Epilogue
Rome, Italy
August, 38 A.D.
Someone knocked on my door. It was a quiet sound, but the sudden and unexpected nature of it roused me from my thoughts. It startled me, and I pinched my nose and swore under my breath in response. I looked at my surroundings, trying to remember where I was.
The suites we had been given once Caligula reclaimed his position were luxurious, spacious, and far more comfortable than the dingy shack we’d stayed in those first few months in ancient Rome. I had a bedroom, a sitting room, a dining room, a study, and even my own bathroom, complete with running water for both bathtub and toilet.
Romans were so clever.
Lounging on a sofa shaped like a half bowl, my feet hanging over the one end, I had been sitting in contemplative silence for nearly an hour, the past year of my life replaying steadily in my head. I’d sped through most of it, skipping the boring stuff and the painful memories, focusing on the events just after the Battle for Rome, as Caligula had dubbed it once he had retaken control of the Senate.
Bordeaux had saved the day during those last few moments. He had spent the entire battle with the auxilia and their fight with the overwhelming plebeian army. The battle hadn’t gone so poorly for the German auxiliaries as everyone had thought, but it had been an excruciatingly arduous affair. As history could confirm numerous times, an undisciplined and under-armed force of civilians simply could not stand against fewer men should they be better trained, armed, and focused.
Almost eight thousand of the eleven thousand-strong militia had been wiped out, but of the infantry, cavalry, and archers of the XV Primigenia’s auxilia, only three and a half thousand were lost. Once Bordeaux showed up, and seven fully loaded ammo boxes later, many of the enemy started surrendering, or trying to flee back to the city. I knew it had something to do with the orb’s disappearance, but in the end, it hardly mattered. With that part of the battle neatly wrapped up, Bordeaux had led the auxilia in a flanking charge. Their arrival had quickly tipped the scales in our favor.
Like their civilian allies, many Praetorians surrendered in that moment as well, confused expressions on their faces, seemingly with no idea where they even were. Their surrender occurred not a second too early. They had almost broken us. The only thing that kept us going was the thought of failing Caligula, who had been so brave risking his own life and killing his own uncle in open combat.
The knock came again, more insistently this time.
“All right, all right,” I yelled at the door as I swung my legs over the edge of the sofa, and rose to my feet. My head swam as I got up, dizziness almost dropping me to my knees. I’d been lying there for an hour, and had gotten up way to fast.
I shuffled across my marble floor, trying not to fall in the process when I finally reached the entranceway, and steadied myself. Giving my head one last shake, I cracked open the door to see Santino and his stupid grin waiting out in the hall.
“Ready to go?” He asked, pushing past me and letting himself in. He made his way to a bowl of fresh fruit in the dining room that was replaced every morning by loyal servants. Taking off one of his boots, he plopped himself down in a stiff backed chair and rested his bootless foot over his booted one as he propped them up on the table. He was wearing traditional Roman wear, a white toga, just as I was, but we still felt uncomfortable not wearing our boots and combat pants beneath.
After the battle, Caligula had granted each of us citizenship, and with it, the right to wear a toga. As Augustus had said, “Romans, lords of the world, the toga-wearing race,” only Roman citizens could wear them. I was honored.
Shaking my head, I shut the door and moved over to my table. I sat on it near Santino’s feet, and shoved them off, wiping away any mark he may have left with my sleeve, inciting him to give me a hurt look.
“Can’t have anything nice when you’re around, can I?” I asked rhetorically.
“No, probably not,” he replied.
I sighed. “Just give me a second.”
There had been many casualties in the battle, but of all the consequences resulting from it, at least Santino’s attitude hadn’t changed. After the past few months with him, I now knew that if there truly was one universal truth, it wasn’t that everything freezes, but that Santino would never change.
As for the casualties, there were too many to recall.
Nisus had died, brought down protecting the aquila that was never dropped. It took three men to bring him down, but the centurion I had barely known, but had grown to respect during the battle, would not be returning to help retrain the XV Primigenia. His loss hit the legion hard, but he was just one of many.
