Just then they heard the clack of standard army-issue, nail-soled sandals on the cobbles and the approaching rattle and clatter of armour and harnesses.
Macro turned to look up at Fronto. ‘You might have come a little earlier!’
Fronto gazed at Macro’s retirement investment, fully ablaze now. ‘It’s like this right across the whole city. Riots in every district.’ He turned to Maddy and Liam. ‘Cato sent me to get you.’
Maddy, still on her hands and knees coughing up globules of phlegm as black as tar, wiped her mouth and looked up at the officer.
‘You … you can get us in … into the emperor’s palace?’
Fronto nodded. ‘Right now … yes. If we hurry.’
CHAPTER 62
AD 54, outside Rome
Caligula watched the ground, shifting and beetle-black: a thousand crows moving among the dead, more in the sky overhead swooping and buzzing the battlefield.
The dead stretched as far as he could see: the red tunics of dead legionaries; men from the Tenth and Eleventh dotting the olive-green grass of the hillside like wild poppies.
The deed was done before the sun reached midday. Two legions of men broken and routed within the space of an hour. Caligula had watched the battle unfold from the comfort of a wooden platform erected in the early hours of the morning. His small vanguard of Stone Men had formed the very tip of an advancing wedge that had plunged through Lepidus’s predictable chequerboard formation. The Stone Men were soon lost from direct sight in the melee, but their precise location in the press of men was never in doubt; it was the source of the screaming, the source of the greatest amount of movement in the middle of the glistening sea of helmets and armour.
After the brief battle, Caligula could actually trace the path they took by the wake of horrendously dismembered bodies; almost as if someone had gathered up men and bits of men and laid them out like a narrow carpet, a road of ragged flesh, splintered bone and dented metal.
Almost indestructible, those Stone Men, but not quite. Four of them had eventually been brought down by Lepidus’s men. A concerted effort by his archers, leaving them for a moment staggering pincushion figures, like human porcupines, until they’d finally collapsed. But by then, of course, the damage had been done, the legions’ formations were broken and the men were already beginning to turn and run.
Caligula glanced once more at the pitiful sight of so many good Roman legionaries dead on the field, carrion being pecked at by hungry birds. Difficult to savour victory for long when a sight like this was the aftermath. He sighed sadly then turned back round to face General Lepidus, kneeling, stripped of his armour and left with just his tattered and bloodstained tunic.
‘This is what happens … when you decide to take matters into your own hands.’ Caligula’s hand idled on the pommel of his sword. ‘What did you honestly think was going to happen? Hmmmm?’
Lepidus’s eyes were on Caligula’s idling, fidgeting fingers. ‘I … I had no choice. I –’
‘Well actually, I think you probably did have a choice.’ Caligula pouted disapprovingly down at him. ‘You could have come to me the moment that poisonous old man, Crassus, started sending treacherous little notes to you. You could have presented his letters to me and quite easily proved that I could trust you. But no … you chose not to.’
‘I … Crassus was trying to make me look already guilty! He was wording his letters to make it look like we’d already spoken of … of …’
‘Trying to kill me?’
Lepidus shut up and looked down, defeated.
‘Even if Crassus’s letters implicated you … you should have come to me. I would have understood. I would have been fair, merciful. Good grief, I’m not a monster, Lepidus.’
‘I … it … I was misled. I was used.’
‘Oh, you were misled all right.’
‘I was frightened.’
Caligula crouched down before the general, lifted the man’s ample chin with a finger and looked him in the eyes. ‘Frightened? Of me? Why? What’s to be afraid of? I only want what’s best for us all, what’s best for all Romans.’
He stood up again. ‘Fear … that was your undoing. You’re nothing but a frightened old man. I should have far better men in charge of my legions.’ He began to pull his sword out of its sheath.
‘Please!’
‘Oh? Pleading, is it? So very sorry now, are we?’
Lepidus nodded vigorously. ‘I … was left with no choice! I had to do something!’
‘They goaded you … coerced you into trying to kill me, replace me.’ Caligula smiled. ‘And clearly you obviously thought you could replace me.’
