Legatus Legionis: Book Two in the Gaius Claudius Scaevola Trilogy Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14.

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24.

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Legatus Legionis

  Book 2 of the Gaius Claudius Scaevola trilogy

  Ian J Miller

  © Copyright, 2014. Ian Miller

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for fair use, such as the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  This is a work of fiction, although I have made an interpretation of the nature of certain historical characters. I have tried to make the background accurate historically, although there are some deliberate fictional scenes, but there will be inevitable errors, and of course the characters that are not historically known are quite fictional and bear no relationship to anyone.

  Chapter 1

  "Cheer up, Ralph," Pallas Athene smiled. "It's not often you get to play the boss God."

  "No, it isn't," Ralph Grenfell replied, "and it might be fun if this weren't our last shot at this."

  Each knew the situation well. The temporal viewer not only let them view history, but Pallas Athene had also learned how to send messages back in time, at least under certain circumstances. She had thought this to be a great idea, even if it were to lead to the end of her career as a classical historian. Not that that mattered in the present. As far as those in the temporal satellite were concerned, all civilization on Earth ceased some time before the beginning of the twenty-fifth century, thanks to that technician sending a message to the nearby aliens. It was unclear what happened, or why. What was clear was that the aliens on Ranh had destroyed Earth's civilization before the temporal viewer had been built. They were now in a state of paradox: if Earth's civilization were destroyed then, the temporal satellite and all it contained could not have been built, but if the temporal satellite had not operated, Earth's civilization would not have been destroyed. At least that was their interpretation on what had happened.

  The temporal viewer had indicated there was one and only one way to resolve this paradox in their favour. A Roman soldier, Gaius Claudius Scaevola had to be abducted by an alien zoo specimen collector, at which point Scaevola had to have evidence of having made some significant discoveries that would have changed the path of Roman civilization, had he not been abducted. The collector would be in Britain at a specified time. That meant that Scaevola had to be there too, and he had to have the freedom to be in the right area. The only way that could be achieved was if he were to be made Legatus Legionis of the twentieth legion.

  So far, progress was adequate, but only just. Athene had given Scaevola two additional tasks in a prophecy she had conveyed while he was lightly asleep: one was to prove that the Earth went around the Sun, and the other was to build a steam engine. So far, they knew this part of the prophecy had delivered the desired outcomes, and in several timelines, Scaevola had been taken to the planet Ulse, and in the last two efforts, everything had just about worked, except that it had not. As Ralph Grenfell had noted, this was their last chance. Each chance required Athene to give her prophecy before Scaevola had had such a prophecy previously. This last time he had barely been asleep. It could not be repeated. That, however, did not mean they could not help further.

  The problem this time was that Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus had revoked Scaevola's army position, which was as acting Legatus of the Cyrenaica. In previous attempts, he had returned to Damascus, and then been sent to Dalmatia. That almost certainly had to happen again, otherwise history would be changed very dramatically, and if it were changed that far back in time, anything could happen thereafter. Furthermore, the temporal viewer was unambiguous on one point: without further intervention, Scaevola would not be able to be in Britain and the paradox would be resolved, but not in their favour.

  "I'm just scared I'll blow it," Grenfell said. "I don't even know what I'm saying. You should . . ."

  "We've been through that," Dr Chu said. "Caligulae is speaking to the statue of Jupiter. The statue is going to respond, but it has to sound like Jupiter."

  "But my accent . . ."

  "Is that of a God," Athene insisted. "Caesar has no idea what that would be, and furthermore, we also say that you are Jupiter, Zeus, and a number of other Gods."

  "Suppose he asks me something . . ?"

  "You're the boss God," Dr Chu patted him on the back. "You do not answer to mere mortals. You're doing this because you have by far the deeper and more impressive voice, and you ignore him. Pallas has given you some phrases to say in such a situation, and she'll indicate the number of the one you should use. You're a God. You are not arguing the point; you are telling him what to do, or else."

  "As if we could back up an 'or else' threat?"

  "As if he knows that," Chu shook his head. "Look, the only way of resolving this paradox in which humanity is not destroyed appears to require us to get Scaevola to Britain. If you back out, that's it, so take a deep breath and get on with it."

  Grenfell nodded acceptance, and sat in the chair. Athene smiled encouragement, and began twirling dials.

  * * *

  Once again, Caligulae stepped up to the statue, smirked, and gave his usual tirade, challenging the mighty Jupiter to actually do something. But this time he was careless, and he slipped, fell, and bumped his head on the foot of Jupiter.

  "Well, worm, is that adequate?"

  "Wh what? Who said that?"

  "You challenged. I replied."

  "But . . ."