Of the legion itself, it had been practically destroyed. Half of the auxilia were killed, and only two cohorts worth of legionnaires were left to walk off the field. Many of the experienced officers had been wounded or killed, and even Galba had sustained injury when he had tried to drive his cavalry squadron to aid Caligula during his duel with Claudius.
The survivors were to be sent back North in another month or so, after some much deserved rest and relaxation in Rome courtesy of Caligula. He had even offered each surviving legionnaire, none of whom were officially commissioned yet, full retirement packages, including discharge and retirement payments and a plot of land to any who desired it. Not a one had accepted the gracious offer, and all would remain with the army.
Of the eight Praetorian cohorts that had fought in the battle, only fifteen hundred men survived. Once the dust had settled, Caligula interviewed each surviving tribune to determine exactly what happened after his escape from the city. Each had passionately denied any knowledge of his survival and claimed that Claudius had told them he had been appointed emperor by the senate, through Caligula’s own will. The deranged psychopath had even staged a phony funeral to cover his tracks.
When the tribunes were asked why they hadn’t ceased hostilities when they saw him on the battlefield, they replied that they couldn’t explain it. It was as though some unseen force had been moving them toward combat, and it wasn’t until Claudius had been killed that they felt the effects slowly wear away.
Caligula had apparently accepted this explanation and hadn’t pressed that line of questioning further.
They were dismissed, pardoned and reinstated into the guard. As for those who had fought the day we were forced from the city, the few who were left were lined up along the old siege trenches and crucified. Up until that point, it had been illegal to crucify fellow Romans, but Caligula hadn’t been particularly happy, and had made an exception.
The Sacred Band had lost half its strength, but with the support and leadership of Quintilius, Gaius, and Marcus, whose wound had missed any vital arteries, it would be quickly reorganized and be as loyal as ever. From now on, the Sacred Band would never leave Caligula’s side, and even remain housed with him. One half would be on duty at any given time while the other half would remain in the Castra Praetoria, and would be chosen from only the most loyal and able men available.
As for those of us formerly employed by the Vatican, many outcomes, decisions, and scars, both physical and emotional, were made and accumulated.
Just after Caligula’s duel with Claudius, Vincent had been severely wounded. He had been stabbed through his forearm, doing massive damage to his left arm. Wang had been there to do what he could, but he couldn’t save the arm. Roman surgeons had amputated it, just below the elbow, and Wang had done what he could to stave off infection and ease Vincent’s pain. His recovery time lasted a month, only minus an arm, and I remembered sad times when I noticed him automatically reaching out with his severed arm, only to realize it was no longer there. Hopefully, over time, he’d get used to living a normal life without it.
Santino’s wounded leg only needed a dozen stitches, while Bordeaux had fought a substantial part of the battle with an arrow sticking out of his back. It had found itself lodged in his trapezius mus
cle, near his neck, an errant missile from an archer. Bordeaux’s overly muscled physique had probably saved his life, as the arrow hadn’t made it past his dense muscle structure. Wang, not trained in arrow removal, had allowed a Roman doctor handle it, using ancient forceps, a tool developed in Greece specifically for arrow retrieval. Both had recovered easily.
I was fine for the most part. My arm needed stitching and would leave another scar that would bisect the last one that had just healed there. Add to that another dozen or so scrapes and gashes; I was a mess but had survived relatively unscathed.
As for our decisions, Vincent made his to leave Rome and Caligula’s employ to tour the empire about two weeks ago. He voiced an interest in heading East to find the origins of Christendom. He’d sworn, his remaining hand raised in a promise gesture, that he would not do anything to affect its development, and I hoped he’d keep his word.
Wang had decided to leave as well, indicating he would go to Greece, and perhaps teach their doctors a thing or two about modern medicine. A month ago, as he prepared to leave, I’d clapped him on the shoulder and told him he’d have a fun time learning Greek, and that he’d sooner enjoy Duran Duran than the annoyingly complex language. He gave me a smile, said his goodbyes to everyone who had gathered to see him off, and left.
