Centurion's Rise (24 page)

“I further leave to my fellow man, the bulk of my financial estate.  To every lawful citizen of Rome, I leave four thousand sesterces.”

Nothing could contain the elation that enveloped the common citizens packed into the forum grounds.  Most cheered and jumped for joy, others wept without shame, while many simply stood in a state of shock.  The sum of their inheritance from Caesar roughly equaled two months wages for a common worker.  The gift was substantial and well received. 

Tomal made no attempt to contain the crowd’s emotion, he dropped his hands behind his back and looked over the celebration with concern.  Had Caesar just robbed Tomal of the fortune he planned on inheriting?  His look softened as he quickly ran through the math in his head. 

Contrary to the assertion that Caesar was giving away the ‘bulk’ of his estate, the reality was the gift only represented a quarter of Caesar’s fortune.  Even with
his gift to the people, the financial sum Tomal stood to receive in a few short moments would be disgustingly large by any standard. He looked up with a calm eye, now able to appreciate the unbridled joy of the crowd.  Prudence said to let the citizens below enjoy their moment, but impatience soon got the better of him.  He simply could wait no longer to read of his own inheritance.

“Will you hear more?” Tomal shouted over the celebration.  Silence fell over the euphoric mob with remarkable speed as the hint of more gifts tickled their selfish curiosity.  Content he had their undivided attention once more, Tomal brought the piece of parchment back to eye level and continued his oration.

“To the most capable individual I have ever encountered I leave the balance of my estate and my namesake.”

Tomal’s pulse quickened with the anticipation of the next sentence.  It was all about to be his and the entire city of Rome was present to witness the event.  His eyes moved across the page as he read aloud the last line of Caesar’s will.

“I hereby adopt Gaius Octavius Thurinus as my son and heir.  May fortune favor him as it has favored me.”

Tomal looked up from the parchment with a bright smile until comprehension of the words he just shouted at the top of his lungs sank in. 
Something wasn’t right.  The name was wrong.  With an abrupt panic Tomal examined the last line once more.

The name, it’s the wrong damned name
, Tomal thought to himself. 
It should read Marcus Antonius, but it doesn’t.  It says Octavius – Valnor!

As the crowd politely applauded the naming of Caesar’s heir, Tomal turned on his heels to glare up the steps at Valnor accepting the praise and accolades lavished upon him.

A murderous rage filled Tomal’s heart as he observed the smug smile gracing the corners of Hastelloy’s mouth.  The bastard knew it all along.  During the brief span of the previous forty-eight hours, Hastelloy orchestrated a chain of events that completely imploded Tomal’s world.  The worst part was Hastelloy used Tomal’s own voice and the most public of venues to announce the greatest affront to Tomal’s honor he could ever imagine.

Words did not exist in any of the thirty languages Tomal fluently spoke to describe the hatred he bore his commanding officer at that moment.  Tomal briefly considered rushing up the steps and putting his pristine dagger to use on his captain, but death was too good for him. 

In slow motion, Tomal saw Hastelloy’s head turning his direction, and with it his line of sight.  The two men locked eyes with enough kinetic energy between them to blow the entire Roman Republic off the face of the earth.  Tomal’s eyes burned with hatred while Hastelloy’s carried a sense of serenity.  In that combustible moment, Tomal had an epiphany. 

Tomal inclined his head towards Hastelloy to acknowledge a well played gambit, but t
hen shot his commanding officer a sinister smirk that screamed, ‘you haven’t seen anything yet.’

Tomal made a show of rolling up the will and placing it on top of Caesar’s chest.  A respectful silence fell over the crowd once more as Tomal spoke again. 
“Noble Brutus spoke earlier of Caesar’s ambition, an ambition to be king.  If that were so then it would be the duty of any noble Roman to strike down the tyrant who would be king.  You, me, Brutus, all of us would be honor bound to slay Caesar.”

Tomal turned his back on the crowd to look upon Caesar’s body.  “There can be no doubt Brutus is an honorable man.  The evidence lay here for all to bear witness to the honor of Brutus.  The tyrant who would be king is dead by his hand.”

Tomal whirled back around to face the crowd once more.  “Ambitious was Caesar?  Caesar gave away his private land and coin from his purse to the people, every citizen of Rome.  Was this ambitious?

“Caesar takes the adopted son of his sister under his wing and in his final act takes this young man, of unremarkable distinction or background, as his own son.  Was this ambitious?”

Tomal took two steps down the stairs as he continued to address the crowd.  “He refilled the treasury with the proceeds of wars he was fully entitled to keep for himself.  Surely this is the ambition honorable Brutus spoke about. 

