Empire of Time

by Daniel Godfrey

  “We know when he left Pompeii,” Calpurnia said, her voice shaking, but remaining hard. “I remember the day clearly. So we know when he’d likely arrive. All we’d need to do would be to transport everyone in Herculaneum. But we’ll do it before the eruption, not during it.”

  Pullus felt his throat contract.

  “There haven’t been many bodies found in Herculaneum,” Calpurnia continued. “Your books say as much. They ask the question: where is everyone? Where are they? So it might be how things are meant to play out. And it would be no different to what NovusPart did.”

  “It’s completely different.”

  “Tell me how. Tell me again why I can’t use the device to save even one person?”

  Pullus thought of Harris, and Arlen’s research, knowing without any doubt he was doing the right thing keeping it from her. Even if it meant losing some people to the past. “There are records of close escapes,” he said. “People who left the town just before the eruption. And how many children did those people have? And grandchildren? And great-grandchildren? The effects could be catastrophic.”

  “So, this Harris,” Calpurnia said, anger rising in her eyes. “All he told you was that he knows our NovusPart device doesn’t work, is it?”

  “Yes.”

  Calpurnia glared at him. “I thought I could trust you, Pullus,” she said. “And yet you stand there lying to me. You may be the only one here that can speak English, but it seems this Harris has some basic Latin. He’s already told Habitus everything he told you. I know about the code. I know he can make our device work.”

  10

  Ancient Roman Empire, the road to Pompeii, AD 62

  THE SLOW PROGRESS and rising heat inside the wagon allowed Achillia to get more sleep than she’d expected. But when the quality of the road started to give way to a broken track she was bumped awake. Which was odd, given that Trigemina had said that the road to Pompeii was smooth.

  The thought brought her sharply awake. Her mistress, Trigemina, sat opposite, seemingly relaxed. Achillia peered out of the window to check her surroundings. They weren’t heading along anything resembling a road, but rather seemed to be cutting through a forest and heading up into some hills. The wagon was having a hard time navigating the exposed white rocks that littered the trail.

  “We’re not going directly to Pompeii,” Trigemina said. “Before leaving Rome I consulted the auspices. I was assured we would arrive at our destination safely. But I’d like some clearer guidance for when we arrive in Pompeii.”

  Achillia stared out of the window again, trying to make sense of it. Then it struck her and she did her best not to laugh. “You’re going to see the Sibyl?”

  Trigemina nodded. She hadn’t seemed to detect the scepticism in Achillia’s voice. “We shall discover what plans the gods have for us.”

  “I’m not a big believer in fate,” Achillia replied, somewhat coldly. “Either the Emperor wants you back in Rome, or he doesn’t. If he does, then his men will soon be with us.”

  “The Emperor doesn’t know I’ve left Rome.”

  “He would have had men watching your house. They would’ve seen you leave. And if he didn’t, news will still get to him. Because your husband’s enemies will surely be keeping tabs on you.”

  Trigemina didn’t say anything.

  “You don’t agree?”

  Trigemina’s lips twitched. “Your job is to protect me, not to question me.”

  “If bandits hit us, then I’ll protect you. But if the Emperor sends his men, then we’re going back to Rome. Unless they try to kill you.” Achillia sat back. “But I suppose the Sibyl will give you fair warning. If you reach her in time.”

  “The Emperor won’t know we’ve left the city for a good few days.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “We left from the home of a close friend…”

  “He would have been watching you wherever you stayed.”

  “…via a tunnel.”

  For a second, Achillia didn’t respond. And then she laughed. A long, rolling laugh.

  Trigemina glared at her, fear finally giving way to irritation. “Don’t question me!”

  “Your husband’s a dead man,” Achillia explained. “He could maybe explain you leaving for Pompeii. Even why you’d set off so early. But to sneak out of the city? Using a fucking tunnel? He may as well have accused the Emperor of plotting to kill you. Everyone in the city will be talking about it.”