Bordeaux, another old timer, only a handful of years younger than Vincent, had lived many lives. He’d admitted that the only one where he had been truly happy was the short year he had spent with his wife. He hoped he could find that kind of companionship again, and with no more use for fighting, he too had set off, going North, with no real destination in mind.
They’d all taken plenty of supplies and gear, and despite retiring, brought their weapons and plenty of ammo. They’d be fine out in the wilderness of ancient Rome, and I hoped I crossed paths with them again someday.
“These olives are stale,” Santino reported, his mouth half full.
“I thought you didn’t like olives,” I said, my hand on the door to my room.
“Eh,” he muttered, inspecting one in the light, “they’re growing on me.”
I rolled my eyes. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I was still trying to decide which, Santino had chosen to stick around.
That left just one person.
I tried not to think about my own personal last moments on the battlefield. They had easily become some of the most horrific ones I’ve ever experienced. I had nearly given up myself, wondering if I could ever have been happy living while she didn’t, but I endured.
I sighed.
I tried not to think about it.
Reaching for the door, I paused when it seemingly opened on its own accord. Curious, I quickly pressed my hand against it and shoved it open, hoping to catch any interloper off guard. I was still pretty jumpy considering the kind of reception we’d had in Rome over the past year.
I took a tentative step inside as my hand hovered near my Sig. I crept forward and was surprised to notice a figure step out from behind the door, surprising us both. I nearly dropped to a knee for a better firing position, before recognition dawned on me.
I looked across at a set of brilliant green eyes, the same set that had haunted and loved me for nearly a year. Her skin looked paler than normal, and she’d lost some weight during her lengthy recovery, but the lovely face of Helena stared back at me with the same angry expression I’d grown to love in return.
She leaned against the door and clutched her chest with a hand. “For Christ’s sakes, Hunter! You nearly gave me a heart attack bursting in here like that,” she told me, slightly out of breath.
“Me?!” I responded with a frown. “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”
I reached out to take her hands in my own and led her to our bed, the most comfortable thing I’ve slept on since my childhood one. She moved slowly, and I sat her down next to me before I rested a hand on her forehead.
“You know you’re not supposed to exert yourself,” I told her, my hand still pressed against her skin. “At least you don’t seem to have a fever.”
She brushed my hand away. “Hunter, will you please stop? You’re worse than my mother. Wang said I could start walking around weeks ago, and I wasn’t going to miss this for the world.”
I frowned again.
In those last few moments after I had broken down, Helena had hung to life by a thread. Perhaps by divine intervention, a wandering Roman medic from the legion had spotted his fallen Mater, and rushed to her aid. The man had been efficient, quick and thorough. Recognizing that the sword had done little damage to her internal organs, he had gently removed the blade and gone to work cleaning and containing the wound.
I remembered the field doctor roughly pushing me aside as I tried to hold her. There had been so much blood. So much. It had driven me to the point of helplessness even with the Roman medic there.
I sat beside him for what seemed like ages, but my mind forced my body from the scene. I’d gotten up and wearily stumbled around until I found a rock to sit on. The battle was just starting to wrap itself up around me, and after a few seconds of rest, I started to weep. Just like Odysseus in his opening scene in The Odyssey, I sat on that rock, overlooked nothing in particular, and cried for the one I loved the most. Odysseus had sat there every day for years, and my suffering felt just as long. His salvation came in the form of the fleet-footed Hermes who told him the good news that Zeus had convinced his brother, Poseidon, to lift the ban that had forced him from seeing his beloved Penelope. All I got instead was Santino, who slowly approached my rock, and placed his hands on my shoulders.
Feeling his touch, I turned to see Wang. Santino had found him working on a fallen Praetorian who was too far gone to help. As soon as Wang had heard Helena’s name, he’d dropped what he was doing and rushed to her side as fast as his legs could carry him. He’d ordered the Roman medic aside, and his fingers danced with graceful care, and his presence offered the briefest seconds of hope.
Then, she died.