‘I, no … I didn’t believe –’
‘I don’t think you were sorry this morning as you presented your legions for battle. I think you were looking forward to the idea of sleeping in my bed tonight, in my palace. Calling yourself emperor. Wearing my robes.’ Caligula laughed. ‘Not that they’d fit you.’
He lifted the tip of his gladius up and held it in front of Lepidus’s face. Sunlight reflected off the polished blade, glinting into the general’s eyes.
‘I need better men than you in charge of my legions. Younger, braver men. Trustworthy fellows. Now listen to me, Lepidus, you can go some way towards making amends … if you were to let me know who else, other than Crassus, was involved in this ridiculous charade.’
The general licked dry lips quickly. ‘I … I think my tribune, Atellus, was in on it. Now … yes, thinking about it, yes, I’m sure of it.’
Caligula glanced at the tribune’s body lying in the grass nearby. ‘Well, he’s not exactly going to deny that now, is he, Lepidus?’
‘Others … I-I’m sure there were … Yes, Crassus used to have visits from Cicero … Paulus. Those two –’
Caligula nodded. ‘Now that’s a bit better. Yes.’ He stroked his nose thoughtfully. ‘I could imagine those two old relics would have been involved somehow. Who else? Hmmm? Any other faces you noticed keeping Crassus company?’
Lepidus’s eyes darted left and right, trawling a racing mind for names … faces …
‘Your palace tribune! The new one!’
Caligula frowned. ‘What? You don’t mean … Cato?’
Lepidus looked up, nodded vigorously again. ‘Yes! He was involved! I … I’m sure of it!’
‘Cato.’ Caligula frowned.
‘Crassus hinted to me … not long ago … said …’
‘Said what?’
‘He said he had someone in the palace … someone close to you. Someone who could get to you!’
Caligula cast his mind back to the few conversations he’d had with the man. The tribune had always seemed professional, reliable, competent. But then …
Your Stone Men, sire … Might I suggest you send them along?… You have my cohort here … to guard you …
Caligula spun round, looking for the praefectus Quintus.
‘Quintus, take your cavalry back to Rome!’ He nodded at the five remaining Stone Men, their olive-green armour spattered with dark droplets of dried blood. ‘Take them with you as well! The tribune of the palace cohort is to be arrested!’
‘Sire?’
‘He’s one of them, Quintus! A traitor! I want him arrested. And I want him alive! Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘And have the rest of the Guard assembled to march.’
‘But, Caesar, they’ve just fought! They need …’
Caligula’s look silenced him. ‘Have them assembled,’ he repeated softly.
The prefect nodded, saluted and turned to deliver his orders.
Caligula once more looked down at the man in front of him, an anxious, twitching face, bathed in sweat.
‘Thank you, Lepidus,’ he said absently. And then without much thinking about it, for good measure, he quickly swung his sword down at the general’s neck. Even before the arc of blood had landed on the dry, sandy soil and arid grass of the hillside, Caligula had already turned on h
is heel and was heading towards his tent to change out of his uncomfortable armour. The march back to Rome would be a morning and an afternoon. They’d be back by twilight, he supposed … if they moved out soon.
Behind him he finally heard the thud of the general’s body keeling over. While all around the orders he’d given to Quintus were being barked down the ranks, followed by the noise of five thousand men scrambling in response.
CHAPTER 63
AD 54, Imperial Palace, Rome
‘I can’t let you in, sir …’ The optio grimaced uncomfortably at the thought of challenging his centurion’s order. He craned his neck to look through the iron grille of the gate to get a better look past Fronto at the soot-covered people behind him. ‘I can’t let them into the palace grounds, sir.’ He swallowed nervously. ‘Standing orders.’
‘Your orders, Septimus lad, are exactly what I say they are. Now open this gate!’
The optio looked unhappily at Fronto. Torn between the dressing-down his centurion looked like he was about to give him and fear of what would happen to him if ever Caligula discovered he’d opened the north-west gate and let in some uninvited strangers.
‘Is this on the emperor’s orders, sir?’
