Every time I took note of her grief, my heart ached, but the fact that she was now hardened to that pain made it only worse. Now, she acted without remorse when it came to killing in the line of duty. She was still an emotional woman, but after all her time here, she’d become a stone cold killer. That’s why whenever I saw her face after she put someone in their grave, I died a little inside.
As it did whenever I was reminded of her near death experience. Her pain attacks. Vincent’s lost arm. Claudius. Caligula. Agrippina. My life in Ancient Rome. Thousands of lives lost. All my fault. It’s why I had to set things straight. I had no idea if Vespasian could fix everything. Not completely. Logic and history says he can, and should Rome come out even a smidge better, and perhaps the rest of history, who’s going to fucking blame me for it? Not me. And mine is the only opinion I needed to appease. All I wanted was some peace, something I wasn’t sure I could find anymore.
I almost laughed. I often wondered why my mind tended to wander during the times it should be focused most; the times when my life and others’ were at stake. I hadn’t a clue. Maybe it made me sharper. We’d made it this far, after all, which incidentally was the entrance to the legion camp.
A simple wooden door, the gate was our first indicator that this camp was only temporary, meant for campaign use only. Its defensive stakes, ditch, palisade, and rampart were there, but it wouldn’t hold off an invasion like some of the other forts I’d been in before, but this particular one was built just like all the rest, and that meant a straight jaunt through the middle of the camp, right for the praetorium.
As we passed through the threshold, Helena and I were greeted by unfamiliar looks from unfamiliar legionnaires. I’d expected expressions of awe, curiosity and, in Helena’s case, lust, but none of the legionnaires displayed such emotions. We were instead met by looks of anger and hatred. Many of these men probably recognized us from the thousands of “Wanted” posters displayed throughout the empire, or were perhaps wondering why these people who’d come from the city they had just been besieging, were suddenly and nonchalantly strolling through their camp.
Helena shared a worried look with me, and she tucked in close. She gripped her P90 and brought it close to her chest, while I shouldered Penelope as well. While we were mostly sure Vespasian didn’t want us dead, if we were going to die, it was going to be guns blazing and together.
But as we quickly approached the center of the camp, fewer and fewer looks came our way. Within minutes, we found ourselves at the entrance of the praetorium, and both Gaius and Marcus walked inside while we waited. A few minutes later, important looking military and administrative figures offered us dirty looks as they were hastily escorted from the tent by Marcus while Gaius remained inside.
“You can go inside, now,” Marcus informed us once they were gone.
I nodded and took a step forward, but he rested a hand against my chest and stopped me.
“Your weapons, Hunter,” he said.
I held his gaze for a few seconds, but he didn’t flinch. After another second, I nodded and unclipped my rifle from its 3-point sling draped across my shoulder. I handed it to him, while Helena did the same. I tried to step forward again, but Marcus halted me just as he had before.
“All of them,” he said, with a flick of his eyes towards my pistol.
I took a deep breath and retrieved my Sig, slapping it roughly into his waiting hand. “You sure he’s not going to kill us?”
“Hunter, if he wanted you dead, you already would be.”
“Thanks for that,” I grumbled as Helena bravely pulled me behind her into the tent.
The interior of the command tent was just like all the other ones I’d seen. Relatively small, about the size of half a tennis court, and spartanly furnished. A chest, cabinet, desk, bed, and a few extra chairs were the room’s only furnishings, but there were a few oddities. A five foot tall broadsword was prominently displayed on a rack, its dark metal contrasting harshly against the white crispness of the tent’s canvas walls, as did a set of double bladed battle axes that hung crisscrossing one another. I wagered they were mementos from the only inhabitant’s previous two campaigns in Britain and Gaul.
As for the inhabitant, I was taken aback by his presence; by his looks, his countenance and years of anticipation. Just under six feet tall, he had dark, almost black hair, a broad nose that completely suited his face and severe eyes that didn’t seem capable of missing a thing. He was built like a wrestler, a popular sport these days, even if it was nothing like modern day Greco-Roman wrestling, which was also, in fact, neither Greek nor Roman. He also had an interesting scar on his right cheek, not like Santino’s, but a simple line from his temple to chin.
I thought back to all the busts and sculptures of the man I’d seen during my college years. None of those facsimiles resembled this man at all, even one in particular that I normally associated with the man; a representation of him struck maybe twenty five years from now. Even so, there was something fundamentally familiar about him.
Vespasian.
Finally.
But most surprising was that he also seemed happy, even jovial. He rose to his feet and moved towards us, reaching out with his arm, which I gripped just before the elbow.
“Greetings!” He hailed in an impressively deep voice. “You must be Jacob Hunter. I have heard much about you.”
I smiled and tried not to look intimidated by this confusing man.
“All good things I hope,” I said awkwardly.
“Perhaps,” he said, still smiling, before turning to Helena. “And this must be the lovely Helena… van Strauss? Am I saying that correctly?”
Helena smiled as well, even more embarrassed than I was. “Yes, yes you are.”
“Wonderful,” he boomed. “It is an honor to meet you as well. The tales of your beauty precede you greatly. Tell me. Is it true you can turn men to stone on a whim?”
She looked at me, completely flushed.
“Well,” she said like a love sick teenager, hooking a thumb in my direction, “maybe only this one.”
He belted out a rich laugh. “I have heard you two are together. Congratulations! Your marriage must be happy and bountiful.”
“It’s not like that…” we both started, before cutting ourselves off. I stood as confused as I was embarrassed. This man was nothing like I imagined he would be. He didn’t seem like most people, let alone like most Romans.
“Bah! If two people can fall in love and still fight wars with each other and not against one another, then you have something truly special indeed.”
An interesting platitude. I hoped he was right.
“Now,” he said, his joyful attitude draining immediately, “we have much to discuss. Please sit.”
“Such a charmer…” Helena whispered in English as we moved to our seats.
“Don’t get any ideas, honey,” I replied with a smirk.
As Helena and I maneuvered into our chairs, Vespasian took a seat behind his desk, folding his hands in front of him. He rested them on the desk while he waited for us to get comfortable. He took a deep breath, and in an instant, the cheerful man who’d hit on Helena and shook my hand was gone, replaced by a very stern authority figure. My spider-sense spiked and I knew something was wrong, something that told me our meeting wasn’t going to be all shits and giggles after all.
“So,” Vespasian began, making eye contact with Helena and I equally, “I have made a very good friend over these past few months. I must admit, I am almost embarrassed to say that before our campaign in Germany, I considered him little more than an arrogant ass, already past his prime. However, as the fates would have it, he and I grew quite close as we worked together, and I found myself liking him as more than just a colleague.”