Empire Of The Undead Read Online Free

was confronted by many conspiracies and he needed friends. Nero had been very popular, and by recalling one known to have supported him, Vespasian was shoring up support.  He knew why Vespasian wanted him. Vespasian needed a trustworthy friend of Caesar, an amici caesaris. Every man had skills, and Rufus knew he could organize better than any man living could. In addition to keeping him alive from conspirators, and winning his wars in foreign lands, the Emperor had started many vast building projects. Rufus settled back in his litter, restless and satisfied at the same time. Organization was his greatest strength, but he had been gone for far too long. He had no friends in court and would have to work hard to regain any power.
    They traveled on the Via Ostiensis, the road that led directly to Rome from the port city. The countryside passed him by. He stared at the vineyards and small farms, filled with an uneasy sense of the surreal. He knew these lands well, and before him, the same stony paths winding through the same dry autumn fields. The same men, former soldiers or fifth sons, oversaw the work in the fields, and the same slaves bled and sweat as they labored. However, there were a thousand small differences, each too small to notice individually, which collectively made Rufus uneasy. He had already known that he was returning to a different world than the one he’d left, but he was beginning to understand the implications of that fact. No man ever stepped into the same river twice, as the saying went.
    Beside him, Plautius was silent, staring. He’d never been to Rome, had come to Rufus’ service from Iberia. His awe visibly increased as they drew closer to Rome itself. Rufus grimaced, as Plautius was embarrassing himself. The city was wicked, depraved, and ugly. It reminded Rufus of an overweight, middle-aged whore.  It had been glorious in youth, there was no contesting that, but it now drooped in places it shouldn’t have, and was far grander in its own estimation than any objective view would grant. For an ambitious man, however, removal from Rome was political death. Rome was where the heart of the Empire beat.
    They passed into the heated, crowded city. He had forgotten the size of it. Aqueducts rose high overhead, blocking out the sun. Statues loomed everywhere, each rising higher than the last, and there were so many people. Some of them were obviously new to the city, and they were fatally slow at getting out of the way of the litters. Injuries and death were the only reward for not moving quickly enough out of the way. Many died, but there were always more people, and more of the penniless and destitute appeared every day in the city. A great city is a great solitude, as the proverb went.
    The great fire had burned almost a decade before, but in this valley, nestled between several hills, the damage was still evident.  Rufus stopped the litter and climbed out. He was staring. The colossal statue of Nero himself, which had been built after the fire, was gone, and the beautiful swimming lake was drained and slowly being filled in. Nero’s Golden Palace, where Rufus had spent many a wild night, was half destroyed, by orderly crews deconstructing it floor by floor.
    This isn’t even strangely similar. It’s just different. Entirely different. Rufus thought. That wasn’t entirely true though. Though everything before his eyes was different, the smell remained the same, and that valley floor ménage of olives, garlic, piss, and vinegar.
    Dozens of men were working, knocking down buildings and removing the rubble. Crews of brawny slaves hauled in huge baskets of marble, tufa, and wood. He’d known for two years that Vespasian had started construction, but the size of it astounded him. Only recently, with the final collapse of the Jewish rebellion, would Vespasian have the necessary funds to complete a project of this size.
    “This amphitheater of the Flavians,” he spoke slowly, “it will dwarf all