The gruel could be spooned down into Mr Muzzy’s hollow tube; it slid down inside it and into his mouth where often he gagged on it several times before being able to swallow it. It took a long time to spoon his daily gruel into that. He imagined it probably took hours, but then in complete darkness, in almost complete sensory isolation … how does one measure time?
Mr Muzzy was his tormentor. The always-there taste of iron in his mouth. The sores where the brace rubbed his skin raw. Sores that constantly wept and crusted up, wept and crusted up.
Once – a million years ago, it seemed – Mr Muzzy broke. The brace had weakened: his constantly weeping pus had corroded the thin band of iron around his head enough that waggling it to and fro it had finally buckled and fallen away from his face. And then … oh God then. He’d screamed, hadn’t he? His ragged voice had startled him. Terrified him. The sound of words instead of gurgling sounded alien, strange.
He’d screamed for hours, terrified by the babble of insanity that was coming out of him. Then the creak of the doors. The faint hairlines of light entering his box. And the feeding slot opening.
Later the same day there was a brand-new Mr Muzzy. A much thicker, stronger iron band cinched tight round his head. And back in complete darkness once again he’d wept and wept and wept.
Ever since that time – however long ago it was – he’d learned that the best thing he could do was to try and live as far away as possible from this place. Wander the corridors of his mind and open doors into rooms full of gradually fading memories … and frolic and play in the twilight sunshine that existed in there.
One day those memories would fade completely … every room of his mind would be as empty and featureless and as dark as this place. And when that finally happened, he guessed he was truly going to be insane.
CHAPTER 47
AD 54, Rome
‘An ingenious plot,’ said Crassus. He looked at Cato. ‘Devious even. Admirably devious.’
Macro nodded at that. ‘Even as a snotty-nosed young optio, Cato was a smart-arse.’
‘I had to be,’ replied Cato. ‘A young, soft strip of a boy in the legions? It was either be tough or be clever. And I wasn’t much of a fighter back then.’
Macro grinned. ‘Turned out all right in the end, though, didn’t you, lad?’
Cato shrugged that away. ‘The legions have a way of finding out what’s in you.’
Liam smiled at the interplay between Cato and Macro. Clearly both men were fond of each other – brothers in arms. Over the last few days Macro had frequently come by, a visitor to Crassus’s home of no particular interest to any of Caligula’s spies that might be watching. He had plenty of tales to tell them of his time in the Second Legion, serving alongside Cato. Firstly as Cato’s commanding officer and in the latter years, watching this young man mature and become a first-class officer who would eventually outrank him.
Liam saw a vague reflection of himself and Bob in these two. One of them the brains of the partnership, the other the brawn.
‘Your plot?’ said Maddy.
‘Caligula may be insane, but he isn’t stupid. He knows full well that the power of an emperor isn’t in what the people, the citizens of Rome think: it’s in the support of her legions. Treat the legions well and they’ll do their best to keep you in power.’
Cato sat forward in his seat. ‘When he first became emperor, he had a lot of money to make use of. Bought the support where he needed it. Now there’s so little money left, he’s stripped the assets from almost every wealthy family in the city and most of that money is going towards paying the Praetorian Guard and the only other two legions in Italy, the Tenth and the Eleventh. And paying them very well. All the other legions of the empire he’s made sure to station as far away from Rome as possible, guarding our failing frontiers.’
‘Far away because he’s not paying them?’ said Liam.
‘Precisely. It’s a foolish emperor that allows a disgruntled legion anywhere near home. The Praetorians, the Tenth Legion, the Eleventh Legion … those men will happily fight and die to keep Caligula as their emperor.’
‘That doesn’t sound promising,’ said Maddy.
‘The trick of this plot is deception. A sleight of hand. This plot hinges on being able to fool these two legions and the Praetorians into thinking the other is making some kind of a move against Caligula.’ A wry smile spread across Cato’s lean face. ‘We’re going to make them fight each other.’
Macro shook his head. ‘I used to lose money playing dice with this lad.’
