Act 2 Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Valencia was numb. The wind was quite warm as it drifted across the Mediterranean, and the sun was shining bright during the day. But Valencia was numb to all of this pleasant weather. Even her leg didn't bother her, as she was feeling nothing. Caligula wasn't there to embrace her. He was busy doing something with the marines. She had been having a fair enough day, giving orders and running her floating nation. As far as days went, this one had been one of the decent ones. Until Dante had burst into the bridge, and until she had heard the gunshots. Now, she had to watch as her life teetered on the edge of chaos. As she was lost in her thoughts and her heart, she didn't pay attention to the physical world around her.

Caligula was feeling quite clear in his head. Whenever he became stressed, he either experienced bouts of insanity or clarity. Luckily for everyone around him on the deck of the Blooded Bull, he was possessed by the latter. When Dante had told them of the events taking place on the main deck, out where airiots could land and take off, Caligula was the one to give the orders. The ship's doctor had been checking up on Valencia, and Caligula had told him to get down to the deck as fast as possible. A couple of marines on guard duty sprinted out ahead of the doctor to secure the medical automobile so that the doctor wouldn't have to run. They were already running late, since Dante didn't arrive to explain the gunfire until well after it took place.

Dante felt weak, both physically and as a person. He always tried to convince himself that his stuttering and bumbling awkwardness were just acts, but this was always a half truth. Yes, he played up his weaknesses a bit so no one thought him very competent, but he always felt that he could be smoother, more precise, and all around more together. He could barely tell Valencia and Caligula that Augusts and Cassius were about to shoot each other. If he had been able to run faster and straighter, maybe he could have gotten them to the deck faster. He did, however, manage to tell the story to Caligula and Valencia well enough so that they didn't shoot Augustus on sight. One small victory in a sea of failure, thought Dante.

Augustus was tired. He slouched against the side of the ambulance, smoking a cigarette despite the warnings from the doctor's assistant. He brushed aside her every comment, not caring about cancer or losing his ability to speak out of his mouth instead of a hole in his throat. Shooing her away, he just wanted to calm his nerves and get back into his usual state of bliss. Or so he said, anyhow. Augustus, by nature of his life, had not really been at bliss ever since he was sixteen. Damn, he thought to himself, that was almost forty years ago. I'm too old for this, but yet here I am. A few marines stood not far from him, eying him suspiciously and keeping their rifles in their hands. He tried to convince them that he wasn't planning on doing anything suspicious, but they didn't fully buy that. They didn't know the full story -no one actually did- except that Augustus had shot Cassius.

Cassius was, for all the good it did him, alive. Augustus had shot him in the side, just an inch or so from anything important. It hurt like hell, and he could have bleed to death, but it didn't pierce any of his organs or break any of his bones. After he was shot, he went into a kind of shock. Cassius had never really been wounded before, or at least never by someone who he thought could never harm him. While he lay there on the deck, Augustus had run over and torn off his vest. Using it to bind Cassius's wound, he managed to stop the blood flow to make sure he didn't die. Cassius knew he probably wouldn't have done the same thing for Augustus, had he succeeded in shooting him. He had been moving to shoot him in the head, while Augustus had really only wanted to incapacitate Cassius. But Cassius was too slow with a gun. Had they been dueling with swords, then Cassius knew he would have removed Augustus's head. And Augustus knew that too.

The marines standing around Augustus were incredibly nervous. Since he had removed his vest, Augustus was forced to reveal most of weapons on his person. Most were in the actual vest, and now the lay on some crates that had been pulled up for sitting. Atop them lay three small knives, two single-shot pistols, a set of brass knuckles, and an unmarked bottled. Still hanging from his dress shirt was another knife, another small pistol, and a thin wire wrapped around his sternum. When one of the marines built up the nerve to question him about it, Augustus had just shrugged and replied, “Jest my normal getup. I like to be prepared. Heh, you should see what I keep up my boots.” At this, the marines shifted away and looked down to their guns. I bet I could still disarm them, though Augustus to himself, before they got a single round chambered.

Caligula walked over to Augustus and leaned against an arm placed against the ambulance. His face revealed no emotion, perhaps only because he avoided looking directly into Augustus's eyes. Instead, his gaze lingered on the metal wire tied around the man.

“That's a fancy string. On your chest, I mean. What's it do? Keep you from falling in half?”

Augustus chuckled at this. He tossed his cigarette down to the deck and stamped it out beneath his heel. Yawning and stretching, he got off the ambulance's side and faced Caligula.

“Nah kid. It's a bit for the opposite of keeping me alive. Only for emergencies, granted, but it's nice to keep around.”

The two men positioned themselves better, each now facing the other. They played a subtle gain, each trying to read the other in ways that were hidden from view. Caligula wanted to see if he had a new enemy. Augustus wanted to see if he had a friend.

“So, I guess I should be bowing down. To you, your Highness. Royal blood and all that. Yeah?”

“Exiles don't normally get to keep their perks, kid.”

“Still, we're beneath you now. Gonna be different around here.”

