Edward Crichton - To Crown a Caesar

Frightened by Santino’s attack, the man dropped his candle and the flame went out as it fell to the deck. My goggles refocused immediately and brightened. I saw the man’s eyes roll into the back of his head as Santino slowly choked him into unconsciousness.

And then I recognized him.

Before Santino could finish the guy off, I leapt on him, just as he had just done the hapless passerby. I pulled his arm away from his target’s neck, and the man fell to the floor, flinging his hands to his throat as he attempted to coax air back into his lungs.

“What the hell?” Santino asked, confused at my intervention.

I held up a finger, signaling for him to hang on and wait.

I knelt in front of the man, letting him gaze into the floating green dots that were my eyes. There was no way he could have recognized me, but it was impossible to mistake the technology.

“Hu… Hunt…?” He croaked, unable to sound out the word.

I smiled. “Burning the midnight oil are we, Varus?”

“What in the name of Mercury are you doing here?” Marcus Varus asked as he ushered us into his decent sized stateroom, referencing the god of travelers.

If I had been the key to transporting us through time to ancient Rome, then Varus had been the lock. While it had only been through a twist of fate that we found ourselves in ancient Rome, without Varus, it may never have happened at all. Remus’ orb only worked with his direct descendants, or so we assumed, and as it turned out, both Varus and I shared that in common.

“What?” Santino asked. “We can’t stop by and visit a friend?”

“I am hardly a friend of yours, brute. I remember the dinner four years ago and what you did to me,” he finished, sneering at Santino’s grinning face.

I smiled, despite the cruelty of the joke Santino had played on poor Varus.

It was a sad fact, but the truth about Santino’s jokes was that they were sometimes more childish and cruel than clever, especially when he was intoxicated. It had happened at one of our last dinner parties, the last happy one we had attended before the party that resulted in Caligula’s death.

It was also the wildest one we had attended during our short time spent in Caligula’s service.

I wouldn’t have described it as an orgy, but it wouldn’t have taken much to escalate it to that point. We’d been taking the whole, “when in Rome,” saying literally, and it had been fun. We’d feasted and drank till everyone had eaten more than they should have and were damn near plastered drunk. Helena and I had been making out on a couch in the corner, Caligula had two floozies with him, and every other patron was either singing, dancing, drinking, kissing, or leaving to get extra frisky with their dates. Caligula, after all, had some standards, and he wouldn’t have people fornicating in front of him.

Even before the party, Varus and Santino hadn’t ever really gotten along. Varus was a squirmy intellectual type and Santino enjoyed nothing more than to bully such targets. He did it with me, occasionally, since I actually had a brain, but he knew Helena would kick his ass if he took it too far, so he generally directed his attention elsewhere.

In his typical, juvenile way, Santino had decided to “de-pants” Varus, but it had apparently escaped Santino that Romans didn’t wear pants. But that hadn’t deterred him. Cleverly, Santino effectively fused two stereotypical bullying rituals into one devastating attack. By grabbing the hem of Varus’ toga and pulling it over his head, he’d not only technically de-pantsed him, but had simultaneously performed an atomic wedgie as well. It wasn’t really a wedgie, but the fact that he had been able to yank the toga over Varus’ head and shoulders dictated the title.

But sadly, as was tradition, Varus hadn’t been wearing any undergarments, and he’d flashed the entire party as he spun around in circles, trying to dislodge his robes. Helena and I had laughed along with everyone else, too drunk to know any better. After fixing his toga, poor Varus had been bright red and fled the party in shame, his wife chasing after him after she’d taken the time to smack Santino with a single slap that knocked him to the ground. I hadn’t seen Varus for almost two weeks after that, until Caligula’s last party, and we hadn’t had a chance to talk since either.

I could imagine he was still pretty angry about the whole thing.

“Yeah, about that,” Santino said quietly, almost apologetically. “That was pretty funny, right?”

I knew Varus wanted to kill Santino, but his trembling quickly subsided. He was an intellectual after all, and Santino was obviously much bigger and stronger than he was. I supposed I wasn’t giving Varus as much credit as he deserved because he was in good shape, lean and probably pretty strong to. He also wasn’t a bad looking guy, as no ancestor of mine would be, of course, and his wife was very attractive.

Without comment, Varus moved towards his bed and I followed him, making my way carefully so that I didn’t knock over the stacks of papers and notes strewn about the floor in a chaotic mess. The room was a disaster, filled with all kinds of random documents and manuscripts. I noticed a vacant chair in the room and headed towards it, accidentally knocking over one of the stacks in the process. Varus sent me a look of disinterest.

“Sorry about Santino, Marcus. You know how he is. I’m also sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk after Caligula’s death.” I paused. “I know it’s been four years, but I am sorry for your loss.”

The room was eerily silent, and even Santino was respectfully quiet. Varus and Caligula had been very close, probably the closest friends each of them had, and I knew Varus had taken his death pretty hard.

His relationship with Caligula had always interested me because it was a case of historical ambiguity. As a student, I’d spent much of my focus researching Caligula and his family tree, but not once had I encountered a man remembered as a confidant of Caligula’s with Varus’ name. That either meant his name was lost to history or it had been stricken by someone who didn’t want him remembered. Of course, there was also the chance that he was supposed to die that night we’d went back in time and became even less remembered than Galba had been.

I’ll never know.

“Thank you, Hunter,” he replied sadly. “I still miss him.”

“He was a great man, and could have been greater. He died well before his time.”

Varus nodded, accepting my words, but it took another moment before he snapped himself from his lamentation and started rummaging through his papers again, randomly tossing errant ones over his shoulders.

“It is interesting that you reveal yourself now, Hunter,” he said distractedly, forgetting our conversation had even happened. “I actually have something for you. Something I think you will find most interesting.”

“Umm, okay.” I said, looking at Santino, who had taken his goggles and mask off and offered me a shrug.

Varus had a one track mind, more focused than obsessive, but even so, I found it humorous how he didn’t even seem remotely curious as to why we were here.

Taking a moment while Varus searched for whatever it was he was looking for, I decided to check in with Helena.

“3–2, 3–1, over.”

“This is 3–2, go ahead.”

“We’ve made contact with target Victor. He has important intel so we’re waiting him out. Hopefully he can provide directions to November. Howcopy?”

“Solid copy, 3–1.” She paused. “Be careful. 3–2, out.”

I glanced towards the door and found Santino already posted next to it in a crouch, his knife held in a reverse grip at the ready. I turned back to face Varus, who was still rummaging through disorganized papers thrown behind his bed.