‘We need to provoke the Tenth and Eleventh into marching on Rome. We need those men to believe the Praetorians are preparing to launch a coup against Caligula. At the same time, we need the Praetorian Guard to believe these two approaching legions are attempting to launch their very own coup. As soon as he hears the news of their marching on Rome, Caligula will have to react. He can’t afford to appear weak or intimidated. He’ll have to order his Praetorians out to face them. With nothing but a skeleton garrison left behind, guarding the government district and the Imperial Palace … I have a better chance of cornering and killing him. Provided your Bob can deal with the Stone Men.’
‘Would he not have his men stay behind and defend the city?’ asked Liam. ‘That’s what I’d do.’
‘That’s not how legions fight,’ said Macro. ‘Their strength lies in having room to manoeuvre. An open plain. If Caligula’s guard are still stuck in the city when those two legions turn up, they’ll simply be bottled up inside. Those legions will simply camp outside Rome and starve the fools until they come out weakened. Then, of course, their backs’ll be against the wall.’
‘Macro’s right. Caligula will want them out and on the battleground of his choosing. As I say, he’s not stupid.’
‘So … how are you planning to get those two legions to suddenly believe the Praetorians are planning to turn on Caligula?’ asked Maddy.
Cato sat back and let Crassus answer that.
‘General Lepidus commands those two legions,’ the old man replied. ‘He’s a career-minded general. He very nearly joined us. Came here to my home on several occasions. He’s no friend of Caligula, but he’s certainly not an idealist. He’ll sit tight because his men are well paid, and so is he. But I have been working on him quietly, discreetly.’
‘And he’s prepared to help?’
Crassus laughed. ‘No, of course not. The man is a coward. He became nervous and excused himself from our plans.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ asked Liam. ‘What if he told Caligula about you?’
‘He won’t. He’s already implicated. I’ve been doing my best to make the fat oaf look as guilty as possible of conspiring against Caligula. Bribes and gifts in certain places, correspondence in his name. A whispered word or two in Caligula’s ear and he’ll want Lepidus’s head on a spike alongside mine.’
‘The trick is,’ said Cato, ‘to let Lepidus know that someone is about to whisper of his treachery to Caligula. Lepidus knows that with Caligula there is no right of reply. He won’t get a chance to try and prove his innocence. The only thing he’ll be able to do is act quickly; either run for his life or make a pre-emptive move on Caligula.’
‘But I thought you said his men would fight to defend the emperor?’ said Liam.
‘The men of a legion will always follow their general, up to a point that is. So, yes … he will convince them that they’re marching on Rome to protect their emperor, not usurp him.’
‘And how will he do that?’
Cato shrugged. ‘The regular legions are always suspicious of the Praetorian Guard. Atellus, the officer you met the other day?’
Liam and Maddy nodded.
‘He is one of Lepidus’s tribunes. He’ll feed Lepidus enough hearsay and rumour that even that idiot general can convince his men the Praetorians are up to no good. If those soldiers suspect for one moment their generous benefactor, Caligula, might be replaced with another emperor less generous,’ Cato grinned, ‘they’ll b
e on their feet and marching towards Rome.’
Maddy and Liam looked at each other and grinned. ‘That’s clever,’ said Liam.
‘While Atellus is pouring suspicion into Lepidus’s ear, I will be doing the same with Caligula,’ added Cato.
‘What?’ Maddy sat upright. ‘You meet with him?’
‘I’m the tribune in charge of the Palace Cohort. Of course I do. Almost every day. I believe … he is beginning to trust me. Perhaps even likes me. Sometimes we talk and I’m as close to him as I am to you right now. I could try and have a go at him, but his Stone Men are fast.’
‘You wouldn’t stand a chance,’ said Macro.
‘Caligula does listen to me. He doesn’t listen to the praefectus, but I know he trusts my advice. Perhaps if I can persuade Caligula to send some of his Stone Men into battle and get your Bob within the palace itself … it’s possible he could overcome any of them left behind.’
