Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands (28 page)

Across the room, he saw that the gesture had not gone unnoticed. Septimus, who stood behind Caesar, was staring at him, a questioning look on his face. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, Karan returned his hand to his side, then paid closer attention to the discussion at the map table.

***

“It’s still hard for me to believe that this is real,” Placus said, shaking his head, after he had taken in all that Caesar had told him and the others.
 

“You would have believed if you had been with us when the Dark Wolves attacked,” Pelonius said in a grim voice.

Placus lifted a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “I am not calling into question the veracity of the tale, Pelonius, simply pointing out my inability to fully grasp it based on words alone. It is not every day that ancient legends come to life, is it?”

“May we thank the gods for that,” Caesar said. Leaning over the map, easily falling into his former role of army commander, he pointed to where the castrum for
Legio Hercules
and The Wall were drawn. “Now that you’re up to date on where things stand, let us get your men situated. The engineers have already marked out locations for your encampments. Thankfully, the ground is flat, the soil soft, and we have abundant raw materials for construction of long-term fortifications.
Victrix
, as you can see, is already established on our western flank. Flavius, you will encamp here, on our eastern flank, and Placus,
Ferrata
will act as a reserve and be stationed on our southern flank, with
Hercules
between you and The Wall.” He looked up at Placus. “I want our most experienced commander in charge of the reserve, and I hereby designate you second in command of the army should I fall.”

Placus nodded. “As you command, Caesar.”

“And,” Tiberius added, “since you managed to time your arrival for the Ides of March, which I take as a good omen, I would like to invite you and your men to celebrate with us the Feast of Jupiter. I’m sure all of you could do with some fresh food and drink after the long march from Rome.”

“Indeed we could, Caesar,” Placus agreed.

“Nothing could be more perfect,” Decius added.
 

Flavius only smiled.

***

As the commanders departed, Karan followed them from the praetorium and watched as the three generals discussed something briefly, then mounted their horses and went their separate ways.

“Would you mind explaining what in the name of the gods you were thinking in there?” Septimus asked in a quiet voice. He had come up beside Karan, with Marcus and Paulus in company.

“What do you mean?” Marcus asked.

Septimus gave him a withering look. “Didn’t you see Karan put his hand on his sword?”

“No, I didn’t. I was focused on what Caesar and the others were saying.” To Karan, he said, “What of it?”

“I do not know, centurion,” Karan said. “Does Caesar trust these generals?”

Marcus frowned. “No more or less than any, I suppose. He and Placus fought side by side for a number of years, and I with them. He’s as good as they come.”

Septimus nodded. “If Placus can’t be trusted, we’re in a bit of a spot.”

“As for the other two,” Marcus went on, “I know them only by reputation. Good commanders, good records, but beyond that, and where their loyalty lies, only the gods know.”

“At least they’re here,” Septimus said, then spat. “That’s more than we can say for the rest of the legion commanders, may their little peckers rot off.”

“Well,” Marcus growled, “we’ll just have to keep our eyes and ears open, and our swords at the ready. It’s not like we don’t do that every day. Now, go get yourselves something to eat before the locusts from the other legions take all the food and wine Caesar’s laid out for us.”

***

The day turned into evening as the men of four legions feasted in honor of Jupiter, the greatest of Rome’s gods, and the evening turned into a night lively with wine, song, and celebration. For the men of
Legio Hercules
, it was the first time they had been given a true respite since the battle with the Dark Wolves. For those of the three other legions that now stood in their company, it was the perfect opportunity for the men to mingle, swap tall tales, enjoy the company of the prostitutes of the followers camp, and express a unique aspect of soldierly fellowship through occasional drunken brawls.

Invited to dine with Caesar and his generals, Karan did so for only as long as necessary to satisfy courtesy (or at least so he hoped). He had picked at some food and eschewed wine altogether. Sitting in the company of the three men, Placus, Decius, and Flavius, made him nervous. He was angry with himself for not being able to define what was wrong, but he had learned long before to trust his instincts. And so he had used the cover of an uproarious joke told by Placus’s tribune to quietly flee.

