46
“That’s right,” you tell him cheerfully. “That’s me. That’s who I am.” You look him sincerely in the eye and add, “Master.”
“Well, let me tell you something,” he says severely. “I like to sleep late, so don’t be poking your nose in here again until I call you. Got that?”
“Yes, sir. Definitely, sir. Sorry, sir. Shall I go now, sir?”
The bald-headed man pulls the covers over his bald head and mutters, “Yes.” You can hear him begin to snore almost immediately.
So what are you waiting for? There’s a door in the east wall of this room marked VIII and a door in the west wall marked XXII.
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47
One thing about the Romans: they knew the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Every road and street you’ve come across so far runs dead straight and this one is no exception. You stride along it, absently munching a bright red spotted mushroom one of the roadside vendors pressed on you as a sample, until you reach the most famous example of Roman architecture ever, the massive structure of the Coliseum.
You stare up at the building in wonder. This was the very first free-standing arena the Romans ever made. All the earlier ones were dug into hillsides for extra support. But this is a towering example of what could be achieved with stone and concrete. An oval building some 190 m long by 155 m wide, it could hold ... it could hold ...
Swiftly you check your Brief Guide to Ancient Rome.
... it could hold 50,000 spectators at the games to end all -
Wait a minute! Something’s badly wrong here! According to the Guide, they didn’t even start to build the Coliseum until the reign of Vespasian, who wasn’t made Emperor until 69 a.d., some twenty eight years from now. And it didn’t actually get going as a show ground until the reign of Titus ten years later when it was opened with a hundred days of games. This can’t be the Colis -
The great building begins to waver before your very eyes. It transforms itself into a Day-glo orange frog, then a purple kangaroo that hops off in the direction of the Servian Wall.
It’s the mushroom! Those red spots should have warned you. It must be psychedelic. You’ve hallucinated the whole thing!
Find the nearest vomitorium to get rid of the rest of the mushroom, then get back to your map at 25 to select another destination.
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48
Well, you could sit out here of an evening drinking your watered wine, inhaling the fragrance of the night-scented stock and admiring your olive trees. This shady portico overlooks extensive and extremely well-kept gardens, sweeping away to a surrounding vineyard. The whole place is so green it must be supported by a comprehensive irrigation system and so extensive it’s difficult to believe you’re somewhere in the middle of Rome.
You inhale deeply, enjoying the scents and the slanting sunshine.
Sorry to be the one to spoil this little idyll, but you’ve got better things to do than smell the flowers. There’s a door to the north to XXXVI and another to the south to CXIII. Take one of them.
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49
“Wrong!” exclaims Caligula delightedly. He looks thoughtfully into the middle distance. “Roasted alive, I think.”
After which painful experience, you can make your way to 13.
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50
“How did you get here?” you ask.
“We’re very well in with the gods,” the wild-eyed woman tells you. “I got Jupiter to pull a few strings.”
“The planet?”
“The Greek God Father. Used to be Managing Director on Mount Olympus before he changed his name from Zeus and moved to Rome. They called the planet after him.”
You stare at her thoughtfully. She looks bats and she sounds bats, but there’s something about her that’s starting to get under your skin. “Look here,” you say, “supposing I believe you, which I don’t, and agreed to help you, which I won’t, what is it exactly that you want me to do?”
“I want you to do something about Gaius Caesar Germanicus.”
“You want me to do something about some old Roman?”
She nods enthusiastically.
“Back in your time?”
She nods enthusiastically again.
“How do I get back there - then?”
“Jupiter will arrange it.”
“How do I get back here - now?”
“Jupiter will arrange that too.”
You shake your head. “Naw, it would never work. I can’t even speak the language.”
“I could talk to Mercury about that,” says the woman promptly. “He’s god of communication among other things. I expect he could arrange a simultaneous translation for you, or something of that sort.”
First Jupiter, now Mercury and apart from that there’s something vaguely familiar about the name Gaius Caesar Germanicus, as if this was someone you should know about, maybe called something else ...
You stand frowning as the more familiar name of Gaius edges towards the tip of your tongue ...
She leans forward until her mad nose is only inches from your own. “Well, what do you say?”
Well, what do you say? Do you continue to humour her by agreeing at 120. Or decline politely at 80. Probably won’t make any difference since her story can’t be true anyway, but is there a case for finding out more about this Gaius Caesar Germanicus character at 30 before you make up your mind?
