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.
“Come on!” shouts Ra, unable to contain himself any longer. “Overtake them! You can do it!”
“Fat chance!” says Lucius, having placed his bets at last and returned to join his friend. “The girls in blue are easily the best. There’s no way anyone’s going to beat them!”
“She will!” says Ra, pointing to the Briton. He can see the look of determination on her face even at this distance, as she spurs the horses on.
“Who? You’re not rooting for Scarface are you?” Lucius laughs, but stops as Ra turns to look at him, genuinely irritated. “Oh, come on! She can’t hope to win now. She’s riding solo and the race is almost over.”
“Huh!” Ra turns back to watch the end of the race.
Lucius places a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry, Stumpy, I’m sure they’ll be. . .”
His words are cut short by a loud crack as the pole on the leading chariot, under enormous pressure as it turns the last corner, suddenly shears in two. The horses continue on their own, but as the pole imbeds itself into the floor of the Circus, it causes the chariot to be thrown high into the air, flinging the drivers out like unwanted dolls tossed away by a child. As the chariot spins over, the Briton steers hers underneath it.
Oh no, thinks Ra, in despair. What’s she doing? Can’t she see she’s going to get caught as that chariot falls? She’ll be crushed! He can hardly bear to watch, and yet at the same time he cannot take his eyes off the spectacle. The chariots may well be as light as possible, to ensure the maximum speed in the races, but she cannot possibly survive if it lands on top of her. Yet even as it falls, she manages to spur her horses on and they find an extra burst of energy, just enough to pull them clear as the chariot smashes into the ground behind them, sending up a shower of sand onto the other racers.
The crowd, who has been holding their collective breath all this time, erupts in cheers and applause as her chariot is the first to cross the finishing post.
“Ha ha!” shouts Lucius, thumping Ra on the back and nearly knocking him off the platform. “I take it all back. The girl can ride!” He looks down at the betting token in his hand before shaking his head and tossing it onto the ground. “Pity!”
“She certainly has amazing skills,” says Ra, still awed by the spectacle. “And the great goddess was watching over her.”
Lucius rolls his eyes. “Whatever!”
They both watch as she approaches the emperor’s platform where Caligula is still seated in his ivory chair, staring at her with a curious expression.
“From which of my many provinces do you hail, young winner?” he asks.
“No province, Caesar,” she calls back. “I come from Britannia.”
Caligula raises an eyebrow. “Britannia, you say? And by what name are you known in that misty isle?”
“They call me Alfreda, your highness.”
“Well, Alfreda of Britannia, I congratulate you on your victory. Let us hope we see more of your courage and skill.”
With that, the emperor nods and signals that she may depart. As Alfreda raises her hand in salute to both Caligula and the crowd, Ra seizes the opportunity to throw his white rose to her. As the flower falls gently to the sand of the arena floor, he happens to glance at Caligula and sees a grin turning up the corners of the emperor’s mouth and feels his face flushing in embarrassment. Quickly turning away to look back at Alfreda, Ra watches her bend gracefully to pick up the rose. She pauses a moment as she raises the bloom to her nose and her eyes turn upwards briefly to see who threw it. Then, with the flower still held between her strong fingers, she strides away and disappears through the open gate into the darkness beyond.
“Alfreda,” whispers Ra, staring after her and savoring the sound of her name, so foreign on his tongue. “Alfreda.”
The day’s races continue, with the next contest being the veteran male charioteers. All around Ra, the spectators clamor for their favorites, busily placing bets on the most promising contestants and conversing excitedly with one another, but he has no interest in the rest of the events. He feels as though for him time is standing still, while the world around him carries on regardless. Taking a seat to the back of the emperor’s platform, he sits on his own and daydreams about Alfreda, the brave sla
ve-soldier woman. He feels as though the rose he threw to her has somehow become a connection between them. He can still sense the feeling of the flower as he gripped it in his hand, its thorns biting into his skin. Those same thorns are even now clutched in her fingers, the petals brushing again her cheek, the token of his love kept close to her heart.
“Hey!” Ra looks up to see Lucius frowning at him. “What’re you doing, you tit? You look like a puppy that’s just been kicked in the head!”
