Empire Of The Undead (18 page)

“More. I am braver than you, though,” Iullianus grinned, “and Romans don’t have kings.”

“Certainly not,” agreed Decabalus. “One man who rules half the world, with wealth enough to buy armies and navies, who can conquer a nation with a word—he is certainly no king.”

“Exactly,” said Iullianus. “The Romans are masters of saying one thing and meaning another. I accepted your aid with gratitude, and I welcome the men you send with me as well. But the man I need to bring is the alchemist.”

“He’s long gone, dead, or worse,” Decabalus said, lowering his voice and glancing to Rowanna a little too late.

“Not him. The goat-looking one, who constantly looks as though he’s sitting upon a hornet’s nest,” Iullianus said, drawing a smile from Rowanna. “He said it himself. He knows the cure.”

“Which my people will need.”

“So too the world.”

Decabalus was silent as he thought. “No, I cannot chance it. You might not make it to Rome. The Caesar may not believe you, or understand the necessity. You likely will be thrown into chains and sold into slavery without even getting a chance to tell them. I can have him write it down.”

“Not good enough,” Iullianus said quietly. "If we are bit on the way, we will need him. We will need the cure."

“I cannot help the Romans. Do not think I forget why you came here. I am a reasonable man, but do not presume to dictate my course,” Decabalus said, his voice boiling with rage. “I lost many men saving you, you who came to kill and enslave my people. I did not do so in order for you to command me.”

“I guess this is me warning you,” Iullianus said. His smile was a bare blade.

“I’m afraid my decision is final.”

Iullianus moved so quickly that Rowanna didn’t have time to cry out. Decabalus was fast though. He had half-risen, his hand on the hilt of his sword, when the red-haired man’s blade pierced his chest.

He eyes fell upon the weapon. Iullianus grabbed the hilt with both hands and twisted.

“Ah, it is regrettably true that man is a wolf to man,” he said softly. “But you cannot put your needs above the worlds.”

As Decabalus’ body slid into the snow, spurting crimson, Rowanna glanced at the camp with panic. So far, no one had noticed. Most were still asleep, and it was considered improper to approach the leaders with matters less than urgent.

She didn’t even realize that she was in danger until she heard the footsteps. The big man was before her. His blade drip, drip, dripped steaming blood into the snow.

“Do not scream,” he said.

She found herself strangely ready. So many had died already, and this could be a clean death. An end to pain, fear, and cold. She could find some solace in that. “Do it,” she said, bowing her head before him. Her hands reached up and moved the hair from the back of the neck. “Make it quick,” she said. Head down, she only saw the white snow, but she could hear the blood falling into it.

“Hera’s swollen nipples woman, have you got a pair,” Iullianus said. “You heard what he said. He gave me a choice of killing him or letting the world die. I don’t have to kill you. Unless you scream, but I would truly prefer not to kill another today.”

“I would truly prefer not to die today,” she answered, wondering if she was telling the truth. Wondering if she knew what truth was anymore. The cold peace of death had seemed utterly comforting. “But how will you get the alchemist now?”

Iullianus looked in surprise at the dead king’s body below him and at the bloody sword in his hand. “You know, I hadn’t really given it any thought yet.”

CHAPTER XX

Rome: 88 CE, Winter

Rufus sat down warily in the Emperor’s study. He had been waiting for far too long and it was already late afternoon by the time he came in. Apart from the Emperor’s Praetorian Guards and a half-dozen servants, he was alone with Domitian. This was unusual, and it left him feeling unsettled and edgy.

“Salve, Rufus,” Domitian said perfunctorily. Rufus responded in kind and looked closer at the man across from him.

The Emperor was ill. He had dark circles under his eyes and he was growing a beard. He had gained weight noticeably since the last time Rufus had seen him, and his head was nearly bald. Only some long, wispy hairs on the sides of his head attested to the Emperor having ever had hair. The study was clean, but there were flies everywhere, crawling on the Emperor’s clothes and bare skin. Domitian seemed not to notice.

The Emperor looked straight at Rufus, his cheeks blushing with excitement.

