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Caius Martius Corliolanus. He had been a man, once. He had been a god. They had exalted him as they exalted Mars, they had bestowed the laurels on his head, they had given him riches and wine and women. He earned his spoils, he alone vanquished as a lion vanquishes the rabbit.
But now? Now he was a specter.
His actions, his bravery and fearlessness in battle, his honesty and brutal speech at home, none of it had gained him anything. He had been left a ghost, a wandering soul never to see the Elysium fields. It tasted bitter and bile in his throat. He had been great. He had been a king.
Rome, too, his once-great city, thorn in his side and home in his heart, crumbled to dust. The world remembered Rome, but not as he did. Not as one who had lived it could. Rome now swarmed with visitors from other lands, and Latin was dead—Italian had risen in its place long ago, and Caius Martius had been there to see the language change. It was so subtle for so long that it was naught but long afterword that he looked back and realized he no longer spoke the tongue of his birth. And his soul? His soul was trapped.
The place he had died became the place he could not leave. His body had been left, hanging from the rafters like so much meat at a butcher’s shop, and back when he cared he had sworn it was his lack of burial that led to this. Had not the stories always said that a man unburied would never have peace? Even his bones no longer existed, having been carried away by dogs aeons ago.
There was but one thing that brightened the dimness of his existence, and that was the havoc he could wreak. This building—this once dirty, desperate meeting place, this forge that had seen him kiss his family goodbye—this place was now what amounted to an inn. The renovations were decades ago now, the blink of an eye, and what was now called a ‘hotel’ became a bustling business. It was not long before they knew of his presence.
It had been harmless, was still harmless, but Caius kept his rule resolute. The workers here were respectful of him, followed the decrees he had instilled through intimidation. They knew what angered him, and they did not push his boundaries. They did not know who he was, but they seemed to sense, innately, that he was powerful. This, at least, he could still say he was.
The visitors who came to this place also learned, though not often through him. He heard the workers say that this site became a ‘destination’ for those fools seeking supernatural experiences, and all guests were required to sign a contract when they came here that they would follow certain rules. The rules of the hotel, of course, but also the rules of Caius Martius Coriolanus. It pleased him, to know he still held sway over his small world.
Tonight, though, the visitors slept. Some nights they didn’t, some nights they preferred to attempt to egg on the great spirit that was Caius. They would purposefully break rules, and Caius would put them in their place. Often it was the young, the most naïve and idiotic, who would sneak in the contraband; dowsing rods, Ouija boards, various implements meant to commune with the other side. Caius scoffed at them, but he could honestly say he despised being ‘contacted.’ It was a strange pull, one that he could not refuse, just as he had once been unable to refuse his bloodlust in battle. Once he had been guided to the oath breakers by this magnetism, he gave them hell. He never answered questions, other than the once he had given his name—his first name, Caius. The rest meant nothing anymore.
One room was always left for Caius, though it was a perfectly working room and a visitor could have feasibly stayed in it. But it was Caius’. From the window he was able to watch as the world outside changed, transfixed by the things he did not understand, the powers of technology and time morphing his once-loved streets into a painting he could not recognize. And tonight he saw lightning, great heaving crashes of it, such that Jupiter must have been truly outraged. And, down on the street, he could see a moving shape.
A moving shape trying desperately to find shelter.
The tiny black mass darted from door to door, but was turned away from each. Caius watched carefully. Every building here was now a hotel, and it seemed foolish for them to turn away a customer. Perhaps the person could not pay the fee? Or maybe there were no rooms left? It was the busiest time of year.
Caius could not explain why his gaze became so invested, but he could not look away. As the person came closer and closer, Caius was finally able to wrench a glimpse of them from the lamplight. A woman. Young, maybe five and twenty years—that was young now, Caius had learned—and strangely desperate. Of course she was, it was a true storm outside the window. She may have feared for her life, standing out in Jupiter’s wrath. It was not until then that Caius saw the others.
They ambled, as though the storm did them no harm. The woman did not seem to see them yet, but they certainly saw her. They were intent on her, and had been since Caius had seen them. Caius knew the set of their shoulders, the paced steps. They were hunting, and they had their quarry in their sights.
Caius felt the usual burn of his blood, the longing for battle and glory. If he could leave this building, he would leap upon them like the lion that he was, he would rend them limb from limb for threatening a civilian in his city. He stood perfectly still as if waiting to pounce, but knew he would not try. The woman would live or die, and there was nothing he could do.