Ra makes no response, but just sits there staring, his eyes glazed as he finds his thoughts inexorably drawn back to Alfreda. For the first time in his life, he feels the grip of love’s fire, the burning passion that feels as though it will consume him. In his mind he sees them touching, kissing, their bodies drawing closer together. He yearns for her, to bathe her in water covered in rose petals and the finest oils that Egypt has to offer, to dry her with the thinnest cotton and massage her body with aromatic oils, to cover her with the most exclusive silk and feed her the juiciest fruits with his own fingers.
“Jupiter’s balls!” says Lucius with a shake of his head. “The ball-less bugger’s only bloody fallen in love!” He laughs and turns away to watch the next race that has just started, leaving Ra to his thoughts of Alfreda.
~
After the games, Ra returns to the Temple, where a number of supplicants are waiting for him with requests for the goddess. He goes through the motions of performing his usual activities—carrying out the various rituals required for the worship of Isis, handing out orders to the temple slaves, preparing one of the sacred oils and offering up a white dove as a sacrifice—but he does them all without really engaging. Instead, his thoughts are entirely taken with Alfreda. As he finishes the evening worship ritual, a loud clunking sound causes him to turn around. Near the temple entrance, Lucius stands, holding a pair of goblets in one hand and leaning on an amphora.
“I know just the thing you need,” he says, patting the side of the vessel. “There’s nothing better for love-sickness that a damn fine Falernian.”
“Not this evening, Lucius,” says Ra wearily. “I just want to go and lay down in my bed.”
“And do what? Stare at the ceiling while you mope about this blonde bit of skirt that’s caught your fancy?”
Ra frowns at his friend’s typically course way of speaking. “It’s so much more than that… but you’re right. I doubt I’ll get any sleep.”
“You bet I’m right.” Lucius smiles as he twists the cork out of the amphora and begins to fill the goblets. “Plus, I’ve got a bit of info on your girl you might be interested to hear.”
That settles it, and Ra quickly joins his friend sitting on the bench in the temple porch, looking out over the city lit by the last of the sunlight. The view is glorious, and as Ra accepts a wine-filled goblet from his friend, he leans back and gazes out across the hills.
“So what information have you found out, Lucius?”
“Well, after the races, I went for a quick drink with Glaucus, an old tent mate from my days as a legionary in the Second, and he just happens to be in charge of the Circus stables.”
“Yes?”
“He told me that your girl, Alfreda, is owned by the Servilli.”
“The Servilli?” Ra raises his eyebrows at this news. The Servilli are a powerful Patrician family, who own half of the gladiators in Italy, including some of the best fighters that have ever graced an arena. As such, they are not only influential, but massively wealthy with many senators in the family. Although they own a number of houses on the Palatine and Aventine, the Servilli are usually to be found in a massive villa just outside Rome, which also housed the gladiator school.
“As you know,” Lucius continues, “their gladiator school caters to male and female fighters, so the odds are good that your girl is being kept out at the villa. They’ll have her in their best quarters too, after today’s performance.”
“So what should I do, Lucius? Should I go and visit her?”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do whatever takes your fancy… within the limits of what you’re able, anyway!” he adds, waving his goblet in the general direction of Ra’s groin and splashing wine all over his robe. “Sorry!” he laughs.
“What would you do then?” Ra asks, trying to brush the spreading liquid from his robe without success. “You’re more experienced in these sorts of matters.”
“You’ve hung around women enough over at the palace to know what they want. You might have no balls, but you’ve got a damn brain man! Use it!”
Leaning back against the wall, Ra considers this. “What about gifts?” he suggests. “That’s something all the ladies seem to enjoy.”
“It’s a start.”
“How about sending her some flowers?”
“Flowers?” says Lucius, looking at Ra as though he suggest giving her a week-old fish. “She ain’t your mother! You want to give her something more… permanent, not just a bunch of dying foliage!”
“All right. How about a necklace? Or a bracelet?”
“That’s a bit more like it.”
“As luck, or rather Isis, would have it, my mother gave me her bracelet when I left Egypt. It was given to her by my grandmother.”
“Nice to see it’s still going down through the ladies in the family,” says Lucius with a wink.