“I know what you are doing,” he said. “Did you really think you could hide it from me?”

He knew.
It was never a good time to cross the Emperor, but now was particularly bad. Just last month, a man named Mettius Pompusianus had been put to death for the crimes of having a map of the world painted on his wall and reading the speeches of kings in Livy. Rufus knew Pompusianus, and the man probably had been conspiring against the Emperor, but he had to admit that his own guilt seemed much more evident. He had not updated his will in months.

None of that stress showed. His face did not as much as twitch. “I hide nothing from you, Caesar. I am your servant.” 

Domitian laughed. “Yes, my loyal servant. If half my court were as loyal as you, I would have no cares. I would be the greatest Emperor that Rome had ever seen. Oh, what I could do if all had such loyalty as you, Rufus.”

“Just so, Caesar,” said Rufus, ignoring the obvious sarcasm. He brushed a fly from his arm. It sailed onto the ground and slowly flew back into the air.

“I know you are building an army, Rufus,” the Emperor said.

“It’s not an army, Augustus. I merely worry—”

Domitian laughed again, a high nervous laugh. “You expect my guard to slit your throat right here, I suspect. I know why you have acquired men of valor and fame.”  He lowered his voice and leaned in closer to Rufus, though they were alone. “It’s to kill
them
, isn’t it?  You see, I remember. You warned the Senate, fools that they were, and they did not listen.”

Rufus remembered very well who had not listened that day, but it was folly to point that out. “I have learned it is better to take a false threat seriously, than to ignore a credible menace, Caesar. But I did not know the full danger that the creatures represent, of course.”

Domitian was silent for no short amount of time. He looked everywhere in the room, save for at Rufus. At last he said, quietly: “The gladiator Torquatus died soon after his fight. He is no longer dead. He is no longer Torquatus.”

Rufus stared in surprise. There were several flies on Domitian’s arm now, but he did not seem to notice them.

“Caesar, I did not know,” he said.

“No one knows. I have kept this knowledge from all but my most trusted slaves,” Domitian said. “But you know what it means.”

Rufus thought of several things, but was not sure what Domitian meant.

"
Mortui non mordent
. As Theodotus said to the Egyptians, the dead do not bite. But the world has changed. The dead can return to life,” the Emperor said. “Believe me. When that savage Celt in Dacia sent me the prisoner, it was with dire warnings. I had the creature in here, where you are sitting now. I have it in prison now, in a cell with that philandering actor, Paris. He has been making eyes at my niece, Julia. If Jupiter is good, it will kill him, or at least gnaw off his cock. But this is no joke. What I saw in the amphitheater only confirmed what I had already learned.”

“Ah, how can I help you, Caesar?  My men are more than willing to aid, of course.”

Domitian motioned and a
servus
brought him his wine. It was kept in a chest packed with snow transported daily from the Alps, so that it would always be chilled. That, Rufus mused, was the difference between even the richest, most powerful Senator, and the Emperor.

“My dreams have been troubling of late, Rufus. I dreamt I was in a forest, alone, and then the trees died and shriveled away and there was nothing. And then I saw light, and from that light came Minerva, and she threw away her sword and spear and shield, into the darkness, into non-existence. Her clothes followed, and I was staring at her nipples. They were entirely white, even whiter than her heavy pale breasts, and I couldn’t look away from them. She saw my attention, frowned at me. I think her breasts frowned at me, or at least, I understood they did not appreciate my staring. Suddenly, she was rising, mounted upon a chariot drawn by white horses, and together they turned and plunged into the abyss.”

Rufus had not realized that the Emperor was declining into insanity so quickly. There were flies crawling over him and he still did not notice. “White nipples, Caesar?” he asked.

“The dead are coming back to life. What man does not have secrets?  What man does not wish the dead to stay buried?” Domitian said.

“Wise words,” said Rufus.

“Can you picture a small posting station, just north of here?  An important man died there, one of the best that Rome has ever seen,” Domitian said. His voice was sad.

Rufus breathed deeply and willed his heart to stop beating so quickly.
He knew this too?
  It was impossible, but somehow the Emperor knew. All this then had been a game.

