the city itself would be hard pressed to take. It would be a
tough fight alone, and we would need to plan carefully.”

Galba looked around the room to make sure everyone
was paying attention, before turning to Caligula. “There is also
the question of whether or not to involve other legions. I would
recommend against it. Should word of a coup spread, a series of
civil wars may erupt, and that could end very badly for all of
Rome. I suspect Claudius understands this as well and will do
nothing until he has eliminated you.”

“I approve of your thoughts, Legate,” Caligula
assured. “What do you suggest we do?”

“Well, sir, as you know, we are nearing the end of
the campaigning season. My suggestion is to wait until Spring,
train the boys as hard as we can during the winter, and then
besiege Rome, and hope for the best. That would be our best
strategy.”

Ah, the armies of the past. Not a war was fought
between November and March and any war in progress practically
called for an armistice until the Spring rolled around again.

“I concur, Legate. Make your preparations. We’ll try
and sneak some information out of Rome in the meantime, but for
now, if you will, please make accommodations for my friends here,”
he said, again, pointing in our direction.

Galba grunted. “Very well. We have a few
understaffed officers’ tents they can use.”

Vincent held up a hand. “We appreciate the offer,
sir, but we have our own shelters. Just give us a spot.”

Galba grunted. “So they speak Latin. Interesting.
Fine. Take some room behind the
praetorium
, next to the
forum.”

“Thank you.”

Caligula laughed. “Galba, old friend. You may want
to watch them. If they make camp like they do war, I’m sure you
will be most interested.”

***

Making our way behind the
praetorium
,
Santino, Bordeaux, and I unpacked the small, two man tents we’d
added to our assault packs. Night had fallen, and we set up a
portable battery powered lantern that lit up a small area around
where we intended to make camp. Combined with the glow sticks we
had hanging from our vests, we had plenty of illumination.

Not to mention a crowd.

The tents were extremely simple in design. The frame
was folded in on itself, and was made out of an extremely thin,
flexible, and lightweight material, but also extremely durable and
water proof. Laying it out, right side up, I pulled on a tab, and
immediately backed away. No longer pinned in place, springs
connecting the poles together shot out in a choreographed sequence,
and within five seconds, a small, black tent materialized out of
thin air. Those watching were stunned. I heard snorting coming from
the
praetorium
, and looked to see Galba shaking his head
before returning inside.

The three of us pounded a few stakes in the ground
to secure our tents, before backing away to admire our handiwork.
Hands on his hips, rifle still hanging in front of him, Santino
shook his head.

“You know, sir,” he said, speaking to Vincent, “I’ve
been thinking.”

“That would be a first,” I jibed.

He ignored me. “Since we’re going to be cooped up in
these small tents for the entire winter, I was thinking maybe we
switch up our swim team pairs. Just to shake things up.” He made
this last comment while looking at Helena, flicking his eyebrows
and nodding towards his tent suggestively.

I punched him in his shoulder with more than just
playful force.

“Never mind,” he said, rubbing his arm.

“So, sir?” I asked Vincent. “Do you know anything
about this particular legion?”

“Actually, I do, but not much.” He looked around to
make sure there weren’t any legionaries around, even though he
spoke in English. “Unfortunately, despite it being named for the
goddess, Fortuna, this legion’s luck doesn’t last very long. It
spent time on the Rhine and fighting the Britons, but is eventually
destroyed in 70 A.D. along with a sister legion.”

“Just out of curiosity,” I continued. “Since Galba
apparently trained this legion, who does it fight for during the
‘war of four emperors’?”

“Ironically it sides with Vittelius, and fights
directly against Otho
and
Galba. You have to remember that
most of these men won’t be serving in the legion thirty years from
now during that civil war, so even though Galba first raised the
legion, there would be little loyalty left to him.”

I nodded. That made sense.

“Sir?” Santino queried. “How could you possibly know
all of this?”

Vincent looked at Santino blankly. “I’ve been
studying the classics since you were in diapers, son.”

Santino shook his head. “And I thought Jacob was a
dork.”

“Anyway,” Vincent said, moving on. “I don’t know
about the rest of you, but I’m taking a nap.” He spoke with the
first hint of lightheartedness I’d heard from him since taking
command. Santino sighed, realizing he’d have to share the tent with
the much older man for the winter.

Knowing my roommate smelled much better than Vincent
did, I didn’t have any such problems, so I went inside my own tent
without comment. It was roomier than it looked from the outside,
and I estimated it could fit at least three men about my size
comfortably. I figured Helena and I, along with our gear, would fit
snugly. Taking off my pack, I placed everything against the left
wall, and unraveled my bed roll. It was thin and light, and while
warm, I suspected I’d still need to borrow some Roman blankets for
the winter.

After laying everything out neatly, I removed my
shirt very gently, quickly becoming aware of the extremely large
bruises spreading across my middle and lower back, towards my left
abdominal and along my right shoulder. They hadn’t hurt during the
march and our first night because I’d been too tired to notice
them, but I now was beginning to feel them. Combined with my arm,
which still hadn’t been properly tended to, I was quite a mess.

Helena came in and zipped the tent closed behind
her.

Similarly unarming herself, she laid her bedroll
down next to mine while I tried to redress my wound. I covered it
with a new bandage, and tried to tie it off using my free hand and
teeth. Helena noticed my fruitless effort and moved close, taking
the bandage in her own hands.

“Here,” she said softly, “let me do that.”

“Sure.”

The wound wasn’t that deep, but it traversed nearly
my entire forearm. The scar would probably last my entire life, but
I didn’t mind. It would join all the rest.

Helena removed my sloppily arranged bandage and
cleaned the wound as best she could. She took meticulous care of my
arm, tending to it like a seasoned nurse and worried mother both.
After cleaning it, she sprayed it with an antibacterial ointment,
smiling at me sweetly when I flinched from the sting, and finally
replaced the bandage, wrapping it tightly and securing it
firmly.

She seemed satisfied the bandage wouldn’t easily
come off, so she moved her eyes to the extremely large bruise on my
side. She frowned and probed it with a gentle touch. She must have
thought it would be soothing, or something, but it was anything
but. I winced at the pain and had to jerk myself away from her.

“Sorry,” she said gently, moving her hand to my
unharmed, but bare chest. “It looks bad.”

“Really? Can’t be any worse than the last bruise I
had,” I said sarcastically. In fact I couldn’t have been farther
from the truth. My entire body felt like it was on fire.

Helena opened her mouth to speak but shut it with
exaggerated slowness. It didn’t take a genius to know what was on
her mind. I laid there in silence as well, trying to figure out how
best to broach the subject of our earlier kiss. It would have been
far easier had it been as innocent as it seemed, but it wasn’t.
Emotions had been high, adrenaline and endorphins pumping by our
frantic rush to reach Caligula, and while the feelings had felt
real enough – the question was how much they meant.

Helena leaned away from me suddenly and crouched on
the balls of her feet, her forearms resting on her thighs. “Jacob,
about earlier…”

I leaned myself up and waved a hand to cut her off.
“It was what it was, Helena.”

Her eyebrows narrowed. “I’m not sure how to respond
to that.”

“I care for you, Helena, I do, and that kiss…” I
shuddered in comic relief and she smiled, “but there was a lot of
emotions bandying about, brought on by a very stressful argument.
I’m not so sure that’s the best way to start something more
intimate. I don’t want to risk our friendship because of our
impulsiveness.”