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51
The Circus Maximus turns out to be a massive U-shaped structure with seats on three sides and a low wall running down the middle of the arena. As you find yourself a seat, you can see a line-up of chariots at the starting point, harness rattling as they wait impatiently for the signal to begin the race.
“You for the Blues or the Greens?” asks a wild-eyed red-haired man who looks as if he’s wired to the far side of the moon.
“Hunh?” you ask intelligently.
“Which will you bet on - the Blues or the Greens?” He nods towards the waiting chariots.
You notice suddenly that each chariot sports a colour and they are indeed divided into Blues and Greens. There must be two opposing factions in these races. “I’m not much of a gambler,” you tell him, conveniently forgetting how often you’ve gambled with your life since you embarked on this adventure.
“I’d stake anything,” he tells you. “Tell you what. I’ll bet you a tour of the Imperial Palace against all the money you have in your pocket that the Greens will win the next race. I’m a Green man myself.”
“You can get me into the Imperial Palace?” you ask warily.
“My uncle’s Captain of the Guard,” he tells you. “What do you say?”
“What happens if I’ve no money in my pocket?” you ask.
He grins broadly. “That makes it an even more interesting gamble. Come on - they’re about to start!”
“You’re on!” you tell him.
There is a sudden roar from the crowd as the chariots burst from the starting line to race around the low wall in the middle of the arena.
Roll two dice. Score 2, 3, 4, 5 or 6 and the Greens win, in which case turn to 7. Score 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 or 12 and the Blues win, in which case turn to 94.
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52
“Right!” exclaims Caligula delightedly. He grins wickedly. “Not kidding this time. Now, your next question in the Quiz of Death is this: Who is next in line to be Emperor after me, assuming I ever decide to die, that is? Is it Claudius? Is it Germanicus. Or is it Nero?”
If you think it’s Claudius, turn to 157. If you think it’s Germanicus, turn to 144 . If you think it’s Nero, turn to 121.
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53
There is a strong smell of horse manure as you approach this gate and you can see from the wide opening that it was probably designed for mounted traffic, along with carriages and chariots.
Briefly you wonder if there is any chance you might hire a horse since it would certainly carry you away from the doomed city faster than you could travel on foot. But there does not seem to be anyone about at the moment and you don’t want to hang around when Vesuvius could erupt at any moment. With a huge feeling of relief you skip through the gate and onto the road out of town.
You’ve escaped! You’re out of Pompeii before the fateful eruption! Now all you have to do is get far enough away to make sure you’re safe when the volcano actually blows.
You’re still skipping gaily down the road when there is a terrifying roar as the peak of Vesuvius splits open and a black pine-shaped cloud erupts from the volcano showering massive red-hot cinders and great globules of molten lava.
“Arrrgh!” you howl as a great globule of molten lava lands directly on your head, burning off most of your face and eating its way through the bone of your skull.
After which it becomes quite difficult for you to continue your adventure. Go to 13.
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54
You walk into the room and stop dead. Although you’ve never seen one before, thank heavens, you know where you are at once.
This is the dreaded vomitorium!
What’s more, it’s been used recently.
Oh, gross and double gross!
Back out quickly to LXXIII.
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55
As you walk into the amphitheatre, crowds jostling all around you in a state of high excitement, you come to two archways. Above one is written ARENA. Above the other is written AUDITORIUM.
You are headed firmly for the second when you overhear a snatch of conversation between two well-dressed women:
“- in the arena will be presented to the Emperor,” one says.
“Everybody?” asks the other.
“So they say.”
Does this make a difference? Will you risk your life in the arena just so you can get back within striking distance of Caligula when you didn’t do a thing except answer stupid questions the last time you were close to him? The archway marked ARENA leads to 23. You can reach the AUDITORIUM at 64.
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56
“Fellow Romans,” the politician intones as you buckle on the armour of the late Brutus (which doesn’t exactly fit like a glove, but should do the job anyway), “how do you vote this time? Thumbs up or down?”
It looks as if Brutus was really popular. Every thumb in the auditorium jabs violently downwards and the crowd begins to boo and hiss at you for emphasis.
Out of the corner of your eye you see thirty-eight burly gladiators starting to move forward, all obviously anxious to have a piece of you now you’ve become so unpopular with the crowd.
A thin man leans across and whispers in the politician’s ear. The politician listens for a moment then holds up his hands. After a moment the crowd falls silent.
