Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics Page 13

  The slave standing awkwardly in the doorway eventually breaks the silence. “So, is that all, master?”

  “What?” Ra looks up in surprise as though he has forgotten the slave was still there. “Oh, sorry. I’d forgotten you were still there. Yes, that’s all.” As the slave turns to go, Ra calls after him. “One moment.” He reaches into the purse that is lying next to his mattress and tosses the slave a coin. “And another sestertius,” he adds, pulling out another coin and giving that to him too. “For a job well done.”

  “Thank you, master!” With a broad smile on his face, the slave walks away towards his own quarters.

  Ra lies down on his bed and stares up at the ceiling, watching the candlelight causing shadows to dance across it.

  Well, my Alfreda, he thinks. What destiny awaits you here in Rome? Now you have won your first race, there will surely be more to come. And how long can you keep it up and stay alive? This thought worries Ra. After all, being a charioteer is one of the most dangerous occupations, almost as much as being a gladiator. Very few survive the arena and see retirement. And no doubt Alfreda will have to race again soon.

  Will she survive? he wonders. I have to know! Time to seek the goddess and see what the future holds.

  ~

  The priests of Isis are well known for their ability to perform magic and there are few better than Ra. Indeed it was for this very reason he was brought to Rome in the first place, and it was thanks to his magical skills that the young emperor’s life was saved only a few years before. However, such magic is not easy and the sacred rituals that surround it must be undertaken with great care. So, for the next three days, Ra does not consume any meat or alcohol, instead restricting himself to a rigorous diet of vegetables, fruit juice and water. He also bathes twice a day, carefully oiling and scraping his skin, and wears only white robes. He does this to ensure both his mind and body are purified in preparation for the ritual he wishes to perform—the divination to see the future of his beloved Alfreda.

  Late in the evening on the third day, he begins the ritual by lighting a censor filled with jasmine incense and walking around the temple to purify the area with the fragrant smoke. Then, on a small table near the altar, Ra carefully lays out the items he requires an amethyst crystal, a silver altar cloth, two short candles and a small cauldron half-filled with water. Opening out the cloth, he lays it across the altar, making sure it is squarely centered, then takes the cauldron and sets it on a stand above the candles. These he lights, and the flames lick the bottom of the blackened vessel.

  While the water heats, Ra turns to face east and makes the sacred sign of the Wings of Isis, raising his arms in the shape of a chalice. As he does so, he begins the first of the chants, his voice ringing out loud and clear around the temple.

  “I am Ra, a son of Isis. I am Ra, a child of the Goddess.” The words stir something inside him and he feels a growing sense of excitement. “I am Ra,” he repeats, “a son of Isis. I am Ra, a child of the Goddess. I am Ra, a son of Isis. I am Ra, a child of the Goddess.” Over and over he repeats this chant, and as he does so the chalice he has formed with his arms begins to fill, not with a liquid, but with a soft glow—the Light of Isis. As it gradually becomes brighter, Ra can feel himself filling with energy, increasing in intensity until he is almost forced to lower his arms to avoid being overwhelmed. The light pours inside him as his arms drop down by his sides and he breathes deeply, delighting in the sense of euphoria that accompanies the Light of Isis. Turning back to the altar, he sees that, although it feels like he has only been chanting a few minutes, steam is already curling up from the cauldron. Now, at last, it is time to commune with the Goddess and ask her to reveal Alfreda’s future to him.

  “O Isis, Queen of nature and Sovereign of all that is spiritual, Universal Mother and Mistress of all the elements.” As he calls out the many names of the goddess, he turns to face each point of the compass. “O Isis, eternal Overseer of time, Queen of the dead, Queen of the ocean, Queen of the immortals, Embodiment of all gods and goddesses, and Governor of the shining heights of the Heavens. I, your son, pray beseech you. Will you reveal to me the destiny of the woman, Alfreda, the one brought as a slave from Britannia and who now dwells here in Rome? Show me what is to come, what will befall this noble woman.”

