Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics Read online

  Ra gazes unseeing out of the palanquin as the hustle and bustle of city life goes on around him. In an attempt to clear his head and give him time to work out what to do next, he is travelling by palanquin from the Servilli back to the Temple of Isis. It’s no use, he thinks. I just can’t think straight. Maybe there’s nothing I can do. Maybe Alfreda really is lost to me! But no! I can’t believe that!

  A familiar laugh catches his attention and he looks to see his centurion friend, Lucius, emerging from a nearby tavern, a large woman hanging off his arm.

  “Come on, gorgeous!” he says, his voice only slightly slurred. “It’s a bit of a stroll to my place, but you could do with the exercise.” He laughs loudly and grabs at her ample backside.

  “Oh! Lucius!” says the woman, her voice full of mock indignation, and slaps him on the chest. He staggers backwards a little, bumping into Ra’s palanquin.

  “Whoa! Easy there!” Lucius turns, still chuckling, and spots Ra. “Juno’s tits!” he says, his smile fading at the sight of his friend’s miserable features. “What’s up with you, priestess?”

  “It’s Alfreda.”

  Lucius frowns. “You mean that gladiator lass? The Briton? What’s up with her?”

  “She’s been sold!” says Ra, almost in tears. “She’s been sold as a bestiarius.”

  “Wait a moment, beautiful,” says Lucius, brushing away his woman. “It’s an old friend of mine”

  “She’s going to die for being a Christian, and I don’t know what to do! I was going to buy her, pay for her freedom, but now I’m stuck. I want to save her, Lucius! I have to!”

  “All right, all right.” Lucius pats Ra awkwardly on the shoulder with his free hand, not used to this sort of situation. “So, why don’t you ask your buddy, Caligula, to sort it out? He’s your man, if anyone can, wouldn’t you say?”

  The change in Ra’s demeanor is almost immediate, as though turning from winter to summer in an instant. “Lucius! You’re a genius!”

  “Well, that goes without saying, doesn’t it?” He chuckles and squeezes the woman’s backside again for good measure. “Seems damned obvious to me though, you idiot!”

  “So… what’s the form? Should I just go and ask him?”

  Lucius rolls his eyes. “Bloody hell, have I got to think of everything for you? The usual form is a petition, all proper and legal, you know. Here, why don’t you use my lawyer, Marcus Petronius. He’s a dab hand at all that kind of crap. You’ll find him in the Forum, in front of the statue of Apollo.”

  “Thank you, Lucius,” says Ra, smiling for the first time in days.

  “Yeah, yeah. Piss off, then. Me and…” he turns to the woman. “What’s your name, love?”

  She purses her lips, affecting an offended air. “Marcia.”

  “Right.” Lucius turns back to Ra. “Me and Marcia here’s got some urgent business to attend to, if you know what I mean.”

  ~

  No more than an hour later, Ra emerges from the Forum at a run, clutching the petition in his hand. Marcus Petronius was happy to draw it up, though he was not optimistic about Ra’s chance of getting Caligula’s permission.

  “He’s an exceptionally unpredictable young man, our emperor,” he said as he put the finishing touches on the document. “Who knows how he will react to the idea of freeing a slave who has refused to acknowledge his divinity. If I were your lawyer, I would counsel you against presenting this up at the palace.”

  But Ra had not been interested in this advice and when the petition was complete, he practically snatched it from the lawyer’s hand, dropped twice the amount of money he’d requested and hurried away as fast as he could, desperate to reach Caligula before something terrible happened to Alfreda.

  Leaning against the wall of the palace entrance and clutching at his chest, Ra tries desperately to catch his breath. As he attempts to steady the hammering of his heart, he considers the foolishness of running such a distance. After all, priests are not known for their athletic pursuits and Ra cannot remember having so much exercise since he was a child!

  I feel like I’m going to be sick, he thinks, wiping the sweat from his brow. My poor heart! What was I thinking? This is all some strange madness, but I have to see the emperor. I have to save Alfreda from being torn apart in the arena.

  He stands up, his heart beginning to still, and walks stiffly into the palace. After a short distance he is stopped by a member of the Praetorian Guard, the soldiers who are responsible for the emperor’s safety.

