and structures outside its defensive structure such as the Campus Martius, and the Castra Praetoria, near where I believe we had just spent the night.
I knew the layout of ancient Rome fairly well. I’d studied the city extensively in college, and knew that since we were heading southwest, and passed through the walls, we had to have come from the barracks that housed the emperor’s Praetorian cohorts, the Castra Praetoria. While we probably didn’t actually go inside their fort, built by Tiberius at the prompting of his prefect Sejanus to house the entire force of Praetorians, but we probably spent the night in a nearby house.
I felt a slight rush as we passed into the pomerium, the sacred city limits, thought to have been drawn by Romulus as he drove his plow around the Palatine Hill, and surrounding area, hundreds of years ago. The ‘line’ wasn’t real, but I estimated we were in the right place.
The pomerium was an interesting piece of history. Romans considered only that within its imaginary border to actually be “Rome,” while everything outside was simply territory owned by Rome. Foreign sovereigns could not enter into it, weapons were not allowed and only Praetorians had permission to carry them as long as they were concealed by their togas, which is why you never saw them walking around in their armor.
Rounding a large hill, I saw what I could only assume was the Circus Maximus, only a few miles southwest of where we stayed the night. My eyes were drawn to the enormous structure, still in the prime of its life, and they widened in awe. The stadium held various races, gladiatorial fights, and other spectacles and was the largest open aired stadium on the planet, a record which would still stand in 2021 were there more than just remnants of its foundation left. It was here that in the movie Ben-Hur, Charlton Heston races his childhood friend turned enemy, an event which took place only a year or so ago from this point in history, during Tiberius’ reign.
At least they did in the movie.
I felt another chill as we passed through the gates. I started thinking about just how many charioteers and gladiators never made the return trip home. I wondered if we would meet that same fate in this historical structure. Hopefully, all would go as planned, and we would leave with the key to the city instead.
We made our way through a maze of hallways, before emerging onto the field. It reminded me of my old football field, with the track running along the perimeter, except this field was much larger, and had a large structure which ran through the middle. It was known as the spina, which acted very much like the vertebrae of the field. On the spina were roman idols and an Egyptian obelisk, put there by Augustus, captured in Egypt. That obelisk was moved by Pope Sixtus Something to the Piazza del Popolo, just outside of St. Peter’s Basilica, and was still there the last time I checked. The stadium also sported bronze dolphins, which could pivot downwards to indicate how many laps had elapsed in a race.
Walking along the dusty track, we made our way to the imperial viewing stand, where I noticed Caligula, and a number of other men and women were already present. The women sat in the back, quietly chit chatting amongst themselves. There was one young woman in particular who was pregnant, and had a kind of beauty that was unrivaled amongst the group. Her blond hair and sharp nose gave her a sinister hotness found mostly in the movies. She looked familiar somehow, and when she winked at me, I almost dropped Helena. Last, but not least, I couldn’t help but see the small man I had seen in the cavern the night before, who was very quickly beginning to annoy me.
Coming to a halt in front of the grandstand, I realized just how ragtag we looked, with Bordeaux limping along, and me practically carrying Helena. I hoped we didn’t look so weak that Caligula would jump to the conclusion that we were of no worth to him after all.
No, he was aware of our wounded. The man knew combat, and would understand our situation. He’d wait until he saw what we could do before he made any kind of judgment.
Vincent, taking the initiative, snapped to attention and pounded his fist against his chest before extending his arm in a very Hitlerian type salute, used by the Romans long before that menace had slandered it’s meaning, the only difference being that Vincent’s hand was closed.
In as commanding a voice as he could manage, Vincent laid out our case for those present. “Hail, Caesar. My comrades and I are here to prove our loyalty through a demonstration of our skills and technology. As we discussed, should we succeed in doing so, we would like the opportunity to retrieve our fallen leader, as well as some equipment left behind.”
I froze for half a second. Vincent did a good job of surreptitiously adding the fact we had gear down there, but I hoped he hadn’t overplayed his hand. We didn’t need Caligula getting suspicious.
The Roman emperor approached a railing and lean over the edge on a forearm almost nonchalantly. “Should you meet my expectations, I will agree to your request. To help facilitate my decision, I have requested the presence of some of my closest advisors, friends, and family.”
That sounded odd coming from an emperor with a reputation like Caligula’s. Maybe historians got more wrong than they thought, but I had to remember to keep things in perspective. We knew little of his few sane months, but for all intents and purposes, he had been a promising young man.
“Gathered here are some of my generals, members of the senate, and my uncle, Claudius,” Caligula continued, sweeping his right arm behind him.
Claudius?
I looked amongst the gathered men, but could not spot anyone who fit his description. I wasn’t sure what he looked like, but he was known to stutter and twitch, not to mention he was described as feeble and weak. Unfortunately, none of the men present exuded any of those qualities. One man was tall and blond, with the short hair reminiscent of Caesars, but was far from the feeble stutterer I imagined.
Claudius must be in the back, out of sight somewhere, which wouldn’t have been a surprise considering his reputation.
“With their help,” he finished, “we will determine whether your existence shall continue, and whether you have a place amongst my people. Now. What will you require?”
Vincent answered immediately. “First, we need our weapons. With them, we will demonstrate their range, accuracy, and lethality. In order to do so, we will need a dozen spare suits of armor set up to appear like men. We will also require a large piece of fruit, and a marble column as thick and strong as you can spare and move here.”
Smiling, Caligula replied, “Is that all? Perhaps I should have the entire Gaulic war band present for you to defeat. Perhaps then,” he said, the arrogance and depravity that was missing earlier now surfacing, “you would be able to do enough.”
Vincent returned his smile. “I think we’ll be all right.”
***
Forty five minutes later, our column finally arrived. A simple stone cylinder, barely Doric in style, it was easily the width of a large oak tree, and twice as tall as Bordeaux. It would explode beautifully.
During that time, we were presented with our confiscated firearms, and had the opportunity to quickly inspect them and make sure they were ready for use. I had to admit, it felt good to have Penelope back in my hands, her reassuring weight doing wonders for my confidence. I pulled back the cocking mechanism and checked the ejection port for any kind of tampering or dirt buildup. It seemed clear, so I released the mechanism with a loud clank, resulting in murmurs spreading through the crowd. I turned to look at them, a nervous smile on my face, before returning my attention to my gear.
Caligula noticed our focused attention and returned to the railing. “While we are waiting,” he said impatiently, “why don’t you describe what these weapons do.”
Vincent nodded, pulling a magazine from a chest pouch, and extracting a bullet. “Of course. This,” he said, indicating his upheld M4, “is called a rifle. These are our primary weapons. Most of the ones we are using are of various design and model, each having their own personal pros and cons. We all chose our particular rifles based on which one we felt suited us best. Each of our weapons fire a certain size projectile, which is different depending on the rifle.”
He held up one of the bullets and demonstrated how he loaded it into a magazine.
“This small object is a bullet,” he said, always using the English terms to describe modern items. “We insert it into what we call a magazine, which holds multiple bullets, again, depending on what kind of rifle we are using. Then, to prime the weapon we insert the magazine thusly.”
