Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics (12 page)

She might as well already be dead!

He sits down on the hard bench
and shakes his head, his eyes still fixed on the woman’s face.

I wonder where she’s from
, thinks Ra.
I’m sure I’ve never seen her before and I
know most of the trainers around here, thanks to Caligula’s parties at the
palace! She must be from somewhere out in the provinces or beyond; Germany
maybe, or Britannia. Both regions have been providing Rome with gladiators and
slaves recently, following Caligula’s latest campaigns to those distant lands.
That must be it! All the people I’ve seen from Germania and Britannia have been
tall and fair-haired too.

A shout from the arena snaps Ra
out of his thoughts. “You and you, you’re up next!”

To his great disappointment, Ra
looks down to see the woman’s trainer, a burly ex-gladiator with a flattened
nose that is as wide as it is long, gesturing to the next couple of women
gladiators to take the floor.

The beautiful horse rider turns
her mount towards a nearby gateway and Ra leans over the wall, watching her
until she disappears out of sight, into the bowels of the Circus Maximus.

No,
he thinks desperately.
Please come back!
And there he stays,
gazing unmoving at the empty gateway, willing the woman to return. All he can
think is how much he wants to see her again, to look at her hair that almost
glowed in the afternoon sun and her face, scarred but more beautiful than any
other he has ever seen and with such physical strength as he could never hope
to achieve himself. He stands waiting for what might be a few minutes or maybe
hours. He neither knows nor cares.

I have to see her again
—
even just to catch the briefest of glimpses.
But eventually, when the sun has clearly begun to make its descent
from the heavens and she still fails to return, he realizes he has to go.

Grudgingly Ra turns away from the
still-empty gateway and decides to head home at last, drawn by the thought of a
refreshing bath and a meal of the finest Egyptian fare.

Food,
he thinks.
I’ve not eaten anything yet.
And although the last of the hangover
has finally departed, he suddenly finds himself gripped by a savage hunger.

As he makes his way up the hill
towards the Temple of Isis, every step increases Ra’s feeling that something
good is happening to him. His thoughts are consumed by the image of the woman
sitting aside the stallion, her strong body moving with an easy grace as she
fights her adversary, her golden hair flowing out behind her.

Such beauty
, he thinks.
Such grace. If I do nothing else with my
life, I must see her again.

~

The sense of excitement and
expectation, however, begin to wane as the days pass with an interminable
slowness. And then one morning, as Ra is going about his usual duties in the
Temple of Isis, his friend, Lucius Marcellus, a respected centurion of the
second Augusta legion who retired two years previously, happens to be passing
and drops in to see him.

“How’s tricks, you old woman?”
says Lucius, slapping his friend on the back with a hand like an iron shield.

Ra stumbles forward slightly, but
manages to keep his balance. “I was fine until you showed up and started
molesting me.”

“As if I’d bother molesting some
half-man like you,” says Lucius, roaring with laughter at his own comments. “So
what have you been up to? Still bothering that wretched Egyptian trollop?”

“If you are referring to the
great goddess Isis, the queen of heaven…” Ra replies, refusing to rise to the
bait. “Then, yes, Lucius, I have been ‘bothering’ her, attending to her every
wish and whim. It’s all part of worship. Something you might consider having a
go at some time.”

“Not bloody likely. I’ll stick to
worshipping the things I can see: wine, women, dice and a damned good fight, if
one happens to be on offer!”

“But I thought you’d left the
fighting behind you, old friend.” Ra’s eyes light up as a sudden thought
strikes him. “Say, I don’t suppose you had much to do with Caligula’s recent
campaign in Britannia, did you?”

“Is that a joke?” said Lucius
with a frown. “That’s where the Augusta has been for the past six months.”

“Really?”

“Course! Though the boys haven’t
really engaged them as such. It’s more been about intimidation, taking out some
of the grubby Brits who stray too close to the coast.”

“What are they like?” asks Ra,
intrigued by his friend’s knowledge of these strange, distant lands.

“Weren’t you listening? I just
told you they were grubby.” Lucius leans forward, as though imparting some
special, secret information. “Though I have to say, some of them
 
aren’t so bad. Not at all like our
stuck-up Roman women. Most of the Brit girls are warriors, and bloody good at
it too, by all accounts. Tall and blonde, the lot of them, and a punch that
could knock your teeth out of your ass.”

“Charming.” Ra smiles as he
recalls the blonde beauty once again. “I don’t suppose you know if there are
any being put into the arena for the games at the moment?”

“The Brit girls? You bet there
are. But you won’t see them fighting, I’m afraid. That spoiled brat of an
emperor’s decided to shove them all in the chariot races.”