  “What do you want, priest?” he asks with a sneer. “There aren’t any parties here tonight.”

  Ignoring this, Ra pulls a scroll from his robe. Holding it up he says, “I have a petition and request an audience with the emperor. It is a matter of life and death!”

  “Is it really?” the guard makes no move to pass on this request, but begins instead to pick his teeth. “Sounds expensive,” he says eventually.

  With a sigh, Ra reaches down and produces a number of small coins from his purse.

  “An urgent message, I see!” says the guard, plucking the coins from Ra’s hand with practiced ease and snatching the scroll as well. “Wait here.”

  As the guard leaves to pass on the request to the emperor’s secretary, Ra paces up and down the atrium impatiently.

  Alfreda, my love. What have you done? Why in the name of Isis did you get yourself mixed up with this crazy sect? I’m going mad with worry. And yet surely Caligula will grant you mercy.

  Ra thinks back to the first time he met the emperor. Only two years previously Drusilla, Caligula’s beloved sister, had caught some unknown sickness and died soon after. And then the young emperor had also fallen sick with the same symptoms. Finally, one afternoon when everyone thought that he was surely about to die, Caligula, in a brief moment of consciousness, called for the best of the priests of Isis to be brought to him. The emperor had encountered the magic of the Isis worshippers with his father on one of his voyages to Egypt and had been greatly impressed. And so a short while later, Ra had been brought to the palace. Caligula was terribly weak by this stage, but Ra had used all his skills and wisdom, calling on the goddess to restore the young emperor to health. Within days, Caligula was well again.

  Surely the emperor has not forgotten what I did for him. Surely he will grant mercy for my Alfreda. Surely!

  And yet Ra has also heard that, since the young emperor returned to physical health, his sanity seems to have deteriorated. Where before Caligula’s reign was good for the empire—he undertook great public and political reform, giving aid to the poor and abolishing certain taxes, restoring democratic elections and importing religions and practices from other countries—now he is known to be increasingly unpredictable and malicious. Considering what the emperor has been through, losing both his parents, his beloved brothers and finally his darling Drusilla, it is no surprise that he has changed, and Ra realizes he is taking a great risk in coming here.

  ~

  But what else can I do? Ra asks himself, knowing he has no other answer. I want to save her, no matter what the cost! After all, what is my life without her but darkness and misery?

  After what seems like an eternity, and just as he is beginning to despair of ever getting to see the emperor, the guard appears, walking slowly back to take up his position at the entrance. Ra looks at him as he stands, picking at his teeth again.

  “Well?” says Ra pointedly.

  “Oh,” the guard glances at the priest as though he has forgotten all about him, “I’d forgotten all about you.”

  Ra’s fists clench angrily at his sides. “Can I go in now?”

  “What? Yeah, sure. Off you go.” The guard waves him through before looking away disinterestedly.

  “Thanks,” says Ra through gritted teeth. As he sweeps angrily past, he looks up at the guard to see he is trying hard not laugh. Furious, Ra strides away towards the emperor’s ante chamber.

  “Go straight through,” says one of the imperial staff, seate
d behind a large desk, “It is unwise to keep him waiting.”

  Me keep him waiting? Ra thinks irritably, and takes a few deep breaths before opening the door and slipping through.

  Ra has never been in the throne room before and is immediately struck by the garish opulence of the place. Every surface—floor, walls, ceiling and doors—is coated in gold leaf, and reflects the light of dozens of candles, dazzling the priest. The furniture in the room is made up of ornately carved chests of drawers and shelves, but the only chair in the room is the golden throne occupied by Caligula himself. As usual, the emperor is wearing robes of the finest purple cloth, a wreath of golden oak leaves sitting slightly lopsidedly on his brow. To either side of the throne, a Praetorian Guard stands, each with a hand on the hilt of his sword in case of any suggestion that the emperor’s safety is jeopardized. A short distance away stands one of the emperor’s secretaries, poised ready to carry out whatever task Caligula calls on him to perform. Ra notices that the secretary is holding the scroll he brought with him, the petition for Alfreda’s life to be spared and for her to be freed into the priest’s care.

