The Demons of Rome

XVIII - The Messenger

The storm tore through the night, whipping against the walls and battering on the windows. Students and teachers were stirred in their beds, uneasy sleep came sporadically to even the hardest heart. The air itself seemed to be trying to take refuge inside the stone walls.

A ragged and lonely figure galloped through the tempest. The small horseman clutched frantically at his cloak as the wind tried to tear him from the horse. He was small and looked under fed, wearing terror on his face like a mask.

He galloped up to the gates of the academy, dismounted and was quickly ushered inside.

Iatus woke to Ava knocking on his bedroom door.

"Master Iatus! Master Iatus!"

Iatus groaned, groggy from sleep. He sat up to see it was still dark outside his window.

"What is it Ava?"

"A messenger arrived in the night, the Legate has called everyone to the arena," she said urgently, bustling into the room.

Iatus sighed and rolled over and Ava moved to get his clothes from his wardrobe.

Aelith flew to his shoulder on the way out and they headed up the stairs.

Max was sat with his imp by his side and Iatus walked over to him. It was a cold morning and the red mouse's warmth was a blessed comfort.

"What's going on?" Max asked when he saw Iatus.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," replied Iatus.

Max pulled a disappointed face and returned to gazing sternly at the centre of the arena, "Well, it's nothing good to be sure."

Iatus sat down beside the fire mouse and waited. He noticed that Tribune Claudius and Prefect Scipio were sat at the back of the arena in their box, looking just as concerned as Max.

A minute or two later the Legate strode into the arena, his face fixed in a scowl. He ascended the steps up to the box and put his hands on the railing. The crowd fell into a deathly silence.

"Students! You will no doubt have heard that a messenger arrived in the night. The news he brought is grim indeed. The Ninth Legion has fallen in battle to the Gauls."

The crowd burst into hushed whispers, ripples of emotion wrapped around the stadium. Outrage, disbelief, some even started to cry. Iatus didn't know exactly what that meant so he just sat in silence.

The Legate held up his hand and silence fell on the arena again.

"Furthermore, major rebellions have also risen up in Hispania and in Carthage. As such, this Academy has been drafted into full military service."

There was a collective intake of breath, but no-one dared speak.

"As such, the student body will be divided into three, each group led by one of us. I shall take a contingent to Hispania, Tribune Scipio will go to Carthage and Tribune Claudius will go to Gaul. The groups are as follows..."

Iatus' brain was in overdrive, but he couldn't string together a coherent thought. They were going to war? Why? Couldn't the Legions deal with it?

He heard his name and the haze went away for long enough for him to hear Max say they were in the same group. He felt sick. He wanted to stand up and object, to shout at the Legate, to say they weren't ready for a war but his legs wouldn't move and his voice wouldn't work.

Suddenly the world seemed very real. No longer an abstract place somewhere over the horizon. Now it seemed, it wanted him dead.

"My group and Scipio's leave in three days time, as the ships must be readied, however Claudius' group leaves tomorrow. It is a long journey to Gaul, so make ready. Dismissed."