Ra breathes a sigh of relief.
Surely the woman, his woman, is one of these Britons, and chariot racing was
certainly a far less dangerous prospect that partaking in the gladiator fights.
She would certainly have more of a chance to survive at least a little longer.

“Anyway,” says Lucius and belches
loudly, snapping Ra out of his daydream. “Can’t hang around here all day
gassing away with ball-less priests like you. I’ve got things to do. Catch you
later, Stumpy.” And with that, and another tooth-rattling slap on Ra’s back,
the centurion stomps away towards the circus, stopping briefly to scratch his
backside and offer a mock salute to the priest.

Ra watches him as he disappears
around a corner and considers his companion’s words. He still enjoys Lucius’
company. He is a good friend, despite his constant mocking. The comments don’t
really bother him that much, no more, in fact, than the physical defect itself.
He was only a teenager when he was castrated, and becoming a eunuch had given
him the chance for a better life here in Rome, with greater social status and
far better living conditions than those he had experienced back in Egypt. Even
his grandfather had not had the ear of a Roman emperor, the leader of the known
world, and yet here was Ra, being called on as an adviser to Caligula himself.

His standing had been greatly
improved only a couple of years ago, when Caligula had fallen ill. As Isis is
the goddess of love, magic, fertility and healing, Ra was called upon to tend
to the young emperor and, using the sacred magic of the goddess, had brought
Caligula from the brink of death back to full health. For this, he had been
granted almost everything he could ever have dreamed of
—
wealth,
luxury and, most important of all, his freedom. And yet, as he stands there,
looking out across the city, he knows there is something missing from his life.

What is this strange feeling?
he
wonders.
How has this woman, someone I’ve
only seen once and never even spoken to, how has this blonde fighter so
captivated me?

He has never experienced anything
like this before. It’s like some poison that seems both to sicken him and to
energize him.
This,
he supposes,
must be what it feels like to be in love!
This woman, this Briton warrior, full of beauty, grace and courage, she has
captured his heart.

As he turns away to begin the
nighttime ritual, Ra knows what he must do.

I have to see her again!

Chapter Eleven

A
message for you, priest!”

Ra turns from grinding herbs for
the evening ritual to see who is addressing him. There, in the temple doorway
stands a young man whom Ra recognizes as one of the imperial slaves. He raises
his eyebrows in surprise.

“A message? For me?”

“Indeed,” says the slave,
standing stiffly to attention. “From our divine emperor, the illustrious Gaius
Julius Caesar Augustus Ger
—
”

“Yes, yes.” Ra holds out his hand
for the scroll. “I am well aware of the emperor’s name, thank you.”

For a moment the slave makes no
move to hand over the message, but then shrugs haughtily and tosses it at Ra’s
feet before turning and strutting away.

Imperial slaves,
thinks Ra, stooping
to snatch up the scroll.
More stuck up
and full of themselves than an old senator!
He considers the roll of
parchment in his hand, wondering why Caligula would be sending him a message.

Not another orgy, surely! Not so soon after the last one.
He sighs and breaks the seal before opening up the scroll. As he
carefully reads through the message, a broad smile spreads across his face.
It’s an invitation to join the emperor’s entourage at the games. And not just
any bit of the games, but the chariot racing on the last and greatest day of
the festival.

 
“Yes!” he exclaims excitedly, causing an elderly lady, kneeling
in front of the statue of Isis, to turn and frown at him. “Sorry,” he says,
more quietly.
I’m going get to see her,
he
continues to himself.
My beautiful
Briton. I can’t wait. It’s only two days away!

The next two days, however, seem
to take an age to pass, and Ra is so excited about seeing the warrior woman
again that he feels almost feverish, anxious and jittery, and he is so
distracted that many of his rituals end up taking twice as long to perform. The
evening before the races, however, Ra takes extra special care with his ritual.

“Mother Isis, Daughter of the
Nile and Queen of Heaven. Hear my cry, O Giver of life and love!” His voice is
clear and strong, and he reaches a hand about a golden bowl, filled with fire, and
sprinkles on it a secret mixture of herbs. The flame dances, turning a deep
green that bathes Ra’s face. “The day is done,” he continues, “the night is
near. Once again I commit myself to You. Come, Mighty Mother. Draw near, Great
Goddess. Hear the voice of your servant.”

He breathes in deeply, the smoke
filling his lungs and clearing his mind. “I pray for safety, not for myself,
but for another. For a woman I have never spoken to, but who is surely known to
You, O Glory of the Heavens. I ask that you would protect her in the games tomorrow.
Keep her safe, my Queen.”