  The anger drained from Trigemina’s face, replaced by the fear Achillia remembered from the arena.

  “And then he’ll come after us,” Achillia continued. “And he’ll kill your men out there. He’ll kill me, and then he’ll drag you back to the arena where you will surely die.”

  “We will consult the Sibyl.”

  “You don’t need a little woman hidden away in a cave to—”

  “We will consult the Sibyl!”

  Achillia rolled her eyes. She let her head thump against the back of the wagon, and looked up at the short-sword hanging above the door. Next time they stopped, she’d check its weight and its balance. Because when the Emperor’s men arrived, she’d need to fight. At least then there’d be a chance she’d be returned to the ludus. But it was doubtful. She looked back at Trigemina, at her broken nose. Maybe she should have punched her harder.

  Much. Much. Harder.

  * * *

  “I remain unconvinced.”

  “She speaks truth. After all, her books adorn the Palatine.”

  It was at least the fourth time Trigemina had said as much. She and Achillia had left the wagon back down the hill, stuck between a couple of trees and a rock. The men had still been struggling to free it as the women started up towards the entrance of the Sibyl’s cave.

  The perfectly triangular opening in the rock face led to a tunnel, a string of oil lamps illuminating the entrance. Beyond was only darkness. It appeared they were alone, but Achillia scanned the trees for any hint they were being watched.

  “You’re telling me that was created by the hand of man?” asked Trigemina, pointing to the entrance. “Do you know how old it is?”

  Achillia didn’t answer the question. “Somehow, I doubt whoever wrote those books is waiting for us inside.”

  “Apollo provided the Sibyl with many years of life.”

  “But not youth,” replied Achillia. “That’s the story, isn’t it? All that’s left is a voice. The body long since shrunken away to nothing?”

  “It’s not just a story.”

  “Fine,” Achillia said, scanning the surrounding woodland. “We should do this quickly. Get back to the wagon, and continue our journey.”

  Trigemina smiled. “Don’t worry, this isn’t my first visit.”

  Achillia waited a moment before following Trigemina into the tunnel. If there was someone ahead of them waiting to attack, there wouldn’t be much she could do to stop it. But attackers were more likely to come from behind, waiting until they were in the cave and then coming out of the trees to cut off their escape. There was, after all, at least one person here, someone who kept the oil lamps burning. Achillia checked her knife and swore. Her new mistress had refused permission to take the gladius into the cave.

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Just once,” replied Trigemina. Her voice was shaking.

  “And what did it tell you?”

  “The Sibyl’s words are private.”

  “And what do you expect it to say this time?”

  “We’re not here for me,” said Trigemina. “We’re here for you. This is your reward for saving my life.”

  11

  PULLUS SCANNED THE occupants of the tablinum. As Calpurnia led him into the chamber, he saw Harris standing at its very centre. His hands were tied in front of him and – although Habitus stood closest to him – it was clear he was too frail to pose any sort of threat.

  Naso looked deeply uncomfortable. Pullus recognised each of the three heavy-set male slaves who lingered
in the background as being Calpurnia’s, not the duumvir’s. Which meant Pompeii’s chief magistrate knew he was vulnerable, now he’d finally been invited inside.

  Pullus stared at Harris, hatred welling up. The sick old man had arrived in Pompeii with a potentially dangerous message: to tell the Romans he knew their device didn’t work. Such an admission might have been enough to have him killed. To silence him, and stop him telling anyone else the secret. Except Harris had arrived with a strategy; he’d also learnt how to speak Latin.

  Pullus glanced at Calpurnia. I thought I could trust you, Pullus. Fuck. He’d not even told her how good it was to see her again. Maybe now he wouldn’t get the chance.

  “You and I both know how you survived the gladiator fifteen years ago,” Calpurnia said. “Those who operate the NovusPart device in the future reached back and removed your attacker in order to let you live. But only because you were important to them.”

  “I know,” Pullus replied.

