wheat they used, but it offered enough sustenance to be the backbone of a legionnaire’s diet, which was good enough for me.
“You all right, Jacob?” He asked with a mouthful of bread. “Today’s a big day.”
“I’m fine,” I said, taking a bite of my own and mumbling around the food, “jus dinnt sweep swell.”
He looked at me pathetically. “Well, get yourself cleaned up. We’re expected in Galba’s tent in a few minutes.”
“Okay,” I finished after gulping down my meal.
With that, I turned and headed back to my tent. I found the zipper and gave it a pull, only to find it stuck and refusing to budge. Gripping it with both hands, I tugged harder, only to have it stubbornly remain jammed. I started yanking furiously on the zipper. Never a morning person, my annoyance quickly turned to rage, and I couldn’t stop myself from kicking the tent, unplanting one of the stakes in my tirade. Wang, emerging from his own tent, noticed my predicament, and came over to help, a steaming cup of tea in his hand.
“Here, Hunter. Let me try.”
I conceded the zipper, throwing my hands up in frustration, and backed away.
Wang gripped the zipper lightly, gave it a yank to further close it before sending it on its way to open the flap, which it did easily.
He turned to look at me, taking a sip from the steaming mug. “You all right, Jacob? Today’s…”
“…a big day. Right. I got it.” I tried to breathe through my nose, hold it, and exhale through my mouth, an old Zen calming technique. “Thanks for your help. I’ll see you in the praetorium.”
He pulled his cup from his mouth to speak, but just as quickly replaced it to take another sip. The look on his face indicated he wanted to say more, but he knew how I was in the mornings. Shrugging, he turned towards the praetorium without another word.
Entering my tent, I threw off my web belt in anger, and tried to find a shirt to wear.
Could this day get any worse?
Finding a shirt that I assumed was clean, I slipped it on, replaced my web belt, and retrieved a fleece jacket I had found in our supplies. It was festooned with pockets, and could be worn in freezing temperatures, as well as in moderately cool days. It was even colored in olive drab. My favorite color, a good choice for any military man. Good camouflage.
As I left my tent, I closed the zipper with excessive carefulness, hoping to avoid any further complications. Checking my watch, I realized I only had a minute before I was late. Luckily, the praetorium was only a twenty step jog away. When I entered I was annoyingly rewarded with the fact I was the last to arrive.
My always punctual mother would have been disappointed.
At the center of the tent were two large tables, with two large maps displayed on top. The first was a rudimentary topographical map of the Italian peninsula, and rudimentary was putting it nicely. The map was a far cry from the satellite imagery we used in our own time, but it would do. The map was only mostly identifiable, with the general shape of the country present, along with Sicily, Corsica, Sardinia, and plenty of landmarks, rivers, mountain ranges, and cities, most of which were close enough to where they were supposed to be.
The second map was a simple diagram of the city of Rome. It wasn’t as detailed as the one I had framed and hanging on my wall back home, a diagram I’d hoped to use in my classroom once upon a time, but even so, it showed the city’s largest buildings, walls, and gates accurately.
Arrayed around the tables were the usual suspects. Caligula, Galba, his primus pilus Maximus Nisus, Quintilius, Gaius, Marcus, Varus, three of the legion’s tribunes, and a few slaves and freedmen administrators
Santino and Wang stood next to each other, mugs of steaming liquid in their hands, probably debating their preferences for either coffee or tea again. By yet another grace of God, MREs included ground coffee, and we also found tea bags in the cargo as well. Teas weren’t new in Rome, but coffee beans were indigenous to the Americas, resulting in some very jealous Romans. Centurion Nisus, in fact, had grown addicted to the stuff after his first taste, enamored by its caffeine content like so many college students. He and I had worked out a deal that sent my MRE coffee bean packages his way, for a portion of his salted pork rations. I had to side with the Brits on this one, as I never really enjoyed coffee, and the idea of fire roasted bacon made me very happy.
Bordeaux and Vincent were next to the two debaters, while Helena stood around the corner, quietly chatting with Varus. She’d struck up a friendship with him just as I had, and had learned that the scholar was in fact married and expecting his first child. When she told me the news, I immediately wondered if that child was another link in the possible genetic chain that connected the two of us.
Hoping to glide in under the radar, I quietly took an open spot around the table, between Santino and Vincent, opposite Galba and Caligula, and waited for the briefing to begin. Caligula and Galba had been conversing quietly prior to my arrival, and continued after I had taken my place at the table, completely ignoring my entrance.
Score.
I glanced at Helena and she gave me a concerned look, which I answered with a slight shake of my head.
Focusing on the maps, I only had to wait a few seconds before Caligula asked for attention.
“As you all know,” he started, raising his hand for silence, “we have received very little intelligence over the winter concerning Claudius and his hold on Rome. What we have learned, as Galba so astutely predicted, is that Claudius has not contacted any other legion to support his cause. We have to assume that he realizes his hold on power is only as strong as his ability to keep me from reclaiming it. Once I’m eliminated, no one will ask any questions as to his legitimacy, but until then, he’s vulnerable.”
He paused, looking each of us in the eye in turn.
“That said, I also face a problem. We as well cannot seek help. If we did, my own hold on power may slip, and we could see a series of attempted coups and power struggles for years to come. That would not be in the best interest of my empire. No. The best thing we can do is end this smoothly, quickly, and as quietly as possible.”
“What happens exactly when this rebellion comes to an end?” Varus asked, thinking beyond the immediate military situation. “Even after we retake Rome, the news of Claudius’ betrayal will travel like a wild fire, and we may find recalcitrant members of the empire also wishing to play their own hands. The Germans are still beating their war drums since their victories thirty years ago and the Jews in the East, especially, have been grumbling for years. A power struggle in Rome may incite them to take up arms against our legions stationed in Judea.”
Nisus made a dismissive noise. “You’re point, Varus? Our Eastern legions would crush any insurrection in a matter of months.”
Some of the military men pounded their fists on the table in agreement. It wasn’t a surprise they didn’t think much of their Jewish protectorates in the East, since they hadn’t given much cause for concern in the past. I knew, however, that not too far in the future, a Jewish rebellion would take place and last for many bloody years.
“Both Varus and Nisus make valid points,” Galba interjected, raising his hands for silence amongst his men. “Our legions would have no problems dealing with open rebellion anywhere in the empire, but Varus’ point that we need to contain the news is valid as well. There is no way to stop those who have traveled from Rome since we left, but once we retake the city, we can control any news’ spread.”
Caligula nodded. “Galba is correct. Gods’ willing, once we retake Rome and depose Claudius, we will quickly restore order and make it appear as though nothing happened. Remember, news travels slowly during the winter months. Any persons returning to Rome, or traveling to Rome solely on the basis to determine whether or not Claudius staged a coup will arrive to find nothing of the sort.” Caligula paused, and looked as serious as I had ever seen him. “A seamless restoration of power is required. We can ill afford any doubt in the minds of patricians, equestrians, or plebeians alike. I am Caesar, not Claudius, and any who wish to challenge that claim will be dealt with.”
The men, and one woman, around the room nodded, myself included. Even if I hadn’t already known he was Rome’s true emperor, I wouldn’t have doubted it now. He spoke with such conviction and purpose, it was easy to see him as the leader of the known world, and not some mere mortal like the rest of us.
He looked around the tent again, seeing the hardened but confident expressions each person present had on their faces, and nodded. “With that, I turn this briefing over to the legate.”
Galba cleared his throat.
“The problem we face is that of besieging a city with minimal forces.” He indicated to the map of Rome with