“Hold on, I’ll go and get it.”
A couple of minutes later, Ra returns and hands Lucius a piece of silk which he opens to reveal a beautiful bracelet, fashioned from gold and inlaid with fine, clear emeralds. Lucius’ eyes widen and he lets out a long whistle.
“Impressive!” he says.
“I wonder if it matches her eyes. I bet they’re green too!”
“Who cares about her eyes?” says Lucius. “A trinket like this ought to let you get close to a few more intimate areas of her body! Not that it’ll do you much good.”
“One of these days,” says Ra, taking the bracelet from Lucius and wrapping it carefully back in the silk. “You’re going to find out just how much of a man I am. And how hard a priest can punch!”
Lucius laughs and slaps his friend on the back, almost causing him to drop the bracelet. Ra quickly hurries back to his quarters and gets out some sealing wax. Being careful not to damage the silk, he melts some of the wax onto it and presses his seal onto it, an ornate R carved around an eye. Calling to one of the temple slaves, he hands him the bracelet and gives detailed instructions about where to deliver it and who the recipient is, making it clear that this gift is to be placed directly into her hands.
As the slave disappears into the darkening streets, Ra sits back down next to his friend.
“May I have a little more of that wine, Lucius?” he asks, holding out his goblet.
Chapter Twelve
Long after Lucius has departed, somewhat uneasy on his legs after consuming most of the amphora, and the sun has set across the Tiber, Ra sits on the edge of his bed unable to settle. Every few moments he glances towards the doorway, straining his ears and his eyes for any sign of the return of his slave.
What can be taking him so long? If I find out he’s stopped off in a wine house on his way back, by Isis, there’ll be trouble! A movement in the corner of the room catches his eye and, peering into the shadows, he makes out the shape of a mouse scurrying along close to the wall. Carefully, without making any sudden movements, Ra slips a sandal from his foot and takes careful aim.
Steady, he thinks as he draws back his arm to throw the sandal.
“Sorry for the delay, master.”
Surprised by the voice, Ra hurls the sandal way off target, knocking over a vase and frightening the mouse back into its hole.
“Good goddess, man!” he says, turning angrily to his slave. “You nearly scared the life out of me!”
“Sorry, master.” The slave bows, his breathing heavy after his journey up the Palatine.
“Never mind. Did you give her the bracelet?”
“Of course,” says the slave, l
ooking slightly offended at the suggestion he might have failed in his task. “But it was not easy. The villa of the Servilli is simple to find. You can hardly miss it, but getting into it is another thing entirely.”
“So how did you get in?” asks Ra, leaning forward eagerly.
“With the key that opens all doors, master. Money!” The slave jangles the purse he uses to buy food in the market, which he always carries with him. “I ended up having to hand over a whole sestertius in the end, getting into the gladiator school and then into the women’s quarters.”
Ra shrugs. “It’s a small price to pay. Go on. Tell me about Alfreda.”
“When I entered her room, she was busy cleaning her weapons. She has quite an impressive armory, so I took care not to cause any offence. I presented her with the gift, saying it was from a ‘secret admirer’, as you requested. Once she’d wiped off her hands, she took it off me and studied the seal mark in the wax.”
“She can’t have recognized it, surely?” says Ra.
“I don’t think so, master. She asked after your name, but I explained you wanted to remain anonymous.”
“Good man. So did you see her open the gift? Did she like it?”
“She certainly seemed to be pleasantly surprised when she opened it. She was smiling and enjoyed watching the jewels sparkle in the lamplight, turning it this way and that.”
“Is that it?” interrupts Ra, looking slightly disappointed. “No message?”
“I was just getting to that master. The lady has a very strong accent, which made her a bit hard to understand, and her Latin isn’t that good, but she got the message across in the end. ‘Tell your master,’ she said, ‘whoever he is, that he is a lovely man and his gift is most welcome and greatly appreciated.’ Then she returned to polishing a sword, so I left.”
Ra nods, trying to hide his excitement at receiving a message from this beautiful woman, something so much more tangible than a distant gaze or a mere dream of being together. She may not know who I am, he thinks, a smile spreading across his face, but she knows that I love her, and she welcomes it!
Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics Page 12