  “You’re not important anymore,” she said. “There’s no safety net. I have the device, and the person who will get it working for us is now in my possession. So if you betray me here, today, I will have you killed. Do you understand?”

  “I get it.”

  “Good. And don’t forget the Greek knows some English too. He’ll be monitoring what you say.”

  Beside one of the columns painted onto the walls, Calpurnia’s Greek slave stood listening. The Greek often stood mute, hidden in the background as he recorded Calpurnia’s instructions. Sure enough, he held a thin wax tablet by his side. But Pullus also knew this silent observer had a sharp mind. The Greek had made the most progress with the old NovusPart technology. He’d even got so far as activating the transportation tracking system, scanning back through data representing those occupying particular points in space deep in the past. However, the last step of actually initiating the transportations continued to be elusive. Not that the Greek ever showed his frustration. Not within earshot, anyway.

  Today though, he was likely wasting his time. Harris probably knew little about how the NovusPart device actually worked. It would only be when he chose to hand over Arlen’s code that the Greek’s skills would be really put to the test.

  “Ah, at last…” Everyone looked towards Harris when he spoke. Calpurnia tipped her head back slightly to signal she was in charge, but she also took care to keep close to Habitus. “My Latin doesn’t exactly sparkle,” Harris continued. “So it would probably be best if you could translate, if you wouldn’t mind, Nick?”

  “You seem to have been more than capable when speaking to Habitus.”

  “A few phrases learnt by rote,” Harris answered. “Not enough to talk about the intricacies of time travel. And trust me, things are going to get complicated.”

  Pullus nodded, bitterly, and readied himself. He hadn’t needed to translate a two-way conversation for some time.

  “Ask him for the code,” Calpurnia said.

  Pullus repeated the question in English. Calpurnia looked at the Greek, who nodded wordlessly in confirmation, though how much he’d really understood wasn’t entirely clear. The Greek had spent a long time working through all the material left behind by NovusPart, the handbooks, tablets and computers found in the control villa and the House of McMahon, so presumably had picked up some working knowledge of English. But Pullus had never managed to engage him in anything that could be considered as a conversation. The Greek’s natural state was silence.

  “First, I need to know her intentions,” Harris said.

  Pullus didn’t translate. Instead, he edged closer to Harris, avoiding a warning stare from Calpurnia. “Don’t play games,” he said. “She will kill you.”

  “I’m already dead, Pullus. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Fine,” he said. “For you, it’s about your brother. For her, she’s never stopped talking about her husband.”

  “NovusPart failed to transport him from Pompeii?”

  “He wasn’t in Pompeii,” Pullus replied. “He’d travelled to Herculaneum prior to the eruption.”

  “If NovusPart couldn’t transport everyone from Pompeii through simple ash, then there’s no chance they could pull him from Herculaneum through that hell storm.”

  “I know.”

  “And it’s been fifteen years, Nick. I mean, look at her.”

  Pullus understood. Even if Calpurnia could get the device to work, she’d now be fifteen years older than her husband remembered. Not a massive gap in the modern world, but a chasm in the Roman one. Instead of being much younger than her husband, she’d be about the same age. Maybe older. “It doesn’t matter to her.”

  “But it would to him – it would be a pity to spend fifteen years pining over someone only for them to run off with the nearest slave girl.”

  To Pullus’s right, Habitus bristled. “You shouldn’t let them talk to each other in their own language,” he said.

  Calpurnia turned to the Greek. “What are they saying?”

  The Greek didn’t reply, but he smiled. The reassurance seemed to be enough. “Tell him to hand over the code,” Calpurnia repeated.

  Pullus translated. Harris simply responded with a roll of his eyes. “I spent most of my life trying to stop NovusPart from vandalising the timeline. Before I betray myself, I need some level of assurance.”

  “Yes?”

  “If Calpurnia here was to promise not to use the device to transport anyone other than my brother… and her husband?”

  Pullus translated.

  “Don’t put your own words into his mouth,” Calpurnia said.

  “I’m not.”

