Natta Magus: Journals of Natta Magus, #4

By Rob Steiner

"The idea of Rome and the reality are different. It's the idea that's worth fighting for."

Natta Magus has a chance to do the one thing he's wanted since he got stuck in ancient Rome: Go back home to modern Detroit.

But there's a catch. Octavian Caesar Augustus, Rome's tyrant a-hole, wants him to do one last job for the Empire.

A rogue Roman agent is accumulating magical weapons from the twenty-first century to overthrow Augustus and start a new Roman civil war. Augustus wants Natta to guide a team of Praetorians through future Detroit and bring the traitor back to Rome for justice.

If Natta refuses, he never gets the chance to go home, and Rome descends into a brutal civil war fought with twenty-first-century magic. If he accepts, he can stay in Detroit…but he'll never again see the people in Rome he's come to love.
In the final chapter of the Journals of Natta Magus, Natta must decide where he truly belongs.

Natta Magus is the fourth and final book in The Journals of Natta Magus series, a must-read for fans of Roman alternate history and fantasy. Grab your copy of Rob Steiner's thrilling magical adventure today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rob Steiner
• Release date: Apr 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393032168

Rob Steiner

Rob Steiner lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with his wife, daughter, and a rascal cat. He is the author of the Journals of Natta Magus series, about a wizard from an alternate twenty-first century who is stranded in Augustan Rome. Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show featured two stories about Natta Magus: "The Oath-Breaker's Daemon" and "The Cloaca Maxima." He also wrote the alt-history/space opera Codex Antonius series (Muses of Roma, Muses of Terra, and Muses of the Republic) about a Roman Empire that spawns an interstellar civilization. Be among the first to hear about Rob's new releases by signing up for his "New Release Mailing List" on his web site below. He won't share your info with anyone, and he'll only email you when a new book or story comes out.

Book preview

Natta Magus

Journals of Natta Magus | Book 4

Rob Steiner

Quarkfolio Books

Copyright © 2020 by Rob Steiner.

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Rob Steiner.

April 2020. Published by Quarkfolio Books.

Cover illustration by Tom Edwards Design. Editing by David Drazul.

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For Sarah and Amelia, always.

1

Awise man once said, Destiny is a fickle bitch. He wasn’t talking about my destiny, but he could’ve.

I sat on the damp, stone floor with my back against the brick wall of a Roman prison cell deep beneath the Tarpeian Rock. My dungeon was six feet by six feet. There were no windows. The only light came from the orange lanterns that seeped in from a one-inch gap between the rough-hewn floor and the heavy banded door. The air was humid, cool, and musty. My own body odors were enough to gag me, let alone the stench from my waste bucket in the corner. The only comfort I had was a straw mat on which I’d sat for…well, it seemed like days, but it could’ve been hours for all I knew.

And I thought there was a big spider lurking above me. When they first threw me in here, my face went through a huge web.

Roman prisons suck. Granted, I don’t have a lot of experience with prisons to compare the suckiness of the Roman variety to others. But to a mild-mannered, former scholar, born and raised in the 21st century, they sucked hard. Such was my reward for saving the world again.

Well this was more likely the result of me telling Octavian Augustus, Princeps, First Citizen, and Imperator of the Roman Republic, to go to hell. But what did he expect after kidnapping me from my friends during our victory celebration in Carthage? One of his goons used the sleep spell that I'd taught them and hauled me across the Mediterranean. I’d been asleep for almost four days, which meant I’d gone without food and water that whole time. My body was wrecked, I was disoriented, and I was supremely pissed when they brought me before him.

Had the bastard really expected me to greet him with hugs and kisses when he yanked the hood off my head? The conversation in his throne room had been brief: He asked me to join his legions, I told him off in a rude way, he nodded, the hood went back on, and I was dragged to this cell where I've been sitting now for days (or was it weeks…?).

The one comfort I took was that Augustus didn’t want me dead. They’d had four days to dump my sleeping body into the Mediterranean while they sailed back to Rome. Not to mention Augustus could send a green legionary into my cell at any moment and I’d barely manage a token scream before he stabbed me. No, this was Augustus being Augustus with his mind games. He wanted me broken, but alive. For something.

But what? My magic was gone, used up to stop a demon apocalypse from spreading beyond Carthage. Or at least my natural cell magic was gone. In its place I now had the ability to teach anybody any spell I once knew by simply willing it to them. As far as I knew, everyone in the world was now a magus, but without the knowledge of how to use their new talent. Apparently I was the one who was supposed to teach them.

I could also block someone’s ability to wield magic. That was a bit trickier since I could only do it to one person at a time.