  In his mind, Ra focuses on the image of his beloved, recalling her strong figure, her white hair, her beautiful features. Only when his mind is filled with a clear, intense vision of Alfreda, does he learn forward to look into the cauldron and, as he does so, the Light of Isis radiates from his face, lighting up the bubbling surface of the water.

  The first thing he sees as he gazes into it is an eagle, proud and swift as it soars in flight far above the earth. Ra’s heart leaps; filled with joy at such a great omen. He breathes a sigh of relief, hoping that this means Alfreda will be all right. But then as he peers again into the water, what he sees next almost causes his heart to stop beating. A raven, black and terrifying, its beady eyes filled with malice, flies straight at him. His breath catches in his throat as it closes in and suddenly the bird seems to burst from the surface of the water. Ra staggers backwards, hands raised in front of his face to ward off the creature. But there is nothing there, only the steam still rising lazily from the cauldron.

  Brushing a hand across his forehead, Ra feels beads of cold sweat. An unpleasant chill has come over him and he feels sick to his stomach.

  Ra closes his eyes, feeling only the beating of his heart, and says aloud, “O Isis, Queen of nature and Sovereign of all that is spiritual, Universal Mother and Mistress of all the elements, if it please you, show me the image again, if this is truly what you would have me see.”

  Still praying under his breath, he looks down into the water to see the oily-black bird watching him with its cold eyes, its long beak glistening with flecks of blood. It is unmistakably a raven.

  Trying to catch his breath, Ra straightens up, shaking his head.

  The raven. This can only mean one thing. Alfreda is going to die!

  Despite his bitter disappointment and his concern about the Briton, Ra completes the ritual, making the Sign of the Wings once again and thanking Isis for opening his eyes and granting him this glimpse of the future. Then he turns away and walks swiftly out of the temple.

  ~

  “What do you mean this is as much as you can give me?” says Ra, looking crossly at the pile of coins on the trestle table.

  Across the table his banker, Glaucus, shrugs and shakes his head.

  “Fifteen hundred denarii is it, sir. That’s all your savings plus fifty percent in credit. Who else around here would make you such an offer?” Glaucus gestures towards the general hustle and bustle nearby them in the forum. What he says is true, and Ra knows it. “Why do you need so much anyway? You’ve never made a withdrawal of more than fifty denarii before.”

  “There’s a slave I have my eye on.” Ra replies.

  “A slave?! But for this sort of money you could get any two, or even three, slaves of your choosing.”

  “Ah, but this is not just any slave. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. But for such a slave, I reckon I’m looking at a hundred and fifty aurei at least.” Ra has already made enquiries and, while Alfreda might have been bought for a third of the price only last week, since her win at the races and her subsequent rise to fame, the Servilli were looking to make a good deal of income from her, either through future winnings or by selling her at an extortionately high price.

  “A hundred and fifty?” Glaucus stares at the priest, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he struggles for something to say. “For a slave? That’s insane! It’s about fifteen years’ salary.”

  “For a soldier, maybe,” says Ra, trying not to let himself be irritated by his banker. “But I am a priest of Isis, by appointment of Caesar himself. Surely there is something you can do?”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Glaucus closes his bank chest and points to the money still la
id out on the table. “This is all I can offer. I’m sorry.”

  “Forget it!” Without bothering to explain, Ra turns away and wanders dejectedly through the crowded forum, wishing there was something he could do, some way he could save his beloved Alfreda from her impending death.

  O Isis, he prays. Have mercy on me. And on the woman I love. Please!

  His thoughts are interrupted by someone suddenly blowing a trumpet right by his ear. He turns in surprise to see it is the forum herald preparing to make an announcement. Not being especially interested in current affairs, Ra begins to walk away, but stops as he hears the news.

  “By order of the emperor, the illustrious Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, there will be a special chariot race held in his honor on the Ides…”

  The Ides? Ra quickly considers the date. But that’s only ten days away! Hopefully Alfreda will not be racing. But, as the herald reads out the list of those who will race, his hopes are short-lived as “Alfreda of Britannia” is the very first name he announces.

