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  Men fought with more haste in an attempt to save the men from their fate. Down the line the change in momentum was carrying the fight to the Risen and their numbers were beginning to thin. Men found themselves with no enemy in front of them and began dropping their shields in order to chase down new foes to kill.

  The crush around the cavalry was coming to an end as men dragged Risen off bodies that they were already eating, even in the middle of the fight. Victims of the undead were quickly put out of their misery, some begged to be killed before they died and turned. It didn’t take long before men began to look around themselves and realize they had cleared the beach of the creatures and had survived their first encounter with the undead. The cheering was loud but short lived as men began to count the cost of what had happened. Men lay all around them, mostly dead but some waiting to die.

  Fabius turned to his aide. “Give orders that the beach is to be secured and a camp is to be set up over the ridge. I want a full count of the dead.” He thought for a moment. “Send word to Emperor Titus that his legions are ready to receive him as soon as he is ready. Tell him that they have won him a great victory today.” He used the honorific, as did all men in the Greek Legions. They refused to accept Otho as the rightful emperor and would never do so. There was, to them, only one emperor and that was the man they would die for, Titus, son of Vespasian and the rightful ruler of Rome.

  Chapter Two

  “The empire simply cannot survive if we carry on with this policy of protecting the city of Rome and ignoring the world outside these walls. How long do we think the current food supplies will last? It won’t be long before the people of Rome are starving and then all will be lost. Every farm that is destroyed, every field of crops that isn’t harvested and every fishing boat that doesn’t land a catch is another nail in the coffin of the empire.” Praetor Rufius Fascallus was in a rage of impotence as his voice was drowned out by the baying of jeers inside the senate house.

  An elderly looking man was pushed to his feet by the men around him. The speaker pointed in his direction. “The house recognizes Marcus Junius”.

  The ancient senator stood and tottered for a moment before he spoke in a high, clear voice that did not fit his age. “It is folly to think that the Praetorian guard can fight this new threat out in the open field. They would need reinforcements and as we all know, the Greek legions are loyal to the traitor Titus!” He waited a moment while the clamour in the house rose and died away. “The legions in Germania are, at best, cut off and at worst, already lost. Governor Clemens did well to try to warn us of the threat but he will be of little help to Rome now. We have messengers on the way to Spain, as you are all aware. Until we hear when they will arrive back in Italy, we are really left with no choice but to defend Rome. Emperor Otho is doing what is best for the empire.”

  Fascallus stood back up in a rage. “Emperor Otho is doing what is best for Emperor Otho.” There was a shocked silence as the words rang around the senate chamber. Half of the house seemed to be smiling at the mistake the praetor had just made and the other half was wincing at the trouble Fascallus had just brought down on his own head. He stuttered for a moment before he sat down heavily.

  A strong voice from the back of the room spoke up, making every head in the house turn in his direction. “No, please Fascallus, carry on. I’m intrigued to hear the rest of your thoughts. You were just telling the house that I am using policy to serve myself. That was the crux of your admittedly short argument.” Otho stood in his legion officer's uniform. He wore it everyday that he appeared in public. A constant reminder of his military background and a threat to those who had risen to the senate through other means.

  Fascallus seemed to realize he was in a tight corner as he stood up to face the emperor. None of them had known Otho was in the chamber, at least none that would not call themselves his supporter.

  “I was merely arguing the point that the damage being done to the empire at large would eventually damage Rome itself. We cannot feed our people on fresh air,” Fascallus began.

  “You were arguing that I was using the empire to further my own ambition,” Otho returned at him in a voice that was trained on the battlefield and brooked no argument. “What you seem to forget is that my ambition has nowhere else to go. I am the Emperor of Rome. My ambition is Rome’s ambition. When people speak of Rome they speak of Otho Caesar, when they think of Rome they think of me. If I do anything to further my own ambition, I also do it for the good of Rome.”

  Fascallus looked at Otho with contempt on his face. “You do what you do in order to defend yourself against the revenge of Titus!” He spat the words across the half empty senate chamber. “You rid yourself of half of your enemies in the purge and now you are destroying the empire in order to protect yourself from the last and greatest of them.” Fascallus seemed to know he had gone too far but he held himself as still as a statue as he waited for Otho’s reply.

  The house was shocked into silence as Otho made his way down between the benches and onto the open floor in the middle of the chamber. He betrayed nothing of his feelings and walked calmly, taking in the senators around him. Not a man dared to speak as his gaze found them. Eventually he turned back to Fascallus.

  “Are you a traitor, Fascallus?” he asked in a mild voice. The senators that lined the benches seemed to lean forward in order to better hear the answer.

  “I want what is best for Rome. As we all do,” Fascallus answered with just the smallest tremor in his voice. He looked around for moral support but only a few would meet his eye.

  “I don’t think that answered my question, Fascallus. Do you want me to ask it again?” Otho was beginning to put a hard menacing edge to his voice. He walked to the edge of the chamber floor and stood close enough to the men in the front row that they had to lean back, away from him.

  “No, emperor. I am not a traitor,” Fascallus answered through gritted teeth.