Fronto sighed. He was about to let rip at the optio with a blast of colourful language when Cato appeared beside him. ‘It’s all right. Let them in, Septimus. They’re my property. I just wanted to bring them into the imperial grounds for safekeeping.’
The optio nodded at his tribune. ‘Right, sorry, sir … I just –’
Cato shushed him and smiled. ‘Quite all right, you were doing your job.’
The bolt slid back and the iron gate swung inwards. Fronto threw his optio a withering glare as he led his men and the others inside the gardens and the gate was slammed shut again.
Cato looked at his old friend Macro first, then at Maddy and the others. ‘What happened?’
‘A fire happened,’ grunted Macro. ‘It’s all gone, my investment. My retirement fund, everything.’
‘There are fires all over the city,’ said Fronto.
Cato nodded. The smell of burning was on the air, and a pall of smoke hung in the sky. He spoke to Fronto. ‘Best assign your men back to their posts immediately, Centurion.’
Fronto nodded. ‘Right you are, sir.’
Cato waited until Fronto had finished barking orders and the legionaries had dispersed to their deployment positions around the imperial grounds.
‘I can take you to the Temple of Neptune in the palace,’ said Cato. ‘I believe that’s where you may find what you’re looking for. The things belonging to the Visitors.’
Maddy glanced at Liam and Sal. ‘He’s found something!’
Sal looked heartened. ‘What? A time machine?’
‘Can you take us there right now?’ asked Maddy.
‘I can. But there’s a problem,’ Cato continued. ‘Three Stone Men guarding it.’
Liam translated that for Sal. She sighed.
‘Do you think your man could fight three of them at once?’ Cato looked at Bob.
‘They are lighter combat models,’ replied Bob. ‘I have a reasonable chance of success.’
‘And we’ll help you,’ said Macro, ‘if you need help, that is.’
All three units detected the faint signal at the same time; their eyes instantly locked on each other. It was weak and it flickered out of detectable range for a moment then was there again: an unidentifiable broadcast identification signal.
‘It is not one of ours. A different systems manufacturer.’ Stern narrowed his eyes. ‘The carrier signal’s ident tag has an older version packet header.’
The other two nodded in agreement. ‘V2.3.11.’
‘Agreed.’ Stern’s digital mind deconstructed the signal.
[INFORMATION]
Model Type – W.G. Systems Heavy Combat Model
Batch number – 4039282
Activation year – 2054
OS – V2.3.11
‘Is this unit a threat?’ asked one of them.
‘If the unit compromises our user’s standing orders,’ said Stern, ‘it is a legitimate target.’
‘It’s a Heavy Combat Model, Stern,’ said the other. ‘Heavier than we are.’
He looked at his squad member, mildly impressed by the note of anxiety in the unit’s voice. An emotional stress indicator he must have picked up from a human and he was using quite convincingly now.
‘There are three of us. We have a significant numerical advantage.’
‘What if it has better weapons than us?’
Stern nodded. Certainly a concern. Although the three of them still wore their poly-graphene body armour, after all these years, their weapons were useless. It was strictly Roman-era swords and spears for them.
‘Unit-Chuck? Unit-Butch? I have an order for you.’
Both units stood to attention. ‘Affirmative.’
‘Locate and observe. Identify what weaponry the unit is carrying and report.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Stern watched them push past the drape and listened to their heavy-booted footsteps recede. His digital mind had some simple calculations to make. Several combat scenarios to evaluate should this newly arrived support unit attempt to prevent him and his men from carrying out Temporary-User-Caligula’s standing orders. But his actual mind, that tiny pink muscle linked by an umbilical cord of hair-thin data wires, was busy pondering how it was possible for another support unit, albeit a slightly older model, to be here in Ancient Rome.
CHAPTER 64
AD 54, Imperial Palace, Rome
‘It’s off the main passage beyond the entrance portico,’ whispered Cato. ‘Hidden behind one of the Thracian drapes on the right.’ He turned to Maddy and Liam. ‘Could your Stone Man attempt to lure them away?’