At least, her heart had stopped beating, but with a few hits of his mobile defibrillator, Wang managed to revive her, repair her struck internal organs including her pancreas and large intestine, put her back together, sew her up, and save her life. It had taken him almost three hours kneeling in the mud and the blood on that battlefield, but he’d somehow managed to pull her from the jaws of death. Bordeaux had joined Santino, arrow still lodged in his back, kneeling around Wang as he worked, keeping vigil while I remained glued to my rock, too afraid to face the worst. Many other legionnaires came and kneeled with them. When Wang finally walked over and told me the good news, it took minutes for his words to sink in, but when they finally did, I rushed to her side to find her unconscious and as pale as a ghost.
But alive!
I tried to thank him with a bear hug that launched him a foot off the ground, but nothing I said could truly convey how I felt. He’d smiled and told me our happiness would be thanks enough. After that, I’d spent the next three weeks in a field hospital with her, surrounded by thousands of other wounded soldiers. I rarely left her side before she was allowed to leave and join me in the beautiful home we had been given near the Palatine, interestingly on the spot where the Colosseum should be standing in about forty years or so. When I passed that bit of information on to Helena, she had coughed out a laugh and said she couldn’t make any promises she would survive if I kept lecturing.
Still too weak to move around much, she was trapped in bed, and even with modern antibiotics and Wang’s direct care, her recovery hadn’t been as graceful as it would have been in a modern hospital. She’d contracted a fever, and the wound on her back became infected, but she was resilient, and Wang was always there to help. A few weeks before he left for Greece, Wang finally gave her a clean bill of health and directions to start getting into shape. He never would have left Helena before making sure she would make a full recovery. And although it had been over two months, s
he was still far from one hundred percent.
Helena leaned forward slightly on the bed and looked up at me. “Are you all right, Jacob?”
I smiled at her. “Me? I’m fine. I’m just glad you’re all right.”
I patted her on the knee and leaned in for a kiss. She didn’t pull away, and I found myself lying on the bed next to her a few seconds later.
“You know,” she said in between breaths and lip locks, “I still haven’t properly thanked you for taking care of me.”
I smiled, and pushed her gently away. “Now, that, you definitely haven’t been cleared for! Let’s not push it.”
She smiled back. “You’re such a tease.”
“I know. It’s why you love me,” I answered, getting to my feet. “Come on. We should probably make sure Santino hasn’t choked on an olive or something.”
“We should?” She asked.
I chuckled, gripped her hands again, and slowly pulled her to her feet. I handed her the cane fashioned for her, and held out my arm for her to rest against as well. We walked out of the room together to find Santino, feet back on the table, trying to toss olives into his mouth. Judging by the body count on the floor, he hadn’t been very successful.
Putting his boot back on, he jumped to his feet when he saw us. “Finally! Let’s go. I’m starving.”
I shook my head. “Just so you know, I’m not going to let you crash on my couch much longer. You need to find your own place.”
“I have one,” he said, information that I unfortunately already knew, “but your place is cleaner.”
I shook my head, and looked to Helena for support. Over the past few months, Santino hadn’t just been freeloading, but helping care for Helena when I had to do things like sleep, eat or other daily necessities. Needless to say, she didn’t hate him anymore, and with a heart of gold, could never force him to leave, even though he had a perfectly fine place right next door.
She shrugged at me and smiled.
My shoulders slumped. “You’re lucky you’re my best friend and my girlfriend actually happens to like you,” I told Santino. “When does that ever happen?”
He smacked me on the shoulder. “Couldn’t have happened to a better guy. Now. Can we please go?” He asked, moving to Helena’s opposite side and taking her arm, tossing her cane on the couch.
“Seriously, Hunter,” she said. “I’m starving!”
I sighed, completely defeated. “All right. At least this should be an interesting evening.”
Interesting? Maybe, but I wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.
Reclaiming an empire, even when you were the legitimate sovereign, wasn’t an easy task. When we had marched into the city, there were small pockets of resistance of little consequence. Stubborn senators with delusions of grandeur and dreams of a seat on the throne defended their lives with hired servants and slaves. These were the men who had probably planted the seed of rebellion in Claudius’ mind to begin with. Unaffected by the orb, their own egos fueled their quest for absolute power. Any remaining Senators who couldn’t prove their loyalty were crucified next to their Praetorian allies. As for the orb, it was history. It was taken to an undisclosed position by Varus, and he hadn’t told us where it was. No one knew where the second one was either.