  Ra hurries out of the forum. What can I do, he wonders, almost overcome by anguish. I must prevent her death! No matter what price the Servilli demand, I must rescue her…

  ~

  The following morning, Ra sends a large, gilded platter, filled with some of the most exotic fruits available, to the Servilli. He chooses the same slave that delivered the bracelet a few days earlier, and once he has gone, struggling under the weight of the platter, Ra takes to pacing anxiously around the temple precinct. Eventually, he can stand it no longer and instead he hails a palanquin to take him to the Circus Maximus in the hope that he will see Alfreda again.

  As the bearers make their way down the Palatine Hill, the sounds and smells of Rome seep in through the palanquin’s curtains. Rome is buzzing with activity once again. On arriving at the Circus, Ra quickly hands over a few small coins and heads towards the main gates, tipping the guard more to let him in.

  To his grave disappointment however, although he waits for several hours, gazing out at the men and women riders all busily training for the coming races, he does not catch sight of the blonde hair and the slim, elegant body he is looking for. He makes his way from one end of the arena to the other, but Alfreda is nowhere to be seen, and eventually he decides to head back to the temple.

  There he finds the slave waiting for him with a message from the Servilli. Taking the wax tablet from him, Ra finds he has an invitation to visit them at their villa on the Campus Martius on the following Friday.

  Thank you, Isis, he thinks, offering silent praise to the goddess. Thank you! Not long now and I will be able to free Alfreda and save her from death. Only three more days!

  ~

  It is late on Friday afternoon by the time Ra arrives at the villa, and he is quickly welcomed in by the door slave. As he is left waiting in the atrium, he gazes at his surroundings, stunned by the opulence of the Servilli’s home. The floor that sweeps away before him is of the finest marble, highly-polished and inlaid with stunning mosaics. On the walls hang the wax face masks of the family’s ancestors, which look out with stern expressions at the displays of statues, pottery and golden housewares. If anything the collection of treasures around him are even more impressive than those in the emperor’s palace.

  How wonderful it must be to live in such a place, he thinks, walking slowly through the atrium and admiring the wealth on display. To be surrounded by such riches every day! How has one single family attained so great a fortune? He knows the answer, of course, through training gladiators and others for the games. The Servilli have prospered through the pain and death of countless slaves like Alfreda. Ra frowns and reaches out to touch the face mask of an especially irritated-looking man. As he does so, his robe brushes against a bright, blue vase, which begins to topple, falling sideways from its plinth. Ra quickly grabs at it, catching hold of the vase, but accidentally kicking the plinth out from underneath. It is made of heavy wood and hits the marble floor with a ringing thud. Placing the vase under one arm, Ra bends to pick up the plinth.

  “Welcome to our home, servant of Isis.”

  Ra straightens up quickly, lifting the plinth and setting the vase carefully back in place. Then he turns around to find a man standing a short distance behind, watching him with an amused expression. He is dressed in a white toga with the broad purple stripe that marks him out to be a member of the Senate. This must be the paterfamilias, the head of the Servilli family.

  “Thank you, senator,” he replies, bowing low as he tries to hide his embarrassment. “May Isis bless and protect your family.”

  “Indeed. My name is Publius Servillius Opilio.” He gestures to his right. “Shall we sit?”

  Without waiting for a reply, Opilio strides away through a colonnade. Ra hurries along behind him, and they emerge into a courtyard filled with a stunning collection of shrubs and bushes surrounding a central fountain.

  “Fortuna,” says Opilio, pointing at the marble statue in the fountain. “One of our Roman goddesses. She has watched over my family for many generations. Ah, here we are.” He points to where a couple of seats have been placed around a small table filled with food and drink, and ushers Ra to sit down.

  “So tell me, priest,” says Opilio, helping himself to a honeyed fig. “Is it true what I hear about the worship of Isis?”