That changed when he saw her catch sight of the men. She froze for a split second, as though she knew she would never outrun them, before bolting to the door of his hotel and banging on it with everything she had. In that moment, Caius became aware that he was finally back in the position of a soldier. He rushed downstairs, poised for battle.
He got there just as the manager was closing the door in the distraught woman’s rain- and blood-streaked face. The woman was begging, voice pitched high in her panic. Caius wrenched the door from the worker’s hands, nearly ripping it from its hinges with the force of his power, leaving both the manager and the woman shocked. There was no way it could have been the wind.
“Get in!” Caius roared just as the men made a sudden rush. “GET IN!”
As if she could hear him, the woman stumbled through the threshold, the manager babbling about how she was trespassing—but his complaints didn’t last long. Caius couldn’t walk out the door, but the moment the attackers crossed the invisible line they were his.
It was swift, and decisive. Just as he had always been. He panted like a feral beast as those who could ran away, and those who could not were dragged. He was not certain they all made it out with their lives. He had no physical body left, but the riotous emotions left in him—so familiar, this godhood—required outlet that he could no longer provide. Victorious, he screeched his war cry to the heavens as his fist connected with the wall. The plaster cracked and flaked away.
Then it was quiet, save his ragged breaths. It was not that he had been tired—it was that he had been brought back to life. He was full of rage, full of glory, and ready to do battle. He needed an army—not to fight for him but to oppose him. He could cut them all down.
It was a tiny voice that brought him back in a slow trickle of consciousness. “Thank you,” was all it said, but those two words held all the gratitude that a phrase could bear. He turned and looked at the woman, who looked nearly back at him. She had the general vicinity, but it was clear she could not see him. There was a simple acceptance on her face, a plain honesty and gentility. As he slowly calmed from the unfulfilled battle-craze, he thought her beautiful.
The manager, however, clearly thought otherwise. “Hush, whore!” he spat at her. “Do not speak to him. It’s the rules.” Caius felt his blood boil again, and the chandelier clinked as it shook. This was always his first warning, the gentlest. The workers behind the desk and the few patrons who stood watching from the staircase all looked up in alarm, but the manager was clearly a greater fool than Caius had given him credit for.
“Forgive me, sir, I did not—“ she tried to defend herself, gracefully attempting to deescalate the situation. It did not work.
“Back. Out on the streets you get, harlot,” the manager said, taking the woman’s upper arm in a vice-like grip and dragging her back towards the door. “I’ll have no one like you muddying my doorstep—“
That was as far as the man got. Later Caius would tell himself it was the impudence of the man ignoring Caius’ clearly given warning that had set him off, but even he would know it was a lie. The fear, the abject and utter terror that suddenly filled the poor woman’s face was enough to pull at some long-forgotten reserve of protectiveness, and the manager quickly found himself on the ground with a pen—the most within-reach object—embedded in his hand.
He squealed like a pig, falling to his knees as he stared agape at his skewered hand. Caius stalked towards him like a tiger, merciless, but the groveling ant didn’t even realize its demise was coming. There was screaming coming from everywhere as pictures fell off the walls and the chandelier shook dangerously, but Caius didn’t see any of that. All he saw was a bug, and he was going to crush it.
“Wait, please!” a voice cut through the reddened haze. The woman—the very woman this swine had dared to touch—darted in front of him. Again, her eyes looked just beyond him, through him almost. He stopped the way a lark does when it hits a tree. “Thank you most kindly for your help, but I believe the lesson has been learned,” the woman said calmly, lowly. “Please, let there be no more bloodshed tonight.”
Caius wavered on the edge, his body begging him to act. He had so much power, so much rage—but there was a fear in the woman’s hazel eyes that Caius knew was directed at him. He had never liked that, when the women feared his wrath. No true man would harm a woman who had not first wronged him, and this woman had wronged no one.
For the first time since long before his death, Caius Martius stood down.
The walls stopped shaking and the chandelier quieted, leaving an unnatural hush. The spectators were all completely silent, as a deer listening for another snapping twig that would indicate impending doom, but Caius did nothing. He just looked at the woman.
For her part, the woman looked back—as much as someone who clearly could not see him was capable of looking at him. After a few moments a light smile graced her features, small and grateful, and despite the sniveling of the rat on the ground he felt like a hero. “Thank you,” she said, as if she sensed that his anger was ebbing. She looked past him then, to the cowering employee behind the desk. “I’m sorry, miss, but could you call the police? And a doctor?”
The employee’s eyes darted around the room, as if begging someone—anyone—to take her place. Or maybe she was trying to detect Caius, trying to tell if denying the woman’s request would garner her Caius’ wrath. “Of-of course, Madam,” the employee ended up shaking out. “I can make that call right—oh!”
