Gates of Rome by Alex Scarrow
Maddy led Cato back inside, into the portico where Liam, Sal, Bob and Rashim were standing. They stepped through a carpet of the writhing wounded to join them.
She pointed at Rashim. ‘OK … he knows a place where a time window will open.’
‘A time window?’ Cato’s eyes narrowed. ‘That’s a device that lets you travel through –?’
‘Through time, yes. Exactly. And this window opens in three days.’
He shook his head. ‘We’re not going to last three more hours … let alone –’
‘It’s somewhere outside Rome.’
‘You wish to find a way out? Escape?’
Maddy nodded.
‘And what? We’re to stay here and die?’
She had no answer to that. She spread her hands. ‘Look, it’s very hard to explain … but if we can travel home, we can change history back to how it should be. So this never happens.’
Bob stepped forward. He’d been listening to their hasty exchange. ‘Information: Emperor Caligula’s reign lasts only four years. He is assassinated in AD 41 by officers of the Praetorian Guard, and his uncle, Tiberius Claudius Caesar, is made emperor in his place.’
Cato made a face. ‘Claudius? That stuttering cretin couldn’t lead a beggar to coins.’
‘He will be a very successful ruler. During his reign, Britain is successfully conquered and added as a province to the empire. So are Thrace, Lycia and Judaea. He is known for ruling fairly and –’
‘Not now, Bob.’ She placed a hand over his mouth. ‘Point is the last seventeen years should have been very different. Everything that’s happened since the Visitors arrived … it’s all wrong. Them arriving here is what made it go wrong. It changed history from what it should have been.’
Cato studied them both silently for a moment. ‘You can make all of this happen?’
‘Yes!’ replied Maddy. ‘But only if we can get back home.’
Cato pinched his nose thoughtfully.
‘Can you get us out … somehow?’
‘I’m thinking.’
CHAPTER 73
AD 54, Imperial Palace, Rome
Macro finished threading the loops of leather through the fastenings and tightened up the lorica segmentata round his thick torso. It was snug, but he nodded with satisfaction that his portly gut could still be contained by the one-size-fits-all segmented armour.
‘All right, lads!’ he barked as he put on a helmet. ‘Those girls across the garden are probably more frightened of you than you are of them!’
A grim cackle of laughter rippled among the men.
‘Without their horses, they’re just a rabble of rank amateurs. So let’s not worry about ’em too much, eh?’
The red stain of twilight bathed the gardens with their stone pathways and small bushes, young olive trees and the decorative scattering of bodies. The evening was strangely quiet and still. After the last fifteen minutes of fighting, the clash of arms and the roar of raised voices, the silence seemed almost complete.
But Macro heard a low murmur of voices, from men still outside the imperial compound. A low murmur rolling forwards and spreading across the men inside like a wave riding up a shingle beach.
What’s going on out there?
Then he saw movement, over between the stone columns of the gateway, several men on horseback picking their way through the men filing in. All of them roaring support as they suddenly recognized the men on horseback.
Macro cursed as he realized who they were.
Caligula and the Praetorians’ prefect, Quintus.
‘Cato!’ He turned round and looked up the steps. ‘What are you up to?’ he muttered under his breath.
The equites on the far side of the gardens roared with glee at the sight of their emperor and praefectus. Macro watched as they dismounted and disappeared among the mass of men, only to appear a few moments later as the front rank of soldiers parted respectfully to let them through.
Caligula walked slowly towards them, flanked by two of his Stone Men. Quintus had dropped back a dutiful three steps behind.
A dozen yards away he stopped, raised his hands to quieten the equites behind him. An obedient hush swiftly settled across the gardens.
‘I wonder now … what are you lot doing in my home?’ He looked around at the grounds, littered with bodies, the shafts of javelins poking out of the dirt. Divots of displaced soil and trampled flowerbeds.