And that was it. Teaching and blocking were the only magic left to me.

I was a Finder back in twenty-first century Detroit before I got stuck in ancient Rome, so I knew very little about arcana outside my specialty of helping people find lost items. I’d figured out new spells over my two years in Rome that had helped me survive some dicey situations, but I wasn’t one of those magi from my time who could cast lightning, stop tornadoes, or part the seas.

So why did Augustus still need me? Had he lost his favorite toga or something?

I coughed, hacked up a wad of phlegm, and spat it in the general direction of the waste bucket. Wasn’t sure if I hit it. The rattling pain in my chest had grown steadily since I got here. Yeah, pneumonia would be perfect about now. At least I hoped pneumonia was all I had. My natural cell magic had kept my body free of the various plagues that rampaged the cities during ancient times. But without my magic, I was as susceptible as anyone. Maybe if I saw Augustus again, I could sneeze at him—

Footsteps and the jangling of keys outside my door. Shadows blocked the one inch of orange light on the floor. I sat up a little straighter but didn’t get up. For one thing I didn’t know if I could stand without falling back down. For another, I still remembered that spider.

The banded door opened. The lantern light from the hall was like looking into the sun. I squinted and blinked, and eventually saw two figures standing in the doorway; only their silhouettes were visible to me. One was the jailer; I could see him putting a ring of keys back on his belt. The other man wore a cloak around his shoulders like a patrician. My eyes adjusted enough to notice the cloak’s blue tints. He also wore a sheathed gladius at his side with a white, pearl grip.

The man shook his head. My friend, he said, what have they done to you?

Vitulus? I croaked. My unused vocal cords rebelled and made me cough for daring to use them.

Water, now, Vitulus growled to the jailer.

The jailer hesitated. I was told he gets no water or food for—

Vitulus put a hand on his gladius hilt. I am a Praetorian prefect, dog, he said. I’m ordering you to get this man some water. You will comply or I will scourge you till your spine shows. Clear?

One thing that I’d always liked about Vitulus was how he could intimidate the hell out of anyone. Came in handy during our days investigating supernatural occurrences around Rome when we had to get information from people who didn’t want to give it up. Hard to believe that was only a few months ago.

The jailer was no exception. He nodded quickly and said, Yes, dominus. He hurried down the hall.

My eyes were slowly adjusting to the new light, so I could see the worry on Vitulus’s face.

I look that bad? I said. I managed to keep the coughing at bay, but my voice continued to sound like a bullfrog.

Vitulus sniffed and seemed to hold back a gag for my sake. I’ve seen you look worse.

My friend could intimidate the hell out of anyone, but he was a terrible liar.

When? I asked.

He shrugged. Falling into the sewage of the Cloaca Maxima when we fought that basilisk, he said. Or when you took an arrow in the shoulder at Aventicum.

Yeah, I said. Good times. I stared at him. Are you here to get me out?

I tried to keep my voice even, but even I heard the pleading tone. The truth was that Augustus had broken me. At that point, I was ready to do anything he wanted to get out of that cell. I’m not a hardened soldier like Vitulus. I was from the cozy twenty-first century where magic cured diseases and could send me across the globe in hours. Two years in ancient Rome had hardened me, sure, but this cell…this was different. I was sick, weak, and barely able to string two words together. I couldn’t take much more of this and maintain my sanity.

My friend’s pained expression deepened. That is not within my power, my friend.

I bit my lip to keep from crying. Then…then what good are you?

The jailer came back at that moment with a circle of hard emmer bread and a bucket in which I heard sloshing. My dry mouth and cracked lips ached so badly at the sound that I thought I’d pass out.

Vitulus grabbed the jailer’s arm. I almost screamed for him to let the man enter so I could get at that water, but my friend’s next words made me glad he stopped the jailer.

You were not gone long, Vitulus said in a dangerous voice. This water came from the Tiber and not the aqueduct.

The water is clean, dominus, I swear it, the jailer stammered.

Vitulus leaned close to the flinching man. Then drink it.

The jailer’s eyes grew wide. He looked from Vitulus to the bucket. Perhaps…the bucket is not as clean as it could be. I will put the water into…something else.

Vitulus let go of the jailer’s arm, and the man practically sprinted away.

You’re people skills are as charming as ever, I said.

He gave me a grim look. I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.

How could you know Seius would haul me back to Rome in chains? That he’d use my own sleep spell against me.

And right before a glorious night with Helva, I thought miserably. Glorious was her promise, not mine.

Vitulus shook his head, stared at the floor a long time, and then held his chin up.

