Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands (5 page)

Leaning close to Marcus, she whispered, “Where is Hercules?”

By way of answer, he nodded toward the five carriages that trundled around the corner, each one bearing the seal of an imperial courier. The carriages took position alongside each of the cavalry groups. She nodded to herself, at last understanding the nature of Marcus’s deception. Imperial couriers were dispatched at least three times a day to all parts of the empire, and each one had a cavalry detachment for protection. The couriers typically rode horses themselves, but were also known to take carriages, since they often had to transport things other than scrolls and correspondence that would not easily fit in a satchel. A hexatiger and a scribe, for example.

An officer she didn’t recognize stepped to the head of the formation. “Mount up!”
 

In perfect unison, the soldiers mounted their horses, and she did her best to mimic their movements. She must have done an acceptable job, for she received a small nod from Marcus.

At another bellowed command, the groups moved out of the stables. The soldiers rode in columns of four, with three rows leading each carriage and two rows behind. Valeria rode in the second row ahead of the carriage, with Marcus on the outside to her right, Paulus to her left, and Septimus on the outside to his left. She could easily recognize them in the dark from their outward appearance and body movements, but the other men around her were strangers.

“I hope that bloody beast of yours stays quiet,” Marcus said just loud enough for her to hear over the clop-clop-clop of the horses on the street and the rattling of the carriages.
 

“Pelonius can handle him,” she answered, trying to make her voice sound like a man’s.

Beside her, Paulus sniggered.
 

“Quiet,” Marcus snapped. “This isn’t the time for games. Stay alert, boy.”

Valeria didn’t like the tone of his voice, not because Marcus had snapped at Paulus, but because he was clearly worried. He had one hand on the reins and the other on the handle of his sword. Paulus, she saw, was doing the same. Craning her head, she could see that Septimus was riding as if he were so bored that he was about to fall from his horse, asleep. But like everything else about the appearance the man presented to the world, it was as much a deception as her dressing up as a soldier.
 

One by one, the courier detachments broke off to go their separate ways, bound for the different gates that led through the great defensive walls surrounding the city. At last, just past the Temple of Juno, they were on their own, bound for the Arch of Drusus, which was the southern gate through which the Appian Way ran through the wall. Like most things in the Empire, and more so in the city of Rome itself, it was named after similar structures of Old Rome. During their centuries of huddling in caves during the Long Winter, the founders of New Rome had sought to replicate with as much detail as they could the original city, even down to the fabled Seven Hills. New Rome, of course, did not have seven hills, but the layout of the city followed the ancient conventions. The New Romans had been industrious and determined in their designs for their new world, but even through that seemingly endless winter, they had clung tight to tradition.
 

Many a night had Valeria spent on the streets of the capital, usually returning from some social gathering with her parents or performances at the Colosseum. Never had she found the city to be a fearful place, even on the darkest of nights. But something now was different. She knew it was only in her mind, born of her suspicions that her father and mother had not been entirely forthright with her, but she felt a palpable malevolence in the shadows around them. The night air was cool, but that could not account for the goose bumps that rose on the skin of her arms or the shiver that ran down her spine. Very few people were about at this early hour, and those who were fell back into the shadows at the sight of the cavalry troop, making her imagine they were all part of some horrid conspiracy, and that an armed mob intent on murder would ambush them at the next intersection.

“Marcus…” she whispered, her heart now pounding with fear.

“Quiet.”

From behind her, she heard a deep rumble. Most would likely think it just more noise from the carriage, which in a way it was: Hercules was growling. He could feel it, too.

Unable to help herself, she turned around and looked at the carriage, then behind it, trying to part the darkness enough to make out whatever veiled threat surrounded them. But all she saw was more darkness, disturbed only by the fires that burned in the sconces set at wide intervals along the street.
 

“Eyes front,” Marcus hissed as he leaned over and momentarily took her reins before her horse blundered into his. She almost made things worse by jerking her horse the other way, which would have sent the animal crashing into Paulus, but Marcus’s steady hand kept the horse walking straight ahead. Once he was sure Valeria was back in control, he let go and returned to peering into the darkness around them. “Keep your wits about you,” Marcus whispered.

