The Last Roman (The Praetorian Series - Book I)

  VI

  Caligula

  Rome, Italy

  October, 36-41 AD

  I fell into step behind Vincent as we followed the Roman Praetorians through the Curia, which in and of itself, was remarkable. Augustus had found Rome a city of stone, and left it a city of marble, or so he’d famously boasted. Judging from what I’d seen so far, he hadn’t been kidding. Absent were the decaying and rundown buildings historians indicated were here merely a few decades earlier. Instead the area was opulent, radiant and, well… shiny, is a good way to describe it. The floor and walls glistened in the moonlight, and everything seemed in pristine condition, a clear indication of Rome’s majesty.

  A few turns later, we arrived in the Senate chamber. While it wasn’t all that big, the sheer scope of decisions debated in this room was enough to make it seem much bigger. A long, rectangular hall, it had three elevated rows adorned with seats, illuminated by small fire pots hanging sporadically around the room. They cast off a spooky atmosphere throughout the room, with many areas cast in shadow while the remaining area flickered intermittently. So many elected officials, emperors, despots, and tyrants had ruled from this room, but there was currently only one on my mind.

  The one who sat center stage.

  The man was nothing like I imagined he would be. He was tall, blond, well-muscled, but rather unattractive. His eyes were small, his nose had a bump on it, and the tips of his ears flared out noticeably, but the way he looked at us indicated an inquisitive intelligence. He measured us up in a quick glance, no hint of intimidation or fear in his eyes. Instead, he seemed completely unimpressed by what he saw, as though men who looked like us passed by him every day.

  What was missing was the air of arrogance and godliness, traits reportedly common of the man. Not to mention insanity.

  We must have gotten lucky.

  The man stood and circled us like a panther, continuing his inspection. At one point, he opened one of my pouches equipped with Velcro, which he merely accepted with a curious face and his mouth pursed approvingly. Everyone else appeared as though they had just seen magic. Two Praetorians jumped away from me in shock.

  He stopped after two revolutions, and spoke his first words to Vincent. I tried to follow along as best I could, but mostly had to wait for Vincent’s translations.

  “Who are you?” Caligula asked.

  “My name is Vincent, and this is Jacob Hunter.”

  “That is all very well and good, but where are you from and what is the meaning behind your appearance in my city?”

  Vincent glanced at me before answering. “Where we are from, I cannot say.”

  “And why is that?”

  “It may prove harmful to the future of your great empire.”

  Well. So far, so good. I guess this conversation could have been weirder.

  “I am not sure how that could be so,” Caligula continued, “but judging by your appearance, I would assume you are not from this area, nor any other part of my domain. So where? Deep in Africa or perhaps Asia? We’ve seen many strange things from these lands, but I must admit, none more so than you.”

  “I can confirm that we are not from any of these places, but little else. I will assure you, however, that we mean no harm to either you or your people. We are not here by choice. We find ourselves just as surprised as you are concerning our presence here.”

  “So you will not tell me where you are from, or who you are,” he continued, tapping his chin with a finger, “nor will you tell me how it is you found your way into the city and beneath one of our most sacred temples, because... you don’t know?” He asked, his expression indicating he clearly didn’t believe us. “Of course.”

  “All of what you said is true, Caesar.” Vincent paused, seeing Caligula’s skeptical expression. “I feel the need to reassure you that we have no intention of acting against the will of Rome.”

  That was smart. 21st century technology or not, we weren’t invincible.

  Caligula lifted his chin slightly, now giving us more of a suspicious, rather than skeptical, look. “How is it that you speak my language?”

  Vincent paused for a second and glanced at me again. I didn’t dare move. That was a good question.

  “I’ve spoken Latin for most of my life,” Vincent responded with a shrug.

  Good answer.

  “From where, I have no idea,” Caligula continued. “Your accent is most bizarre.”

  Vincent shrugged again.

