towards a few stone benches just outside the Curia.
Dragging Helena all this way was tough work. I had been ready to pass out the moment we entered the Forum, and by the time we made it to the benches, Helena was practically moving under her own power, receiving little help from me. I heard her moan in pain when she took a particularly heavy step on her bandaged leg, but we managed to make it to the bench before either one of us collapsed completely.
I swung her onto the bench, and sat beside her, resting my head on her shoulder. “Next time. You’re carrying me.”
She pushed my head away. “Yeah right, Lieutenant.”
Santino plopped down next to me on the ground, while Bordeaux and Wang sat next to him. Vincent took up station by the entrance, waiting to go inside. Bordeaux and Santino stretched out to lie on their backs, probably just as exhausted as I was, while Wang had his head between his knees, still unsettled by the loss of his long time commander. Helena was leaning against a pillar, and seemed out cold. Rejuvenated by my few seconds of respite and with no one to talk to, I rose to my feet and joined Vincent with the remaining guards.
He noticed my approach. “So what do you think, Hunter?”
“Well, sir. It’s the opinion of this sailor that we could have picked a more interesting time to find ourselves in. I, for one, would have loved to meet Augustus.”
He smiled. “I would have preferred Marcus Aurelius, or Constantine, but I see where you’re coming from. There is something exciting about all this, but we can’t stay here.”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir. I’m not sure if I can live without my TV.”
“Well, Lieutenant, in that case, we definitely need to get out of here.”
“Right, and remember, whenever we meet Caligula, or whoever we’re here to talk to, we can’t mention anything about who we are and where we came from.”
“What if he asks?”
“I guess we can tell him we’re observers from far away, but no specifics. If we tell them I’m from America, a place beyond the Pillars of Hercules, or whatever… who knows? They might just go there and colonize the place, a millennium before Columbus, or even before the Vikings poked around. Just keep the details vague, and tell him we have no idea how we got here. They seemed to know that blue ball thing would do something, or else they wouldn’t have been ritualizing it, so we’ll just play the hapless bystander card and hope they bite.”
“All right. We also need to see about digging our way back into that cavern to secure our gear, and make sure we can get McDougal out. We need to give him a proper burial.”
“That might be harder than it sounds. We’ll have to find a way to impress these guys just to get our weapons back, let alone ask for them to dig out a cave.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
I flinched at his last comment, but nodded all the same. I turned back towards the cityscape, ending the conversation. It certainly won’t be a problem to impress these people. All we need to do was show them a lighter, let alone give them a demonstration of our weapons, but that would be a bad idea.
I heard the clicking of Roman style boots against marble, and turned to see one of the Praetorians emerging from the Curia. Caligae were constructed with hobnails imbedded in their soles, offering cleat like characteristics. Like soccer players who used them for traction during matches, the Romans’ application was the same for the battlefield. The centurion spoke quickly to Vincent, who held up his hands while replying. The Roman looked at me, his eyes cold as ice. He looked back at Vincent, and nodded rapidly, saying, “ celere.”
Basically, “make it quick.”
Vincent tilted his head in thanks, and made his way towards his wary soldiers.
“Wake up people, break’s over.”
Years of training kicked in, and while only Wang stood, everyone else was back on task and paying close attention.
“It seems these Romans have been gracious enough to grant us an audience with the Caesar, but will only allow me and one other to see him. Hunter, you’re with me. I may need your ridiculous ability to comprehend this… sci-fi stuff.”
I smiled. “My mom always told me I watched too much TV.”
“Your mom’s a smart woman,” Santino said.
“The rest of you will be taken to a holding area,” Vincent informed. “They know of your injuries, so they’ve agreed to keep you together. Bordeaux get your ankle taken care of, and I’m sure Strauss can use another look at that leg. Santino, make sure nothing happens to them.”
Santino nodded, completely serious.
'All right, Hunter. Let’s get this over with.”
VI
Rome, Italy
October, 36–41 AD
I fell into step behind Vincent as we followed the Roman Praetorians through the Curia, which in and of itself, was remarkable. Augustus had found Rome a city of stone, and left it a city of marble, or so he famously boasted, and judging from what I’d seen so far, he wasn’t kidding. Absent were the decaying and rundown buildings historians indicated were here merely a few decades earlier. Instead the area was opulent, radiant, and, well… shiny, is a good way to describe it. The floor and walls glistened in the moonlight, and everything seemed in pristine condition, a clear indication of Rome’s majesty.
A few turns later, we arrived in the Senate chamber. While it wasn’t all that big, the sheer scope of decisions debated in this room was enough to make it seem much bigger. It was circular in design, with elevated rows of long benches, illuminated by small fire pots hanging sporadically around the room. They cast off a spooky atmosphere throughout the room, with many areas cast in shadow while the remaining area flickered intermittently. So many elected officials, emperors, despots, and tyrants had ruled from this room, but there was currently only one on my mind.
The one who sat center stage, in the only independent seat in the house.
The man was nothing like I imagined he would be. He was tall, blond, well-muscled, but rather unattractive. His eyes were small, his nose had a bump on it, and the tips of his ears flared out noticeably, but the way he looked at us indicated an inquisitive intelligence. He measured us up in a quick glance, no hint of intimidation or fear in his eyes. Instead, he seemed completely unimpressed by what he saw, as though men who looked like us passed by him every day.
What was missing was the air of arrogance and godliness, traits reportedly common of the man. Not to mention insanity.
We must have gotten lucky.
The man stood, and began circling us like a panther, continuing his inspection. At one point, he opened one of my pouches equipped with Velcro, which he merely accepted with a curious face and his mouth pursed approvingly. Everyone else appeared as though they had just seen magic. Two Praetorians jumped away from me in shock.
He stopped after two revelations, and began speaking to Vincent. I tried to follow along as best I could, but mostly had to wait for Vincent’s translations.
“Who are you?” Caligula asked.
“My name is Vincent, and this is Jacob Hunter.”
“That is all very well and good, but where are you from and what is the meaning behind your appearance in my city?”
Vincent glanced at me before answering. “Where we are from, I cannot say.”
“And why is that?”
“It may prove harmful to the future of your great empire.”
