The Last Roman (The Praetorian Series - Book I)

  ***

  Around the tenth time I was awakened and summarily knocked out again, I realized this must have been some form of torture. Just keep beating someone to the point of unconsciousness, let them sleep it off, and wake them up before starting all over again. I knew it was torture because each time it happened, it hurt more and more, and not only did the physical pain increase, but so did the pain in my stomach. I had to have been hanging for at least a day, but there was no real way of knowing.

  After this latest beating, I was allowed to maintain consciousness. My head hurt so much I was having trouble remembering things, and I couldn’t even picture my mother’s face, or the empty platitudes my father would drill into my head. I couldn’t remember where I was, or the name of the woman my mind kept drifting toward. All I knew were flashes and glimpses of a life I guessed were mine.

  Finally able to keep my eyes open, a painful movement in and of itself, I forced myself to figure out where I was. The room was dark, gloomy, and had spider webs hanging all over the walls. I hated spiders. That much I remembered.

  Of course, it might have just looked like spider webs because my eyes were practically swollen shut.

  I looked to my left, and saw a man-like shape hanging in what I assumed was a similar fashion to how I was. His hands were tied to a cross beam, which was mounted on a wooden pole in the ground, forming a lower case t. His body was limp, and his head was hanging on his chest. The pose reminded me of something, but I couldn’t quite place it. When I looked at my own hands, I confirmed that I was similarly hanging, and the only other support I received was from a small block under my feet that protruded slightly from the vertical pole.

  Trying to shift my body, so that my legs took up some of the slack, I found I could barely move my arms. All the blood had drained from the veins, and my muscles refused to cooperate. To compensate, I used my legs to painfully push myself upwards, and immediately wished I hadn’t. The act of taking pressure off of my arms forced all the pain toward that location, creating a whole new level of hurt to deal with.

  Crying out, I woke my companion.

  “Whe... where am I?” He said, likewise oblivious to our situation.

  I tried to speak, but my mouth was too dry. I saw the man look over at me, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Who… who are you?” He said slowly, before recognition finally dawned on him. “Jacob? Is that you?”

  Jacob?

  Yes. Jacob. That was my name. Jacob Hunter. Service number… no, too many numbers. I was a US Navy SEAL, no former. I transferred to special service to the Pope. On a mission, we… and it all came flooding back to me.

  Everything. Pope Gregory. McDougal. A blue sphere. Helena.

  For some reason Helena’s image burned brightest in my reclaimed memory. I remembered how much anger there’d been between us and how I’d left on such uneven terms. My first reaction was regret for how it turned out and how I had to make it right. I had to get back to set things right between us.

  “Santino?” Yes. That was his name. “Do you remember anything?”

  I looked over at my best friend. With that look my memory snapped into focus and I almost panicked when I realized what was happening to him. What must be happening to me as well.

  We were being crucified.

  Always considered one of the most drawn out, painful, and dehumanizing ways to die, I never really realized just how utterly horrendous it was. I remembered all those Sundays at Mass, looking up at Jesus of Nazareth hanging from his own cross, but his sculpture never seemed to reflect the sheer pain he must have been feeling, like the pain I was feeling now.

  Santino must have regained his memory as well.

  “We’re being crucified?” He asked. “Crucified? Who fucking does that!?” At least his personality hadn’t diminished, but as he finished his statement, he started coughing uncontrollably.

  “Romans. That’s who.” I glanced around the room again. “Hang in there buddy. We’ll get out of this.”

  Just as Santino was about to reply, another voice cut in.

  “My, my, my, so eager to get down are we?” The demented voice I knew to be Claudius’ said. “You’ve only been hanging there for a day or so, surely you aren’t ready to leave yet? I have so many questions to ask you.”

  I watched as he stepped from the shadows in which he’d been hiding, holding something in his hands. I struggled in my restraints, not because I thought it would help, but because I was too stupid to realize it would hurt. The action alone nearly caused me to pass out again.

  He stepped closer, a foot from my dangling body.

  “What do you want?” The question came out resigned and defeated. I couldn’t muster much else.

  “Why, to expand Rome’s power of course. And do you know how?”

  Unable and unwilling to respond, I just hung there.

  “So unexcited. How sad.” He pulled his hands out in front of him, which were holding something covered with a piece of heavy cloth. “With this, of course.” He pulled the cover away revealing the blue ball that started this mess. It shone dimly right now and I wondered if it was on.

