“Maybe,” Vincent agreed reluctantly, “but even though things have changed slightly, that theory really isn’t in sync with our own knowledge of history.”
“Right. But like you said, things have changed. Maybe Claudius really ordered the assassination of Caligula in our history, and made up the story of hiding in the curtains to throw off historians. Hell, from what I’ve seen, he’s done a fantastic job of rewriting history already. Nothing seems right. I think that when Caligula originally got sick, Claudius was behind the poisoning, just as he is this time. Except this time, since we’re here, Caligula is here too. Not out of the city. Also, since we’re here, we can stop him from getting so sick he never fully recovers.”
“Doesn’t that go against your policy of interference?”
“We’ve already fucked things up as it is. If we don’t do something, who knows what will happen. We need to work on putting things right,” I paused, another thought growing in the back of my head. “By the way, we’re going to have a conversation about this when we get out of here, because I’m starting to formulate another theory, and it has nothing to do with Roman politicking.”
Vincent stared at me.
He was hiding something from me. I knew it and he knew it. Something that had been nagging me from the very beginning, ever since we were told about an equipment cache. Vincent looked was almost daring me to confront him, to create some kind of altercation, but this wasn’t the place. I would have to deal with it later. Our other legion friend, Marcus, appeared out of nowhere and approached the three of us hastily.
“Sir,” he said, likewise glistening but not breathing heavily. “We couldn’t hold them back. The mob will be here in minutes.
“Gods…” Quintilius muttered, a profanity of some kind.
“There’s more, sir,” Marcus continued. “Claudius is at the head of the formation, and he’s somehow enlisted the aid of Praetorians.”
“How is that possible?” Quintilius asked sharply. “There has been no talk of dissension. Our loyalty has been unquestionable.”
I snorted. Yeah right.
Praetorians were notorious for their direct involvement in the ascension of nearly every emperor, save Augustus and a few later ones, but Augustus was the only emperor to maintain complete control over his bodyguards. Even Tiberius had to pay a tribute to them just to keep their loyalty, which later became a tradition for all newly appointed emperors. They would soon become political juggernauts with immense power over who might become emperor. They were known to have done away with numerous emperors they didn’t agree with. That said, from what I knew at this point in history, they should have been devoutly loyal to Caligula. Their current prefect, Macro, had been essential to Caligula upon his rise to power, and even though Caligula should soon have him executed while spending time in the East, for now, he was loyal.
If the Senate and Praetorians did have plans to overthrow Caligula, they’d need a considerable amount of firepower just to get past us, so what better to use than an entire city? I suppose it made sense. Armor, training, and Roman stubbornness wouldn’t to be enough for Praetorians to stop us. Twenty Roman Praetorians would be no more effective against us than twenty civilians, unless they got close, and then things would even up very quickly, but there would be a lot of bodies on the ground before they got that close.
Marcus didn’t respond to Quintilius’ question right away. Instead he tried looking around, maybe in the vain hope that Quintilius would find someone else to question. But Quintilius was not in the mood for tentative subordinates.
“Marcus!? How has this happened? Where is Macro?”
Marcus’ head snapped around and he looked at his centurion squarely. “He’s dead. He was stabbed in his sleep in the Castra Praetoria.”
Vincent and I shared knowing nods once again. Macro had played an essential role in the ascension of Caligula to the position of Imperator. But years later, as the emperor’s obsession and paranoia grew, he’d had Macro banished, where he and his wife took their own lives. But now, he was a staunch ally of Caligula. He was an important puzzle piece to remove if any potential coup was to succeed.
Quintilius didn’t appear saddened by the loss of his boss, but he knew the implications involved in his death. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Just how many of your Praetorians have gone rogue,” I asked.
Marcus paused, not even trying to hide his fear. “Of the two cohorts in the city, only the three centuries here are still loyal. We’re outnumbered seven to one.”
VIII
Rome, Italy
November, 37 A.D.
“Three hundred men!? Against two thousand?!” I shouted. “That’s insane. Have you people no sense of loyalty? There’s no way we can hold out against that many, especially when they’re aided by a mob of…”
Vincent motioned for me to calm down. “Settle down, Hunter. You’re not helping. Centurion, give me your strategic appraisal of the situation. Where are the remaining cohorts?”
“Two are on a training detail in the south, three are occupied on courier missions, and the remaining two are split up protecting various imperial family members, scattered throughout Italy.”
“Shouldn’t there be three cohorts in Rome?” Vincent asked.
Quintilius shrugged. “There was, but we have been busy, and we didn’t plan our training schedule properly. We’re stretched thin.”
I scoffed, completely flabbergasted at the entire situation.
Vincent’s look told me to shut up. “What about your tactical assessment, Centurion?”
Quintilius wasted no time thinking it over. “We can hold out here for a while. I’ve called for the rest of my century to get here as soon as they can. I am unaware as to the situation of the other cohorts outside the city, but we cannot count on their help tonight. I will post a maniple of men in the courtyard, with a century in reserve. Our reinforcements will take up positions in the halls.”
That would put just under two hundred men outside, with another eighty behind them, and the remaining century in the house.
“With your permission,” he continued, “I would ask you to remain here, and provide support for my men. Hopefully, we will be able to inflict enough casualties to make them rethink their position, and have them disperse. Even two thousand men will have trouble taking this position, especially with your help.” He paused, a look of uncertainty crossing his face. “I know of your abilities, but am uncertain of your tactics. What exactly can you do for us?”
“First of all, tell your men not to attack mine, they will be leaving the house for a few minutes.”
He nodded, sending Marcus to inform the men outside.
“Santino, Bordeaux, get over here.”
The two men complied, stopping before Vincent at attention.
“Santino, gather up all the remaining claymores we have, and plant them along the streets the mob will most likely be using. Set them up at intervals so that they don’t all go off at once.”
The man saluted, and went off to collect his charges.
“Bordeaux, do I even need to ask if you brought plenty of explosives?”
“ Non.”
“Good. Line the hallways with C-4. Not a lot, we don’t want to collapse the house, but enough to put some serious dents in the enemy’s lines should they make it inside. Place additional charges outside along the interior of the courtyard.”
Bordeaux nodded, and went to work.
“What are you having them do?’ Quintilius asked.
“You were at our demonstration. Remember the column?”