Caius, now satisfied that the woman’s injuries would be seen to and the offenders apprehended, sought to take care of her. She needed rest and comfort, and there was only one room available this night.
His.
So he took her upper arm in a firm but gentle grip and started directing her towards the carpeted stairs. To anyone watching it was clear she was being led, but he did not pull her or force her. She seemed surprised, but she hardly hesitated. Instead, she questioned him.
“May I ask where we’re going?” she inquired politely. Caius’ eyebrow rose, though he knew she could not see it. What good would it do her to ask? Not unless…
“Can you hear me?” Caius asked, stopping abruptly and turning to look at her. She bumped into him, but quickly stepped back.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s called clairaudience. I can hear you, but I cannot see you.”
Caius stared at her, as if he could discern every tiny thing about her, but he knew she wasn’t lying. And that frightened him as much as it exhilarated him. For longer than he cared to know he had been isolated, incapable of a true conversation, a novelty for thrill-seekers. Knowing that he could speak and be heard was like the skies opening. It was an emotion, a lightening of every fiber of his less than corporeal being, that he could not have explained. He sent up a silent thanks to the gods.
“Come then,” he said, softly as he was capable. Even when he tried to be gentle he sounded commanding. “You may stay in my room—the doctor can see you there. Are your injuries vital?”
“I don’t think so,” the woman said. “I scraped the top of my head on a low ceiling, but I don’t think I did any lasting damage. Other than that, I’m fine.”
“Good,” Caius said, nodding his head contentedly. He knew this woman was not a soldier, but she seemed intelligent enough to know the difference between pain and death, and she spoke in a straightforward way that he found he appreciated. People rarely did that, he found, even centuries after his death. “Tell them where we’re going so they know where to send the doctor. Then I’ll take you to my room.” The woman smiled that same grateful smile, and again Caius was reminded of the times when he was the savior of the people.
The woman relayed the information to the worker behind the desk, and the worker seemed to quake even heavier. The worker looked at the woman as though she had grown another head, and Caius felt a flare of anger. His bloodlust had not yet died down, but he tried to stamp it out. He was no longer on a battlefield.
“Do-do you have any money?” The worker squeaked. The woman’s face fell.
“They took my purse,” was all she said. Caius rattled the chandelier before the worker could say anything else—this woman would stay the night.
“Of course, of course,” the worker quickly bowed back. “Please, enjoy your stay.”
Then Caius led her up the stairs, the people parting ways before him as they once had when he strode victorious through the streets of Rome—though now it was fear on their faces, not adoration. Caius had long since stopped caring. The woman whose wrist he held in a gentle grip seemed to appreciate what he had done, and that was enough for him.
- - - - - - - -
The doctor retreated quickly after stating that, indeed, the woman’s injuries were superficial. It was as though he could feel Caius’ critical gaze on his back and did not wish to linger there. He went back out in the rain as though he would rather face the wrath of the king of gods than the wrath of Caius.
The woman was given a pair of sleeping clothes by one of the elderly women in the hotel, who took pity on her. When the woman emerged from the steaming bathroom freshly cleaned and dressed, she sat on the edge of the bed and waited.
“My name is Caius,” Caius said. The woman smiled.
“I’m Eliana,” she replied. “Thank you for helping me, Caius.”
It was silent for a while. Caius had never been the best at idle conversation, always a man of action, but he watched as Eliana readied herself for bed. It was so foreign, to be able to really communicate with someone, and as many times as he’d once dreamed of it Caius didn’t know what to do when faced with the reality.
“You know,” Eliana said as she brushed her long, glistening black hair, “I read a story about a man named Caius once. He was a Roman general, but when they exiled him from Rome he went to a rival city and tried to attack Rome. It was only when his mother and wife came to him that he changed his mind, but he was killed for it. Are you named after him?”
Caius opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
How could it be that in one night so many glorious gifts could be given to him?
He tried to blink away his tears, but they filled his eyes nonetheless. All these years, all these wounds, and still they told his story? They knew him, that he lived and died and was a man? He felt no shame as hot tears leaked down his cheeks. She could not see them, and he was not forgotten.
Eliana paused when Caius did not answer. “It’s you, isn’t it?” she asked, hushed. “You’ve been here a very long time.”
“Yes,” Caius croaked.
Eliana sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand out beside her, palm up. No words were needed; Caius took a living hand in his own for the first time in so very, very long. She was real, and solid, and for a moment he felt like he was too.
