Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics (11 page)

Distracted, she turned and saw
the concerned expression on Rob’s face.

“Nothing, Rob,” she said. “Only
we won’t be going to the gym after all.”

“Oh?”

“No. Do you remember how we got
to that psychic’s house the other day?”

~

If anything, the streets in this
area of town were even more desolate and dreary than they had been when she had
been here with Nina. Maybe it was
because
Nina was not with her that it seemed somehow more intimidating. After all,
Ann enjoyed the company of her easy-going friend and Nina’s mischievous sense
of humor. Glancing back along the street nervously, she turned down the
alleyway. There were no children playing here today, though at the far end she
could make out the shapes of a few people standing and looking at something Ann
could not make out. A movement in a nearby doorway caught her eye and she
realized there were a couple leaning against the wall, locked in an amorous
embrace. She quickly hurried through the bead curtain and into the psychic’s
house.

It was as dark in the entrance
hall as she remembered, though a faint glow came from under the closed door on
her right. Ann wondered if the old woman already had a customer in there with
her. Uncertain what to do she headed towards the room she had not been into
before, where Nina had waited the last time they were here.

“Come on in, Ann,” said the
unmistakable croak of the psychic’s voice. It was coming from behind the closed
door. “Don’t be shy. In you come.”

Ann reached out for the handle
and swung the door slowly open. The old woman was sitting exactly as she had
been before, as though she had not moved an inch since Ann left.

“That’s right my dear, come and sit
down.” She gestured to the other couch. “It’s nice to see you again. I knew you
would come tonight.”

Ann sat down, sinking into the
soft cushions. “I’d like to have one more session, please.”

“Yes, yes. I know. What else
would you be doing in my shabby, little hovel? I trust your new gentleman is
taking good care of you?”

Ann’s eyes widened in amazement. “How
you do know about Michael?” she asked. “Did Nina tell you?”

“Your friend, the butterfly? No. I
haven’t seen her since you left. But I know about him all the same. It’s
written. I have seen.” She gazed solemnly into Ann’s eyes for a moment before
continuing, in a far jollier voice, “Anyway. Enough of all that mysterious
stuff. Let’s get down to business. Why not lay down, my dear. Relax.”

Ann did so, though, despite the
softness of the cushions and the calming surroundings, she felt nervous. “It
won’t be as harrowing as the last session, will it?” she asked, turning her
head to face the psychic.

“Who could say? But you need not
worry. Whatever happens, whatever you see, you will be fine. I’ll be here
watching over you.”

With that, the old woman starting
mumbling strange words under her breath, just as she had done the last time.
Ann allowed herself to settle back into the couch and immediately found that
she was drifting off to sleep, her mind dulling, her eyelids growing heavy.

She closed her eyes and slept…

Imperial Rome. First Century A.D

Chapter Ten

H
e opens his eyes as single beam of sunlight cuts through the
colonnade.

Where am I?
he wonders and, shielding
his face from the harsh light, he finds himself looking into the face of a
young woman, beaded hair hanging over her face. She is asleep and she is naked.
Failing to recognize her, Ra sits up, and notices she is held in a tight
embrace, a man’s leg lying across hers, his arm draped across her breasts. He
also is asleep and just as naked. And they are not the only ones. The whole of
the palace garden, Ra now realizes that this is where he is, is strewn with the
sleeping bodies of the naked partygoers.

Surely not!
Panicking for a moment, he
feels at his chest.
Thank goodness! At
least I still have my robes on.
Not that there would be any reason to take
them off, not for him at least, since most of the activities that had been
enjoyed by these slumbering people were outside his experience.
Most
of the activities, but not
all
, and as Ra climbs unsteadily to his
feet, he accidently kicks an amphora that is lying on its side.

He looks down as the heavy vessel
rolls away, its contents leaving a thin, red stream across the white marble.

Eurgh! Wine!
He groans and massages
his temples, his headache suddenly making itself felt.
What’s wrong with me, why do I always do this to myself? I was supposed
to be watering down my wine. Why didn’t I?
Of course, he knows the reason.
Undiluted wine is the quickest way to escape these wretched parties
—
orgies held by the young emperor, Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus
Germanicus, better known these days by his nickname: Caligula.

Looking down at his feet, Ra
notices he is not wearing sandals and a quick scan of the surrounding area
fails to reveal them.