‘And us as well?’ said Liam. ‘Could you get us inside too?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Bob …?’ Maddy said in English. She patted the mound of one knee. ‘You up for it?’
He replied in English, Cato, Crassus and Macro looking on in silence as they talked.
‘The description we have of these Stone Men suggests they are third-generation military recon units. Designed to have normal physiques and pass more easily as human beings. As a full muscle-chassis combat unit, I am approximately fifty-five per cent stronger. This gives me a tactical advantage.’
‘And you did sort out that other unit that came through the portal,’ said Sal. ‘And that was another big one, just like you.’
‘But it was missing feet and a hand,’ replied Bob. ‘This also gave me an advantage.’
‘But do you think you can take them down?’ said Maddy. ‘More than one?’
‘Individually, yes. More than one at a time, this would be difficult.’
She sucked air through her teeth. ‘We’re rolling our dice on a pretty steep bet. We’re helping these guys with their coup and there’s no guarantee we get anything out of this. There may be nothing in the palace. No tech, no displacement unit, nothing.’
‘In which case that leaves us stuck here,’ said Sal.
‘Right,’ said Liam.
Maddy nodded. ‘Right.’
‘And without Bob … if those Stone Men kill him,’ added Sal.
They looked at each other. A decision unresolved hung in the space between them.
‘Actually, if computer-Bob doesn’t activate that six-month window, his head chip’s going to end up as helmet-spaghetti anyway,’ said Maddy. ‘He’ll be a dribbling vegetable.’
The three Roman men were looking at them expectantly.
‘Even if we end up successfully killing Caligula,’ said Maddy, ‘we might also not find anything in the palace that can get us back home.’
‘Well, the way I see it is this: if we are goin’ to be stuck here for good … I’d not want to live here with this Caligula fella still in charge.’
‘There is that.’ Maddy nodded slowly. ‘If this is it for us, if this time we really can’t put things right and we’re stuck here for good … I think I’d rather Caligula wasn’t around.’ She turned to Bob. ‘How does that fit with your mission priorities?’
His deep voice rumbled. ‘This is an already contaminated timeline. If we cannot correct it, the mission has failed whatever course of action you choose to take.’
‘Bit of a downer there, Bob,’ said Maddy, ‘but you’re quite right.’ She consciously switched back to listening to the translator burbling quietly in her ear.
‘OK, count us in.’
CHAPTER 48
AD 54, Imperial Palace, Rome
Caligula felt a tremble of excitement course through his body. This place, this large chamber was once a temple to Neptune. Now it was a temple to … himself; more than that, an act of homage to his approaching destiny. Its large marble and tiled walls echoed his light footsteps as he walked among the artefacts inside. With those large heavy doors closed, the daylight outside was entirely gone, the only illumination the flickering flame of the golden oil lamp he held in his hand.
Objects that the Visitors left behind. He crouched down and picked through the strange-looking things.
‘Incredible.’ His voice echoed round the chamber. Such curious possessions they had brought with them. He never tired of looking at them.
There was a shuffling coming from the wooden cage in the middle of the chamber.
‘But you see … that is something I find so fascinating. These devices of yours …’ He picked up an empty hydro-cell. The smooth metal glinted in the gloom; a residue of liquid sloshed around inside its casing. ‘I always believed gods needed nothing. That a mere wish, a desire, was all that was required for a thing to happen. And yet you and your friends brought with you all these odd contraptions. Objects you needed.’
A mewling whimper came from the cage.
He tilted the hydrogen fuel cell, listening to the liquid inside. ‘Objects that stopped working for you eventually.’ He smiled. ‘Not particularly godlike.’ He tossed it on to the pile of other items – empty ammo cartridges, guns, backpacks, first-aid packs, flashlights – and wandered over towards the cage.
He remembered how utterly bewitched he’d been when they’d first arrived. Such a stunning, remarkable arrival. Such noise, such spectacle. That day in the arena … like every other Roman citizen looking on, he was certain he’d been gazing upon heavenly beings. His heart had thrummed in his chest with the thrill of it and, of course, there had been an almost paralyzing terror at the idea of it. Gods, or at the very least, emissaries of the gods … here … in Rome. Right before us!
