Ides of March (Time Patrol) (25 page)

Helpless, facing imminent death, Odoacer cried out in a surprisingly loud voice: “Where is God? Where is God?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

Theodoric struck a mighty blow straight down, smashing through Odoacer’s helmet, splitting his head asunder.

Blood spurted and Odoacer collapsed forward onto the table at Theodoric’s feet.

“He doesn’t have a brave bone left in his wretched body,” Theodoric declared as he struggled to pull his sword out of the skull. He looked back at his Ostrogoths. “Kill them all. His wife. His brother. Any of his soldiers who do not swear allegiance to me.” He finally got his sword out and sheathed it without cleaning the blade. He gestured at one of his men, who handed him a large axe.

Theodoric lifted it over his head. He swung, muscles and gravity working together.

Roland was splattered with brain and blood as the axe-head finished splitting Odoacer’s head in half.

Theodoric acknowledged Roland for the first time. “Shove it up on the table.”

The download confirmed the command. This was the way it happened. Roland grabbed Odoacer’s belt and threw the corpse onto the table. Theodoric resumed his grisly work, splitting Odoacer in half as the legend, and the history, recorded.

Rome, Roman Empire, 44 B.C.

“
HERE I WILL STAND TILL CAESAR PASS ALONG
,”
Moms murmured.

Spurinna was next to her, quiet and subdued. Overwhelmed with the past few hours, the reverberations of her errors in judgment still echoing in her mind, along with Pyrrha, her words, and her disappearance. She’d asked no questions when Moms demanded to be led to the Senate. They’d left Antony passed out, absent from the moment that would write the future history.

They were outside the Senate. Waiting.

“
My heart laments that virtue cannot live
,” Moms continued, speaking the words from the download out loud. “
O, Caesar, thou mayst live. If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive
.” She glanced over at Spurinna. “Act Two, Scene Three.”

“A play?”

“Yes. Written far in the future.” Moms knew she shouldn’t be talking like this. “That’s a fatal secret, by the way.”

“All I’ve witnessed today is a fatal secret,” Spurinna said. “I am an old woman. There are few foolish old women in Rome.” She pointed. “He’s coming.”

Surrounded by sycophants and no guards, Caesar strode toward the Senate. Hands were clutching at his robes. As he was about to pass, he saw Spurinna and halted. “You realize the Ides are here.”

As Spurinna made to answer, Moms place a hand on her arm, responding in her place. “And they have not yet gone.”

“Indeed, they have not.” Caesar waved an imperious hand and the crowd stepped back as he moved within a few feet of the two women. “I have heard and seen all the warnings. Yours—” he nodded at Spurinna—” and then Calpurnia’s dream. Cleopatra sent a servant with a warning; the fact she didn’t come herself, message enough. Antony has not shown himself. Another message.”

“Then why?” Moms asked. There was a shadow in the depth of Caesar’s eyes, an awareness of the situation.

“’Why’?” Caesar repeated, taking the question seriously. “What you see before you? Is a man already dead.”

“The strokes?” Moms asked. “The heart-mind sickness?”

Caesar was startled. “That. But more than that. They wait for me today. If I don’t make the appointment they have arranged, will they not wait for me tomorrow? And every day? And if I never show up, will that not indicate a craven coward? And can a coward rule? Eventually they will not wait and they will come for me. It is inevitable.”

“Fate,” Moms said.

“Yes.” He glanced toward the crowd waiting at the entrance to the Senate. “I do not fear death. We all die. I fear being forgotten. I would rather die as Caesar, than live and be forgotten.”

“
A coward dies many times before their deaths
,” Moms quoted. “
The valiant taste of death but once
.”

A sad smile on Caesar’s part. “Very well put.”

“So it will be written,” Moms said.

The crowd was edging closer, pushing the time.

“I do fear one thing,” Caesar said. He leaned close so only Moms could hear. “Can you tell me: what of Brutus? I love him like a son. Will harm come to him when he tries to protect me?”

And Moms lied.

Petrograd, Russia, 1917.