“Fellow Romans!” the politician proclaims. “However much you - we liked the dear departed Brutus, he was vanquished in a fair fight. And it’s the third fair fight this young gladiator has won. My vote is thumbs up!”
It’s obvious the crowd doesn’t like it - there’s a scattering of boos and hisses - but it’s equally obvious the politician’s vote outweighs all the others put together. Whatever else it might have been Ancient Rome is no democracy.
The politician leans over and speaks directly to you. “You fought well,” he says. “I’ve arranged for you to have the freedom of the city. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
Never one to hang about where you weren’t wanted, you head smartly for the exit arch to 150.
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57
This huge marble emporium can only be one thing - the Public Thermii or Baths. Everybody in Rome was so obsessed with keeping clean that this place was as popular as the Circus. At least so it claims in your Brief Guide, but now you’re here there’s not a soul about.
You begin to climb the broad steps to try to find out what’s going on when an urchin leaning against one of the pillars calls out, “No good going up there - they’re shut for repairs. Some of their pipework sprung a leak.”
So it’s back to 25 to select another destination from your tourist map.
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58
Whoops! This room is full of people. Fortunately they’re all racing around like lunatics preparing a meal. This is definitely a kitchen and from the way everybody’s studiously avoiding your eye, these must be slaves. That was the thing about slaves in Ancient Rome: they were treated as part of the furniture and they very quickly got used to behaving as if nothing existed outside the job they were doing. If they didn’t know you, they played safe and ignored you whatever you were doing.
Cautiously you put this theory to the test by stepping into the room. You are roundly ignored. Cautiously you dip your finger into a pan of sauce and take a sneaky taste. (It’s delicious.) You are still roundly ignored.
It looks as though this might be the preparations for the wedding feast of Germanicus and Agrippina - a thought that reminds you time is slipping by.
There is a door in the east wall to XXII and two doors in the west wall. The northernmost of these doors leads to LXVII, the southernmost to LXXIII.
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59
You hurl yourself upon him shrieking like a harpy.
Despite looking hungry, your opponent has 60 Life Points and one of the best swords in Rome, capable of inflicting +10 damage. If he kills you, go to 13. If you survive, you’ll just have time to pick up his First Aid Kit (which will restore six double dice rolls of Life Points now or later) before making a break for any other destination shown on your tourist map at 25.
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60
Somewhere a crowd is cheering.
There is a smell of heat and sweat, mixed with the stench of wet dog or something vaguely similar.
More cheering from the invisible crowd.
You are surrounded by a shimmering grey fog, but a shimmering grey fog that is gradually lifting. Around you things are slowly becoming clearer.
And clearer ...
You are standing on the arena floor of a majestic stone-built amphitheatre, its tiers of seats jam-packed with an enthusiastic crowd. There seems to be some sort of procession going on. Priests in gold-embroidered robes are circling the arena swinging censers of heavy incense and chanting monotonously.
How nice. You’ve landed back in Ancient Rome in the middle of a religious festival.
You glance up towards the devout crowd. Many of them seem to be rough diamonds for sure, but those in the better seats look a lot more respectable. Towards the back, nimble men in sailor uniforms are working a complicated set of rigging to bring across a huge multicoloured canopy to give some shade to the spectators.
There was a sudden roar of approval and the entire crowd rose to its feet as a tall grey-haired man led his entourage into a box directly overlooking the arena. He acknowledges the cheers with a languid wave of his hand, then takes his seat. Armed guards take their places behind him.
Is this the Emperor of the day? From somewhere you recall that Roman Emper
ors always wore purple on public occasions and this man’s toga is pristine white so perhaps he’s just a Senator or some other bigwig.
The priests complete their procession and begin to exit through the same imposing arch by which they entered. At once an organ starts up a merry tune.
An organ, in Ancient Rome? Surely not. But what you’re hearing certainly sounds like an organ.
Armed men - dozens of them - are marching into the arena. They look fierce and terrifying and very, very fit. They stop as a body underneath the box occupied by the grey-haired man and his entourage. Their arms snap upwards in a rigid salute. “Nos moraturi te salutamus!” they exclaim in unison.
So much for Mercury and his simultaneous translation. You didn’t understand a word of that.
But then your right ear begins to itch. You reach up to scratch it and a small device no bigger than a hearing aid falls out onto the arena sand. It crackles a little as you pick it up as if it may have been damaged, but you notice a small on/off switch in one side just under the Mercury Phones logo. You slide it to on and pop the device back into your ear.
RomanQuest Page 5