Where can they be?
He kicks aside a
nearby cushion, but there is nothing beneath it except a cheap-looking
bracelet. Still rubbing his head, he makes his way around the courtyard,
peering under couches and between bodies in various states of undress, most of
them lounging about in shameless and quite graceless poses, their limbs
stretched out across each other. As Ra makes his way around the courtyard there
is an almost constant chorus of snores, groans and the occasional belch from
the sleeping figures. As always after these all-night debaucheries, the area is
a complete mess. Items of clothing and garlands are strewn across the lawn and
surrounding bushes. Empty amphorae and silver platters, still half covered with
bits of untouched food and crushed fruit, lay wherever they happened to be
dropped, and some joker has dumped a couple of bay trees, complete with their
ornate pots, in to the fountain.
Idiots,
thinks Ra, shaking his head at this behavior and accidentally stepping on
someone’s arm sticking out from under a bush. He quickly removes his foot as a
low groan comes from somewhere inside the foliage. As he peers through the
leaves, he makes out the shape of a man and a couple of young women, one of
whom lets out a groan of her own and, Ra notices, is not entirely naked. Not
that she is wearing anything that covers her very much. She has on a pair of
sandals. Ra’s sandals.

“Thank you!” says Ra, slipping
them off the girl’s feet and strapping them onto his own. She half opens her
eyes and lifts up her head to see what he is doing, and lets out a low groan
before letting her head drop back to the bare earth. Getting to his feet, Ra
walks across to the fountain and attempts to lift out one of the potted plants,
but it is far too heavy for him. Instead, he kneels down and splashes water on
his face. It is cool and refreshing, and goes some way towards easing the dull
throbbing in his head. As the sunlight sparkles off the rippling water,
dazzling his eyes, he looks up at the sun and realizes it is almost at its
zenith. Noon already, and he is the first person awake. It must have been a
long night! This glimpse of the sun reminds Ra of the day’s responsibilities
that must soon be dealt with.
How far
they are from all of this,
he thinks to himself as he makes his way through
the rooms of Caligula’s vast palace.
My
responsibilities as an Egyptian priest are a comfort to me, especially after
everything that I have endured, Caligula’s parties being the least of it.
Twelve years since Tiberius had me exported from my homeland
.
In Egypt my family had the privilege to
oversee the worship of the goddess Isis at her great temple on the island of
Philae
—
a
n
important position that earned us the favor of those in power
. He thought of his grandfather, who was taken into the palace of
Queen Cleopatra and given responsibility for many religious matters, and of his
father, the high priest at Philae. Ra had always enjoyed listening to stories
of that great era. His father had educated his son in all of the rites, rituals
and, most importantly, the mystical magic involved in the worship of Isis.
I am proud to carry on the family tradition,
Ra thought to himself.
I’m only sorry
that I will not be able to pass it on. Not since Tiberius shipped me to Rome to
oversee his new temple on the Palatine Hill; not since the emperor, in his
wisdom, decided that a real Egyptian priest should be a eunuch.

Ra looks enviously at the
sleeping figures around him, many still locked in embraces and in various
stages of nudity. Such fleshly delights have long been denied him. It isn’t
even that he actually feels any sexual desire for women, or men for that
matter, and when the coupling began the night before, he genuinely preferred to
slink off and get stuck into the wine. He has never, and will never, know such
pleasure as these people took for granted. And he will never know the love of a
woman. How could he, when he had been so cruelly mutilated? He can barely even
be considered a real man, but rather something else, neither man nor woman. Why
did Caligula demand his presence at these orgies, where he could do little more
than take part in the drinking? The reason, however, is clear. There is nothing
the young emperor enjoys more than a show, as exotic a gathering as possible.
Flute players, artists and dancers, the most beautiful of women and men from
across the empire.

And some not-so-beautiful ones,
thinks
Ra, as he catches sight of one of the more freakish elements of the gathering,
a giant of a man whose body was covered in burn scars and whose eyes were blank
flesh. Caligula’s parties often have such people, delighting the exotic and
bizarre from dwarves and bearded women to those with more or fewer body parts
than usual. It makes for a colorful mix at these imperial orgies and seems to
satisfy some of the emperor’s darker desires.

“Hey!” Ra stops as a hand
suddenly grasps his ankle and looks down to see the half-awake face of a young
man wearing the tattered remains of a stola. Ra kicks the hand away and the man
mutters something unintelligible.

“Glub mmph.”

“What?” says Ra with a frown.

“Bleurgh mmph,” mumbles the man,
pointing at a goblet nearby.

“This?” asks Ra, picking up the
goblet. The man tries to grab it but misses. Closing one bleary eye he tries
again and this time manages to hook a couple of fingers around the goblet’s
stem. Without looking to see what it contains, the man pours the contents into
his mouth, or at least, mostly into his mouth, though a large amount dribbles
down his cheeks onto the legs of another young man. When at last the wine is
gone, the man drops the goblet onto the floor and sinks back into a stupor.

“Sleep well,” says Ra, turning
away again.

