Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands (20 page)

“Not an animal like this,” Tiberius replied in a cool voice. “Nor was this one alone. Remember as you look at this skull that nearly two thousand soldiers of Rome and an entire town died in the jaws of a huge pack of such beasts.”
 

Pleminius looked at the skull closely, running his fingers over the elongated jaw and the enormous fangs. Looking up at Tiberius, he asked, “So, this is really true?”
 

“As true as the flesh of our soldiers and citizens that was eaten.” Some of the senators winced in distaste at the notion. Games that featured beasts fighting gladiators or devouring prisoners were not uncommon, but wanton slaughter of Roman citizens by a pack of mindless creatures was too much for many of them to accept. “What is more,” Tiberius went on, “Pelonius and the others discovered a young man who was born and raised in the Dark Lands, and who made it to our shores alive.”

“Impossible,” Livius cried.

“Again, I beg to differ, Senator,” Tiberius told him. “In the distant past we know for a fact that a natural bridge existed between the Dark Lands and our own; this is well documented among a variety of ancient texts in the Imperial Library. Pelonius writes that the waters of the Haunted Sea have been gradually falling in recent years, and this bridge is again rising toward the surface. The young man I speak of — who according to both Pelonius and Centurion Marcus Tullius is a very formidable warrior, I might add — crossed this bridge during a terrible storm, and was later pursued by the Dark Wolves. According to what this young warrior said, the Dark Lands are ruled by a race of giants who would not hesitate to invade the Empire if given the opportunity.” He leaned forward. “I have every intention of denying them any such opportunity. To that end, I am invoking the protectorate powers granted me as Emperor, and under which I am ordering all reserve legions to assemble.”

Pleminius looked at Tiberius and narrowed his eyes. Tiberius suppressed a smile as he thought,
you know what’s coming, don’t you, old friend?
“You’re doing this solely based on the word of your scribe and this bit of bone, are you?” Pleminius asked.

Tiberius nodded. “You of all people should understand the regard I have for Pelonius.” His eyes swept the room. Pelonius was well known to every man here, for one reason or another, and from one time or another over the last few decades. “Few men in the Empire are better educated or, for that matter, more courageous or honorable. If he says Rome faces a threat from beyond the Haunted Sea, only the word of the gods themselves spoken in my ear would carry more weight.”

“And who will command the assembled army?” Livius asked.
 

“It is my right and duty to assume command myself,” Tiberius told him. “To speak with my voice and act in my stead here in Rome, I nominate Senator Calpurnius Pleminius to the position of Supreme Consul until my return.” Tiberius had difficulty maintaining a serious, dignified demeanor as he saw Pleminius, looking like he had swallowed a rotten pomegranate, mouth a silent oath at him that would have embarrassed even Septimus.
 

The presiding magistrate stood on shaky legs and rapped his staff once on the floor. “Do we have acclamation for Senator Calpurnius Pleminius to the position of Supreme Consul, acting on Caesar’s behalf?” The acclamation was purely a formality, as by law the Senate had no choice but to accept the emperor’s surrogate. But having the Senate’s support was always helpful, and Pleminius was popular with most of his peers. Even Livius did not appear overly disgruntled in voting his part in the acceptance of the measure. But Tiberius could see the man’s mind behind his eyes, churning, calculating. The threat from the Dark Lands was an opportunity for Tiberius to break free of the confines of Rome, to get some badly needed maneuvering room before the assassins got lucky. The downside, of course, was that it gave his enemies a chance to both consolidate their positions in the all-important venue of Rome and further undermine his. In the end, time would be on their side, but he saw no other course of action that would not leave Rome as bare as a cheap whore before the threat from the Dark Lands.
 

“By universal acclamation,” the magistrate cried in his raspy voice, “the Senate hereby acknowledges Calpurnius Pleminius as Supreme Consul. May the gods ever keep and guide him and our beloved Caesar toward the greater glory of Rome.”

As the senators, their faces troubled by the unexpected news from Caesar, broke out in a round of applause, Pleminius again caught Tiberius’s eye and his mouth formed a single word.
 