After what seemed like forever, they reached the elaborate Arch of Drusus. The soldier who was playing the role of leader of the courier’s escort exchanged a few words with the bored soldiers on guard duty before the group was passed on through.
 

“Bugger all,” Septimus muttered as they emerged on the far side, the Appian Way stretching away before them as they left the confined quarters of the city behind. “What was that all about?”

“It wasn’t just me,” Valeria whispered, which she thought would be better than trying to mimic a man’s voice. “You felt it, too, Septimus, I know you did. We were being watched.”

The wiry soldier’s only reply was to hawk and spit.

“It was just nerves,” Paulus said with a nervous laugh, “nothing more.”

Marcus turned to look at him. “Don’t be an idiot, boy. Nerves, it might be, but I’d bet my last denarius that someone was tracking us since we left the palace, and definitely during our approach to the gate. When you get that sort of feeling, be it the hair standing up on the back of your neck, goose bumps, or what have you, pay attention or the next thing you know you’ll be dead.”

“Yes, cen…er…Marcus.”

“How long do we head south?” Valeria asked.

“Not long.”

The tone of his voice said,
No more questions
, so she shut up. Her main worry was for Hercules. She couldn’t imagine how Pelonius was keeping him so quiet in that carriage.

Two miles later, the procession drew to a halt. With no more than a nod to Marcus, the escort leader and the other soldiers departed, heading east at a gallop along the ring road that circled around the city. While the saying that all roads led to Rome was almost literally true, not everyone passing through, particularly legions deploying from one part of the Empire to another, wanted to pass through the city. And so, while it was not exactly in accordance with the designs of the ancient architects, the ring road had been built to facilitate those wanting to skirt the city.

Marcus and Septimus watched the other soldiers go until they disappeared into the darkness and the sound of the horses’ hooves on the smooth stone surface of the road faded to silence.
 

“That part’s done, then,” Marcus said as he turned in the opposite direction, taking them west at a trot, which was the fastest pace the carriage could manage. “We’ll join the rest of the guard force here on the ring road, then we’ll head north. The baggage train, assuming all goes well, will catch up to us tomorrow evening at Ostia.”

“Uncle,” Valeria asked, glad now that she could speak normally, “could I please check on Hercules?”

“When we’ve rendezvoused with the others. I don’t want to leave you with just us for protection any longer than necessary.”

Disappointed, Valeria didn’t argue. As long as Hercules didn’t voice his discontent, he was fine.
 

The darkness gradually gave way to morning twilight, and the growing glow on the horizon threw the city into silhouette. The Temple of Jupiter, which was said to be even grander than that of Old Rome, stood atop the highest point in the city. She caught glimpses of the roofs of some of the other temples, the upper part of the palace, and of course the Colosseum. It was a beautiful city in the daylight, the white marble and gold gleaming in the sun. But at this moment, as the darkness was gradually retreating before the dawn, she was stricken with the certainty that something evil stalked the city, perhaps even the Empire itself. The sensation was every bit as chilling as what she had felt before they passed through the Arch of Drusus, and far more intense. She wondered if that was how the oracles felt when they had their visions, and suddenly wished she had thought to consult with one before she’d begun her journey. She believed in the gods because that was what one did as a Roman, but her beliefs had never been put to the test. She looked again at the palace, wondering about her parents.

“Marcus,” she asked, “are Mother and Father in danger?” She turned to look at him. “Tell me true.”

The centurion remained silent for so long she thought he might not have heard. She was about to repeat her question when he said, “You’ve studied our history.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Of course.”

“How many emperors have sat the throne in the five hundred years since the Third Secession War?”
 

“Thirty-eight.”

“And how many of them died of natural causes?”

She paused before she answered. “Three,” she said in a small voice.

Marcus nodded. “Three. And two of them died suddenly and at a rather young age, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Pelonius thinks they were poisoned.”