  "Yes, I know you have been wasting your time challenging a lump of rock to do something, and of course it cannot. But you did not call it a lump of rock. You invoked my name. You challenged me! This is merely to attract your attention."

  "You mean . . ."

  "Listen carefully. My daughter, Minerva, Athene, whatever you wish to call her, is playing a game and you threaten to spoil it. Do not continue to spoil it, or you will pay."

  "What do you want?"

  "Gaius Claudius Scaevola must be made Legatus Legionis of the eleventh in Dalmatia. As an aside, Athene assures me he will be the most loyal of all, and his appointment is critical to retaining the Principate. Do not argue. Do it. At once! I shall not repeat this instruction, and instead if you remove Scaevola from his path, I shall remove you. This is your only warning."

  At that point, Athene leaned over and threw a switch. The image of Caesar's bewilderment faded, and once again she patted Grenfell on the back. "Well done, Ralph."

  "Shouldn't we have waited, in case . . ."

  "You were a God, Ralph. If you had waited, that would show weakness. The boss-god orders, a
nd punishes; he does not start a discussion group with mortals."

  "And the good news," Chu beamed, "is that we have recovered. Our probability has gone back to as good as it ever has been at this stage."

  "But we are still in paradox, and Earth is still desolate," Grenfell pointed out.

  "Yes," Chu nodded. "Now the question is, is there anything else we should do to try and improve those chances?"

  Chapter 2

  Once again, acting Legatus Gaius Claudius Scaevola stood before a mirror; once again, his reward for successfully carrying out his mission was that his commission was to be revoked. Previously, he would have returned to being a Tribune; now there was nowhere for him to go. Previously, a last-minute message arrived and saved him; this time there would be no last-minute message. He adjusted his helmet and prepared to leave his tent. He must not hold up the troops for no better reason than he did not wish to quit.

  He must also disguise the fact that he felt awful; his stomach was attempting a major revolt, his mouth felt as if it were coated with sand, and his head was sore. The previous evening had been so pleasant as the Tribunes and Centurions had insisted on farewell drinks, but now he seemed to be paying for it. Nevertheless, no matter how bad he felt he must not show it, for if last night had shown him anything at all it was that he seemed to have earned some genuine respect amongst the troops. Now was not the time to show weakness.

  As he left his tent he could not resist looking around to see if, once again, there would be a last-minute rescue, a last-minute message, but that was not to be. He marched forward, saluted the Tribunus Laticlavius and marched to the dais. The sun had now risen to about an eighth the way towards noon, and already its heat was making itself felt. Having to stand still with the sun beating on his armour was exactly what his sick feeling did not need, but such feelings had to be put to one side: Romans did their duty.

  He thanked the assembled men for their loyalty and their devotion to duty, he announced that in the brief time he had been with them they had performed admirably and he wished them well for the future. His last order was to require them to march to their base in Egypt and give the same degree of loyalty to their new Legate. He saluted them, then he handed formal authority to the Tribunus Laticlavius.

  At this moment it was customary for the men to give a cheer; they did, several times, and while his sore head was not prepared for it, he stood to attention and he formally saluted them all. He stepped back and then the orders for the first cohort to march were given. Gaius then walked over to and climbed a small stand beside the path to be used by the men as they left the fortification so that he could salute them, cohort by cohort, as they marched past to begin the march to Egypt.

  As they marched, his mind drifted back to the prophecy he had received at the temple of Athene. There was something odd about this prophecy. Athene had promised her prophecy would be validated by a discussion on contraries and it had been. Or had it? Was it the existence of the prophecy that made him follow it? Was the making of the prophecy such that it became self-fulfilling? If that were the case, was the prophecy really a message? Was Athene, whoever she was, pushing him into doing something that otherwise he would not? The more he thought about this, the more he suspected it was true, but if it were true, who or what was Athene?

  He saluted again, as the next cohort began to pass. They were good men, but they were also a killing machine. Fortunately, it had not been necessary to use them as such, and that brought his mind back to the prophecy.

  The issue of the temple had come to pass, but that was not self-fulfilling. Caesar had ordered a statue of himself to be placed in the Temple of Jerusalem, and to save extraordinary bloodshed, he had to persuade Caesar to change his mind. Athene had prophesied that he would lead the most loyal of legions, that he would deny Athene, yet claim to be following her. All of this had inspired his letter to Little Boots, and according to Claudius, this letter had made a very favourable impression. Athene had said he would deny another God, yet his request for help from that God was essential. He had turned his back on Christianity, but he had asked the Christian Rebecca to pray to her God to change Caesar's mind, and Caesar had changed his mind. How could his request to a God he did not believe in have any effect? It could be nothing but a coincidence, but whatever it was, it was not self-fulfilling! The act of thinking about the prophecy might have made him do things he may not have done otherwise, but the act of making the prophecy could not have affected Caesar's actions because Caesar was unaware of it. So, maybe this prophecy was a message from the Gods, or from something, for the fact was, he did not really believe in the Gods. The Gods were simply lumps of stone that represented some of mankind's worst aspects.