  Caligula’s suspicious glance lingered as he held out his arm toward one of his Praetorians, indicating for one of our rifles. The man brought Vincent’s M4 for Caligula’s inspection.

  “What manner of weapon is this?” He asked. “I would not have thought it one had my guards not informed me these were what you surrendered to them. It is not of balanced weight, or design, nor is it sharp in any place. It also seems too fragile for a bludgeoning weapon, so what does it do?”

  “It is a projectile weapon, similar to a bow and arrow, only slightly more sophisticated. Currently, it is not loaded, so you will be unable to fire it.”

  “And what is this device?” He asked, indicating the flashlight attached to the barrel, which had conveniently slid free from its mount. Caligula was fiddling with it while Vincent answered.

  “It is an illum…”

  Caligula accidentally pressed the activation button, projecting a brilliant beam of light that collected on the ceiling. The guardsmen gasped in horror, while Caligula dropped the flashlight and skipped away, perhaps fearing it was possessed.

  “It’s as though the rays of Apollo are contained within.” One of the guards commented, moving away from the rolling light, probably thinking he might spontaneously combust should it touch him.

  I bent down and retrieved the small tool.

  “We call it a flashlight.” Vincent informed, using the American term, retrieving his light. Manipulating it, he lit up areas of the room otherwise in the dark. The Romans seemed thoroughly impressed after composing most of their dignity.

  “As you can see, it creates light in a nonflammable way, focusing it tightly for increased efficiency.”

  “How does such a device operate?” Caligula asked, retaking his U shaped seat, appearing only slightly startled.

  “To be honest, the specifics of its function are slightly beyond me, but just like your catapults, it has been constructed from earthly materials, by human hands. No divine inspiration was required.”

  “Such a device,” Caligula mumbled, shaking his head at the floor. “Its abilities are far beyond that of a simple torch. If your weapons are just as advanced when compared to our own, I am becoming more and more reluctant to trust you.”

  “Caesar, we are willing to perform any test needed to prove our honesty. If it would please you, we are prepared to offer a demonstration of our abilities at your convenience.”

  Caligula spent a few minutes considering, occasionally glancing at his guards, and then back at us. A few minutes later, he stood up and moved closer to us.

  “I have been given word that some of your people have sustained injury. Again, how, I know not. It is for that reason that I have let them stay together and why I will now allow you to rejoin them. However, I will require your demonstration tomorrow evening. It is very late, rest as much as you need. Food will be provided when you wish, but be ready.”

  “Your kindness is greatly appreciated, Caesar. However, I have but one request.”

  “Speak.”

  Vincent took a step closer. “In our rush to escape the collapsing cave beneath your temple, we left one of our people behind. He was already dead upon our arrival.”

  I guess now wasn’t the best time to mention the large amount of gear buried along with him. That wouldn’t really help our case much.

  “Where we come from we have a practice of not leaving fellow soldiers behind, as well as burial rituals for the dead. If it is at all poss
ible, we ask that we be allowed to retrieve him, and give him the proper respects.”

  Of all the conquerors and empires throughout the ages, Rome, surprisingly, was probably one of the most tolerant. That is, until us poor Christians came on the scene. Prior to the advent of Christianity, they could care less about who you worshiped or what gods you prayed to, as long as you paid tribute to the emperor. Additionally, Romans took their own burial preparations very seriously. They had important rituals, imported mostly from the Greeks, which would help prepare the dead for their journey to the afterlife.

  Caligula looked thoughtful for a second, understanding our desire to lay our dead to rest.

  “Tomorrow evening you will perform your demonstration, as planned,” he answered. “Afterwards, should I feel it prudent, I will order the retrieval of your lost friend. However, if all goes well for you, I will require a more thorough test of your loyalty at a later date.”

  “Thank you, Caesar.” Vincent bowed, and I followed suit.

  “Now go. The hour is late. I hope all goes well tomorrow. For your sake.”