DOC HEARD A DISTANT NOISE,
a very irritating one. A fast-paced clattering, clacking noise. It took him a moment, but then he realized it was his own teeth. Doc forced them to stop chattering, but he couldn’t control the shivering. He sat up into darkness, except for the dying embers of a fire. The fireplace at which Golovkin’s guards and Krylo had been warming themselves.

Panic overwhelmed the shivering. How long had he been unconscious? How long for the fire to go out? To burn down to embers? How much of his time bubble was left?

Doc jumped to his feet and regretted it as he almost passed out. His head throbbed. He assumed he had a concussion and for a moment pondered how that would affect his ability to calculate and—

“Nada Yada!” Doc said the two words out loud. Focus on the mission. If he were pulled back now, who knew what that idiot Golovkin would do. Had done!

Doc opened the door and peered out. It was dark outside the Palace. How late?

Doc headed for the Tsarina’s quarters, praying that she, and her children, were still there.

As he came to the corridor that ended in the main entrance to the Tsarina’s quarters, Doc was relieved to see both of Golovkin’s peasants guarding the door. Doc approached in what he hoped was a commanding manner.

He wasn’t very good at it, as both men stepped in front, barring his way.

“I demand to see the Tsarina!” Doc yelled as loudly as he could. “By the spirit of Rasputin, and the Will of God, I must speak to her.”

He heard arguing on the other side of the door, one of them a woman’s voice. So he had not failed. Yet.

The door swung open. Count Golovkin filled the doorway. He glared at Doc.

“Why did you not tell me—” he began, but the Tsarina’s voice cut him off.

“Out of the way!”

The Count finally followed an order, stepping aside.

“My Angel!” the Tsarina called out, seeing Doc. “Where have you been?”

Doc glanced at Golovkin and he shook his head.

“There were other matters to attend to,” Doc said.

Golovkin spoke up. “If you had told me of your prophecy, I would have assisted you.”

“The prophecy was for the Tsarina,” Doc said.

But Golovkin’s eye glittered with something Doc couldn’t quite place.

“Might we speak privately?” Golovkin asked.

Doc was going to object, but the Tsarina answered for him. “Yes. You men discuss this. I must prepare the girls. We are almost ready to leave,” she said to Golovkin, shutting the door.

Golovkin pushed Doc further into the corridor, out of earshot of the two guards. “We do not have much time. The only reason I do not shoot you down right now is because the Tsarina believes in you, like she believed in that fool Rasputin. And a shot would draw attention we don’t want from the Bolsheviks. They are outside arguing among themselves what to do now that the abdication has been formalized. Many advocate coming in here and killing all of them immediately.”

“Where do you propose taking the Tsarina and girls?” Doc argued. “There is nowhere for them but here.”

“England. To their cousin, King George. He promised that he would provide haven for the family.”

“And he revoked that promise,” Doc said.

“They are family!”

“They are Royals,” Doc said. “Do you understand what is happening here? This is an assault on the concept of the monarchy. Do you think King George wants that on his soil? In the midst of a war that all his people are growing weary of? And the Tsarina is from Germany! How do you think the British people will react to that? When their fathers, brothers, sons, are dying battling the Germans on the Western Front? He gives refuge to a German? Get in reality, man.”

Golovkin was stricken. “But, where do I take them?”

“Nowhere. I told you. The Bolsheviks will guard them. It is not in their interests to harm the Royals. It is
against
their interests.”

“Will Alexei become Tsar as you promised the Tsarina?”

Doc looked him in the eye. “Yes.”

“In two years?”

“Less than two years.”

Golovkin didn’t seem convinced. “If it is true, that would be good.”

It occurred to Doc to check the download. Count Pyotr Golovkin would join the White Army, along with most of the nobles. He would be dead just over a year from now, betrayed by his own soldiers when they defected to the Reds. The information was graphic: his eyes would be torn out, then he would be forced to run a gauntlet of drunken soldiers, jabbing their bayonets at him, until he finally collapsed and bled out. He would be just one of the approximately ten million who would die in the five years as Civil War following the Revolution.

This was all about death.

“What is it?” Golovkin asked, seeing the look on Doc’s face.

“Nothing. Just a bad memory.”

“Your memories are our future,” Golovkin said. “What is looming that brings such distress to you?”

“There are many hardships ahead for everyone,” Doc said, as vague a true statement as he could utter.