  “Really? That’s funny, it seemed like traitorous talk that I heard as I came into the chamber. It certainly sounded like I was listening to a traitor when you spoke of Titus, just now. You called him great, did you not? A man who has been declared an enemy of Rome and you stand in the senate chamber and call him great! What conclusion is this house to draw from such words?” He finished his speech by lifting his hands to the sky and turning to include every man in the chamber.

  “I want what is best for Rome and its people, Otho. I want our army at its strongest and the cities protected from the undead menace. If we could find a way to bring Titus back into this house and add his men to the legions we already have, we will be equipped to deal with the plague that has befallen us.”

  Otho held up his hand. “Fascallus, I can forgive many things. You question my motives and I am willing to stand and debate with you. You talk of an enemy of Rome as if you would rather see him on the throne than me and I will answer your concerns. However, forget to call me by my title one more time and I will spill your guts on this floor.” He stepped up towards Fascallus, men scattered to either side rather than get in his way. The senators on the far side of the chamber were clamouring to get a better view of what was about to happen. “I ask you one final time, Fascallus. Are you a traitor?”

  “No, Caesar. I am not a traitor,” Fascallus said for the second time. He looked Otho in the eye as he said it and Otho turned away, shaking his head.

  “I ask and I ask but still all I hear are lies. Tell me this Fascallus. Are you in communication with Titus?” He smiled at the discomfort that crossed Fascallus’ face at the question. “Don’t answer that one. I already know the answer.” As he spoke he held out his hand and a young legionary stepped down onto the senate chamber floor and passed Otho a small scroll of parchment. Fascallus did his best to keep his face free of expression but the house could see the look of recognition cross his face as he saw the scroll. “There really is no point denying it, Fascallus. My men tracked the messenger from your house to the walls before they cut him down. I g
ave you the benefit of the doubt, even as my men were telling me you were passing information to an enemy of Rome.”

  Fascallus raised himself a little straighter as he shouted, “I would do it again, given the chance. Titus is the rightful ruler of Rome.” His rebellion was brought to an end by Otho’s punch striking his stomach. Fascallus doubled over the fist and collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. The senators around the chamber voiced anger and amusement in equal parts.

  Otho looked down on the man before him with a look of utter contempt on his face. He even wiped the palm of his hand along the hem of his tunic, as if touching his victim had sullied him.

  “You make me sick, the lot of you. I stand here before you every day and offer you the olive branch. I ask you to stand beside me and see off the threat of Titus and his traitorous Greek legions. In exchange, I promise to keep you safe from the threat of the Risen, but still it is not enough for you. You conspire behind my back with my foes. You meet in dark places and threaten everything I strive for. By working against me, you threaten the very fabric of our society.” Otho held out his arms to the gathered men as if imploring them to understand his difficult position. Every man could see the mockery that underlined everything he said.

  “You’ve destroyed our society already,” a lone voice from the back of the chamber said. Every head turned to see who had spoken but no guilty face claimed the words.

  Otho shook his head in wonder that the men around him could question his motives.

  “It is true I have had to make some terrible decisions since I was burdened with this task.” There was laughter from both sides of the house. From one side it was derisive and from the other it was artful and sly. “Burdened with this task, I say! For who among you would want this position with the very life of the empire hanging on your every choice?” The house fell silent. “I have made those choices with a heavy heart. Should I send out my men to battle the Risen and risk leaving Rome open to the invader from Greece? Or should I defend Rome in hope that when the rebellion has been put down I can set about cleaning this plague from the empire? I chose to defend the people of this great city. I chose to defend you, the leaders of our empire. Did I do wrong? Who are you to say? Are you Gods?”

  He stopped to give the senators the chance to answer. He knew they wouldn’t, they never had before. Many times he had stood before them and dared them to openly defy him and not one of them had ever found their voice, until today. Let them see the consequences of that. It thrilled him to have their massed ranks sit before him and quiver with fear. Even the sycophants that brayed like donkeys at his command feared him and that was as it should be. They were the weakest of them all. At least the rebels had the strength to stand up against him, even if it was behind his back.

  He looked back down at Fascallus who was still on his knees in front of him, but breathing normally now. The man wouldn’t meet his eye.

  “Fascallus you have the chance to redeem yourself. Not to me, I am beyond caring what you do, but to the people. I am opening the Colosseum for the first time in a week. The people need a holiday. I have sent word to every gladiator school in Rome and I will give the people something to cheer. You, Fascallus, will take part in the games. I will give you your chance to stand up and show your true Roman courage.” He turned to his men around the wall. “Take him away and make sure he is well treated. I want the people to see I gave him every chance to be victorious when his time comes.”

  Fascallus started to back away from the men as they came to lay hands on him. The senators around the chamber jeered, it was anyone’s guess whether the noise was directed at Fascallus or Otho. The guards dragged the screaming senator from the chamber and silence fell on the assembly.

  “I do not enjoy doing what I just did. I have Rome in my heart when I punish traitors. All senators will attend the games. Any abstention will be seen as rebellion. We must show a united front in the days to come gentlemen.” He made as if to leave the chamber and at the last moment turned back toward the senate. “To those of you who have conspired with Fascallus, I leave you with this thought. I know who you are. I am hoping this demonstration will bring you around to my way of thinking. If it does not I will not be as understanding next time.” With these words he turned and swept from the chamber.