“I would stop there, but then I would be remiss in mentioning the most egregious and ambitious act of all.  When the granaries ran empty and famine ravaged this city, Caesar secured a nearly endless supply of grain from Egypt.  You were hungry and would have paid any price for his food and yet he gave it to all at the original market price.  Surely this, this, was the final act of ambition that drove Brutus to perform his most honorable act.”

Tomal turned to look up the steps toward Hastelloy once more.  This time it was Tomal’s turn to wear the look of amusement while Hastelloy’s eyes burned with anger.  He watched Hastelloy whisper into Valnor’s ear and then back away from the scene.  Feeling a deep sense of satisfaction, Tomal returned his attention to the crowd and opened his arms out wide in a bewildered gesture.

“If you ask me, ambition should be made of sterner stuff,” Tomal concluded.  “I would challenge this ambitious assertion made by honorable Brutus, but I have no gift for oratory as the noble Brutus clearly does.  I should speak no further on the matter.”

The crowd cried out their displeasure at the notion of Tomal remaining silent.  They demanded his words and thoughts on the matter.

“Please, dear friends,” Tomal pleaded.  “I cannot speak to disprove what Brutus spoke; I am here to testify only of what I have witnessed and know to be true.  I have neither wit nor worth to turn your hearts.  If I did I would surely direct them to mutiny for I see no ambition in Caesar’s actions.  I see only the noblest of men struck down by a vile jackal that shrouds itself in the mantle of an honorable man.”

The crowd was now frothing at the mouth to charge up the senate house steps and tear Hastelloy and his allies to shreds.  All they needed was one last push.

Tomal returned once more to stand over Caesar as he lay upon the burial slab.  “A great light has gone out in this world.  With the blow from the dagger of Brutus, my friend, my champion fell, and what a fall it was my countrymen.  You and I, and all of us fell down with Caesar while bloody treason flourishes over us.”

Tomal looked up from Caesar’s body towards the top of the steps one last time.  “We all stand at the same fork in the road.  Will we let this treason stand?”

“No,” the enraged mob
shouted in reply.

“Or will you rebel against evil and reclaim our Republic?” Tomal asked.

“Yes,” the mob replied while on the verge of toppling every structure in the forum with outrage.

“Then take what course you will.”

Instantly the rampaging crowd overran the soldiers stationed at the base of the senate steps and charged for those standing on high.  As the tide of angry bodies rose up and washed past Tomal he looked up the steps once more to see Hastelloy running full tilt for the nearest exit of the city and the wilderness beyond.

“Mutiny it shall be then,” Tomal said to himself.

Under cover of darkness
, Hastelloy snuck through the main gates of the temple grounds.  In front of him stood the Temple of Jupiter amid two hundred acres of well manicured gardens.  The sparkling white structure was nearly two hundred feet square on its base and sheltered over 40,000 square feet under its roof.  Around the perimeter and throughout the middle of the temple six sets of decorative columns ran the length of the structure to support the massive roof.

The roofline angled from each side to meet at a peak in the middle, leaving a triangular section between the roof and the main support beam to be adorned with statues and relief carvings depicting the greatness that was Jupiter, king of the gods.  Perched on the peak of the temple sat a larger than life nickel statue of Jupiter driving
a chariot while holding the reins of four stallions.

It took Caesar two years to complete construction on the project.  The recently deceased general spared no expense in building the monument: pure white marble superstructure, bronze roofing tiles, hundreds of statues and carvings only scratched the surface of the opulent structure.  Many citizens thought the choice of molding the statue of Jupiter out of nickel, a relatively worthless metal, was an odd choice.  Caesar justified his decision by pointing out a more valuable metal such as gold would not have stood out enough against the copper roof.  This was a true statement, but Hastelloy knew full well there was another, more significant reason.

Hastelloy had never officially visited the temple grounds, though he possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of its interior and exterior design.  His information was gained from numerous sources.  He bribed the construction foreman for the official design diagrams.  Almost the entire construction crew was under Hastelloy’s employ to inform him about any alterations not in the official diagrams.  Also, Hastelloy visually surveyed the building from afar on a daily basis as construction was underway to spot anything out of the ordinary.

Gallono often questioned the wisdom of expending so many resources on a structure that was erected in plain view of the entire city.  Given that the
temple was dedicated to Hastelloy’s mortal enemy, he considered his time and money well spent, and tonight he would reap the dividends of the intelligence investments.  

Hastelloy forced his attention away from the temple building to inspect the garden grounds.  He spotted dozens of lit torches moving among the flowers, bushes and trees.  They were all held by men intent on his capture.  Hastelloy took care to remain in the shadows as he made his way toward the tallest pine tree on the grounds.