Augustus shook his head. “Only if you let it. You don't seem to nobility affect your relationship with the comely and common lass.”

Caligula slipped, and let lose an emotion: anger. It was just a small change in tone, but Augustus picked right up on it.

“Hey. Look. She's different than us. Don't judge her.”

Augustus had an opening, and he would be damned if he didn't exploit it.

“Yes, exactly! She's different than you and I. She's special. Kind, brilliant, and yet still ruthless all the same. She's the stability that you can't see in yourself. Take care of her, and you'll both be fine.”

Caligula sighed. “D****t, Augustus. What the hell happened? What's wrong with Cassius? I know you're a decent guy. I don't know the full story, but Dante told us about the letter from the Caesar. Who are you, really?”

“I guess it's story time gain. Gather the kiddos. I'll keep it brief.”

Augustus left Caligula to his new task. He went over to the crates where his weapons sat upon, and checked their labels. One held ancient field rations still not at their expiration date, another held some new boots for the soldiers, and the third held canteens.

“Anybody have a jacket I can borrow?” Augustus questioned the men standing around. Most of them backed away or ignored him, but one of them offered his up. Augustus took the trench coat from the man and slide his arms into its dark green sleeves. Each branch had a different colored jacket, in order to distinguish them at a distance. Legionaries wore dark brown. Equestrians, or the cavalry, wore crimson reds, the marines wore dark green, and sailors wore deep blue. While the marines and legionaries wore their trench coats quite often, cavalrymen and sailors had differing jackets in order to fit their tasks. Equestrians wore lighter jackets that only reached down to their waists in order to allow full movement while mounted. Seamen wore dark blue blouses in order to keep them cool in the humid seas and not get caught up in machinery or bulkheads. Special units in the varying branches wore different versions of their jackets. Praetorians, a section of the Legion, wore black jackets most of the time unless the situation called for something different. Pilots, members of the Equestrians, wore heavier coats made from wool and leather in order to keep them warm. In recent times, the current Caesar had ordered a black jacket with purple hemming custom ordered for himself in order to express his Imperial rank and closeness to the armed forces. None of this really mattered to Augustus as he pulled up the crates into a sort of circle around him.

As the motel crew of heroes, as well as Dante, a few marines, and the doctor, gathered around Augustus, he gestured towards the crates. The doctor tried to help Cassius down to one but he just waved him off. Caligula held Valencia's hand as he assisted her down next to Cassius. Dante took the second crate, as well as the nurse who had come back. The doctor and a couple of marines took the third, while everyone else just stood behind them. Augustus himself leaned back on the ambulance again, lighting yet another cigarette.

“Sir, that has to be your fifth one since I've bee-”

Augustus cut the nurse off with a quick glare. “Stuff it, ma'am. I know what I'm doing.”

He tucked the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and coughed for attention.

“Alright then, lads and lasses! Gather 'round to hear the tale o' Augustus Octavius: Hero and Traitor Extraordinaire!”

“Sarcasm will get you nowhere,” Cassius spat out.

“Oh but it's gotten me plenty 'o places, my dear boy! Now shut your gob and let me speak. I will tell a brief little bio, and then you can all ask whatever it is you want. We've got all day.”

Silent nods of approval met his retort. Solemnly, he began.

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I am Augustus Germanicus Octavius. I was born in 1861 as the second son out of five to a simple blacksmith and his lovely wife. When I was but 16 my brother of 19, Sevarius, thought we should leave home and seek adventure in the Legion. We took our little brothers, the twins Gaius and Albus of 15 and 14 year-old Flavius. Mother and father were brokenhearted, but I never saw them again to apologize. They died from sickness just a few months after we left. We had lived on the outskirts of Rome, and plague had stricken the region. We had signed onto the Legion just in time to fight in the invasion of Mexico. Standards were different then, this was before the Sevarian Reforms obviously, so we were trained en route on a dreadnaught as we approached Mexico. To keep it short, was was hell.

Gaius died soon after we landed in our first engagement with the Aztecs. Took a round in the throat and died choking. A few months later, just when we were starting to feel tough, Flavius was kidnapped in a raid against our century's camp. When the battle of Anahuac came around the following year, Albus died. As our main headquarters was being assaulted by the main body of the Aztec horde, we stood our ground. Sevarius, Albus, and I had moved to the flank of the chaos, searching for Flavius who we could not accept was dead. En route to a small outpost, just a mile or so from the main battle, we were assaulted by a flanking party of theirs. Albus, after killing a couple of the b******s, took an ax to the chest. I'm glad he died then, because once Sevarius and I finally reached the camp we found Flavius. Rather, what was left of him. They had been sacrificing prisoners throughout various locations, trying to please their sick gods. It was just our luck that Flavius was taken close by. I went blind, just as Sevarius did, after we saw his corpse sitting atop the altar a ways from our positions. When I could see again, I saw that my brother and I had killed the entirety of the camp and worked our way to our darling little brother. His heart was sitting next to his carved up chest, and his eyes were nowhere to be seen. His tongue was cut and placed between his teeth, and his arms were broken and tied behind his head. We puked.