Gnaeus Seius Mergus did not cast that sleep spell. I did.

I stared at my best friend.

And really, I did consider Vitulus my best friend. I didn’t have a best friend back in Detroit. Well, I suppose you could say Brianna, my former fiancé, was my best friend, but I’m talking about another guy. A bro I could hang out with, watch Detroit Wolverines baseball games, share a beer, laugh over crude jokes. Granted, Vitulus was a Roman, which meant we typically had vastly different senses of humor. But he did have a sense of humor in his own way. We went to quite a few races together and drank cups of posca at the local taverns. He tried to get me to go to gladiator matches, but that was one of the many aspects of Roman society that I’d simply never get used to (never mind slavery, the virtual ownership of women, public bathing, public latrines, etc.).

Anyway, Vitulus was my first real BFF. And here he was saying that he betrayed me. At that moment, his face seemed to morph into another friend who had betrayed me: William Pingree Ford, the mentor and father figure who had abandoned me in ancient Rome in the first place.

Oh, was all I managed.

It was as if Vitulus had been waiting for me to say something, anything, before making his excuses. Once I said something, he was like a fire hose with them.

You must understand that I did it to save your life. If I hadn’t spelled and captured you when I did, Seius would have done it. And then filled your unconscious body full of steel and claimed you had tried to fight him and escape. I got to you first and then handed you over to Seius in front of many witnesses. He had no choice but to bring you back to Rome alive per the orders of the Princeps.

My hero, I said quietly. I licked my dry lips, but no spit was on my tongue. Where was that damned jailer?

I hate all of this subterfuge, Vitulus grumbled. I am certain that if Augustus would have only asked you to return to Rome, you would have done it of your own free will.

I didn’t say anything.

"I must follow his orders, Vitulus said, almost pleadingly. He is my imperator, Natta Magus."

And I was your friend.

He blinked. "You are my friend."

Leave.

It was only a whisper, barely audible to my own ears. But Vitulus jerked as if I’d stuck a dagger in his gut. I took a lot of satisfaction in that.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then nodded. He left with slumped shoulders, a far cry from the proud, confident warrior who’d entered the cell.

The door remained open, but I had no strength to get up and see if I could possibly escape. I was in worse shape than before Vitulus arrived, if that was possible. I don’t remember any thoughts running through my head after Vitulus left, but if there had been, they would’ve gone something like this:

Another friend had betrayed me. Ergo, I will not make any more friends.

And he hadn’t just betrayed me. He’d robbed me of a chance at happiness with the first woman I’d felt anything for besides Brianna. Was Helva still back in Carthage wondering why I hadn’t met her at the bath house? Was she worried? More importantly, was she okay? Was her dirtbag brother, Silanus, giving her the I told you so speech even now?

What about Paetus, my self-proclaimed chronicler who’d become another friend? Or Cana, my leerling apprentice? Were they searching the North African deserts for my body?

One feeling I do remember from that moment was a cold dread as all existing warmth seemed to seep from body: Or are they all dead by Seius’s hand?

All because my best friend had betrayed me.

I didn’t care about his excuses, that he’d done it to save my life. I’m sure he believed that. But I now knew where his true loyalties were. Augustus would always come before me.

I don’t know how much longer I sat there staring at the open jail cell before the jailer hurried back in with a different bucket of water. He set it down beside me without a word and tossed the circle of emmer bread into my lap. I didn’t move. He grunted at my lack of reaction (did he expect a thank you?) and then left, locking the door behind him.

Darkness took me once again.

2

H ow do I forgive a friend who betrayed me? I asked the spider hiding above my head.

I don’t know how long I’d been sitting in the pitch blackness after Vitulus left before I said that. Could’ve been hours or days or seconds. But it was all I could think about while huddled in the corner with only my thoughts and a spider to keep me company.

I don’t know if I can forgive him, I said. When William betrayed me, I was more shocked and surprised. With Vitulus, all I feel is emptiness. I’d be fine if I never saw him again.

Why don’t you list the pros and cons like you always do? the spider said from the corner above me.

I snorted. What do you know about friendship?

Check the attitude, pal. I didn’t start this conversation.

"Are you a lovable Charlotte’s Web kind of a spider or more like—I swallowed—Shelob?"

Neither, dumb-ass, because I’m not really talking to you. I’m a voice in your mind that you’re projecting to the spider. Now, you’re missing the point here. The betrayals by William and Vitulus are so different that they’re not even on the same planet.

"Enlighten me, then, oh great and terrible dungeon arachnid. I don’t have enough brain power to analyze that statement and create your dialogue."