The garden was littered with stone pines whose trunks remained branchless until they reached twenty feet above the ground, then yielded an umbrella like canopy of limbs and pine needles.  Their shape was ideal for gardens as they provided extensive shade from the sun, yet had very few low level branches to obstruct the magnificent view of the grounds.

After a few close calls with search parties, Hastelloy came around a row of bushes to the base of a Stone Pine tree that rose sixty feet straight up along the north side of the temple.  The tree may have been aesthetically pleasing for the garden, but it was less than ideal for Hastelloy’s attempt to climb the tall tree.  The first branch he could use to pull his body up was about forty feet overhead.  Until he reached that height, he would have to shimmy up the trunk using only the gripping strength his arms and legs could provide.

Hastelloy took one last look around to verify no search parties were near.  Content he was alone and had sufficient time to make the intimidating climb, Hastelloy broke into a sprint toward the tree.  Just before he smacked into the rooted piece of timber, he jumped as high as he could and was able to take two strides up the tree trunk.  When he felt his vertical momentum finally give out, he embraced the column of rough, sappy bark with a hefty bear hug.

He took a look down and was pleased to see he had already managed to scale ten feet of the tree’s height.  He lamented the remaining thirty to go before reaching any branches, however.  Like an inchworm, Hastelloy slinked his way up the tree without a sound.

Finally Hastelloy reached up and grabbed a branch that hung just over his head.  Completely out of breath, but knowing he was so close to his goal, Hastelloy forced his lungs to take one more deep breath.  Then he pulled his knees up to his chest and extended his legs up over the branch and rotated his torso around until his stomach rested on top of the thick branch.

Just then, two men carrying lit torches approached the base of the tree and interrupted his plans.  Afraid he might be seen or heard, Hastelloy performed his best statue impression and brought his labored breathing back under control.

The two men came to a stop forty feet below Hastelloy’s perch.  Unfortunately the torches performed their function admirably and illuminated the area so well that if either man bothered to look up they would spot him with little difficulty.  Fortunately, their search was only focused on ground level as the tree must have appeared to be quite impossible to climb.  Despite his lofty position, Hastelloy had no difficulty listening in to their conversation.

“Why are we still searching?” the younger man asked his elder who sported a well trimmed white beard and mustache.  “I heard they caught him already.”

“No, the one they caught just looked like Senator Brutus but it wasn’t him,” the old man responded in a gruff tone.

“Even so, why do we s
till bother searching for him?  He’s long gone from the city; I guarantee it.”

“Mark Antony issued a
one million sesterces bounty for the capture or death of Brutus.   With that much money at stake we will look until he is found, and that is the end of it.  Now check over behind those bushes to make sure the traitor isn’t back there.”

“You know as well as I the chances of Mark Antony actually paying that money are slim to none,” the young man said with frustration on his way over to the nearby bushes.  He then turned and gestured toward the temple.  “I trust that man about as far as I can throw the temple of Jupiter over there.  Our family will receive no compensation for our efforts whether we catch him or not.”

The elder stomped over to the young man and got right in his face and buried an angry index finger in his sternum.  “Money is not the point.  It is our duty as Romans to avenge Caesar’s murder, and we will honor our duty.”

“Yes
grandfather,” the young man finally conceded as they both moved away from the tree to search the rest of the temple grounds.

When the two were well out of earshot, Hastelloy continued to climb his way up into the dense canopy of the tree and out onto a limb that hung over
the temple roof.  As he did, the branch bent down to the point where Hastelloy simply stepped off the tree limb and onto the bronze tiles. 

To limit the prospect of being seen, Hastelloy lowered himself to
lay flat against the roofline and silently made his way up the gradual slope until he lay just beneath the nickel statue of Jupiter that rested on the front peak of the temple roof.

The statue was built to roughly four times a life size model and glistened in the silver moon light.  Hastelloy climbed into the oversized chariot and was surprised to see how much light reflected off the statue.  The chariot had the potential to be a dark, unworkable space.  Instead, it was almost like having the moon as a flashlight to work by.

Around the base of Jupiter’s massive left foot Hastelloy felt around for a small indentation he knew was there.   Finally his index finger ran across a circular depression on the statue’s surface near the outer left ankle.  Hastelloy held his index finger on the spot as he worked to free a toga clasp he’d attached earlier to his right shoulder. 

Hastelloy brought the circular clasp, which measured three inches in diameter up to eye level and inspected the picture of a proud eagle carved into the decorative piece.  He recalled how concerned he was to lift the clasp off Caesar’s body in plain sight during the funeral.  As he anticipated, everyone present was to
o busy watching Tomal descend the steps to speak so Hastelloy’s nearly imperceptible slight of hand went unnoticed. 