The next step was a conscription, which was basically a list of names, and if yours was on it, you were a free target for any legionnaire, bounty hunter, or civilian alike willing to sell your ass to the State. Any and all assets were to be seized and your life forfeited. Dictators like Marius and Sulla had abused the process to eliminate those disloyal to them, but Caligula only targeted those directly involved in the plot. As a result, almost a fourth of the Senate was rounded up and crucified, order had been restored, and those who remained would think twice before ever crossing Caligula, especially with his devoutly loyal Sacred Band by his side.
Finally, where the patrician families of Rome suffered, its lower classes prospered. After the siege, Caligula ordered immense grain supplies to be imported to the city from neighboring towns, all of which were completely willing and happy to help. Some non-senatorial families even found their way into new found wealth and power. Those who had rallied against Claudius during the siege were commended, and some were even offered vacant Senate seats, and with them, the honor of citizenship.
To further benefit the people of Rome, Caligula had proposed plans to erect a stadium of epic proportions, one that could hold immense gladiatorial fights, races, and naval battles, all for the viewing spectacle of the people. It had been an idea whispered in his ear by Vincent, along with a suggested location, right in the vicinity of my current home. Caligula thought it was a good idea, and promised those residents they would be moved to better homes, and recruited a young, upstart architect to begin planning its design, with a start construction date in a year. The original Colosseum’s architect was lost to history, so for all I knew, Caligula’s chosen man may very well have been the actual designer, recruited decades earlier.
Vincent would never learn.
So that was that.
Rome was under control and with its rightful ruler popularly and sanely in place. The rest of the empire’s knowledge of the incident was reduced to mere rumors spread by traveling citizens. Santino and I had accepted Caligula’s offer to remain as bodyguards for him, as did Helena, who would join us when she recovered. It wasn’t so much a bodyguard position, but as agents he could call on for “special” assignments.
It was the best posting I’d ever had because Caligula hadn’t asked us to do anything yet, except for the occasional appearance in the Curia, dressed in our full military gear. The rules of the pomerium were restricted to swords, spears, and shields, so our rifles fell through a loop hole that allowed us to carry them.
Caligula was also sympathetic to my desires to care for Helena, and knew that three would be better than two on any assignment he sent us on. With that in mind, he told Helena, on one of his occasional visits, to take her time healing. Other bonuses included our housing assignment, an income that easily put us in the equestrian class, those wealthy Roman businessmen who weren’t part of the senatorial class, and invitations to numerous dinner parties, most of which Caligula himself invited us to.
Which is where we were headed now, only this one wasn’t hosted by Caligula, but by his sister.
Agrippina.
I hadn’t told anyone about what I saw that day Santino and I were captured. About how she had possibly set us up, and how she had been present at the moment we were captured. The evidence was circumstantial, as Claudius could have been lying about sending her as a messenger just to get a rise out of me, and I still couldn’t be sure it had actually been her smooching him after I had been hit over the head.
Besides. Who would I tell? Caligula wouldn’t believe me. He seemed completely secure in the notion that Agrippina was a sweet little angel, and now a mother to boot. If I told Helena, she would have crawled out of bed, dragged herself to Agrippina’s home, and ripped her throat out with her bare hands. While the latter outcome was somewhat appealing, I couldn’t condemn someone on circumstantial evidence alone.
So, arm in arm, the three of us slowly made our way Augustus’ old house, where Agrippina had taken up residence with her brother. Passing through the familiar gate, and two familiar Praetorians now back in their traditional white togas, we made our way into the house of Augustus.
While, it was no longer the same house Augustus had built after Bordeaux had destroyed much of it; Caligula kept its original name, a tribute to his great grandfather. While the exterior had been reconstructed beautifully by Claudius, Caligula removed every piece of callous art he had adorned it with. The end result was the same kind of austere, yet beautiful home it had originally been. Met at the door by a house slave, something I’d never get used to but could do little to change, we were escorted through the house and into the dining room.