‘What an awful mess you’ve made!’ He sighed. ‘On any other day, I’d be quite annoyed. But today … today has been a very good day. Soon – very soon now – something truly wonderful is going to happen. I will transform from a man to a god! And Rome will be showered with riches once more. Today … I defeated the last few men who doubted me. Two legions of fools, commanded by their foolish general … wiped out.’
‘Praetorians!’ He took a step closer. ‘My good men,’ he said with hands spread. ‘I hear you have done your duty well, defended my home against those you thought had come to ransack it. For that I thank you all … and I forgive you.’
Macro took a step back from his line of men, climbed the half-dozen steps up to the portico entrance. He saw Cato deep in conversation with the others.
‘But I’m afraid you have been misled … tricked,’ continued Caligula. ‘Tricked by officers who were in league with General Lepidus. Conspirators, fellow disbelievers, traitor–’
Macro put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Cato looked up. Caligula paused and an expression of irritation at the rude interruption flashed across his face. The three ranks of sweating, grim-faced and blood-spattered soldiers on the steps swivelled their heads to look up at Macro.
An entire battlefield frozen in a moment, silent, and every pair of eyes on him.
Macro shrugged then grinned. ‘Load of bollocks!’ he roared loudly.
It sounded like a breeze rustling through the small orchard of baby olive trees. But in fact, it was a ripple of gasps spreading among the men on both sides.
‘You’re not going to be a god. You’re just an idiot!’
That rustling breeze again. Followed by a silence. He could see the ‘o’s of mouths open, aghast, in every direction.
Stuff this.
He spotted an unused javelin on the floor nearby. And in one swift movement bent down, picked it up and hurled it towards Caligula. It arced lazily through the air, every pair of eyes on the seemingly endless trajectory of the wobbling wooden shaft and glinting iron tip until it dug into the dirt between Caligula’s planted feet with a dull thud.
Caligula stared wide-eyed at the shaft as it wobbled in front of him. He reached out for the wooden shaft, pulled it free of the ground and then tossed the javelin to one side. His face split with a grin as he laughed with delight.
‘Do you see now? No one can kill a god.’
Fronto’s men began to stir and fidget unhappily.
Macro backed up across the entrance portico towards the others, nearly tripping over and losing his footing on the legs of one of the dying.
‘A full pardon for all you men!’ cried out Caligula. ‘And a thousand sestertii for the one who brings me that man’s head!’
‘I think we’d better run!’ rasped Macro.
Cato nodded. ‘I think you’re right.’
Together they turned and headed back into the dimly lit halls of the palace as some of the quicker-witted Praetorian Guards began to climb the steps in hungry pursuit of their bounty.
CHAPTER 74
AD 54, Imperial Palace, Rome
Cato led them all back down the palace’s main hallway. They passed by the secret passageway they’d emerged from five minutes earlier.
‘Where are we going?’ called out Maddy.
‘There’s a slaves and merchants’ entrance on the far side of the palace. If we’re lucky, that idiot, Quintus, won’t have thought to block it off yet.’
‘He’s not exactly the sharpest arrow in the quiver,’ said Macro, puffing as they jogged.
The hallway ended at the grand atrium and, as they emerged into it, they saw on the far side a dozen soldiers emerging from the hallway opposite. Not men of Fronto’s century but equites.
‘On the emperor’s orders, you there! … Stay where you are!’ echoed a voice.
Cato hissed a curse. ‘Too late!’
‘We’re going back!’ cried Rashim. ‘Back to my cage!’
‘Be quiet!’ grunted Macro as they reversed into the flickering, lamp-lit gloom of the main passageway again.
‘This isn’t good,’ said Maddy. ‘We’re going to be trapped!’
‘My cage!’ trilled Rashim. ‘Going back! Yes! My cage! My Stone –’
‘I said be quiet,’ Macro snapped, raising a threatening fist.
‘The Stone Men!’ said Maddy. ‘He’s right! Rashim … he could reboot them!’
The word didn’t translate well for her and Macro offered her a puzzled glare. ‘Put some boots on them? What the –?’