They both turned at the sound of a commotion echoing through the palace.

Golovkin pulled the big revolver out of his coat. “They’re coming!”

“Put that away,” Doc said. “If you fight, the Tsarina and the children are sure to be killed. I guarantee you that they will not be harmed!”

Golovkin didn’t put the gun away, but he didn’t raise it. His two men came up and flanked him.

A large group approached down the main hallway. Doc stiffened when he saw that the Tsar was among them, Krylo scurrying close behind him. The rest were revolutionaries. Doc sifted through the download, searching for information about who was who this day at Alexander Palace.

The group halted just a few paces away. The Tsar gestured and Krylo whispered something to him.

Tsar Nicholas II pointed at Doc. “That man.”

The man to the right of Nicholas issued an order. “Take him.”

Four soldiers with bayonets fixed on their rifles moved toward Doc.

Golovkin stepped forward, halting them. “Wait.” He addressed the man who’d given the order. “Kerensky, we must keep the peace.”

“That is what I am doing,” Kerensky said. “The Tsar has informed me that this man speaks as Rasputin’s ghost. He has effects from the priest’s body. He has snuck into the Duchesses’ rooms and stolen from them. We are removing him before he can cause any more trouble.” Then Kerensky matched Golovkin’s step forward. “And what are
you
doing here, Count?” He glanced at the Tsar. “Your Excellency, does he have your permission to be at your family’s private quarters?”

Nicholas II, former Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias, had deep bags under his eyes. His shoulders were slumped and his hair roughly combed. He barely shook his head, not saying anything.

“Take him and those two pigs also,” Kerensky ordered. The two peasants were dragged away, of no consequence, not making a protest. Several soldiers pointed their rifles at Golovkin. A pair had their bayonets pressed into Doc’s coat.

Golovkin started to raise the pistol when the Tsarina’s voice interrupted. “What is going on?”

“We are ridding the palace of vermin, your Majesty,” Kerensky said. One of the revolutionaries snatched the gun out of Golovkin’s hand.

“He is an angel sent by Grigori from heaven!” the Tsarina cried out.

“My dearest,” Nicholas murmured, moving past everyone to his wife.

“He is our angel!” Alexandra protested.

“He is the spawn of the devil,” Kerensky said. “Just as Rasputin.”

Nicholas put an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “My dearest.” He led her to the door. He turned and faced the group. He summoned some energy: “May the Lord God help Russia!”

Then he shut the door, the Tsarina still crying out for her angel.

“Come,” Kerensky ordered.

Shots echoed in the distance, a ragged volley.

Prodded by bayonets, Golovkin and Doc were paraded down the main corridor, out into the freezing night air.
This isn’t real
, Doc thought. He felt detached, as if this was happening to someone else.

This isn’t happening.

He and Golovkin were marched down the wide stairs to the circular drive, then off to the side, where small trees had been cut down. They fueled a fire around which a dozen revolutionaries were passing a bottle.

Doc saw bullet marks in the stone wall. So did Golovkin. There were two bundles off to one side and Doc realized they were the two peasant guards.

“Kerensky,” Golovkin protested. “I am a Count. You have no authority over me.”

“I must keep the peace here,” Kerensky said. He raised his hands, as if in surrender.

“I am chosen by the Tsarina,” Doc cried out. He held up the icon.

“The wall!” one of the men by the fire yelled.

The bayonets pressed. Doc and Golovkin backed up until they could go no further.

“This is your fault,” Golovkin said to Doc. “We should have escaped with the family when we had the chance.”

This made no sense
, Doc thought. “There is no need for this! Everything will happen as it did!”

“This is not how I die,” Golovkin said. “This is not how I die,” he repeated, as if he could convince someone. “I should die leading my troops. Not like this.”

Doc reached out and grabbed Golovkin’s hand, remembering the man’s horrible fate from the download. “This is better.”

For you
, Doc thought. He looked up, desperately wishing he were a man of faith. He spotted a candle flickering in a second floor window to the right. In the halo of light he saw Anastasia’s sad face, her dark eyes looking back at him.

A command was shouted, followed the sound of rifle bolts loading cartridges into chambers.