>
The room was devoid of any modern semblance of formal dining accoutrements or ware. Instead of chairs, there were low couches arranged in a U, with tables laid out in front of them. Lying on couches while eating dinner was every lazy man’s dream, and after experiencing it a few times, I never wanted to go back. All the Romans needed was a television with some Monday Night Football, and life would be complete.
We mingled with increasingly familiar people. I chatted with Varus while Helena and Santino struck up a conversation with an off duty Quintilius and his wife. We didn’t have too much time for small talk as Caligula and Agrippina arrived only a few minutes later. Once they were announced, we made our way to the dining tables and got comfortable.
Agrippina seated herself at the head of the table with Caligula and her young son, Nero. Santino, Helena, and I were seated at their right, a place of honor, Varus and Quintilius directly across from us to their left, with the rest of the guests scattered throughout the couches. As soon as everyone was settled, house slaves were called to bring forth various dishes of steaming delectables.
The dinner had been delicious, and the evening fun. Chicken, beef, vegetables of all kinds, grains, and fruits for dessert, it was a feast fit for kings, and I wondered how these Romans stayed in such good shape eating so much all the time. I already felt my waistline beginning to tighten and I had to promise Helena that I’d hit up the Campus Martius next week for a workout.
With dinner completed, the evening slowed down to alcohol induced conversation. I found myself pretty drunk, lounging on my back, and munching on fruit Helena was playfully lowering into my mouth. She told me to close my eyes while she found something new to feed me, and as a result I felt a syrupy liquid spill down my chin. I opened my eyes to see Helena pouring honey from a cup. I laughed and knocked the cup away, gently pushing her into Santino. He was talking to a young, pretty, Roman woman and glared at me when Helena interrupted his conversation. I couldn’t help but laugh again as I rolled onto my back and Helena moved to lie next to me, her head on my stomach.
I stared up at the ceiling feeling drunk, gluttonous and happy for the first time in years. The world I had left had been filled with nothing but war, one that had no end in sight. Albert Einstein once said, “I know not what weapons World War III will be fought with, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones”. He was probably right, and I knew it was only a matter of time before someone started the chain reaction that would end it all. Ancient Rome, however, I knew had a future, and maybe with my help, a better one. We’d done too much to the timeline as it was, so there was no sense resting on our laurels now and not trying to help.
The future aside, it was also the first time since I was a kid I could honestly admit I had everything. With Helena at my side, my best friend Santino at my back, and the emperor of Rome as my employer, I couldn’t find much to complain about. I sighed, lay back, and drank in the moment.
It wasn’t until I heard the innocent giggle of a small child that I remembered life was never perfect. Out of the corner of my eye I saw young Nero on the ground in a corner. I also saw a dozen attendants playing with and spoiling him right in front of me. It gave me a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Friends and family,” Caligula suddenly announced, struggling to sit up on his couch, arms spread at his sides to maintain his balance. “I am so very glad you could join my sister and I for dinner tonight, and a wonderful dinner it was, I might add.”
Many of the guests offered their own positive sentiments to Agrippina, as though she had anything to do with the actual cooking of the meal.
“I, myself, am not quite finished,” Caligula announced, slurring his words drunkenly, still munching on part of his entrée, “but I have an announcement, a very important one that will affect the continuation of my imperial reign.”
I glanced over at Santino and Helena, the latter’s expression looking confused, while the former was still trying to cop a feel. I gave her a shrug. I was beyond making predictions based on historical precedence at this point.
“My lovely sister and I have been discussing events at great length, and I have come to a decision. I hereby announce that due to my lack of children, as of this afternoon and recorded in my living will, Agrippina’s son, Nero, will succeed me as Caesar in the circumstances of my death. Should that happen before he reaches the age of fourteen, Agrippina shall rule in regency till the day he is.”
