Rome (Writefaggotry)

Beatrix slowly pulled herself to her feet, panting heavily. Her grip on the silk covered lectus turned her manicured hands white asshe sat down on its cushioned seat. Her head throbbed terribly.

Her eyes were drawn to her brother, Antonius, who still stood arm raised with the smoking pistol in his now wavering grip. His handsome face was frighteningly pale; Beatrix dropped her head at the sight, shivering. Never had she seen such a stern expression, not even on father.

Eyes drowned in fear and tears, she stole a glance at the body resting in the expanding pool of blood. He was short and dressed in rough cut, rough fabric in the manner she attributed to these eastern barbarian peasants. The back of his shaved head berthed a red cavity of brain matter. The throbbing in her head was becoming frantic.

Lying adjacent to the body was a fine bladed dagger. Thankfully, the blood slowly covering flowing beneath it did not belong to its intended victim.

“Bea.” She looked towards her brother once more. He quickly replaced the revolver in its holster as he fairly ran to his sister’s side. Taking a knee, he gathered up her hands in his. They were warm, the back of her mind noticed.

“Bea, are you alright?”

She said nothing but stared blankly at his eagle breastplate. There was a storm of banging in her skull. She felt as if it would split.

A gentle, warm hand on her chin raised her eyes into his, “Bea, are you hurt.” The worry in his dark eyes was obvious, and she realized he was close to panic.

“I.. I’m f… fine,” came her chirp as she struggled to slow her breathing.

Antonius breathed a sigh of relief then turned his glance towards the open cabin door. Across the way, the door of the next car was beginning to shatter around its iron hinges. Almost absently she realized that the banging in her skull was in her skull after all.

Her brother took up a position between the portal and his sister as he rose to his feet once more. He calmly began to draw his pistol once more as the door finally burst open.

Another sigh of relief escaped his lips as the red cloth and gold engraved steel armor of their guards became visible. Small, black automatic rifles were tucked into their shoulders. Antonius raised a hand to his head and rubbed his temple as they swarmed into the room with practiced precision. Within moments they had swept every inch of the room and had taken up defensive positions. Antonius holstered the pistol for the second time.

Two guards examined the siblings with undo scrutiny and shameless, firm hands. Septimus, captain of the contingent, strode forward and took a submissive knee at the foot of his charge.

“Centurion General, Lady Hadrianus, are you well?” his voice was gruff and scratchy, the result of a bad throat wound from his field days. There were worse souvenirs, he would often mention. “Tell me, captain,” Antonius began, “how did a single man manage to stop one of the Empire’s most heavily armored steam trains, transverse its supposedly well guarded interior, and nearly manage to assassinate a, if I may be so bold as to say, fairly important military commander and his kin in their own living quarters?” There was as brief pause, but before the captain could reply the young officer added, “and why, in the name of Tartarus, did it take you people so bloody long to get in here!? My sister and I could have been headless, heartless, handless corpses by the time you managed to get your sorry asses in here,“he pouted.

With this, Beatrix let out a small shrill and began to sob deeply; the realization of how close she had come to death finally broke upon her like a tidal wave, a tidal wave that was intent on flooding the car through her eyes.

“Damn,” cursed Antonius as he took a seat next to his sister and drew her close with a strong arm. “Bea, it’s alright, you’re fine. Nothing can hurt you now.” She allowed herself to be comforted and clung to the hem of his red shirt as she sobbed into his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Septimus had begun his report: “Twas treason, my lord. One of the slaves, a native slave girl, broke a key in the door and pulled the emergency cord. Everyone on the train was knocked of their feet, and we had to break to door down to reach you.”

“The assassin must have been on the roof, either as a stowaway or having jumped there from one of the damnable hills we keep passing so close too,” mused Antonius.

“That seems likely, my lord. The other car has no windows, so the slave couldn’t have seen any landmarks to mark an ambush point. And there would have been a small army waiting, rather than one assassin,” agreed the captain, still kneeling.

Antonius snapped the fingers on his free hand, “yes, the slave girl. Where is she now?” “Marcus!” snapped the guard captain. The indicated man saluted and quickly retreated from the room.

While they waited, brother continued to hold and comfort sister. They did not wait long. Soon Marcus and another guard returned with a badly bruised young native girl borne between them. Unceremoniously they dropped her to the floor.

Septimus, now standing, leaned forward and roughly grabbed her by the pony tale. He lifted her enough that they could see her bruise darkened face. Her already thin, slit like eyes were both swollen shut.

“Can you see me, little bitch?” he asked with a cruel shake of his hand. The act received a sequel of pain. “M-mhai…” she moaned.

“Translator?” asked Antonius, now standing while another slave, a Greek one, took over the job of comforting his sister.

“Terent here can speak, well enough,” said the captain, indicating the man with a nod, who summarily stood at attention and saluted, “but the bitch understands well enough. All of ‘em on this bucket of bolts were chosen for that reason.” He smiled, “makes ‘em better servants, what with being able to understand orders and all.” He paused for a moment, “she said ‘no,’ by the way.”

“Very well, but let’s continue the interrogation in another car. We simply cannot have you continue cursing in front of my dear, frail sister here,” quipped Antonius. “Oh, and get someone in here to clean up this mess,” he added almost as an afterthought.

Before leaving, he turned back to his sister and kneeled once more. He placed his hands on her shoulders in a firm, but gentle grip. “Bea,” he began, “I’m going to be leaving now. You go back into your bedroom and get some sleep. I’ll post guards at every door in this car, and I’ll still be on the train. Just call for me if you need anything.” He lifted her chin so their eyes met, “can you do that for me?” he asked, “can you be strong?”

She allowed her head to droop back towards the floor when he removed his hand, but managed a weak nod.

“That’s my girl,” he said with a weak smile as he gave her a gentle hug. “Stay safe.”

And with a kiss to her forehead he was gone, mumbling something about gathering up all of the other Asian slaves on board.