  “Come,” says Caligula, beckoning Ra to approach. “I am told you have a request.”

  “O, Caesar!” Ra hurries forwards, dropping to his knees before the throne. “I do have a request, Divine Augustus, a request for mercy. Mercy for a slave woman who is being sent to her death, to be torn apart by beasts in the. . .”

  “What woman is this?” Caligula’s cold, high-pitched voice cut across Ra’s pleading.

  “You have seen her, Caesar. The charioteer who won the first race of the games.”

  The emperor leans forward and grips Ra’s chin, turning his face up to look at his own. “The Briton is it? The one you threw the rose to?”

  “Yes, Caesar. The Briton.”

  “And now she is to be thrown to the beasts?” Caligula frowns, clearly unaware of what has happened. “What has this woman done that has so altered her fate?”

  “She…she has joined the Christians, Caesar.” Caligula releases Ra’s chin, drawing his hand back as though he has been bitten. The suddenness of the movement causes the Praetorians to half draw their swords from their scabbards and the rasping of the metal causes Ra to look up in fear. “Please, Divine Augustus, I beg of you, in the name your beloved sister, Drusilla, please have mercy.” He grasps the folds of the emperor’s robe.

  “How dare you, you worm!” Caligula shouts, snatching cloth from the priest’s hands. “Guards!”

  Ra closes his eyes, dreading the cold steal that must surely be about to end his life. But before the Praetorians can react, the secretary hurries forwards and whispers urgently into the emperor’s ear. As he does so Ra opens his eyes and finds himself staring at Caligula’s legs, left bare as the emperor still holds his robe out of the priest’s reach. Ra is surprised to see the emperor is not wearing any shoes and also at how incredibly hairy his legs are.

  “She what?!” Caligula’s half-shout, half-scream cuts through Ra’s thoughts and he looks up at the emperor’s face, which is red with fury. In turn Caligula stares down at the priest with a piercing gaze, and for the first time Ra notices the large black rings around his eyes, the sign of many sleepless nights. And the eyes themselves… as Ra looks into those eyes, he realizes that the emperor truly is insane.

  “The woman,” says Caligula, his voice full of scorn, “this Briton filth refuses to worship me? Me? But I am Caesar! Caesar, do you hear?”

  The room seems to hold its breath, terrified by the emperor’s fury. It would not be unlike him to have everyone in the vicinity put to the sword if his rage got the better of him, and Ra glances up to see large beads of sweat running down the massive neck of one of the Praetorians, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as though trying to escape.

  And then Caligula laughs, suddenly, high and piercing. It is the laugh of a madman, a man who has lost all touch with sanity and the real world. It is a laugh that chills Ra to the bone, seeming to freeze the blood in his veins, and he closes his eyes again in dread of what must inevitably come.

  “And perhaps she is right!” says Caligula, in a cold voice. He snaps his fingers and, as Ra opens his eyes and looks up, the emperor snatches the scroll from the secretary. “Bring me my seal, Felix.”

  The secretary hurries to one of the beautifully carved desks and takes from it a candle and a seal ring which he hands over to the emperor. Without even bothering to read the petition, Caligula drips wax onto the parchment and presses the wax with his seal ring.

  “Now leave me, priest.” he says, tossing the scroll to Ra. “I tire of you and your love for this woman.”

  “Thank you, Caesar,” says Ra, clutching the scroll to his chest. “May Isis bless you in all you do, Divine Augustus.”

  “Yes, yes.” Caligula flicks his fingers lazily towards the door. “Get out.” And as Ra makes his way from the throne room, the emperor calls out over his head, “Nobody in!” and then the door swings shut and Caligula is cut off from Ra’s view.

  ~

  I got it, thinks Ra, kissing the scroll. Thanks and praise to you, O Isis! I can save her! Hurrying along the corridors that lead back to the entrance to the palace, Ra realizes he does not have much time. According to Opilio, the beast fights would begin that evening at the tenth hour back out on the Campus Martius. The thought of trying to run that distance again is unthinkable, so as Ra leaves the palace, he rushes towards the nearby stables, where he hires a horse. It is expensive, but he doesn’t quibble over the price. He has only one thought now, to save the woman he loves.