He tilted Caesar’s clasp sideways to inspect the half inch thick rounded edge when he lost his grip on the heavy metal object.  Time screeched to a halt as Hastelloy helplessly watched the clasp fall towards the metal floor of the chariot
and anticipated the reverberating impact it would make.  Everyone within earshot would know his hiding place and converge seeking Tomal’s reward or plain old vigilante justice for their assassinated leader.  However, on its way to making a resounding clank the clasp passed next to the statue’s left leg and suddenly attached itself to the nickel surface with only a faint click.

Hastelloy let out a sigh of relief.  With his heart rate still racing, he reached down with his right hand to pry the clasp free.  He failed to move the circular object as the magnetic bond between it and the statue was remarkably intense.  He brought his left hand to bear on the task and still was
unable to make it move.  With nothing else left to try, Hastelloy took his right foot and stepped up onto the clasp and put his full body weight onto it.

At first there was no movement, but once Hastelloy began bouncing his body up and down on the tiny foothold it moved.  Inch by inch the clasp made its way down toward the indentation Hastelloy found a few minutes before. 

When the clasp finally made it over the ridge of the circular depression, it dropped out from under his feet. Hastelloy landed and steadied himself by grasping the statues enormous calf muscle.  He heard the click of a lock releasing directly beneath him and without warning, the entire base of the chariot dropped open to reveal a dark room below that lay between the ceiling of the temple and the peaked roofline.

“Clever,” Hastelloy said softly while he leaned over the opening to have a closer look.  Every edge of the door touched a joint, either against the chariot wall, or the base of Jupiter’s feet, so the seams were imperceptible.  The only way Hastelloy knew
the door existed was through his bribery of the men who worked on the temple’s construction.

Even with his currency greasing the intelligence wheels, Hastelloy still needed to do a fair amount of detective work to piece it all together.  Only one worker knew of the magnetic clasp Caesar commissioned, and that worker mysteriously disappeared the very day he finished his work.  Only one worker knew of the trap door, and he also vanished the moment his work was complete, the same for the artisan who molded the enormous statue of Jupiter.  In all, two dozen men lost their lives so Caesar could create this chamber, a hidden room only he knew existed, and only he knew how to gain entry; or so Caesar thought.

By the silver moonlight, Hastelloy was able to look into the room below well enough to see the polished white marble floor was only ten feet below.  He also spotted a metal ladder built into the chamber’s back wall that allowed him to enter and exit the room with ease.

“Let’s see what we have,” Hastelloy whispered
while retrieving the metal clasp.  He then made his way down the ladder to enter Caesar’s private worship chamber.

O
n his way down, Hastelloy craned his neck around to inspect the room.  The chamber was surprisingly small given the temple’s size.  It was a square room with ten foot walls on each side.  In the middle sat a desk and chair pointed toward the far wall with two unlit floor lanterns flanking each side of the desk.  On top of the desk sat two pieces of parchment along with a quill and inkwell.  Next to the ladder, attached to the wall, hung a thick candle that would take a hundred years to burn itself out.  The candle was encased in red colored glass that gave the walls of the room a bloody hue.

Hastelloy let go of the ladder and stepped over to the candle.  He tore a piece of fabric from his tunic and used the candle to set it on fire.  He then used his makeshift mat
ch to light both floor lanterns which soon filled the small room with a bright orange and yellow glow. 

He was about to inspect the papers on the desktop when a haunting voice
enveloped the room with soft spoken words, “I sense a presence that is not pure of heart.”

“Oh get a new line,” Hastelloy said in a bored, offhanded tone while taking a seat at the desk and picked up the two pages.  “Your underling said those exact same words to me when I paid him a visit.  I expected better from the king of the gods.”

“Blasphemy,” the soft phantom voice said, playing like the words hurt its feelings.

“Hah,” Hastelloy laughed.  “That word implies bringing offense to one’s god, and you are no god, Go
ron.  You do keep trying though which makes me conclude you are not a well individual.  Every time I run into you, you keep trying to set yourself up as a deity.  Is there some inferiority complex inherent to your species I never knew about?”

“I could spend several lifetimes
adding up all the things you do not know about the Alpha,” Goron’s voice replied.  “It amused me to no end hearing that our ability to preserve a life force came as such a shock to you.  How could you miss something like that?  It’s like flying past a supernova and failing to notice the flash - pathetic.”

Hastelloy put down the couple of pages
in his hands and looked up at the ceiling, for lack of a better place to focus his vision as he spoke to Goron’s formless voice.  “Pathetic is not having a body anymore.  Seriously, if your people went to the trouble to defy nature by preserving a life force after the body dies, why not go all the way and regenerate the physical form as well?”