She tried again. ‘Reactivate them! Awaken them!’
Cato nodded. ‘Yes …’ He turned to Rashim. ‘Can you do this? Make them take your orders?’
‘Oh yes, yes … I can make magic work!’
Cato pointed his sword back the way they’d come. ‘Then back! Back there quickly!’
They turned. Cato grasped Rashim’s painfully thin wrist and dragged him along as he jogged ahead with Macro. Bob bounded after them, Liam bouncing and groaning on his huge back. The girls kept pace either side, looking anxiously back over their shoulders at the clatter and jangle of armour and harnesses and the slap of pursuing nailed army sandals on the stone floor.
‘Here! It’s this one!’ shouted Sal suddenly. ‘This one!!’
She stepped towards the drape, pulled it aside to reveal the concealed passageway. They stepped in just as some more voices challenged them from further up the main hallway.
‘IN! IN! IN!’ screamed Rashim.
They stepped through the opened oak doors into the darkness inside. Bob placed Liam down on the floor, retrieved the locking bar from outside and brought it in. Then he quickly pushed the heavy doors to. He slid the locking bar across both sets of looped handles on the inside. The doors were secure for the moment.
A candle still flickered beside Rashim’s opened cage and by its light they saw the Stone Men, standing where they’d been left, calmly watching the commotion going on around them.
Rashim shuffled over to the nearest of them, out of breath and struggling to keep on his bow legs and arched feet. Sal hurried over and held an arm before he collapsed.
‘Thank you …’ he whispered. He turned to the Stone Man in front of him.
‘You are … you are in full diagnostic m-mode? Yes?’
‘Affirmative. All systems are nominal.’
Cato whispered to Macro in the dark. ‘I’ve only ever heard their leader talk,’ he said. ‘And only on one occasion.’
‘They sound like devils,’ Macro growled suspiciously.
‘I … I wish to talk to you.’ Rashim’s voice seemed to have settled. A lower, calmer timbre; a less manic delivery. ‘What is your current … mission status?’
‘I have no stated mission.’
‘That’s very good. And tell me, who was your last authorized user?’
‘Temporary-User Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. Also known as Caligula.’
‘Your … your last registered user is no longer authorized to issue you commands. Is … is that understood?’
The clone nodded. ‘You will need to provide me with a system password before I accept that as a command protocol.’
‘Of course. Of course.’ Rashim frowned for a moment. Long enough that Maddy felt her heart sink. He’s forgotten. Perhaps not surprising given that his hacking of these support units happened so many years ago.
‘Ahh … yes!’ Rashim slapped his head several times. ‘… I … I have it. I have it!’
‘Please state your password,’ the Stone Man calmly repeated.
‘The pass … the password is Patrick Starfish?’
The Stone Man’s eyes glinted by candlelight as his head slowly swivelled down to regard Rashim. ‘Your password is correct and accepted.’
‘I am your user now,’ muttered Rashim.
The clone nodded. ‘That is correct.’
‘And these people are my … friends. Protect them.’
It looked up from Rashim at the others, a smooth, cool sweep of machine-like eyes. ‘Affirmative.’
Rashim giggled. Pleased with himself. ‘Transmit your updated status and accepted password to your friend … over there.’ It nodded and began blinking rapidly. A moment later, the other Stone Man stirred to life and swept the chamber with its gaze.
Rashim turned to look at the others and spread a gummy smile. ‘Our friends now. Yes indeed.’
The oak doors suddenly rattled under the impact of something outside; the locking bar jumped as a vertical thread of light from outside appeared momentarily between them.
‘They’ve found us,’ said Bob.
Maddy looked at him then the others. ‘Well, that’s just fantastic … now we really are trapped!’
CHAPTER 75
AD 54, Imperial Palace, Rome
‘NO!’ shouted Rashim. He pointed to the ground. Dropped down to his knees and spread his fingers on the floor, caressing the stone almost tenderly. ‘Below … I hear it whisper … every night! My ocean … in my world!’