  From where he sat at the back of the chamber Domitius stared in blank horror at what had just happened. Not just because one of his fellow conspirators had just been unveiled but the manner in which it had been done. After decades of service to Rome and the empire, Fascallus deserved better than ritual humiliation. What was to befall him in the games was uncertain but it most certainly would not be pleasant.

  A whisper to his left pulled him from his thoughts. “You warned him about being so openly vocal,” Senator Reevus said with his hand covering his mouth.

  Domitius leaned down as if to adjust his sandal and replied, “He lost his head. It has to serve as a warning to the rest of us. Do you think Otho meant it when he said he knew who else was involved in the rebellion?”

  “Almost certainly not, when have you ever known Otho to show the slightest restraint. If he knew, then Fascallus wouldn’t be alone right now.” Reevus stood up and straightened his toga, giving Domitius time for one more reply.

  “Do we meet as planned then?” he asked, as he stood himself.

  “I will pass word,” Reevus said and was gone, mixing with the crowd as it milled out into the forum.

  Outside the senate house Vitus stood and waited to escort Domitius home. Despite his status as a centurion of the 8th legion, he was unwilling to report for duty in the city. Domitius had questioned the decision, saying that the information he could garner could be invaluable. Vitus had refused on the grounds that it would separate him from Regulus and Lucia and of course Domitius and Flavia. There was, he argued, a very real chance of another Risen attack in the coming weeks and he would not leave them unguarded.

  So, for the foreseeable future, Vitus was a private bodyguard. It wasn’t unusual to see senators and rich men across the city moving with armed escorts since the siege. Vitus was one of many trained men making a living protecting weaker, richer men, or so it appeared to the outside world. In fact Domitius treated Vitus as an equal in almost all of his dealings. The older man valued his strong arm and quick mind. In return Vitus had grown to respect the praetor in all things, sharp-witted and brave as he was.

  Tatius and Gallus had managed to find similar employment with two of Domitius’ senatorial colleagues. It meant the praetor had ears across the city and Vitus had two trusted allies close at hand. It was important to both men that they kept the chances of a Risen attack in mind at all times. Otho was an immediate problem but the Risen were never to be forgotten. Word had got through into Rome of devastation across the country but the news was unreliable, at best. The official word coming out of the palace spoke of a situation that was far more controlled than the messages that had reached Domitius’ hands.

  The two men wasted no time traveling across the city. It was not wise to spend too much time out on the streets, even on a warm summer's afternoon. The Praetorian guard had been given free hand in keeping the peace. This meant that they were moving through the streets harassing people with impunity. Not even a praetor could count on his rank saving him from a humiliating exchange in public.

  Vitus walked at Domitius’ right hand and allowed the praetor to lead the way. His hand was never far from his belt where he wore his legionary gladius. He had considered buying a new weapon through fear that the blade would give him away as a member of the legions. It wasn’t unheard of for retired soldiers to retain their weapons, however and Vitus was loath to give up a blade that had served him so well.

  Domitius turned to Vitus. “How is the training progressing?” he asked. The two men had agreed that Vitus should begin a regime of training for the other members of the house. They never lost sight of the fact that their time in Rome could come to an end at any time. The situation in the city was
like wine in an amphora, one heavy hand and it would all come to a messy end. Domitius had tried to join in but his duties in the senate meant that every time he attended the sessions he was further and further behind.

  “Very well, praetor. All of them have been enjoying it. It was a fine idea of yours to ready the troops.” Vitus deliberately used the military term to give Domitius confidence that he was taking the task seriously.

  Lucia was a natural fighter, she was strong and quick, especially for her size. She was used to handling short blades and Vitus found it a pleasure to watch her grow in competence and confidence. Whenever Regulus was in earshot he liked to joke with her that at least one of the pair could defend them if required to.

  Flavia had struggled to throw off the shackles of being a civilised woman, at first. Vitus managed to coax a reasonable archer out of her though. Domitius hadn’t told her but he had sneaked a look at her practices and was shocked at her progress. Vitus knew the praetor was hoping she would volunteer to show him her skills one day soon. As it was, she was too shy to get really good or to show anyone what she had yet achieved.

  Even Garic the butcher and young Chin Lee, the doctor's grandson, had attended lessons with the centurion. Garic was a big man, almost fat but he carried his weight with the ease of a man used to manual labour. He swung a sword with ease and enjoyed the training. Lee was the best of the group, however. With the lightness of foot and speed inherent in a ten year old boy, he danced his way around his training partners. He treated every training session as a game and Vitus was not going to persuade him to do otherwise. The world outside the walls was going to Hades and Vitus was in no mood to take a young boy there until he had to.

  Domitius nodded. “I think I may join you for an hour this evening if you have no objections. Even if I lack the skill, the exercise does the mind good, as well as the body.” He grinned at Vitus for a moment and then turned serious. Under his breath he said, “Plus, if I end up in the same situation as Fascallus, I would like to know I’d done my best to prepare myself for whatever was to come.