Standing outside the praetorium where Caesar and the others were enjoying their feast, he breathed in the cool night air, which was redolent with the aroma of meat roasting over open fires, wine, and sweat. The castrum, which was normally the scene of industrious, organized activity, looked more like how Septimus had once described the part of Rome known as the Aventine. Soldiers stood in clusters, food in hand, shouting and drinking, while others staggered along the streets or chased one another about. Others, stripped to their tunics or even entirely naked, fought with their fists or wrestled, surrounded by their comrades who were making wagers on who would win, howling encouragement and derision. Near the gates, women from the followers camp were in abundance, most of them only partly dressed, and all of them with plenty of attention from the soldiers. Come morning, the women’s purses would be heavy with hard earned coin, and the soldiers would be poorer but (at least in some cases) happier.

One of the women shrieked as a soldier snatched her from the ground, then laughed as the man carried her off toward the jungle where countless candles were burning from sconces nailed to the trees. Such pleasures, he knew, were forbidden within the walls of the castrum, but the jungle was conveniently close and provided some degree of privacy for those who were inclined to care.

The men of
Legio Hercules
called their greetings to Karan and the great god Hercules himself, who lay beside Karan on the ground, his great eyes taking in the goings-on with interest, his tail periodically twitching to and fro. His muzzle was still red from the beef haunch he had been given earlier as his share of the feast, and now and then he was compelled to withdraw from observing the bedlam around them to groom. Karan returned the salutations with a nod, while Hercules ignored the human rabble.

“Karan?”

He turned to find Valeria standing at the entrance to the praetorium. She came to stand beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
 

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

He had not told her of his vague worry, for there was nothing she could do. There was nothing he could do, for that matter. “No,” he lied, looking away. His gaze fell on a young woman not much older than Valeria who stood, naked, embracing one of the soldiers. Feeling an odd rush of heat to his face, he turned to Hercules and began scratching him behind an ear. “I am just not accustomed to such things. My kind…we never had feasts or celebrations. Each day that we had enough food to survive, each day that our lives continued on, was celebration — or curse — enough.” He shrugged. “The Masters enjoyed such things, of course, but theirs is a different world.”

“As is ours,” Valeria said in a quiet voice.

Karan nodded. “Yours is a very strange people.”

She laughed. “There can be no doubt of that.” With a final squeeze of her hand, she let him go, her fingers trailing down the skin of his arm, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. “Take all the time you need, but I hope you’ll decide to come back and join us. Please.”

He briefly met her gaze and tried to smile. Then, with obvious reluctance, she turned and went back inside.

***

“This was wonderful, Caesar, truly,” Placus said graciously. “It is always such a delight to partake of such hospitality, but I fear I must excuse myself. I am still somewhat weary from our travels and have much to do to get
Ferrata
settled in,” he grinned, “once my men recover from the wine.”

“I, too, must excuse myself, Caesar,” Decius said with a grateful bow of his head. “You have my deepest thanks.”

“And mine,” Flavius added, stifling a belch. “I may need my men to carry me back to my quarters.”

“With as much as all of them have had to drink, only the gods know where you might wind up,” Caesar replied with a warm smile. Getting to his feet, followed by the others in the room, he added, “I thank you all, my friends, for coming tonight, and for your loyalty in making the march north.” Discussion of politics that evening had been studiously avoided, which was a rarity indeed at any Roman dinner table.
 

“We live to serve, Caesar,” Decius said graciously. “I wish you a good evening.”

“As do we all.” Placus and Flavius bowed, then followed Decius out of the praetorium, trailed by their attending officers, all of whom gave their thanks to Caesar as they departed.

Turning to Octavia, who as always had played the perfect hostess, he said, “Well, I think that went surprisingly well.”

