Empire Of The Undead (5 page)

They sat down on benches next to the thermopoli. It was between ientaculum and midday, so not many people were eating, but for fat men and growing boys, any time was a good time to eat. Most of the other customers who were there were slaves, enjoying their day off.

“So,” Hyacinthus said, with his mouth full of bread and sausage, “you have enough money now.”

“I know,” he said. His excitement was hard to hide. “Two hundred sesterces,” he said, resisting the urge to count them again. It was more money than he’d ever had.  “I can race tomorrow.”  He popped a date in his mouth.

“You can,” the Greek man agreed, in a tone that suggested the exact opposite. “Are you sure you want too?”  Behind them, the city of Rome flowed as citizens and slaves moved into the bathhouses and the amphitheater. The roar of the crowd periodically echoed from the theater.

“Am I sure? It’s what I’ve been practicing for, and training for. Jupiter’s cock, yes, it’s what I want!”

“Freedom makes for a dangerous dream. Many slaves dream of earning their freedom, boy. Some do, but not until they are old. Older than me,” Hyacinthus said. “Only a few will win enough even to pay their registration fees.”

“At least it pays better than your plays. All you get is a free dinner and that only when you’ve earned great applause,” Felix snapped.

The big man’s reply was stern, but not angry. “You are ten and six years now, a man grown. You must not say foolish things, or there will be trouble. Besides,” he added, “I always get great applause, and you should see the size of my meals. They’d do better to pay me in sesterces.”

****

Felix walked quickly, worried that he had missed most of the day’s entertainment. Registering for the chariot races had, of course, been the most important thing. It had to come first, but he’d never expected it to take so long. He’d certainly missed the crucifixions. The mock battles also would be over by now. He hoped to make it back by evening, to watch the two greatest gladiators in the world, Verus and Priscus, fight against one another. That was exciting, but it paled compared to the inner energy bubbling through him as he thought about tomorrow.

He walked through Subura, the slum that led to the forum. Earlier today, it had made him nervous. He had walked along these narrow cobblestone streets daily, past barber shops, restaurants, and clothing stores, but never with so much money. For the first time ever, he had been a potential target, and there were enough thieves, brigands and whores that some had been bound to notice the outline of the purse. He’d made it through, and through other dangerous areas on his way to the Hippodrome.

It had taken too long, however, to complete everything. He'd had no one to vouch for him, and had to bribe the man with all his coin to complete the registration. It didn't matter. He'd earn the money back. He had to.

“Saluton, Felix,” a voice said. Felix whirled around, spooked, but it was only Carpophorus. The man was a few years older than Felix was, and much taller. He was already a skilled bestiarius, and was to be part of the second half of the games, like Felix.

“Salve friend. Killed any leopards today?” That particular feat had won Carpophorus' adoration amongst the boys his age. His fame was growing throughout the city.

“Leopards are easy,” he said with the confidence only an eighteen year old boy could muster. “I'm ready for the biggest. Lions, bears, tigers. I can do it.”

“I will race on the morrow.”

“Truly?  I will watch. But you missed much excitement,” the bestiarius said. “This afternoon's game matched three lions against a rhinoceros. A white one, with double horns. The rhino wouldn’t fight the lions, and attacked a bull that was waiting on the side.”

Felix laughed at the image.

“Yes, everyone cheered and laughed,” Carpophorus said. “They brought out two trainers, who calmed it down. But when a company of spearmen came out, it grew enraged and gored one of the trainers right through the chest, with his horn.”

Felix laughed again.

“The fury of the beast was unmatched. He had the wrath of Titans, and he attacked the bears…”

“Bears?” asked Felix.

“Bears. They came out with the spearmen. The rhino knocked one so hard and so far back that it broke on the wall,” the tall boy paused. “Will you dine with me?” 

“No,” said Felix, tempted. Carpophorus was hugely popular and had never extended such an invitation “I go to watch the fight.”

“Verus and Priscus? Their match is over.”

“Jupiter!” Felix swore. “Who won?”

“Neither. They fought for a long time, and were evenly matched. Titus had both yield to him, so two men fought and two men won.”

