To Crown a Caesar (The Praetorian Series: Book II) (23 page)

The only problem was that I had no idea where to start with either goal.  Santino and Helena weren’t ready to discuss it,
both preferring to stay out of the game as long as possible.  They’d been avoiding me more than usual lately, and I hadn’t done much to promote conversation either.  Helena, I knew, was worried about me, having voiced her concerns on a number of occasions, but while I wasn’t nearly so distant as I had been before, I wasn’t ready to talk quite yet.

Santino, on the other hand, was simply more inclined to let things play out and see what happen
ed.  It was a character trait he’d developed during his time with Delta, whose original mission parameters were often discarded in lieu of more timely developments that threatened to dramatically alter a mission.

I sighed
and crossed my arms, still disgruntled over the whole affair.  Everything was so muddied in my brain, I couldn’t think straight.  Every time I felt I was on to something, another something would pop into my mind and distract me.  Whether it was our direction for removing Agrippina or realigning the timeline or finding the orb; the past few months had been filled with foggy internal monologues about what to do and how to do it, but with no results to show for it.

But
that’s what we were here for.  It was to be a time to relax.  If there was ever a time to get a handle on my life, It was now.  It was time to grow up and find perspective.

Luckily, w
e couldn’t have chosen a better spot.

I picked up my journal and wrapped a rubber band around it with my pen inside, and gave my surroundings a thoughtful look.  Byzantium, as the ancient city was presently known, was a Greek city that was everything but the shinning beacon of Christianity it will become as Constantinople, or the exemplar of Islamic
dominance it will be as Istanbul.  Byzantium, as I’ve come to notice, was many things, but it was nothing like I remembered from when I visited Istanbul as a kid.

Istanbul had been a beautiful city, despite how much I once despised it.  I hadn’t hated it based on any modern religious connotations, but because Constantinople had
once been the capital of the Byzantine Empire, the eastern continuation of the Roman Empire, and I had hated anything that fucked with my beloved Romans.

A
t least I had before I found myself living in their hellhole of a world.

Now, I couldn’t care less.  Good for the Ottomans.

Like its modern equivalent, Byzantium was rich and prosperous, and the area I was now in reflected that prosperity even if the city itself was a shadow of what it would soon become.  Located on the only waterway that connected the Black Sea with the rest of the Mediterranean, and situated on the far ends of both western and eastern cultures, Byzantium had become one of the largest trading hubs in the Roman Empire.  Anything that could be bought or sold went through Byzantium, and the city turned a tidy profit because of it.

Istanbul, circa 2021, however, was huge, spreading all the way to the Black Sea along both eastern and western banks of the Bosporus
, a narrow waterway that connected the Black Sea and the Mediterranean Sea, and inland for miles in both directions.  The ancient city of Byzantium was tiny in comparison.  Currently the city’s territory consisted of only the small peninsula at the southern tip of the Bosporus, formed by a narrow waterway that juts into the western shoreline for a few miles, known as the Golden Horn, used as a deep water harbor since the city’s creation.

The city was nice and compact, and with the addition of the Golden Horn, easily defensible, as the city proved regularly, even though it would eventually fall.  Nothing lasted forever.  Only a few square miles in size, the city still boasted areas both opulent and dingy.  Santino and Helena had voiced concerns that its small size wouldn’t make for a suitable place to hide, but I had my suspicions otherwise.  I figured that due to its location and importance as a trading port, the population density would be extremely high.  When we arrived, I wa
s quickly proven right.  The amount of people that crowded the streets was vast, and every last one of them seemed to congregate around the city’s markets, of which there were dozens, where any number of goods and items could be found.

To make matters worse
for my companions, I’d convinced them to take up residence in one of the seedier areas of the ancient city since logic dictated it was the best place to remain inconspicuous.  It was rank and dirty, but it suited our purposes.  Located near the southeast side of the city, it was fairly close to the water.  In fact, our small two room apartment had a fantastic view of the Propontis, even if our neighbors were less than desirable.

It had only taken Santino a number of hours before he realized the majority of the b
uilding was used as a brothel.

Our shady ne
ighbors, downtrodden conditions and beds that smelt like mold and fermenting bodily fluids were minor inconveniences we needed to get used to, a fact lost on Santino.  It’s been nothing but complaints from him about how we could easily afford better living accommodations which, I had to admit, was true.  We’d accumulated enough wealth over the years to set us up for quite some time in one of the finest establishments in
any
city, in fact.

We brought our wealth with us in two supply containers, both
about the size of a small bed, along with the few remaining MREs, spare clothing, ammunition, explosives, tools and repair kits, medical supplies, and other survival gear – what moderate amounts we had left.  We also placed the few extra rifles and pistols we had, including Helena’s M107 .50 caliber Barrett sniper rifle, the rest of the ammunition and other miscellaneous supplies in a third containers, burying the three remaining ones.

Yet another lost part of the place we’d come from
.

We
’d loaded everything into a wagon, drawn by Helena’s horse and my own, and went east.  We didn’t run into any trouble along the way, but that was because we left our cocky attitudes with Agrippina and assimilated completely into Roman culture.  Our rifles, combat fatigues and boots were all stowed away, replaced by tunics, woolen trousers, Greek style dresses for Helena, and sandals for footwear.  We kept our pistols handy, but had brought our swords out of retirement, reluctantly realizing we may have to use them to maintain our cover.

We were on vacation.

Basically.

Our few days here had been relaxing so far, reminding me of our first few days spent in
Ancient Rome.  Like then, life seemed so peaceful, but with the nagging feeling that I was being watched.  Then, we had been under the watchful eye of Caligula’s Praetorians, but now it was out of a sense of paranoia.  While no one knew we were here, and the Roman Empire was vast, I couldn’t bring myself to trust a single person I interacted with.