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “With you? Why, everything! You’re the one who made it work. Don’t play ignorant with me. That sniveling insect Varus said he saw you holding it when you first arrived. You are the fulcrum. The key. You can make it work.”

  “You don’t understand what it does,” I argued hoarsely. “It hurts people, makes them crazy. Don’t you remember how you used to be just a few months ago? You were normal.”

  “Normal is such a relative term,” he said, pulling the ball away and waving his hand in my face. “To you, it may seem like one thing, but to me, another. Who determines the normality of society if not those controlling it?” He paused, cocking his head to the side as he looked at me. “Why, me, of course! Now. Make it work,” he said, thrusting the sphere in my face.

  I looked wearily at him, feeling my life hanging by a thread. A thread I knew he could force me to dangle from for days to come.

  “I… I don’t know how.”

  Did the thing even have an on button?

  Claudius slapped me. “You lie!” He slapped me again. For good measure I guess.

  “Leave him alone, you fucking bastard,” yelled Santino, coming to my defense. I would have smiled, if I wasn’t doing everything I could just to remain conscious. Claudius was not amused, however, and signaled with his hand in Santino’s direction.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two men rush forward, one man with two very large nails, the other with a large hammer. They didn’t wait for further orders, and the first man placed a nail between the two bones connecting Santino’s wrists, while the second man slammed the hammer against it.

  Santino’s scream was louder than my own after I had struggled against my restraints. Satisfied the first nail was secured, the two men moved on to his other wrist, likewise staking it to the cross in the manner science had proved was necessary for the body to not tear away from the nails. I saw my friend’s head slump.

  “You bastard! If you’ve killed him, I swear to God…”

  “To which one?” Claudius barked, looking around the room, arms wide. “There are so many. Perhaps you swear to me? That would be ironic. Either way, you will unlock the true power within this orb.”

  “What do you actually expect to find?”

  “Who cares?” He said, throwing his empty hand in the air. “As long as it’s not more like you. I’ve seen who you are, and you’ve become so much less interesting than I’d hoped. What good are you, really? Now…” he shoved the sphere in my face again, “do it!”

  The ball was so close, I couldn’t help but look at it. I looked and looked, but had no idea what he wanted. He even pressed it against my cheek, but unlike last time, nothing happened. When he pulled it away, I continue
d to gaze into it and was just about ready to throw another insult at him when I thought I saw something, but as the image become clearer, a door slammed open and Claudius snapped the sphere away.

  He moved over to the man, who was quickly and desperately saying something I couldn’t hear. When the man finished, Claudius seemed even more furious and deranged. “It seems we have a bit of a problem,” he said, looking in my direction. “No matter. I won’t let you two get lonely.”

  He jerked a thumb in our direction, and twenty men piled into the room. These men weren’t Praetorians, looking more like crooks, thieves, murderers and all the other nameless scum of the underworld, and they looked very happy.

  “Don’t kill them,” was all Claudius said as he left.

  The men joked and laughed, mumbling and grunting indecipherably to each other in a language I didn’t understand. Once Claudius was gone, the men took the time to explore the room, looking for anything they could use to have a little fun. One man found an olive branch, similar to the ones I had been on the receiving end of a few times this past winter. Others found sticks, blunted knifes, stones, and rope. Each of them circled around Santino and me threateningly. At least my friend was still unconscious.

  The man with the olive branch walked up to me and spat in my face. Then he punched me in the gut, and started whipping my legs with the branches. His swats left large welts and cuts all over my calves and thighs. I was too weak to scream in agony, but my groans were plenty loud. It was at that point I realized I was completely naked, another blow to my dignity.

  By the time the man started striking my back, and another man had begun cutting small lacerations into Santino’s legs with a broken gladius, I heard something very familiar. It was the subtle clinging and clanking noise of something metal bouncing on a hard surface. Years of military training automatically kicked in, and I knew that sound could only be one thing.

  A flashbang.

  Squeezing my eyes tight, I tried to force myself to block out the inevitable bangs. I knew what was coming, but I was still unprepared for the actual detonation. The nine banger knocked me unconscious again, but only for a short while.

  A minute later, I opened my eyes to see numerous blurry, black clad figures strolling through the room, policing the bodies of the now twenty dead torturers. One of them approached me, pulling off a balaclava, and stared up at my dangling form. Mask off, I saw the person release a mass of bunched up black hair, swinging it over her shoulders.

  Helena tried to smile at me, but her façade of bravery faltered, revealing just how afraid she really was, even though her eyes looked as angry as ever.

  “Miss me?” She asked.