“I wish I could have been there,” Felix said. “But when I see you tomorrow, I will be the only one who has won.”

“You have a free day tomorrow?”

“No, but my duties will only last until midday. I shall have plenty of time.”

“I should like to see that,” Carpophorus said. “For now, let us eat some partridges. I know the best thermopoli in the Subura. And I'll buy."

CHAPTER V

Dacia: 83 CE, Autumn

The fire crackled and the wood smoke stretched out with greedy tendrils, smothering all in its vicinity. Zuste coughed as he inhaled the ash-filled air.  It was worth it, and the warmth felt exceedingly good as it struggled against the chill of the night air. The fire was ringed by great stones, which slowly absorbed heat and melted the carpet of snow covering the ground.

They sat high in the Carpathians, some of the highest and longest mountains in the world. A day’s journey up the mountain from Tapae, the mountain outpost that watched over the passes, had brought them here. The pass was one of the few entrances into their mountainous land. It was most important strategically, and should an enemy get past the defenses (of and in) the pass, it was an easy trail to Sarmizegetusa, the biggest city and political center the Dacians had.

This high up, the snowfall began early each autumn and continued to pile up through the winter. It wouldn't disappear from the alpine areas until mid-summer. Though beautiful, it was a harsh land and the forests teemed with bears, wolves, and mountain cats. It was an area that appealed to few, save bandits and hermits.

Zuste was neither bandit nor hermit, but when late summer came, he often journeyed into the mountains. Armed with little other than a bedroll and a pack full of wooden containers, he could spend weeks collecting rare plants and herbs. There were enough lakes spread throughout the mountains that he always had water, and could often catch mountain trout. Many of his fellow alchemists chose to hire woodsmen or bandits to do the actual collecting, but for Zuste, escaping to the mountains was one of best parts of being an alchemist.

He knew the area well, but he was used to hiking up here alone in the warm summer with long days and short nights. Everything was different this time. It was early autumn and far colder than he’d anticipated. He had come up here not to pick aprus or harvest seba, but for information. Though the alchemist had journeyed here alone, he now sat at the large fire surrounded by large men.

Seventeen men, in total, had secretly gathered high in the dark mountain air. There were three men of the Apuli, heavy with armbands and jewelry, who came from the center of Dacia. One wild-haired man of the Buridavenses, from the north, had made it. Three were of the Daci, who lived everywhere, and two were men of the Capri, men who lived between the mountains and the river. Two men of the Suci, including Zuste himself, were included. Three men were outsiders, Sarmatians and Goths.

That made fifteen. The last two were their leader, Diurpaneus, and his chief alchemist. Diurpaneus was tall and fearless, and he was of the Tyragetae, the clan of heroes. His hair was long and straight, his features sharp with nobility, and his eyes burned blue. He wore a wolf pendant around his neck, but no armbands.

The alchemist was called Natopurus. His sour expression was often mistaken for thought, and his long beard gave him the appearance of wisdom. Already he was matched, however, in knowledge by younger alchemists. The more Zuste and others grew in knowledge, the more Natopurus clung to tradition, and yes, even superstition.

Zuste watched as Diurpaneus stood. He meandered away from the fire, into the snow beneath the trees, and pissed.

Zuste waited a few moments and then followed him. His footsteps crunched in the snow.

Diurpaneus had tucked his member back into his leathers when he saw Zuste.

“Not now, man,” Diurpaneus groaned, “I have no time for words of caution. Drink some beer. Enjoy yourself.”

“This is a war council,” Zuste reminded him. Clouds of warmth escaped his mouth as he spoke. He raised his hand to his mouth and chewed absently on his fingernail.

“It’s a party,” Diurpaneus corrected, “and I don’t think I’ll invite you to them anymore.”

“There won’t be any more, Diurpaneus!”  Zuste said, frustrated. “I know that I’m not a warrior, but I have studied with the wise ones. I have seen the seven burning stars, the black flowers grow, and the entrails of the wood martens. It couldn’t be clearer.”