With these and many other words,
Ra calls to Isis until late into the night, the prayers calming his nerves and
easing his anxiety.

The following morning, he gets up
early, having been woken by an emotional mix of concern and excitement.

Today,
he thinks, as he pulls his best
robes on over his head and begins to tie up his blue-black hair.
Today, I will see her again. And maybe
she’ll see me, or even meet me!
Just in case such a wonderful thing should
occur, he dabs on his favorite scent, a secret mixture of spices that he makes
himself and applies kohl to his eyes.

“Jupiter’s balls! You smell like
a whore’s loincloth!”

Ra spins round to find Lucius
standing in the entrance to his chambers.

“And you’ve got the make-up to match,”
Lucius continues, laughing loudly.

You can take the man out of the army
,
thinks Ra, rolling his eyes at his friend’s coarse comments,
but you can’t take the army out of the man.

“What are you doing here, Lucius?”
he asks, turning back to finish the last touches of his makeup.

“Same thing as you, Stumpy.”

“What?” Ra straightens up in
surprise. “You’re joining the emperor’s entourage at the races?”

“You bet! You ain’t the only one with
special privileges, you know. I’m famous, me.”

“Huh.”

“Anyways. You coming or what?”
says Lucius. “Stop farting about with your face and let’s go. We don’t want to
keep the golden boy waiting.”

Together, Ra and Lucius head down
to the Circus Maximus, entering through the royal gate and mounting the steps
to the emperor’s platform. As they emerge into the sunlight, Ra is again struck
by the immense size of the Circus. The sandy floor of the arena, marked in
places by the dark patches where gladiators have fallen in the fights of the
last few days, stretches away like a desert. Its smooth surface is broken only
by the high turning posts at each end and the long, central divider. At one
end, to Ra’s left, are the starting gates, awaiting the arrival of the first
chariots and their riders. All around, the ranks of benches, which were almost
deserted the last time Ra was here, are packed with spectators from every tier
of roman society. Men, women, plebeians, patricians, senators and even slaves
have gathered together, eager to watch the spectacle. That said, many of the
slaves are only there to hold parasols above their master’s heads to ward off
the sun as it rises higher and hotter in the sky. Ra looks up and is pleased to
see the canopy has already been put up over the emperor’s viewing platform,
shielding the entourage from the searing heat that is to come. Looking around
at the others gathered in its shade, he spots a number of influential
dignitaries among their number, including senators, merchants and soldiers. In
the center of them all, lounging in an ornate, ivory chair is the emperor.
Caligula is dressed as he always is on such occasions, in expensive purple
robes, his face painted in subtle, and some not-so-subtle, shades.

Ra bows low
to the emperor, but Caligula
turns
his attention towards the pretty, young lady sitting the next to him without
even acknowledging Ra’s presence.

Lucius always
says the emperor only wears the elaborate clothes and makeup to annoy the “stuck-up
old women in the Senate”, but then that was just the sort of thing Lucius said!
Ra, however, thinks it’s more likely that the emperor finds the old-fashioned,
traditional togas far too dull, and he is pleased to see that the cloth and
kohl in question are distinctly Egyptian in style and remind him of the priests
back home.

Well, he makes a striking contrast with the senators,
thinks Ra, looking from the emperor’s extravagant getup to the pale
faces and boring togas of the senators;
no
wonder Caligula is so paranoid and sees conspiracy everywhere, when he
deliberately distances himself from the senate! Not to mention the fact he gave
his favorite horse a senator’s chair!

Ra peers at the
lady sitting next to the emperor and wonders who she might be.

This must be the emperor’s latest fiancée
, Ra thinks, though the priest cannot immediately recall her name.
That would be his third, no, his fourth
marriage. Let’s hope this one lasts a little longer than the others!

Here and there, slave girls
attend to the needs of the entourage, serving them with cups of wine and bowls
of fruit, even feeding some of those who cannot be bothered to lift their own
hands to their mouths.

This is the life
, thinks Ra with a
smile,
watching the games, and hopefully
a beautiful woman, in style
!

“What are you grinning at,
Lady-Balls?” says Lucius close to Ra’s ear, causing the priest to jump.

“Nothing for you to trouble
yourself with.”

“Well, I’m gonna put a couple of
sestertii on the reds, my lucky color. You going place a little bet? ‘Little’
being the operative word!”

“I don’t think so,” Ra replies,
his attention drawn away by the first of the chariots as they make their way
out of the gates into the arena. “And gambling is restricted to fools.”