It lasted like that for what felt like a very long time, until the tears cooled on Caius’ cheeks. He had let his tears flow, but he refused to make a sound. “Should you not sleep?” Caius asked at last. Eliana gave an ironic little smile.
“I can’t,” she said. “This is my last night alive.”
Caius immediately straightened his back, and could not deny his horror. He had known this woman for so short a time, but he daren’t imagine the world without her. “What does that mean?” he asked. He didn’t notice how his hand tightened around hers.
“Those men weren’t after me by chance,” she said, staring off at something unseen. “My family is one of the more powerful crime families of Italy, and now that I’ve run off…well, they won’t be taking any chances.”
“Your own family?” Caius asked, shocked. Family values in his Rome were not so strong as today, but even then the value of a child was high—heirs, servants, slaves, it didn’t matter. Children were of use. Even Caius had not killed the children of his enemies.
“Of course,” Eliana said, as if she were far away. “Love is not what binds my family together—it’s war. We were only born to die, either in glory as our family commanded us or in agony by their hands. I had four siblings, and three of them are dead. My brother killed them one by one, so that he could become the heir to the great dynasty that is the crime world of Rome. He would have killed me too if he’d thought I was a threat.”
“But you ran?” Caius breathed, uncertain whether he wished to know the rest.
“Yes,” Eliana sighed, carding her other hand—the one Caius was not holding—through her hair. “I have no problem with fighting, and rest assured that I’m as good at it as I’m likely to get, but I’ve come to hate what I was fighting for.”
“You were opposed to the glory of it?” Caius asked, confused. Was that not what battle was? Glory or death?
“The money,” Eliana spat. “It was all for monetary gain. All those lives, lives that could have been used for something incredible, just snuffed out for a wad of cash. It’s despicable. My father always tried to say that we were fighting for honor and glory, but when you boil it down it’s nothing but coin that he wants. Hundreds of people have died for it in my lifetime, and tomorrow I will too.”
“No,” Caius rasped. “No! You are safe here, you must stay.”
“And do what?” Eliana asked, letting out a shrill, manic giggle. “I have two options; I can either stay here until I die, looking out the window until I waste away, or I can go outside and face the fate I’ve brought on myself. I knew when I left that I was sacrificing my life for the sake of what I believe. Isn’t that what you did? You can’t tell me not to die with grace.”
“Times are different,” Caius begged, clutching her hand in both of his. He was leaning into her where he sat beside her, and she leaned slightly in as though she could sense his body there. “Things are no longer as they were when I lived. Those rules do not apply to you.”
“The world has changed, but my family hasn’t,” Eliana said. “In that house it’s still the cutthroat world of cat eats mouse, and I want out. Even if that means the end of me.” She whispered then, “Please don’t try to fight me.”
And Caius understood. She needed him, and he could not oppose her without shaking her foundations too much for her to bear. It dawned on him that he was all she had.
His broad shoulders, which had once cut paths through enemy forces, slumped in defeat. It was a deep weight of sadness that fell upon him then, the likes of which he could not ever remember feeling. Tomorrow she would be gone, this woman that he felt so drawn to, and they would be waiting for her. He would never see her again, for all his long eternity.
“It is not so terrible,” he said softly. “Dying. There is terror, do not mistake me, for any man faced with certain death will feel the need for life regardless of how dignified he is. I suspect you know that. It was your running from them that brought you here to me. But it does not last, I promise you. A numb understanding sets in, and when you cease your struggles the burden of life seems so good to put down.”
“Does it hurt?” she asked. Her voice sounded so weak, like a child’s, and Caius longed to wrap her up in himself to protect her.
“I must confess it did,” he admitted. “Yours may as well, though I would stop it if I could.”
“Thank you,” Eliana said, tears shining in her eyes. “Thank you, Caius.” Caius pulled her against his chest, letting her rest as she slid into weak sobs. He pet her hair, holding her close.
“No, thank you.”
- - - - - - - - -
Morning wasn’t far off when Eliana finally stopped sniffling. It was so strange, to be held by someone without a body, but he felt solid where she nestled into him. The gray before dawn would come soon, she knew, and then she would have to leave. She sat up, away from Caius, even though she desperately wanted to curl into his warmth and never leave. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt pulled towards him.
She could feel his reluctance to let her go, but he released her as she sat upright. “Thank you,” she said, wiping her cheeks off and suddenly embarrassed of her show of emotion. She was speaking to the general of armies, he was probably fed up with her by now.
“Shh, now, no more of that,” she heard Caius say as his hand found her head. He caressed her gently at the back of her neck, and she wondered what he looked like. His voice was smooth and warm and deep, and she imagined he had to be a beautiful man.