  Alfreda! Alfreda! Alfreda! The words pound through Ra’s head in time with the horse’s hooves as it gallops across the cobbles. I love you, Alfreda! Fear not, I’m coming for you. And when I have saved you, then I will get you your freedom. A smile flickers across the priest’s face as he considers the wonder of their future together.

  I will ask her to become my wife, he thinks, the idea sending a trill of delight through him. She will move into the temple with me. She will be brought into the order of Isis if she wants to. And though we could never have children, still we can live together and grow old together. I will take care of her. We would be happy together, we two. . .

  “Come on!” he shouts, willing the horse to go faster, despite the narrowness of streets as they wind around the Capitoline Hill and heedless of the obstacles that litter their path. There is so little time. Ra glances up to see the sun hanging low in the sky. It must already be approaching the tenth hour and the time for the bloody spectacle to begin. He mutters a prayer to Isis under his breath and strikes the horse across its rump with his hand. “Faster, damn you!”

  In response, the animal gives an extra spurt of speed, but it is short lived. There, stretched out across the cobbles, is the body of a large dog that someone has thrown out into the street. It is quite dead and though it makes no movement, it spooks the horse, which tries both to avoid it and jump over it at the same time. Its hooves slip on one of the many patches of filth that litter the ground and its legs buckle underneath. Before he knows what is happening, Ra is thrown from the animal as it crashes down onto the cobbles. The loud snap of one of its legs breaking, echoing off the nearby buildings, is the last thing the priest hears before his temple strikes the ground, knocking him out.

  He comes to quickly, bursting into consciousness at the searing pain in his leg. He lifts up his head to look and sees that it is stuck underneath the horse.

  “Get off me!” he shouts, kicking out with his free leg, but it is no use. The horse cannot move. Instead Ra listens to its last, ragged breaths as the animal’s life ebbs away and he notices a pool of blood spreading out from beneath it. Clearly the horse has fallen on something sharp, a rock perhaps or a discarded blade. Either way, it makes no difference to Ra. He must free himself and continue on foot, and so he pushes with all his strength, trying to free his trapped leg.

  Blessed Isis, please help me! I must save her!

 
Even as he thinks these words something suddenly gives and, inch by inch, he drags his leg free from the dead horse. He feels it carefully and, though his leg is bruised and sore, there is nothing broken. As quickly as he can, Ra scrambles to his feet and heads off again towards the Campus Martius, stopping briefly to check he still has the scroll intact in his purse.

  Soon the narrow, cobbled streets give way to the broader dirt tracks that head out through the Servian Wall to the northwest of the city. The heat of the previous weeks has baked these roads to the hardness of marble, with large cracks in the surface and deep grooves cut by the many carts going back and forth to the plain. Many times Ra stumbles, even falling on one occasion, causing him to sprain his wrist. The setting sun, together with his tears, which are now flowing freely, nearly blinds him. And yet he keeps on going, spurred on by his love and his desperation to save Alfreda.

  His heart is hammering against his ribs, harder than ever, until suddenly, as he finally catches sight of the makeshift arena across the Campus, a searing pain unlike anything he has ever experienced slices through his chest. It quickly spreads down along his arm and upwards into his throat, making it difficult for him to breath. Desperately trying to draw air into his lungs, he keeps going, placing one foot in front of the other again and again. The pain is almost overwhelming and it is increasingly hard to breathe.

  He drops to his knees and, as his mouth opens and closes in an effort to feed his body with the air it needs, Ra is reminded of one sunny afternoon as a seven or eight-year-old boy, when his uncle showed him how to catch fish in the Nile near his home in Egypt. He recalls the glint of the sun on the water and the pull of the fish as it caught on the line. He remembers his delight as, with the help of his uncle, he pulled the struggling creature from the water and held its slippery body tightly in his hands. But most of all he recalls the fish’s mouth opening and closing, opening and closing, desperate to draw in the oxygen that will keep it alive.