Emperor's Fate by Alex Gough

Author:Alex Gough
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2022-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

June 216 AD

Oclatinius had given Silus a sliver of hope, and his mood lifted enough to enable him to eat and sleep better. But as the days passed, and they neared the city of Arbela, he saw his chances fading again. He managed to meet Oclatinius alone on several more occasions, on walks, in a small temple they had passed, even sitting next to each other on the toilet at one point. But Oclatinius had found out nothing knew, for all his protestations that he was squeezing every source he knew. Sempronius Rufus wouldn’t admit that there was even anything amiss, let alone tell Oclatinius what it was.

Silus had also pressed Oclatinius to tell him how he was going to care for Tituria when both Caracalla and Silus were dead. Oclatinius informed him that there were plans in place to protect her, but he wasn’t reassured. He had asked Oclatinius to dispose of Juik, the assassin slave planted to kill Tituria if anything happened to Caracalla, but Oclatinius had said that would be foolhardy as the assassin would be replaced by someone else unknown, and therefore harder to stop. Silus then wondered if they should move Tituria into hiding, but Oclatinius grew impatient, telling Silus that any moves to protect Tituria would alert Caracalla that Silus believed the Emperor was in danger. Silus had sulkily agreed, though every fibre in his body screamed at him to flee, run to Rome, take Tituria to a village in northern Britannia and live out their lives as humble sheep farmers, in peace if not in prosperity.

And then time ran out.

They had camped for the night within an hour’s journey of Arbela, and Silus disconsolately accompanied Caracalla as he strode around the grid-pattern streets of the encampment, looking in on his men. There was a buzz around the camp, excitement at the prospect of the ceremony and what it would mean for the soldiers’ beloved Emperor, and the Empire itself, for Caracalla to be married into the powerful Parthian royal family. Excitement, too, at the entertainment that was being lavishly prepared by both parties – gladiatorial games, wild beast hunts, feasting. Something more too, just a feeling. An expectation of some sort, maybe? Silus couldn’t put his finger on it.

Caracalla, accompanied by Thrax and Silus, paused at a brazier where a contubernium of eight legionaries were sitting, just outside their communal tent. Two were polishing their armour, one was sliding a whetstone along the edge of his sword, then holding the weapon out before him so he could check its edge for nicks or dents. The rest were playing knucklebones for a small pile of copper coins and eating stew out of their bronze mess bowls.

‘It should be a fine day for a wedding tomorrow, shouldn’t it, lads?’ said Caracalla, his deep, gruff voice managing to be both authoritative and familiar.

The soldiers all jumped to attention as they caught sight of him, but he motioned to them to be seated, and sat down with them.

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