Having eventually found his way
out through the maze of rooms in the emperor’s palace, Ra climbs into one of
the palanquins lined up nearby.

“To the Temple of Isis!” he says
to the chief bearer, then lets the curtain
drop
behind him.

As always, the city is a hive of
activity, and on the first day of the public holidays in celebration of
Saturnalia, it is even louder and busier than usual.

The bearers head across the
forum, winding their way between the street traders, with their stalls filled
with all kinds of vegetables, meat, spices and sweetmeats, parents and
children, who are enjoying the day’s festivities, senators, busy networking
with one another, soldiers keeping an eye on some of the seedier-looking men
hanging around the forum, and countless slaves darting backwards and forwards
on various errands.

What a city,
thinks Ra as he peers out
of the window.
It truly must be the
center of the world!
His head, however, begins to ache even worse from the
light and noise outside, so he takes hold of the drapes and pulls them across
the windows.

The palanquin suddenly tilts
forwards, almost pitching him out of his seat and causing him to bang on the
woodwork crossly.

“Watch it, you fools!” They must
be heading downhill towards the Circus Maximus. Sure enough, it is not long
before the sound of metal on metal begins to filter through the drapes. It must
the final training sessions for the gladiators before the games begin in
earnest. He pulls a curtain aside slightly to peer out, but of course he cannot
see anything except the walls of the circus.

Why not
, he wonders.
I could go and have quick look. Who’s really
going to miss me at the temple for another hour or so? No one.

“Drop me over there,” he says,
leaning out of the window to speak to the lead bearer.

As they lower the palanquin, Ra
pulls a purse out of his robes, which has somehow survived the night’s
activities. He steps out onto the street as he takes out two brass quadrans,
which he tosses to the lead bearer. It’s an extravagant gesture, double the
going rate for so short a journey, but, in spite of his slowly-easing headache,
Ra is in a good mood. He closes his eyes for a moment and bathes in the
sunlight, bright and warm, shining from a sky of a deep, sapphire blue.

Right,
he thinks as he sets off with a
spring in his step.
Let’s see what these
gladiators are up to today.
Heading through a nearby entrance, Ra emerges
into the Circus Maximus.

The place is huge, its sand-covered
arena stretching away to the right and left. All around it the white stone
benches raise in tiers. Ra selects a seat near the front and gazes around at
the great spectacle laid out before him. There must be hundreds of gladiators,
dressed and armed in the various styles that were chosen to match their
personal skills. A short distance away a Retarius, swinging his net in one hand,
faces a heavily armed Secutor, his eyes keeping careful watch from within the
distinctive helmet. Both fighters have wooden weapons
—
a trident for the
Retarius and a sword for the Secutor
—
and as Ra looks around the arena, he
sees that this is true of all the gladiators. There is no point in wounding
such expensive assets before the crowds turn up to pay for the pleasure of
watching them spill their blood!

“Come on, you dog!” shouts the
Retarius, beckoning with his trident. “Not scared of getting a little prick are
you?”

“Hah!” shouts the Secutor in
return. “You’ve already got a little prick! Reckon I’ll chop it off!” And he
rushes at the Retarius, his sword clattering against the trident.

Not all the gladiators are
training at the same time. Instead, the arena has been divided up into twenty
roughly-equal sections, with a handful of gladiators fighting in each, watched
over by their trainers and the circus guards. Around the edge, sitting on
rough, wooden benches, the remaining gladiators await their turn to practice.

As Ra turns to survey the action
to his right, his eyes fall on a fair-haired woman, sitting gracefully on a
magnificent chestnut stallion.

Wow,
he thinks, his eyes taking her
in.
What a beauty!

She sits tall and straight in the
saddle, her knees gripping the horse tightly, leaving her hands free to fight.
In one slender, strong arm she holds a small, circular shield and in the other
a wooden sword, with which she beats back her opponent, another woman, whose
jet black skin is mostly concealed by her leather armor. As she guides the
horse with her legs, the woman’s long, blonde hair, tied together in a
ponytail, is caught by the light breeze blowing across the sand.

All Ra can do is stand,
transfixed, staring at her, his jaw slack, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
He can’t move even if he wants to, but is rooted to the spot as time seems to
stand still. This warrior woman seems to have everything he doesn’t; powerful
muscles, a desire to fight, bravery and courage even in the face of death.
Suddenly she turns to face him, her smile proudly displaying her excitement.
But that is not all her face reveals! There, running from the top of her left cheek
down to her upper lip is a jagged scar, red and angry-looking. Ra’s heart sinks
at the sight, not because the scar detracts from her looks, but because it
reminds him that she is a fighter, a gladiator.