Sevarius suggested we bury him next to Albus, since Gaius had gotten a proper burial in that wretched land. We dug some shallow graves and marked their heads with stones we gathered. After tears and words, we figured that we might ought to rejoin our retreating brethren. We trekked back to the camp and battle at a brisk pace, returning just in time for history to grab us by the arms and toss us into its pages. Our camp had been in a massive clearing surrounded by the jungles, with trees and such scattered about. It was almost impossible to clear that place fully. The area we popped into happened to be near the center, where the Emperor was stationed. It had appeared he had fled with his Praetorians, leaving his camp behind. We began walking towards the east, where the evacuation ships would most likely be, when we heard a scream piece the din of carnage that was raging to the northwest. Upon investigation, we sighted the Emperor's daughter burst forth from inside a white tent, two Jaguar Knights hot at her feet.

We really didn't think what we did out. If we had, we might not had done it for fear of hitting the lass. Sevarius knelt down to his knees before me, both of us raising our rifles to sight. We fired two rounds between us, each of them tearing a new hole in the Knights. One went down straight dead, the one Sevarius shot. Mine was still trying to crawl up at the lass, who had made for the bushes and jungle. We sprinted over and Sevarius planted his sword into the b******s back. He called out to the lass, neither of us really knowing who she was. When she stepped out, our jaws must've dropped straight to the dirt. Before us stood the most beautiful girl in the world, her face lightly bruised but still gleaming, her dress stained by bits of mud. I, being the dumb kid I was, just stood there staring at her. But Sevarius, he was a true man. He set his gun down against a tree and slowly extended a hand towards her. What he said was pretty much his proposal. He said, “Come now. I'll be gentle but to you, and vicious to any who would harm you. Stay with us, and we will never allow another bit of you to be harmed. My name is Sevarius, and this is my brother, Augustus.”

She stepped closer and took his hand, tears glittering in the dawn's light. Her name was, as you all well know, Agrippa, daughter of Emperor Vespasian III. We stood like for a while, the stupid kid and the adults, until war cries shattered our nice little silence. More Knights had entered the area, no doubt looking for their comrades or bounty to be had. I remember giving a quick nod to Sevarius as I took a knee and lifted my gun. The first round I fired in defense of the Princess is vivid in my mind. I knelt down onto the grass, breathing heavily. As I lifted a round into the breech of the gun, I felt Sevarius's hand on my shoulder. While my hands worked their job, I looked up and saw him smiling back at me. That look, it said we would get through this. We would make it through the day, and we would sail home to Rome. As I lifted the gun to my eyes, the Knights spotted us and began to move for us. I could hear, just before I squeezed the trigger, Sevarius move the Princess back into the woods behind us. My rifle cracked, sending smoke out around me, clouding the already foggy air. The bullet struck the Aztec in the sternum. He fell back, his legs buckling out from beneath his body, his obsidian sword slipping from his fingers. The other men with him, four I believe, did not wield firearms. We gunned them down just as quickly. But, to our misfortune or not, the sounds of fire alerted more. We fought the next few hours, first with bullets and then with swords, defending the Princess from harm.

My brother . . . was a hero. More so than I can ever claim. I would have run from there that day, maybe dragging Agrippa along with me. I'm sure that he knew that. We killed maybe twenty more Aztecs when our supply of ammunition went dry. I remember fumbling inside my pouch for more round when I looked up to a black club heading for my skull. They had closed in, and I was to die there. But I saw steel bite into that stone, and I heard my brother give a cry of war as he heaved into his strike and threw the Aztec back. The man stumbled a way back, but my brother was on him instantly. The sound of metal clicking on leather sounded as he dashed across the ground. We still wore skirts then, something Junior is trying to bring back, and didn't have the signature jackets we wear now. It was just leather skirting studded with metal, a breastplate, and a greatcoat for when it was cold. That battle there, Sevarius cutting through those Jaguar Knights, looked as if it could have been from over a thousand years ago. His gladius, shorter than they are today, stabbed through the man's stomach and poked out of his back. The man coughed, just once, and then slide off the blade to the ground. Only then did I stagger to my feet and draw my own blade. The last thing I remember for a while was looking back to the Princess, to see her safe and staring with wonder at Sevarius. I understood her, in that moment, more than I understood anyone before. We both knew what my brother as, who he was, and what that moment meant.

I was known as a morbid child; hardly ever cried or wept. Even when we found Flavius mutilated, it was mostly Sevarius who cried out for our baby brother. But when Sevarius was shot, on July 8^th, 1910 in the streets of Rome at 10:46 in the morning, I wept. You all know what happened after Anahuac, how the counter-attack found us with Agrippa. How Sevarius married her on the day of his coronation when he was thirty-two. How he was gunned down in the streets of Rome after dedicating a memorial to the Great Punic War. But what you didn't know, not until now, was what he meant to me. And what Junior is doing to his legacy, makes me want to cry again.