“Well, I’m still betting on the
reds!”

“My point exactly, Lucius.”

Muttering under his breath,
Lucius walks away to join the crowd clamoring around the book-makers’ tents. Ra
ignores him, focusing instead on the chariot. The first races are always made
up of those riders who had not participated in the games before, and even as he
looks, Ra catches sight of
his
woman
and his heart seems to stop.

What incredible beauty! What poise and style!
He stands, staring with his mouth open, until suddenly someone
nudges him.

“Yes?” he says and turns to see a
young woman carrying a tray filled with roses for the spectators to throw for
their favorite competitors. Pulling out his purse, Ra buys a single, white
rose.
Perfect! The same color as her
hair!

“What do you have there, Ra?” He
turns to find the emperor staring at him, looking quizzically at the flower,
gripped in his hand.

“A white rose, Emperor,” says Ra,
holding it up.

“And for whom is it intended?”
asks Caligula, and waves a hand towards the chariots which have lined up at the
gates. “Is there one of these fine creatures you favor?”

Ra bows his head, smiling. “There
may be, my lord.”

“Well, let’s see how they do,
shall we?” And with that, the emperor rises from his ivory chair. As he steps
towards the front rail of the platform the sound of the crowd drops as people
catch sight of Caligula. Then, with one voice, they erupt into cheers and shouts
of jubilation. The emperor gazes out at the assembled masses, receiving their
praise with a slightly crooked smile. He has been greeted in this way ever
since he was a small boy, when his father, Germanicus, the darling soldier of
Rome, held him up before his troops. Though Germanicus is now long dead, by the
hand of the former emperor, his popularity still lives on through his son.
After a while, the emperor raises his hands for silence and the crowd stills
expectantly.

“Let the games…” he shouts in a
high, clear voice, “begin!” Immediately the cheers well up again from the crowd
and Caligula turns back to his seat. “It better be good!” he says.

And it most certainly is. As soon
as the gates are opened, the twelve chariots move slowly forward, parading
before the emperor. Craning forward, Ra can easily make out the light hair of
his favorite as her chariot draws up in front of him. The sight of her, close
up, takes his breath away. She stands in the chariot next to another woman.
Both women are dressed in the same green outfit. But this woman’s skin clearly
shows her to be from the lands beyond his own; Nubian perhaps or even Ethiopian.
She is as dark-skinned, as black as a starless night, in stark contrast to the
Briton’s fair skin.

A nice touch
, thinks Ra.
An entertaining combination, exactly the
sort of thing Caligula is into
. He gazes at the Briton as one by one the
other racers draw up and salute the emperor.
She looks so fragile from up here, and yet so determined. Look at her!
So ready to get stuck into battle, a born solder. No doubt her willingness to
fight is how she ended up with that scar! Oh, be lucky, my love,
he thinks
as the chariots pull away to begin their seven-lap journey around the arena,
and wishing he could shout it out loud.
Please
be lucky!
But then he stops himself as he recalls his prayers the night
before. Luck! He is a priest of Isis, not some superstitious commoner.
By the Goddess, I know she will be safe.
Isis, my queen, please watch over her. Be the power that drives the horses and
the path that leads her to victory!

His thoughts are drowned out by
the growing cheers of the crowd. The race has begun in earnest now, the horses
pounding as fast as their drivers can make them, the chariot wheels spinning
and sliding on the sand. Ra is still staring at the fair-haired woman when
suddenly, as the racers round the turning post at the end of the first lap, he
is distracted by a collision between two chariots. They seem to barely touch
each other, their wheels only grazing, but somehow the spokes on one of them
burst into splinters and the wheel falls away. As the body of the chariot drops
on one side, the driver, a young woman dressed in red, is thrown onto the sand
and immediately trampled by the horses behind her. With a sickening crush, the
woman’s skull is smashed beneath a hoof as the other chariots rumble by. As
soon as it is clear to do so, slaves run out to the body and drag it away
towards one of the gates, leaving a long dark line on the sandy floor. The
whole incident is over in moments, and the crowd roars with a mixture of anger
and delight. Ra is horrified, but more out of concern for the Briton. His heart
beats faster and, despite the canopy overhead, he begins to sweat. The next
five laps pass mostly without too many incidents although on the fourth, the
Briton’s dark-skinned partner is caught off balance and tumbles into the sand.
Flailing for something to hold onto, she gets herself entwined in the reigns
and is dragged along across the sand, screaming until another chariot’s wheel
cuts off her cries. Her body is left behind on the sand as Ra’s favorite
carries on alone and, as the final lap begins, she has managed to keep in
second place.