  Ra looks at the table and selects a small portion of minced meat, coated in ground pine kernels and green peppercorns. “I couldn’t say, senator. What have you heard?”

  “I have heard tales of magic, of course, stories that have surely been embellished in the telling.” Opilio pours a little wine for them both and adds water from a golden jug. For a while the two men sit and talk about the worship of Isis and, though it is clear the senator does not entirely approve of such foreign worship, despite the fact Caligula has given it the status of an official religion of Rome, Ra promises to pray to the goddess on Opilio’s behalf.

  The conversation turns, instead, to the history of the Servilli family and their involvement, over many generations, in training gladiators and others for the games. Ra seizes the opportunity to raise the subject of Alfreda.

  “I was at the games with the emperor not long ago,” he begins, twisting his empty goblet between his fingers. “And I believe the winner of the first chariot race was one of yours, yes?”

  “Yes, indeed. The Briton. As you can imagine, I made a great return on my investment in her that day.”

  “A true beauty and no mistake, with a skill I have never seen equaled.”

  “Exactly. Though keeping hold of such a natural is not easy. It’s a very risky business we’re in, and even the best of our gladiators can be killed in the arena without warning. It can be hard to run at a profit.”

  Ra looks around at the courtyard, a testimony to the Servilli’s wealth, and doubts the truth of the senator’s words.

  “There is a need for good fortune in all areas of life, senator,” he says. “And we must work hard to earn the favor of the gods.”

  “Quite,” says Opilio, and waves a hand towards the statue in the fountain. “Our future and our fortune are certainly in their hands.”

  “But also in ours, if we will.” Ra smiles slightly and braces himself. The moment to state the reason for his visit has arrived. “I have come, senator, in response to a disturbing vision I received regarding your future.”

  “Really?” Opilio raises his eyebrows and considers the priest. It is well known that Ra has influence with the emperor, and Caligula certainly appears convinced of the power of Isis. He holds Ra’s gaze for a moment before continuing. “I believe you, servant of Isis. So what have you seen? How can I best ensure the protection of my future?”

  “The vision has to do with the very woman we were just talking about. The chariot racer from Britannia.”

  “Her?” The senator looks suddenly serious. “I had great plans for her, really I did. She could have added millions to my family’s coffers. Unfortunately her future is s
ealed. She joined some weird sect that calls themselves Christians. It wouldn’t be so bad but these wretched fanatics refuse to recognize any other god than this ‘Christ’ they worship.”

  “What?” Ra is taken aback, shocked by this disturbing news. “You mean she refused to worship the emperor as a living god?”

  “Exactly.” Opilio shakes his head sadly and Ra places a hand on his head in dismay. “When the gladiators enter the arena,” Opilio continues, “they are obliged to greet Caligula with the words, ‘We who are about to die salute you, Caesar, great emperor and merciful god.’ Unfortunately she refused to do so, as she will not acknowledge Caligula as god. As you know, such blasphemy is against Roman law and the penalty for such a crime is death, especially for a slave.”

  “But… but this is impossible! What can be done about it?”

  “Nothing, I’m afraid.”

  “So what will happen to Alfreda?”

  “She,” Opilio begins, a look of anger spreading across his face at the thought, “together with the other slaves led astray by the Christians, are going.”

  “Going?”

  “To the games, as bestiarii. It doesn’t pay well, but at least. . .”

  “Bestiarii!” Ra jumps to his feet, his goblet falling to the ground and clattering on the stones. “She’s being thrown to the wild beasts?”

  “Of course she is. That’s the only fate that awaits the followers of Christ, who refuse to acknowledge any other god.”

  “Please tell me you haven’t sold her already.”

  Opilio looks at the priest with pity in his eyes. There is nothing he can do.

  “I’m sorry, priest. The deal was made earlier today. She’s already gone.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Why, Isis? Why has this happened? Of all the women in the world that I could have fallen in love with and now she is being snatched away from me, before I have even had a chance to talk with her. I love her. O Isis, how I love her!