Bastard
.

***

“The whole affair is simply unbelievable.”
 

That single word,
unbelievable
, summarized the thoughts of the handful of Rome’s most powerful men who now reclined in the peristyle of the city home of Senator Julius Livius. Three of his visitors were fellow senators, while the other two were wealthy beyond the comprehension of any common man. Between the five of them, along with Livius himself, they represented the majority of the Senate in favors bought and owed, along with a full third of the generals currently commanding the Empire’s legions, who owed their positions to one of these six men. Night had fallen since Caesar’s announcement to the Senate, word of which had spread like wildfire throughout Rome, and was being borne by official and unofficial couriers to every corner of the Empire. The orders given from the Imperial Palace atop the Palatine were even now setting great wheels into motion, summoning forth tens of thousands of Roman citizens and freedmen to do their duty for the Empire. But other great levers and wheels, no less powerful in determining the course of the Empire’s history, were controlled by this small gathering of illuminati.

Livius grunted agreement as he popped a date in his mouth, his eyes fixed on the erotic gyrations of a group of his slaves he had provided for the amusement of his guests. He himself was not partial to engaging directly in such pleasures, but was certainly not above enjoying their antics. “I agree, Gaius,” he said in reply to Gaius Ulpius Nigrinus, who had become the wealthiest man in the entire Empire, built on the foundations of the slave trade, at the ridiculously young age of thirty-six, “but I also — unwillingly, I confess — find that I cannot readily dismiss the account provided by Pelonius, no matter how fanciful it might seem.”

Gaius shook his head and snorted. “You would take these rantings at face value? From a mere former slave?”

“In this particular case, yes. Pelonius could be described in many ways, but
mere
is not a qualifier I would apply to the man, former slave or otherwise. He was a great gift from the gods to Tiberius, and Tiberius was wise enough to realize it.”

Senator Quintus Etruscus, who was far older than Gaius Ulpius but boasted a physique that would have been the envy of men far younger, looked at Livius with a calculating gaze. “I have to wonder,” he said, “if your loyalties remain, shall we say, unambiguous? You have long been friends with Caesar, at least until recently, and every time you speak his name or mention any among those closest to him, your voice rings with a disturbing tone of respect that even now gives me pause.”

Livius shot the man a baleful glare. “Of course I respect him,” he snapped before spitting out the date pit on the floor, ignoring the slave who instantly crawled forth to retrieve it. “Anyone who doesn’t is a fool. I have long held the man in my heart as a brother, and still do.” His mouth twisted down in a grim frown. “But he is bent on destroying the foundation on which the Republic and the Empire were built, robbing the ancient and noble patrician families of their wealth and status, leaving them no better than the mob, and he has refused to listen to reason.” Livius could feel his blood rising as he spoke, and it took an effort of will not to fall victim to one of his notorious fits of rage. He always held his fury in check while in public, but in private his temper put him on a par with the Furies, much to the misfortune of his household slaves, who served as the outlet for his rage. Taking a deep breath, he went on. “If I am anything, I am a true Roman, and the needs of the Empire come first, even before bonds of brotherhood.” In another time in the distant past, he knew, someone in his position would have said
Republic
rather than Empire, but few remained in Roman political circles who believed the original Republic would ever be restored. Nor, in the case of the most powerful men in the Senate, would they want it to be, for most such men dreamed of someday receiving the title of Caesar and ruling as Emperor. Livius certainly did.

Quintas shrugged, apparently mollified. “Very well. In that case, what do you suggest we do, seeing as how the attempts to remove Caesar from the game in the,” he smiled, “traditional manner have failed.”

“The logical thing,” Livius said, “is to let events take their course for now and turn them to our advantage. When Caesar departs Rome to take charge of the Army, his person will be more or less beyond our grasp.”

“What about Canus Sergius?” Gaius asked. “Might not he be able to take care of our little problem?”