Then I’ll use small words, the spider said, its voice just above my head now. The beast must have floated down on a web strand to get closer. I fought the urge to bat it away because I could’ve really used its advice.

When William betrayed you, the spider continued, he did it without a care to your well-being. Yeah, he said he wanted to save the world, but you were simply a tool for him to do that. He never apologized or asked your forgiveness.

And Vitulus did, I said. So what? That doesn’t change anything. I’m in a dungeon talking to you because of him.

Right. And not at the bottom of the Mediterranean talking to dead pirates. Because you know Seius would’ve done that given the chance.

Blah, blah, blah, he saved my life. What a guy.

The spider sighed. You really don’t want to forgive him, do you?

No, I don’t! I yelled at the spider. "I had my first shot at real happiness since I got stuck in Rome and Vitulus took that from me! I’m in a dungeon and not a bath house with a beautiful, strong, smart, and, oh, by the way, beautiful Egyptian princess."

Did Vitulus take that from you, or Augustus?

Don’t try to push this off on Augustus. He’s always been a treacherous spider—er, no offense.

Spiders don’t get offended.

I’ve never trusted Augustus, and I always knew he’d order someone to stab me in the back the first chance he got. I just didn’t expect Vitulus to be holding the blade.

I heard something drop to the ground near my hand. I didn’t move my hand, just to show the spider that I wasn’t creeped out by a large, hairy spider standing inches from my hand. Even though I was.

The spider’s voice came from that spot. "You’ve been in Rome, what, two years now? And you still don’t understand how the whole Roman honor thing works? Vitulus had no choice. He had to either follow his orders or risk being branded an oath-breaker. And having that label doesn’t just doom your career in Rome; oh no, it dooms your entire gens to obscurity, outright banishment, and sometimes death depending on what mood ol’ Octavius is in."

I just glowered in the direction of the spider’s voice.

But never mind all that, the spider said, because it’s Vitulus’s honor that would suffer. And you know he values that above all else in his life, including his own wife and son. Vitulus gave his word that he’d follow orders. If he broke that, he might as well be dead.

He gave his word to me that he’d be my friend, I muttered.

"And so he had to do something to reconcile his oath to Augustus and his oath to you. That’s why you’re alive, in a dungeon, talking to a spider rather than buried in a shallow grave outside Carthage with a dozen arrows in your back. Vitulus did an incredibly brave thing by getting you out of Carthage and outsmarting Seius."

Soft, spidery legs crawled onto my hand, but I still didn’t move it. Stupid, know-it-all spider. I’ll show you brave—

Ow! I yelled and pulled my hand off the damp stone floor. Why did you bite me?

I could hear the shrug in the spider’s voice. I’m a spider, dumb-ass.

I swung my other hand down in the spot from which I heard the voice and felt a satisfying squish. I hoped it was the spider and not some other unidentifiable piece of, er, debris.

Someone fiddled with the lock on my cell door, and then it opened. Once again I was blinded by the meager lantern light outside, but knew enough to avert my eyes and squint. And once again there were two figures in the doorway, one the stocky jailer and the other…

Ah crap.

Talking to yourself already, Natta Magus? Seius said with a sneer in his voice. It usually takes a few more days for most people to lose their minds down here. You’re weaker than I thought.

I wasn’t talking to myself, I said indignantly. I was talking to a spider.

Seius turned to the jailer. Clean him up. Give him fresh clothes. Come get me when he’s presentable and doesn’t smell like the gutters.

Yes, dominus, the jailer said.

Seius turned to leave, but I yelled after him, Where are you taking me?

The Princeps wants to see you, Seius said over his shoulder. And you’d better give him the answer he wants. He’s losing patience.

3

The jailer forced me to strip off the ragged clothes I’d worn since Carthage (good riddance) and then threw bucket after bucket of tepid water over my head. He tossed me a brick of soap that literally felt like a brick when it struck me in my naked chest.

I ain’t cleaning you, the jailer snarled. Bad enough I got to rinse you.

I picked up the soap without comment and lathered it up as much as I could. After cleaning the vital, smelly parts, the jailer rinsed me again and then tossed me a tunic, which I slipped over my head.

I rubbed my scruffy face. Got any razors?

The jailer stared at me. I’ll give you a razor across your throat if you speak again, dog.

Like most Romans, the jailer was about a foot shorter than my normal, twenty-first century height. But given my weakened condition—I was beginning to shiver from the bath—I doubted I’d put up much of a fight if he did come at me with murderous intent. I kept my mouth shut as he motioned me out of the cell.

He pushed me through the dank hallways,