Marcus grunted agreement. Then, after a moment, he said, “I’ve never understood it myself.”

“What, why someone would poison an emperor?”

“No, I don’t understand why anyone would want the bloody job in the first place. As a soldier, I usually know who my enemies are. For an emperor, anyone and sometimes everyone could be your enemy, depending on the circumstances. Loyalties change as ambitions grow, and you might not even know that someone who was a friend yesterday is an enemy today.” He shook his head. “With a chance of only one in almost forty to die at a ripe old age as an emperor, your father would have had much better odds to go to the gods in peace had he remained a general. War is far kinder than politics.”

“Then why did he do it?”

“Because he’s a good Roman,” Marcus told her. “All men who set foot upon the
cursus honorum
dream of someday sitting on the throne, and any one of them who says otherwise,” he cast an eye at Paulus, “— are you listening, boy? — is a bloody liar. Very few have what it takes, and fewer still will live long enough to have the chance to become emperor. But if that chance comes, not a one of them would think of not seizing it. It’s in their blood. And so it was with your father.” He paused a moment. “He’s a good man, girl, the finest I’ve ever served. But his life, as well as your mother’s and your own, is under threat of a hidden sword every day, and every day that threat grows just a little bit more.”

“You’re not exactly putting her fears to rest,” Paulus told him in an uneasy voice. “Or mine, for that matter.”

“I’m not trying to,” Marcus replied bluntly. “I just want you both to understand the reality of the world you live in. If you don’t, you won’t survive when the knives come out.” His mouth turned down in a frown. “And mark my words, children, come out they will. It’s only a question of when.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“Oh, at last,” Valeria breathed as the road they were following crested one last hill and came in sight of Augusta Viromanduorum, the tenth largest city in the Empire, which was cast in silhouette by the setting sun. “I’ll thank the gods with the sacrifice of a dozen bulls for getting me this far.” After a brief pause, she reconsidered. “Or perhaps just a sickly goat for giving me such foul treatment.”

Paulus laughed out loud, and Marcus grinned. Even the normally dour Septimus managed a smirk. The journey from Rome had taken twenty-seven days of hard travel and had spanned just over a thousand miles. The caravan bearing the princess to her destination had crossed the frontiers of three provinces, forded five rivers, and been taken by ship across the New Aegean Sea. Pelonius had told her early in their journey that the route from Rome to Aquitania was one of the most spectacular in the Empire, from the crystal blue waters of the New Aegean to the dense forests of Duria Minor, the thundering waterfalls of the River Nura, and the snow-capped peaks atop the Etruscan Mountains, which rose from the earth like titanic teeth.

Despite the breathtaking scenery, Valeria had been miserable nearly every foot of the way. She had suffered chronic saddle sores on her horse and motion sickness in the carriage, fallen into the freezing River Iria when her attempt to shove Paulus in as a prank had gone awry, and had been overcome with seasickness aboard the ship in the Aegean from the moment it left the pier. At one point, Pelonius had grown quite concerned for her, as she had begun to lose weight, but Valeria had steadfastly refused to slow the caravan’s pace. If anything, she made her escort move faster, eager to end the horrid journey as soon as possible.

She had, however, used her frequent indisposed status to politely refuse to meet with most of the provincial leaders who had sent forth couriers laden with gifts and invitations. “You are your father’s daughter,” the scribe had grumbled more than once as he’d penned the responses bearing her “heartfelt disappointment” at not being able to meet with this governor or that rich merchant. She had accepted two such invitations, but only because at the time she was suffering no particular affliction and Pelonius had managed to shame her into it.

Valeria’s respite had been the handful of times when she had broken her vow and ridden Hercules, who happily bore his human charge without any fuss. Unfortunately, that practice had come to a sudden end when a deer had charged across the road and Hercules, hungry from not having hunted for two days, had instinctively charged after it, leaving Valeria flying through the air to land in a large puddle of mud along the side of the road. For that, she had earned a private scolding from Marcus in her carriage that had left her ears and pride burning for the next two days.