“This is not a new conversation. All the warriors agree. No one can reach us. We live in a natural fortress, surrounded by high mountains on all sides. We have raging rivers to defy even the best equipped army. We have built walls and castles to augment the natural defenses. Zuste, Natopurus, the head of your order, says as much.”

“Tell that to the Belgae, who had a sea to separate them. The Roman Emperor already has created the Limes as they prepare to attack. They will come on this very road, mayhap.”

“Then why? Tell me that. Why here?  What draws them here?” Diurpaneus stared directly into his eyes.

“Rome is but a city, yet, the whole world feels the weight of her boot. They will come because that is what they do. They will come for our food, for our children, for our mines of silver, gold, and iron,” Zuste said.

“I value your wisdom,” Diurpaneus said. “Your knowledge of alchemy is well-known, and you understand many strange portents and signs, but think about it. Dacia is cold, barren. Italy is a sunny, warm, rich land. They are on the sea and can eat fish every day. Even the women there are beautiful, if you can get past their big noses. We won’t see the legions here, my friend. There’s nothing here for them,” Diurpaneus grabbed him by the shoulder. “Come and sit by the fire. Have a drink with me. It is too cold out here.”

Zuste gave up, for the moment, and followed Diurpaneus back to the fire. He realized he was far more sober than the rest of the merry, jesting men. Sitting between two of the Sarmatians, he accepted a drink and a burnt rabbit leg left too long on the fire.

Diurpaneus stood, raising his vessel to the sky. The men joined him with a lusty yell and all quaffed the sour beer. It was custom not to discuss matters of state until all participants were well into their cups. There was truth in wine, it was said. Zuste nibbled on the rabbit leg and savored the smoky flavor.

“I have gathered you, the best and greatest of the Dacians, high in the hills,” Diurpaneus said, striding around the circle of men. “We are here to avoid the ears of our enemies, of whom there are many and more.”  There was no point mentioning them by name, and they had more enemies than just the Romans. “Zuste cautions us to be wary concerning our enemies. I trust his council…”

“You should do no such thing,” yelled Polpum. He was the other Suci here, and a great warrior in his own right, though none too bright. Zuste had always disliked him, and his antipathy was more than returned. “That man is a coward and a shame to our tribe.”

Diurpaneus said nothing, only looked to Zuste. The others all turned to look as well. One of the Sarmatians was so close that his breath filled Zuste’s nostrils. It smelled of burnt meat. The fire crackled merrily.

Zuste stood up. “It’s true that I’m not a warrior, but neither am I a coward. Is it cowardice to see the sunrise in the morning?  To see the ebbs of the tide flow in and out each day?”

Natopurus rose. "Pay not attention to the young pup," he said. "His knowledge is in collecting berries, not matters of statecraft."

"Be sure that the Romans will come," Zuste said, ignoring him. His tone was not as firm as he'd hoped.

“I’d welcome them, by Zalmoxis!” Polpum said. “I could defeat a legion of them with my cock,” he said, springing up and thrusting his member free from his clothes. Most of the gathered men laughed, but Zuste noticed a few who did not. He still had a chance to convince them. Some of them.

“What of the fortresses?” asked the wild-haired man of the Buridavenses. “Do they not protect our lands?”  The fortresses were mighty defensive structures, and nigh indestructible, with walls that were ten meters high and four meters thick surrounding them.

“They are mighty: Sarmizegetusa Regia, Costeşti-Cetăţuie, Costeşti-Blidaru, Piatra Roşie, Băniţa, and Căpâlna,” Zuste said, listing them all slowly. Many of these men would only know their surrounding area. He glanced at Diurpaneus. He hadn’t meant to argue so fiercely. He’d failed to convince Diurpaneus, his friend. It did not seem likely that he could do better with the war band. “Our walls are strong. The valor of our warriors is even more fearsome, but the Romans have never lost a war, and Sarmizegetusa is a few days away, forced march. If the Romans came in enough numbers, they could overwhelm Tapae and continue to Sarmizegetusa in less than a month.”

“What makes you sure that the Romans will come?” asked Natopurus.