  Not that it made much sense in other ways. How could a dream tell what would happen in the future? It was just plain impossible, except it had happened. There were to be two women in his life. The first, the most beautiful of all, he would ignore. The second, the ugliest of all, he would scoff at. So far he had met neither, although it was possible he had met the first and ignored her totally. But if so, how could she have a critical part in his life?

  Then there were the two strangest prophecies: he would make a revolutionary discovery that was critical to understanding physics, and he would make a revolutionary engine that would eliminate the need for slavery. Then the peculiar addition: neither would change anything in his lifetime, but both were critical to his achieving success and averting some terrible disaster. How could that be? Then he was promised military success, he would win major battles and earn a triumph.

  So far, prospects were not good. He believed he had been successful in command, but of the major incidents so far, only one had been a battle, and two he had resolved through diplomacy. Possibly it was more bluff and luck than diplomacy, but nevertheless . . . If he summed up where he had got to, he no longer had a military position; apart from his interpretation of contraries he had made no real progress on physics, while his engine was going nowhere quickly. Perhaps the one redeeming feature of his current situation was that while he had been with the Cyrenaica he had been far too busy to worry about either physics or engines; now he would have a lot of spare time.

  His thoughts on physics were going nowhere, although to be fair, that was mainly because he had not really thought about it at all. Athene had required him to correct Aristotle's physics, and the correction would allow him to prove that the Earth was a planet that travelled around the sun. That seemed impossible, as shown by the fact that Timothy, his erstwhile teacher and now his friend, had provided proofs that the Earth was stationary and was not orbiting anything.

  If his prophecy were real and not a dream, then the implication was that Athene knew the answer, and that Aristotle was wrong. Yet Timothy had provided proofs through physical observation that the Earth had to be stationary. Aristotle, the greatest mind ever, originally obtained these proofs and Aristotle would not be wrong, would he? According to Athene, Aristotle was wrong and if she were a Goddess, she should know. But if she were not a Goddess, then her knowing did not follow, unless . . . Unless what? Then there was the problem that, if she were a Goddess, why was she trying to persuade him to do . . . to do what? She had sent him on a mission, and from the way she told him in the dream, it was almost as if she did not know how to complete it either. Then there was her attitude; it was as if she needed him to succeed far more than he did.

  So, assuming Aristotle was really wrong, what could he do? He could get around some of Aristotle's arguments, but Aristotle's physics had provided one point that seemed insurmountable: orbiting, or travelling in a circle, required continual force to change the direction. That force would have to be provided by the sun, and because the sun was always the same size, the Earth was always the same distance from it. That meant the Earth had to travel in a circle, which required the Earth to be continually falling towards the sun. Since heavier things fall faster than light things, the Earth should fall to pieces but it did not.

  To
make matters worse, it seemed quite obvious that the Earth was not moving. Suppose you were in a cart or chariot, and were being pulled by horses in full flight. Now, when the cart turned a corner, you tended to be flung against the side of the cart, or even worse, you could fall off the cart. Yet for the Earth to orbit, a continual force was required, the Earth would always be turning, and it would be travelling at speeds that made the fastest horses seem like somnolent snails. The problem was, people did not fall over or fall against walls, except when they were drunk.

  That task was hopeless, which was why he had ignored it. Thinking about it was simply a waste of time, and added to which, as Timothy pointed out, even if he could falsify Aristotle's reasoning that did not mean that the Earth moved; it merely meant that Aristotle's reasoning was wrong. The problem was simple: to prove that Aristarchus was correct he had to find some observation that applied only if the Earth moved, for as Aristotle had pointed out, in logic there may be many hypotheses that could explain a fact, and such a fact did not prove any given hypothesis unless it were the only possible hypothesis.

  One thing he was sure of was that movement had to be with respect to something else. Yes, there was the Sun, but that was no help. Even if you could prove the sun was not rotating and you could see the other side half the time, there was no way of telling it was the other side! Consequently, there was no way to prove the Earth moved around the sun. Except that whoever or whatever it was that called herself Pallas Athene said that he would. Well, if it were that important, she could have left a clue! She had a reason for why she hadn't too: she had said whether the Earth moved was unimportant; what was important was the method by which he proved that it moved.

  Then there was the engine. He recalled that his last problem had been to work out how steam could generate power. It was not that steam did not have power, for he had previously seen the results of water heated in an enclosed vessel: the subsequent explosion was quite horrifying. The problem was how to control it, and make it do something useful.