Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics (13 page)

“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 slave-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

L
ong 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,
looking 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!

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 laid 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…