Alex Scarrow - Gates of Rome

Macro lowered the shield and grinned at Liam. ‘Just like the good ol’ days!’

Liam had the distinct impression, even before he got the translation a half-second later, that the old boy was getting a kick out of this. Or he would have been… had he not heard someone scream, ‘ INCENDIA, FLAMMA ’.

‘What?!’

Macro looked back into the courtyard, towards where the scream had come from.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Liam.

Above them they heard the unmistakable whusk of an arrow, accompanied by a fluttering hiss. Liam saw the faint trail of smoke it left in its wake.

Macro spat rage and a stream of abuse. ‘N-O-O-O-O!!!’

Several more flaming arrows zipped overhead, thudding into the wooden balconies, quickly setting fire to the dried wood, the woven-reed modesty screens and the hanging lines of laundry.

‘ NO! ’ Macro bellowed again. ‘That’s my bloodyproperty!!’

AD 54, Imperial Palace, Rome

Cato stood and stared at them; they calmly returned his silent gaze.

‘This area is off-limits to you,’ said Stern. ‘You do not have authority to proceed any further. Please leave immediately.’

‘I’m checking the palace for any intruders, looters,’ said Cato.

‘I understood that,’ replied Stern calmly. ‘However, I repeat: you have no authority to enter this particular location. Please turn round and leave.’

These men — no, not men… things — used to unsettle Cato. However, unlike the superstitious men he commanded, he’d never thought of them as supernatural beings. Just that they were decidedly inhuman. Odd. Creepy. But now he felt he had some sort of understanding of what they were.

Contraptions. Devices.

‘You know who I am, don’t you?’

‘Affirmative. Tribune Cato.’

‘And you understand I have the emperor’s authority in his absence?’ said Cato. ‘I am in charge of palace security.’

‘Affirmative.’

‘So, what is behind those doors?’

Stern took a step forward. He cocked his head slightly as if listening to something only he could hear. ‘That information is strictly classified, Tribune Cato. You do not have the correct security clearance for that information.’

Cato studied the Stone Man. His eyes were blinking repeatedly. There was an air of distracted uncertainty, of confusion about him.

Security clearance. Such odd words.

‘You mean I don’t have the authority? But you see, I do. The emperor put me in charge of — ’

‘Negative. This is a… US military security zone… this is…’ Stern stopped. Cocked his head again awkwardly. ‘In this current operational mode, the user designated “Emperor” has complete diagnostic control.’ The confusion slowly cleared from his face as if another conflicting voice from within was coming through. ‘We are authorized to use lethal force if you do not leave immediately.’ Stern took a step forward, more certain of himself now. He reached for the hilt of the sword strapped to his side. ‘You should leave now.’

Cato raised both his hands in surrender. ‘All right, all right… I’m leaving.’ He stepped back into the main hallway and allowed the drape to flop back into place, once more concealing the small passageway.

Cato realized the young woman from the future was quite correct. That beyond those sturdy oak doors was quite probably everything she wanted to find: the technology of her time. Her way home, and a way to correct everything.

He found Fronto a few minutes later, outside watching the sky above Rome laced with ribbons of smoke from riots that were breaking out right across the city.

‘We should bring the others in now,’ he said quietly.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Take a section of men with you and get our friends back here as quickly as you can.’

AD 54, Subura District, Rome

Sal was struggling to breathe. A thick pall of smoke from the fires above them had descended to fill the courtyard.

She had Maddy. Or rather Maddy had found her and was even now leading her by the hand through the churning sea of bodies. Five minutes ago the fight had settled into a stalemate; the looters held at bay in the rat run by the constant barrage of projectiles from above.

But now things had descended into a confused, misty chaos. The smoke from a dozen fires on the first and second floors had become a choking blanket. Macro’s tenants were now no longer concerned with keeping their looting neighbours out of the apartment block, but instead were struggling with each other to escape the burning building.

Sal was jostled and bumped from all sides, nearly losing her grip on Maddy’s hand as they became funnelled into a press of thrashing bodies. The rat run: five minutes ago it was a bottleneck that was proving to be their saving grace; now it looked like becoming a death trap for them.

Above her, amid the churn of smoke, she heard the crackle of flames taking hold of the building. ‘Maddy, we’ve got to get out! We’ve got to find a way out!’

‘I know!’

She had no idea where the others were. Last she’d seen, Liam and Bob had been manning the second barricade, successfully holding back the baying mob. But that was ancient history now. There were no more ‘attackers’ and ‘defenders’, not any longer, just a couple of hundred people fighting with each other to escape the building through a passageway littered with obstacles and bodies.

They heard a loud crack of snapping wood from above, and then a moment later, the balconies lining one complete side of the quadrangle came tumbling down through the smoke into the courtyard. An avalanche of blackened, smouldering slats of wood that exploded into a shower of sparks and embers that set fire to the tattered linen sun-awnings around the courtyard. Through a gap in the smoke, Sal caught sight of a woman with a child in her arms, trapped in the corner beside their two ponies that were rolling widened eyes at the flames around them; she and the animals were imprisoned inside a collapsed scaffolding of wooden poles.

The woman’s eyes met Sal’s — the only person now looking back into the courtyard. She was screaming for help. A fleeting moment, then the smoke closed on her and she and her child were gone. Items of burning clothing, embers from drapes and privacy screens and a million and one flammable household possessions were starting to rain down on the crowd that had completely plugged the rat run and were going absolutely nowhere, setting hair and more clothes on fire.

‘Help!’ Sal screamed. ‘ HELP! ’

Her voice was lost beneath a hundred others screaming the very same thing in Latin.

She couldn’t see Maddy now. She still had hold of her hand, but their arms were twisted over the back and shoulder of some old man carrying a screaming toddler, piggyback.

‘Maddy!’ she screamed.

‘I’m here!’

We’re going to die. We’re going to choke to death or burn.

Her mind flashed with memories of that day — the last day of her life. Standing in the ruin of that stairwell with the others on their floor who’d spilled out of their apartments. Her Mamaji and Papaji, like her with ghost-white faces of dust. The air thick with powdered concrete and toxic fumes. She remembered the choking, the panicking, being terrified. Then that sound, that end-of-the-world sound… a deep rumble like an approaching train, the floor trembling beneath their feet. Gasps, cries, screaming; a desperate collective horror that didn’t allow them even a few seconds of stillness — a goodbye moment. A whispered farewell that might, just might be carried on some spiritual ether to those it was intended for.

And then Foster… extending a hand, offering her, just her, a way out.