Livius frowned. “Possible, but unlikely. Sergius is as ambitious as any man and would certainly bow to our command, but he’s also a self-serving coward.” The others nodded knowingly. Sergius was an animal they had collectively created, but the seeds of doubt had sprouted as to the wisdom of that decision. “If the opportunity presents itself, he would no doubt take it. But such an opportunity, where he would have to risk little to take Caesar’s life, is unlikely to materialize.” Livius made a dismissive gesture. “But it is no matter. With Caesar out of the city, we can easily consolidate our political position and fortify Rome and other strategic cities with legions loyal to our cause, dispensing with Supreme Consul Pleminius at a time of convenience. I also suspect,” he cast a glance at Gaius, “that a liberal distribution of gold to the right hands may help yet more legion commanders see reason.”

“I’m sure something can be arranged,” Gaius said with a nonchalant shrug. The purse carried by his head house slave for casual expenses was worth more than a year’s pay for an entire legion.

“And then?” Quintas asked.

“And then,” Livius said, “we simply wait. Time is on our side, my friends. The Empire’s main food supply and the majority of raw materials are in the south, and we will have control of all the key cities along the roads and serving the ports leading to the northern provinces, including, of course, Aquitania. Any legions that follow Caesar north will quickly find themselves short of food, unless they want to march east to dine on crocodiles from the Mediterranean.” The others laughed. The Mediterranean Sea, which of course was not the same body of water plied by the ships of Old Rome, was filled with a rich abundance of sea life, including countless seagoing crocodiles that grew to a length of twenty feet or more and weighed half again as much as a full grown horse. Luxury items made from their hides were affordable only to very wealthy families, for hunting the terrible beasts was more dangerous than being a gladiator, and the few hunters who managed to survive encounters with their prey demanded, and received, outrageous sums for their efforts. “And should Caesar return from Aquitania leading the legions that remain loyal to him, as I am sure there will be at least a few, we will meet him in open battle with a superior force and defeat him.”
 

One of the other men, Senator Thascius Caecilius, asked, “And what if the rantings of this Pelonius turn out to be true and these so-called giants from the Dark Lands launch an invasion?”

Livius picked up his cup, looking into the blood red wine. “Then we will leave Caesar to do his duty. If these giants are so formidable that his legions are crushed, we will move the necessary troops north to contain the situation. In the process we will make sure that Caesar sacrifices himself for the glory of Rome, for which he will receive a posthumous triumph and accolades from the Senate.” He lowered his voice as he pushed aside pleasant memories of his friend Tiberius from days now gone. “Rome owes him at least that much.”

***

After his visitors had departed, Julius Livius donned roughspun clothing that only the poorest of citizens or slaves might wear. Accompanied by three of his most able bodyguards, dressed in similar garb, he slipped out the slave entrance to his home in the deep of night. Making his way to the Aventine, he threaded his way through the narrow, twisting, filthy streets like a blind man navigating a well-accustomed house. He ignored the pleas of the poor and the desperate and shouldered past the drunken patrons of the most notorious taverns and brothels in the city. The men of the gangs that claimed the various neighborhoods as their territory faded back into the shadows, for they understood from an unpleasant encounter years before that this particular stranger and those who protected him were not to be trifled with. The air here was thick with a noxious miasma that was unique to this part of Rome, but ubiquitous to similar dens of debauchery found in every major city of the Empire: a mixture of wood smoke, wine, vomit, cheap perfume, semen, piss, and shit. At one time, many years before, he had been among those taking comfort in such places as this, but his visit tonight, as had every visit he had made over the last twenty-six years, was for a far different purpose.

At last he reached his destination. He paused for a moment before the arched entry of the ramshackle temple that was in no better condition than the squalid tenements that surrounded it. Motioning for his guardians to remain on the street to keep watch, he pushed through the rotting wooden door and stepped inside.
 

Closing the door behind him was like shutting away the stench and hopelessness of this section of the city. Inside, the temple air smelled as clean as a pine forest, overlaid with the gentle spice of incense that came only from the mountains of western Cappadocia, and only at great cost. The interior was dim, lit only by six candles on elaborate brass wall sconces along the stairs that led to the altar.