She cocked her head, an expression on her face that he well knew, and that never failed to make his heart quicken. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Well, I was about to add that you are the most beautiful, radiant woman in all the Empire.” Walking with a slight list, he made his way across the room and plopped down on the couch beside her.
 

Valeria, who had just returned from a brief foray outside, snickered, and Paulus put his hand to his mouth, but his eyes were crinkled in mirth. Pelonius, Marcus, and Septimus, the only others now in the room, looked at one another. Septimus rolled his eyes.

“Oh, banish these ne’er-do-wells,” Octavia said with a dismissive wave of one hand while the other curled around her husband’s neck.
 

“Your wish is my command, my love,” Tiberius said in a tone of mock severity. To the others, he said, smiling, “You are banished! Out with you!”

“As you command, Caesar,” Pelonius said with a formal bow, returning the smile. “Come along, soldiers of Rome.” He looked at Valeria and narrowed his eyes. “And you, too, princess. We’ll escort you through the rabble outside to your chambers.”

With a sigh of disappointment, Valeria rose from her couch, kissed her father and mother, then swept out of the room, followed by the others.

As the door closed behind them, she heard her mother giggle.

Shaking her head, Valeria glanced at Karan, who hadn’t moved. Looking about the central square of the castrum, she could only admire the revelry and wish she could experience more of it. The feast had been fun, especially with the influx of new men from the other legions, but it had still been little more than a dinner party like any of the other countless such parties she had endured in Rome. While all the guests had been polite to her in the extreme, she had felt as if an invisible wall had separated her from them, and she suddenly wished for more female company beyond her mother. Unfortunately, wives and family were typically not allowed to come with legion officers when they deployed; her own case being an exception, of course. With a frown, she pushed the thought aside.
Other girls would just be boring
, she told herself.
 

She broke off as one of the palm trees beyond the castrum’s walls suddenly erupted in flame, the fire shooting up its trunk in the blink of an eye. Someone had obviously coated it with oil or pitch. Drunken soldiers, most of them with women on their arms, stood around it, hooting and shouting.
 

“I hope they don’t burn down the whole bloody jungle,” Septimus muttered in disgust.

Marcus eyed him. “It’s not like you never did anything like that.”

Septimus snorted. “That was different.”

With a resigned sigh, Valeria held her hand out toward Hercules. “Come on, boy,” she said, “it’s time for bed.”

***

“There’s the signal, sir.”

Sergius only nodded at the remark upon the obvious made by his senior tribune as a palm tree went up in flames. In addition to being the signal to attack, it also marked and illuminated the main gate. Securing it was the initial objective of
Legio Invictus
.

“Have the legion advance,” Sergius ordered.

Unlike in a typical battle, when cornicens sounded signals for most basic battlefield maneuvers, this fight would begin without fanfare. Without a word, the lead elements of the legion’s first cohort stepped off and moved forward through the trees. Two additional cohorts on each flank followed suit, as did the remaining five following behind.

The soldiers moved quietly, but so many men pushing their way through the trees still made plenty of noise, and Sergius feared that they might be discovered too soon.
 

He need not have worried. The soldiers enjoying the feast, drunk and loud as they were, would have been ignorant of anything short of thunderbolts thrown from heaven.
 

So many cries of passion echoed from the edge of the jungle that none of the revelers seemed to notice their transition to shouts of surprise and squeals of pain as Sergius’s men began their bloody work. Like a steel tide, his soldiers swept through the jungle, stabbing and slashing to death every soul they encountered, showing mercy toward none.

As the lead ranks emerged from the trees onto the sand that led to the castrum, the legion’s primus pilus, the centurion in command of the first cohort, bellowed, “
Double time!
”
 

With a roar, his men sprinted across the intervening ground between the tree line and the main gate, cutting down the surprised soldiers and prostitutes like a scythe through wheat.

***

“
Double time!
”

Marcus stood rooted to the ground, his brain refusing to believe what his eyes were seeing: a line of legionaries, the fire from the burning tree and bonfires beyond the wall glittering on their armor and swords as they charged toward him.