Cato looked at Maddy. ‘What is that mad fool saying now?’
She shook her head. He was talking in English. Gibberish. Might as well have been in Mongolian.
Rashim rolled his eyes with frustration. ‘Water, you fools! Dripping water!’ And again in Latin for Cato and Macro’s benefit.
‘Of course!’ Cato dropped down to his knees. ‘Running water!’ He looked up. ‘A network of sewers beneath the palace! Somewhere beneath this floor … we just need to dig –’
‘Dig?’ Macro shrugged. ‘With what?’
The oak doors boomed and rattled again, more insistently this time. ‘They are using a battering ram,’ said Bob. ‘These doors will not last for long.’
Cato pulled his gladius from its sheath and dug the tip of the blade into the hairline seam between the stone tiles. With a soft crack, the clay cementing the tile gave up its hold and the tile dislodged with a puff of dust and grit. ‘Come on, Macro! Help me!’
Macro produced his sword, knelt down and did likewise, both of them gouging at the floor frantically.
‘Help them!’ said Rashim, pointing. ‘Dig … dig us a hole!’
Both Stone Men chorused an ‘affirmative’, produced their own blades and joined in hacking into the tiles.
The doors boomed again, accompanied by the sound of cracking wood. Bob braced his back against the doors, supporting the locking bar with his own substantial weight. ‘We will not have long,’ he cautioned.
Maddy looked at Liam. ‘How are you doing?’
He grinned. ‘Not so bad. Getting used to the sting now.’
‘That’s good,’ she whispered and smiled. ‘We’re getting out of here, you know.’
Cato dug frantically at the dried clay floor beneath the dislodged tiles, his sword gouging out fist-sized chunks, rust-red and crumbly. The four of them quickly had a crater three foot across and several uneven inches deep. He cursed under his breath. ‘How deep do we have to dig?’
‘Water … down there!’ hissed Rashim. ‘Beneath our feet, yes? I hear it every night!’
Sal picked up a candle and headed towards the piles of dusty equipment.
‘Where you going, Sal?’ called out Maddy.
She pointed at the piles of artefacts on the floor. ‘Maybe there’s something we can use from over there?’
‘Sure, uh … OK, go look.’
‘You must dig faster,’ suggested Bob.
Cato peered down at the rust-coloured clay. His sword tip was hitting and sparking on stone again. Another layer. By the flickering candle nearby he could see little. Desperately he scrabbled with his fingers, feeling for another seam to wedge the tip of his blade into.
Sal squatted down next to the pile of things. Her hands pulled at the threads and edges of half-seen things: clothes, shoes, glasses, boots … a child’s toy, the dark and cracked touch-screen of a long-dead holo-data pad. But nothing remotely useful.
Come on … come on!
The cavernous chamber boomed again.
She thrust her hand deeper into the piles of things, fumbling, patting, pulling, feeling for something that might help them. Her index finger caught in something and wrenched painfully as she struggled to twist her finger free.
It scraped out of something. A hole. She pulled clothes and boots aside until she found herself staring at a small iron grille in the floor. She could hear it, coming up through the grille, the unmistakable soft trickle of water.
That’s what Rashim had heard. That’s where the noise had been coming from!
‘Over here!’ she cried. ‘Over here! There’s a grille!’
The men looked up from their digging, a moment’s hesitation – no more. Not a clue between them as to what she was saying. She wished she had one of those buds. ‘Shadd-yah, Maddy! Tell them! There’s like a sewage grating or something! Right here!’
Maddy did, and both Romans were out of their shallow crater and beside her moments later.
Once again Cato used the tip of his sword and levered the iron grille out of the floor. Macro helped him, grunting as, between them, they slid it to one side.
‘That’s it,’ said Cato, leaning over the small hole and peering down into the darkness. The faintest reflection of candlelight glinted back at him. The foul smell of rancid effluent was overpowering.