“Caesar,” he said, fighting the urge to run, “I can explain.”

“I killed him,” Domitian said, not listening. “I plotted against him and when he fell ill, at the very same location our father died. How fitting. I poisoned him!  How could I not?  The gods could not have spoken to me more clearly. Now, Minerva has fallen to the abyss. She who is divine has left the world we’ve created. What power has the gods when the dead roam the earth?  I know he is out there. I know that Titus is coming for me.”

Rufus’ felt relief, but it was short-lived. Hearing a confession such as this was tantamount to a death sentence in its own right. He was also surprised, too surprised to hide it. Another fly landed on Rufus’ arm. He tried to brush it off, but the creature did not move. He flicked it, and his finger connected solidly—the insect went flying away.

“Vile rumors, Caesar. I knew you both and this does not—”

Once again, Domitian interrupted him.

“The sea hare. I have to take action, Rufus. Titus is coming for me. I can’t even guess who else. Our father?  Nero, whom we dethroned?  Augustus Caesar himself?  The dead rise and all of them will come for me. If they still exist, the gods must be laughing now—to be Emperor now, when the world is ending.”

“Take action, then,” Rufus urged. “I will head north, with my men, and kill any lifeless we see. They need never reach Rome.”  Rufus was fairly certain that Proculus was really dead, but it would not hurt to be prudent. He had a niggling feeling that even if alive, Proculus was not a problem worth considering. If he met with Titus, he could make sure the emperor’s walking corpse stayed dead as well.

“North,” Domitian said. “That’s a start. I still have intelligence, you know. There are still some loyal to the throne, even if the gods themselves have abandoned us. I sent out spies after you warned us. At first, I heard nothing. Just another system of rumors that fed upon themselves. Recently, the reports have multiplied. The creatures have moved from Dacia, into both Moesias. Soon they will be in Italy herself. Ever do they draw closer. Ever does he draw closer.”

“What can I do?” Rufus asked. Three flies were on his arm now. They were sluggish and uncoordinated. He suddenly realized what that meant and forgot to breathe.

“Emperor,” he said, his voice rushed and urgent, “you said you had the creature in here?  I think these flies must have something of the curse. They must have sucked from his sweat or his blood. If they could bite, we would both be dead. Or worse.”

Rufus slapped at the one on him, squishing them and smearing their guts against his arms and legs. They smelled awful, like rotting guts and feces. Domitian reached into a sheaf of papyrus on his desk and his hand emerged with a stylus. He stabbed the creatures. They offered no resistance and many fell to his blade.

Two guards were beside the Emperor immediately, but he shook them off with a smirk. For the first time in ages, Domitian actually looked happy. He had stabbed a dozen of more flies and for now, the room was empty of them. Rufus called for a
servus
to wash the guts from his arm.

“Decisive action,” Domitian said. “I need more of that. Every great emperor took decisive action when the time came, and every failed Emperor did not.”  He spoke slower now, the manic cadence of his speech fading away. “This then is my Actium. I am raising five new legions. The port cities will be closed—Ostia, Brundisium, Ravenna, Pisa and Misenum. And send the Legio II Adiutrix to Tuscany. I want them to build a wall so big that it stops anyone—anything—from invading. A wall that stretches from sea to sea.”

“You want to close down Italy?”

“That is what I said. It’s the only way to be safe.”

“Dominus, I assure you—we need the ports. Food, slaves, wine, everything comes from overseas. The people will starve.”

“Oh, let them starve,” Domitian agreed cheerfully. “Enough circuses and even the bread doesn’t matter.”

Rufus tried once more. “Our grain grows overseas. Our fleets buy fish from overseas. Our beer and wine come from overseas. Without our ports, Rome is nothing. Money will be meaningless and chaos will spread. The empire will crumble.”

Domitian’s face didn’t change in the slightest. He gave no indication that he had even heard the Senator. “He won’t get me. I won’t let him. I killed him once and I’ll do it again, if need be.”  He stabbed the stylus into the wood before him. The thin blade quivered once, twice, and then fell over onto the desk with a muffled clang.