“It is in the snow, the flames, and the air around us. The world screams warning to us that can listen. Some wicked, deadly menace is coming.”  The fire crackled but did not otherwise resist, as the darkness surrounded them oppressively. He could not explain how he knew danger was imminent, other than that he did. It was an instinct, a premonition that brooked no argument. Unless he was fooling himself.

His tone, deadly earnest, seemed to have an effect on the men. Even Polpum seemed hesitant.

“This is not true," said the elder alchemist, his long beard wagging as he spoke. "I have seen nothing in the signs. Just this morning, I read the signs of the pine marten’s guts and I saw nothing of import. You are surely mistaken.”

“What if I’m not?” Zuste asked quietly.

“Bah. Even if they do come, we will defeat them. Long ago, the Greeks came. We did not fare so badly.”

“The Romans are not the Greeks. The Greeks invented reason,” Diurpaneus interjected, speaking slowly. “They were civilized.”

Zuste added,  “The Romans are purely unreasonable---once they start marching, there is no end to the hordes that follow. They overrun with sheer numbers and uncontrollable greed.”

“Be that as it may,” countered Natopurus. “The Romans came under their great war chief, Caesar, in the times of our grandfather’s grandfathers. We met them at Histria and we won. Dacia is too strong for even the Romans. Their current leaders are no Caesar, despite their titles.”

“Much has changed,” Zuste said. “The signs have spoken. If you will not listen to the gods, I cannot aid you, but I ask that you give thought to my words. Train more warriors. Build more walls. Prepare for what is to come.”

The portly alchemist heard his own words and wondered if he was mad. The signs had been so clear—yet, why had no one else seen the same?  Was he deluded?  Were they right to belittle his arguments?  No, surely it was better, even if he was wrong, to serve as a voice of caution.

Polpum stood up. There was menace in his bearing. “I say we prepare the Dacian way. By eliminating cowards and those who disagree with us.”  His head snapped, whip-like, to their leader. “Diurpaneus, why is this sniveling fool here?  Let me kill him.”

The leader shrugged. “I can’t stop you from challenging him, but this is a festival. It would be ill to slay one of our own, for little cause.”

Polpum drew his dirk. It was long and impossibly sharp and glinted shards of firelight. Zuste could not look away from it. He had carried no weapons with him, and could not use one if he had. This would be no fight at all, but a murder. He could smell his own blood in the air. Another premonition?  Or just pure fear?

Zuste sat down, ignoring Polpum. “Stand up and face me, you cur.”  This was followed by a host of other threats. Zuste stared past him, into the fire. A few of the others were smiling. That was bad—should Polpum become an object of ridicule, he could slay Zuste outright to salvage his pride. Indeed, the big warrior was advancing upon him, glimmering threat in hand.

The portly alchemist rose and acknowledged his foe at last.

“You are a greater warrior than me. But maybe I’ll get lucky.”  He lunged toward Polpum, dragging his right foot into his left. Falling heavily to the ground, he scraped his elbow and bruised his knee on one of the warm stones. It was a small price to pay, if it worked, and indeed, he was rewarded by laughter from all around him.

Zuste looked up, and saw Polpum sheathe his knife. The warrior leaned down on one knee, pressing his face close to Zuste’s.  “Your prank may have saved you,” he said. “I will not kill you, fat fool, who cowers on the ground like a small child, but someday you must fight. You must learn to stand up and face your opponents. If you are correct, if the Romans are coming, we all must fight. You cannot trick fate forever.”

He moved back to the fire and sat down, indicating that he was done. The Sarmatian beside him nodded begrudgingly. Zuste could sense the hostile stare of Natopurus amidst the jolly faces of the drunken warriors.

“We have heard words of wisdom tonight, truly. I am of the Tyragetae, and I say we shall be wary,” Diurpaneus said. “I swear on the soul of my father, Scorilus, we shall prepare for the Romans, but not by cringing behind walls. No, we shall take the war to them. ”  

The men erupted in jubilation. Diurpaneus lifted his head to the sky and howled, long and full. The men followed him, loping like wolves and howling at the uncaring, cold night sky. Zuste's mouth was filled with ashes.