Maddy shrugged. ‘It will depend on what orders they have. Won’t it, Bob?’
‘Affirmative. If guarding the doorway is a higher priority than attempting to eliminate a potential threat, then they will not attempt to pursue me.’
‘In which case we’ll just have to fight them,’ said Liam. He turned to Bob. ‘What do you think? Can we take ’em?’
‘It is possible.’
‘Possible?’ Maddy sighed. ‘OK … I guess I can go with “possible”.’
Cato nodded. ‘Shall we proceed, then?’
‘One moment,’ said Bob, cocking his head. His eyelids flickered.
‘What’s up?’ asked Liam.
Bob nodded, satisfied with something going on inside his head. ‘I am deactivating my local wireless communications system.’
‘Switching your Wi-Fi off?’ Maddy patted his back. ‘Good idea.’
Cato led them across the east gardens of the Imperial Palace, approaching a cordon of Praetorians guarding the eastern portico. The men stared suspiciously for a moment at the soot-covered people accompanying their tribune. But Cato snapped stiffly at them to remain focused on their duties and keep a watch on the perimeter walls for any looters attempting to take advantage of the city-wide chaos.
He walked them past the guards, out of the afternoon sun and into the cool, dimly lit labyrinth of Caligula’s palace, past marble columns and intricate, vividly coloured designs in mosaic tiles on the floor.
‘Wow, this is totally bindaas,’ Sal whispered softly, almost silently. Even so, her whisper echoed across the cavernous interior.
‘The palace should be entirely empty now, except for the three Stone Men,’ said Cato. ‘The slaves of the palace have been confined to their quarters; my men are all stationed outside the building watching the entrances. The gardens. It is just us inside.’
‘Which way?’
Cato nodded ahead. ‘This leads to the main passageway.’
The tribune led the way, with Bob by his side, a short sword clutched in each fist. Behind them Maddy and Sal, hands clasped anxiously. Bringing up the rear Liam and Macro, warily glancing behind them and into the shadows between columns. Their breathing echoed in the
gloom, the tap of their feet sounding precariously loud.
Presently they looked out on to a broad passageway, almost as broad as any Roman thoroughfare. The walls towered to meet a ceiling of murals that depicted heroic scenes of – presumably – Caligula. It was punctuated every now and then with small skylight openings that allowed meagre shafts of sunlight to pierce the gloom and angle down on to the mosaic tile floor like muted spotlights.
Cato indicated to the right and cautiously led the way.
They walked slowly along the broad passage until finally Cato stopped and pointed at a gently shifting drape.
The others nodded.
Bob crossed the passageway until he stood beside the drape. A draught of cool air was teasing it. Liam could feel it on his skin as he, Macro and Cato stood, weapons ready, beside him.
And there it was again, the same thing that cursed him every time he faced the possibility of imminent violence, his legs trembling like the whiskers of a rodent. His mouth as dry as parchment.
He glanced quickly at Macro, his dark beard splitting with a grin of excitement. Beside him Cato, a foot taller, poised with a face almost as stone cold and impassive as Bob’s. Both men seemed utterly used to this – that moment of readiness before a fight. That final breath, that heartbeat before the calm became a bloody, thrashing chaos.
Liam sighed. Why can’t I ever look as ready as that?
Cato checked the others were ready then quickly leaned forward and pulled the drape aside.
CHAPTER 65
AD 54, Imperial Palace, Rome
Maddy gasped at the sight of it. Standing there, legs planted astride, sword drawn almost as if it had been patiently waiting for them.
But it was the thing’s appearance that surprised her: the breathtaking historical contradiction. Standing there, in the flickering light of a pair of oil lamps with a gladius held ready in one hand and a gladiator’s shield in the other, was something quite unmistakably from the twenty-first century. A soldier in military olive green. A soldier wearing a polygraphene torso plate, shoulder and forearm armour plates, thigh and shin plates and black combat boots. At a glance – except for the sword and shield, that is – little different from the kind of special-forces guys she was used to seeing in grainy night vision sliding down ropes on to the terrace roofs of Al Qaeda hideouts.