There was a chorus of applause and adulation from the guests present. As for me, my jaw practically hit the floor. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. After all we’d gone through and all we’d changed, establishing Caligula as potentially one of Rome’s greatest emperors, Nero would still take over and ruin everything. I looked over at the young child, and even at six months of age, I saw the beginnings of the man he would become, the servants continuing to pamper and spoil the boy.
I looked over at my two companions, who were just as confused as I was, but obviously not truly grasping the implications. Even Varus, sitting across the table from my position looked as confused as the three of us. If he didn’t know, this must have been a recent decision.
I looked back at Caligula, heartened by his vitality and youth, knowing it would be a long time before Nero could actually become Caesar. Caligula was so much more popular and protected than ever, it would take an act of the gods to bring him down. I laid my head back down against a couch cushion and continued to stare at the ceiling in comfort.
I felt myself falling asleep when I heard the clatter of a plate beside me. I peeked through my right eye and saw Caligula eating a small, dark brown mushroom from the plate that must have fallen to the floor in his drunken stupor. I sniveled at the sight as mushrooms were never my favorite. Something about eating fungus bugged me. They always seemed to…
My train of thought stopped as a word association sprang to mind. Something about Caligula and mushrooms should have been important to me, but I was too drunk to remember. Claudius. Mushrooms. Caligula. Agrippina.
Poison.
I tried to get up and warn him, but my mind and body were too slow. I watched as he took a bite, glancing at it curiously, but pleasingly, before his eyes tightened in confusion and concern. He dropped the mushroom and his hands grasped at his throat while a white, frothy substance foamed at his mouth. Most dinner guests were still elated and discussing Caligula’s announcement but when he fell to the floor and convulsed from a seizure, every guest rushed to their feet, and ran to his side.
All except Agrippina.
She was still seated on her couch, looking down at the emperor’s shaking form, but only for a moment before she turned her head to look right at me. A slow smile crept across her face, and I thought I saw her shaking slightly in laughter. I looked back at Nero, and back at her, whose smile broadened just slightly before she turned back to Caligula, now in horrified sister mode.
“What’s happening to him?” Helena asked, bewilderment in her voice.
“We have to go,” I said. “Now.”
“What? Why?” Santino asked, looking from me to Caligula and back and forth.
“Come on!” I almost yelled, grabbing Helena and helping her off the couch. Pulling her close to make a quick getaway, I was about to start announcing politely that we were leaving, but realized everyone’s attention was elsewhere. Only Varus, holding his friend and emperor’s head in his arms, paid us any attention. He looked angry, but he knew as well as I did that fingers might soon be pointed in our direction. His look suggested he felt we were innocent, but I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that in a place like Rome it was better to avoid getting caught than to stick around with even the slightest bit of suspicion directed toward you.
I nodded to my friend and hauled Helena out of the room, Santino catching up to help me with her.
Not even to the house gate, realization seemed to dawn on her. “We didn’t actually change anything, did
we? What you said before, about fate finding a way to set things straight.”
I thought about it.
It made sense. With Claudius out of the picture, the only logical thing for fate to do was to have Agrippina rule while she waited for Nero to turn fourteen. She had practically ruled alongside Claudius anyway.
I thought about it.
No, I couldn’t buy that. I wouldn’t. There was no way some natural force controlled the outcome of all living things. I had free will. I had a choice. I controlled my own fate and so did Agrippina. We had to stop the madman I knew Nero would become from ever taking the throne. For all I knew, the current situation would make things far worse than I could possibly imagine.
“No,” I said, thinking hard about what to do. “We’re fucking changing things.”
I sifted through every shred of knowledge I had about ancient Rome. There had to be something we could do. Both Caligula and Claudius may be dead, and with it Rome’s chances of a bright future, but there must be someone who can help. I cross referenced as many dates, names and events as I could in my mind to try and find someone.
I could only think of one man. Only one man in the entirety of the Roman Empire could have a positive effect on the course of history. He was the only one because he’d done it before. He’d taken an empire on the brink of collapse and realigned it back toward greatness.
Vespasian.
COMING SOON
Keep reading for a brief snippet from the next book in the ongoing Praetorian Series: To Crown a Caesar.
Sometime in the future…