Caligula recalled that childlike wonder …
… approaching those enormous chariots and seeing up close the remarkably human-like passengers emerging from them. Some of them as fair-skinned as those barbarous savages in the northern parts of Germania. Some of them as dark as Egyptians. All of them wearing such delightfully strange garments. He’d been trembling like a leaf, fearful as a small child before an enraged parent.
The voice had boomed out across the floor of the arena and bounced off the stalls all around them. A thunderclap voice announcing in heavily accented Latin that they had come from above to enlighten them, to show them new ways. To offer them the gift of enlightenment, wisdom.
And finally, emboldened by the knowledge that several thousand of his subjects were watching, that a Roman emperor ought to be the one to lead the way, he had slowly reached out with a trembling finger and dared to touch one of them. Caligula had done that half expecting that at the first slightest touch of this creature from Heaven he would burn instantly to cinders as the power of Elysium itself flooded into him.
Caligula pulled the viewing slot of the cage to one side and peered at the darkness within. It stank of human faeces and stale urine. An appalling stench worse than any of those awful plebeian marketplaces or perilously tall, topsy-turvy apartment blocks. By the light of his oil lamp he could see the wretch inside, like a caged wild animal, restless and wide-eyed.
He realized now. Even back then, all those years ago, the moment his finger had touched warm skin damp with sweat, flesh just like his own … that the Visitors were just ordinary people. Not gods or messengers of the gods.
‘Hello,’ he uttered.
The man murmured and gurgled something behind his muzzle.
‘I apologize. It’s been some time since we talked,’ said Caligula with a gentle smile. ‘Quite rude of me.’ He produced a bronze key, waved it so his captive could see it.
‘Come here. I shall take your muzzle off … and you and I can talk.’
The man moved suddenly, like a wild animal, grabbing for the key. The viewing slot was wide enough for a hand of claw-like fingers to thrust out. Caligula took a step back.
‘Uh-uh. Turn round … there’s a good fellow.’
The man glared at him through the sl
ot for a moment. Caligula could only see his eyes above the corroded bronze face mask and the gunk-encrusted hollow of the feeding tube, a dark, rigid oval frozen in a permanent corroded ‘o’.
‘Turn round,’ he said, waving his key again out of reach of the waggling claws.
The glaring eyes disappeared into the darkness and then a moment later, Caligula could see the back of his head, the bronze padlock securing the brace and one or two tufts of lank hair drooping over, and the sore-ridden skin rubbed completely bald by the rough metal band.
Caligula reached through the slot, inserted the key and twisted. With a dull click, the padlock sprang open and the brace fell away.
The head instantly spun round, those glaring eyes on him once more, but now he could see the man’s slim nose, and below that a thick nest of moustache and beard bristles clotted with dried mucus and rotten food. In the middle of it – like a pair of newborn, hairless rats in the bottom of a coarse nest – two lips mottled with scabs and abrasions old and new. They flexed and fidgeted, revealing bloody gums and the rotted black stumps of a few remaining teeth.
‘Hello, my old friend,’ said Caligula.
The man struggled to move his mouth, savouring the freedom for his tongue to actually wander around, his claw-fingers probing his crusted lips pitifully.
‘It is the month of Sextilis once again. So … it’s not so very long now, is it?’
The man was still flexing his mouth, relishing this fleeting moment of freedom from the mask.
Caligula suspected the crazed old fool was getting ready to cry out in that strange garbled language of his. He tried the same thing every time the muzzle came off. The same strangled word.
‘Save your breath. Your Stone Men won’t be able to hear you. The doors are closed and they are all on the other side of the palace. It’s just you and I in here.’
The pitiful wreck of a man tried anyway, sucking in a lungful of fetid air then screaming. ‘System … o-over-ride … en-enable … S-sponge –’ His voice was a frail and feeble gasp like a faltering breeze across marshland reeds.