  “The problem is one of paradox,” Harris continued, ignoring them. “If the timeline is fixed, then whatever actions you take will be irrelevant. The timeline cannot be changed.” Harris paused and nodded towards Calpurnia. “Say she transported her father forwards before she’d been conceived. She finds the timeline hasn’t changed. She instead discovers she was adopted – or maybe sired by one of the household slaves.”

  Calpurnia listened to the translation, but didn’t seem impressed.

  “But, if the timeline can be changed,” Harris continued, “the risk of paradox presents itself: the creation of an infinite loop of circumstance.”

  “The timeline has already proven itself to be durable,” Pullus said. “As you should know, McMahon and Whelan didn’t seem too concerned about altering history for their own benefit.”

  “Well, just as long as you remember the central panel of the NovusPart triptych wasn’t there to stop them. Joe Arlen was always quite clear in his warnings: the risks increase exponentially with every alteration. So this is an experiment we can’t afford to get wrong.”

  Pullus tried to lower his voice – to make it as difficult as possible for the Greek to hear. “What do you mean: Arlen’s warnings?”

  Harris’s eyes flickered. “You’ll find out – and soon.”

  “Ask him for the code,” Calpurnia repeated. “And he’ll get to see his brother again before he dies.”

  Pullus hesitated. “There’s an option you’ve missed,” he said, speaking to Harris. “Maybe multiple timelines exist, and paradoxes therefore simply create alternative streams of events. The timeline becomes a self-healing animal. So, whatever you tell us, it simply won’t matter.”

  “I can tell you don’t actually believe that.”

  “No. But do you think I’d allow her to damage the timeline?”

  Harris shook his head, almost as if in defeat. “Most standard thinking relies on the theory that events propagate forwards,” he said. “Cause and effect. But I’ve come to think that events actually propagate backwards. And it’s the future that’s fixed, and those that live there simply take action to protect their own existence.”

  “Maybe…”

  “So tell Calpurnia here to go easy on her threats. It didn’t work on Whelan and it won’t work on me.”

  Whelan. The molten lead. The hole drilled into his
skull. The sound of his screaming. “You offered us Arlen’s code,”

  Pullus said, his voice trembling. “In return, I’ll make sure she gives you your brother.”

  Harris nodded. “Then I’ll need two things. First, one of the old NovusPart phones.”

  “We have a few undamaged mobiles. But the batteries now only last a few minutes between charges.”

  Harris flicked his eyes to Naso. “If you’re looking for fresh ones, he has some. At least, that’s what the men on the convoys told me.”

  Pullus looked over at the duumvir, and saw the confusion on his face. “I doubt it.”

  “You don’t believe he’s controlling the convoys to his own advantage?”

  “Okay, okay,” said Pullus. “So we need a working phone. What’s the second thing?”

  “The boy,” Harris replied, his attention now firmly on Calpurnia. “I need to see her son. Marcus.”

  Pullus wasn’t sure he wanted to know why. He began to translate, the Greek confirming his words with a silent nod. As soon as he mentioned the batteries, the duumvir was quick to deny it.

  “It’s not true,” Naso said. “The convoys are clean.”

  “You’re sure?” asked Calpurnia. She glanced towards Habitus.

  “Pullus’s friend is lying,” Habitus confirmed, almost casually and much to Naso’s relief. “He’s trying to sow dissent between us.” Habitus signalled for one of his men to approach. An order was given for him to go and get one of the old NovusPart phones from the villa’s stores. They were only turned on occasionally to check that signals from the outside were still being blocked. But fifteen years of being switched on and off, and being charged and recharged, had taken its toll. Few still worked.

  “More importantly,” Naso said, interrupting. “Why does he want Marcus?”

  “I’m not exposing my son to any danger,” Calpurnia said.

  Pullus looked toward Harris. He looked like he had played his last hand. He had nowhere left to go. No more space for deception. “Barbatus used to say a predator only comes out into the sun to hunt.”