“You sound sad,” she said.
“I am,” he replied.
“Because of me?” she asked.
“Because I would see you live,” he said. She smiled.
“That means enough to keep me happy when I walk out there,” she said. And it did. There was that thing she couldn’t explain again, but she didn’t have time to think about it. She heard a loud gasp.
“Caius? What is it?” she asked.
“I—I don’t—“ he stuttered. It was the first time she’d heard him stutter.
“What’s the matter? Caius?” she asked, becoming more and more frightened. She felt him grasp her hand like it was a lifeline.
“There’s something pulling me,” Caius said, and even though he was trying to mask it she could hear his fright. “It feels almost as though someone is trying to contact me with one of those boards, but it’s different. Warmer. I can’t—I can’t stop it.”
Understanding set in, and Eliana clasped Caius’ hands. They were large against her own. “Caius, I think it’s time for you to go,” she said softly.
“Go? What do you mean, go?” she heard Caius ask, near panic now.
“Other spirits have talked to me about this,” Eliana said, smiling sadly. “This is what they describe when they cross over—a pull that’s soft and warm, but that they can’t deny. You’re moving on, to whatever comes next.”
“But—but why?” Caius asked. “Why now?”
“I couldn’t say,” Eliana said. “Some spirits stay until they’ve completed a task, or until they feel fulfilled in their duties. Maybe you were staying here for some reason, and now you’ve finished what you needed to do.”
“Could it be you?” Caius asked, voice frightened but desperately hopeful. “Could it be I was here to help you?” Eliana smiled.
“I like that idea,” she said.
“I do as well,” Caius said, voice shaking. Eliana looked down at her hands where they seemed to grasp nothing but air, breathing out a pained sigh.
“You need to let go of me, Caius,” she said. “You need to go on.”
“I cannot,” he said, “you need me. I cannot leave you now.”
Eliana tried to fight back tears, but she knew she was failing. She had cried so much tonight, and it was time to be strong. “I’m going to be okay,” she said. “I’ve accepted this. You’ve helped me, Caius, you’ve helped me so very much. I’m ready now.”
“But—“
“Please,” Eliana said, voice breaking. She swallowed thickly. “I won’t be able to move on either, if I know you’re stuck here because of me. I want you to be at peace, Caius, I really do.”
“…What happens when I let go?” Caius asked. He sounded scared.
“I don’t know,” Eliana answered honestly. “But it has to be better than this. Go on, Caius. It’s okay.”
She offered him a shaky smile, a genuine, true, honest smile. She was truly glad he was finding his peace, and the thought that he was waiting to help her all these years made her feel a warm glow in her chest. There was a moment of nothing, where she assumed he must be looking at her, then the world seemed to exhale and the hands were gone.
She was alone.
And it was crushing, this sudden feeling of loneliness, because for one night she had found a true companion. He was gone now, and he left a yawning, aching hole. She sat staring at the elaborate wallpaper for a long time before getting up.
She didn’t speak to the woman behind the counter as she walked out into the dewy morning, still dressed in nothing but the nightdress she had been loaned. The receptionist called after her, but she just turned and smiled a sad smile before letting the door close behind her. They would find out quickly enough that their famous ghost wasn’t there anymore—she didn’t need to tell them.
The sun was rising over the ancient buildings of Rome. She could see the gentle flare of light at the end of the long street, and her bare feet padded over the narrow brick lane. She had come to this part of Rome for a reason; it was one of the oldest areas, a place where you could feel the history, and as she walked aimlessly through the wandering streets she felt a sense of peace that she supposed not everyone got to feel. It was as though she was seeing everything for the first time, though she knew it was the last. But it was beautiful, so, so beautiful.
She felt the gunshot before she heard it. The bullet ripped through her, between her ribs, tearing into the soft flesh of her lung. She fell to the ground, choking on her own blood, and the fear rushed up on her. It was a selfish kind of fear, the fear of death, and she felt it more firmly even than the bullet still lodged in her sternum.
She looked behind her and saw the gun, though not who it was attached to. Not her brother, he wouldn’t bother. There it was, then, the peace, and she understood what Caius had said. This was inevitable, and she was tired. She never heard the second shot.
She felt a large, gentle hand help her off of the ground, and pull her into a firm and familiar chest. She smiled and melted into the embrace, not bothering to watch her murderer make haste away. She didn’t even look at her body. “Caius,” she said, certain that it was him to held her.
“Eliana,” that sweet baritone murmured through her. She looked out at the sunrise as the final colors started to fade, and let herself be carried off, Caius in tow.