With that thought in mind, I dropped a few coins on the table
to pay for my meal as I left, and didn’t pay another soul in the restaurant any attention.  I’d had lunch in one of Byzantium’s upper class districts, where the sun seemed brighter and the chances of getting stabbed in the back slimmer.  The food had been adequate, not quite at the standards of the 21st century, but the outside patio was pleasant and great for people watching, something my mother, sister and I had done all the time back when we were kids.

The immediate area was a public bazaar
of sorts, where small booth sized shops sold food, clothing, jewelry, weapons, and all sorts of other knickknacks.  I had observed men and women of all ages, ethnicities, and cultural background mingling in the busy streets, doing this and doing that, nothing of real consequence.

The laughter and happiness of these simple people was contagious
, however, and I was suddenly transfixed by a couple purchasing some new clothing for their young daughters   The girls tried on their new dresses, squealing in delight, giving both mother and father tender, warm hugs.  It was a touching sight, and maybe I was just feeling old and nostalgic, but I could have sworn I felt something like jealousy as well.  Whatever the case may have been, I was just glad to have the opportunity to relax and spend some time alone for once.  I hadn’t been very good company for the past few months, and having been in such close proximity with Helena and Santino for so long hadn’t done much to raise my spirits.

I listened to the clanging noise of
my coins striking wood as I gathered up my bag.  Turning to leave the establishment, I decided to go on an afternoon walk through the bazaar.  I was wearing simple woolen trousers that went to my knees, with a likewise simple linen tunic that draped past my waste.  It was a very comfortable outfit that breathed well in these warm summer months, and my open soled sandals completed the casual outfit.

Slung over my shoulder was a local
ly made bag I had purchased from one of Byzantium’s shops my first day here.  Its design was similar to modern day messenger bags, like the one I had used during the Battle for Rome, that I was compelled to buy it the moment I saw it.  Unlike modern day bags, this one started its life as a single piece of canvas, cut and sewn to produce a bag, a flap to cover it, and a non-adjustable shoulder sling.  It was very basic, and lacked the pockets and compartments I was used to, so I put to use the sewing skills my mother had drilled into me as kid and managed to attach three pockets on the outside of the bag, each large enough to hold a single M4 magazine, as well as a number of internal pockets.  I made ones for my small flashlight, multitool, two spare magazines for my Sig, and I even crafted a small interior holster for the pistol.  I also carried the monocular scope off of
Penelope
, a small first aid kit, a basic survival kit, a pair of socks, and my radio.  I also had the small computer system, minus the eye piece in there as well, just in case I picked up Santino’s UAV should Bordeaux return early.

Each
item was secured and easily retrievable, and gave me slightly more confidence I’d survive each day.

With my bag of goodies secured over my left shoulder, I began to wonder through the market, occasionally stopping at
one random kiosk or another to peruse the selection.

The first stall I passed by was selling what I called “meat-on-a-stick”.  My first day wandering through Byzantium had landed me here, and I’d purchased one of the chef’s heavily spiced mystery meat sticks for lunch.  It had a distinctly Indian taste to it, heavy with curry, cumin, coriander, or some such, but I had never gotten around to asking what the meat was.  The owner had been very persistent that I try it, and always one looking to sample new foods, especially when on vacation, I’d given in and purchased the freshest looking one I could
find.  Tentatively biting into it, I was pleasantly pleased with how spicy and flavorful it was, and offered my compliments to the chef.  As I ate, I asked what it was that I was consuming, only to be told it had been one of the many rats infesting the area.

The interruption in my chewing had lasted only for a moment before I shrugged and kept
on eating.  I couldn’t deny that the rat was in fact delicious.  I purchased one the next day as well, but today had opted for the sit down restaurant just down the street.

I smiled and waved as the owner tried to flag me down again, but I politely waved him off, saying I’d be back tomorrow.  I hoped he wasn’t so insistent on my business because I was the only dumb sap who ate his food, but I
liked it, so I didn’t care.

As long as I didn’t contract the Bubonic Plague, I’d be happy.

I continued my tour around the market, listening to men and women haggle and bid on an assortment of items.  I passed by one jewelry stand in particular and my eye caught something bright, sparkly and probably expensive.  I walked over to an elderly woman who appeared to be the patron of the small establishment.  She seemed small and frail beneath her multicolored shawl, but her beaked nose and eyes like a hawk said otherwise, and I knew not to act like an ignorant tourist around someone like her.  She could probably sell a steak dinner to a vegan, and I had to be careful I didn’t buy something I didn’t want.

What I did want
, however, was a necklace that I knew would look lovely on Helena.  In the four years we’d been on the run, not one gift had been exchanged between us.  Not a Christmas or birthday, except mine, went uncelebrated, but we rarely had enough time to go shopping.  The only gift exchanged had been Santino’s knife from Helena, but that was more out of necessity.  Santino would have gone crazy without one.

I decided that considering the circumstances, it would be a nice gesture if I bought her something.  Start
the healing process, as some would say.

But I was never the best shopper for women back home, although I
had tried my best.  I tended to stay away from clothing, since I found women’s clothing sizes beyond complicated.  I had no idea what the sizes meant.  It didn’t make sense that their sizing numbers didn’t correspond to inches and I could never understand how someone could be sized with a negative number.  So, I’d long ago decided it was best to stick with jewelry.  It was more expensive, sure, but it was much easier to pick out.  Besides, women loved the stuff, and having to shop for a sister, a mother, the random girlfriend and countless aunts during my early adult years, I’d developed a pretty good eye for what was tacky and what wasn’t.