by Dave Weaver
The young girl reacted quickest, throwing herself beneath the first lunge. The animal snapped and twisted but she was already on her feet and running. It snorted and snarled in frustration, then sprang after her as the shadows of the deadly race lengthened across the sand. It leapt again and, again, she ducked, nimble feet changing direction as it crashed past. Now she was running directly towards the main stand occupied by Drucillus, horror evident on the faces of his guests.
She was running straight at Jack.
Chapter 6
Jack took faltering steps forward as she raced to him, the lion behind gaining rapidly as it lengthened its stride for the final pounce. He had no idea what he would do when their three paths intersected. Nevertheless, as he stumbled hesitantly onwards towards the terror-stricken child a strange compulsion made him pull the time-coin from his trouser pocket and hold it in front of him. A vision materialised unbidden; a three word question gleaming brightly somewhere on the edge of his mind.
It asked simply “Fight or flight?”
He blinked; the girl and the lion an unfocussed blur blotting out the crowd, the shimmering sky and the burning red sand.
“FIGHT OR FLIGHT?”
He had only seconds left to choose. Should he save himself and disappear from certain painful death to somewhere, anywhere else, hopefully back to his own time and people? Should he leave all this behind like the bad dream he could tell himself never happened? Why was he being offered a choice? Why hadn’t he already been returned to the present as before?
The girl’s fearful face sharpened into focus, her arms outstretched to him. The lion sprang into the air, talons extended, monstrous head craning forward to bury its teeth into her tiny neck.
“FIGHT!”
Jack felt a bullet of invisible pressure burst from the coin. It appeared to smash into the forehead of the lion then ripple down its spine. The flowing mane stood up as if the creature was being electrocuted. It dropped to the ground in mid-flight, lying spread-eagled and lifeless in the churned up sand. The girl ran on into his arms, her small frame shaking with fear. He stroked her head then picked her up and turned to show her the lion’s body, at which she burst out crying and hugged him even harder.
The other lion prowled over to hesitantly sniff at the corpse. It whined and backed away then trotted off past the soldiers who were too amazed to stop it. There was total silence.
The remainder of the girl’s group came over. They patted his shoulder and took the girl but said nothing, looking as shocked as the rest. A slow wave of clapping began, hesitant at first then quickly gaining ground until it washed around the whole arena. It must have looked as if Jack had felled the animal with a lucky punch but Drucillus and some of his powerful friends had been close enough to see the truth. Jack glanced up to see their silent open-mouthed reactions.
The great man himself was now on his feet. He shouted for the Centurion to round up the survivors, then turned and walked briskly away into the nearest tunnel, swiftly followed by his entourage. It seemed that the Games were over.
Marcus was the one to approach Jack, disbelief writ large on his face. He too had been close enough to see what had really happened. The tough Decurion put his arms on the Jack’s shoulders for a brief moment as other guards ran towards the pair.
“What on earth? You are full of surprises today, Jack Johnson.”
The Centurion barked across the arena at him. “Bring him to the Temple, Marcus. Drucillus wants a word.” More guards were heading their way.
“Come with me.” Marcus seemed to have recovered his wits. “Your day is not over yet. It will be all right, I will stay close.”
After another dusty trek back down the main avenue, the Centurion led the party up the steps of the white palace. Jack was marched through enormous doors into a marbled corridor where two slightly less grandiose doors were opened into a large area of marble columns and noble busts perched on plinths. The Centurion called a halt, then ordered the others to fall back leaving Jack standing on his own before a large golden throne. No one made a sound after that.
He didn’t know where to look so he stared at the mosaic in the floor. Tessellated patterns of twisting fruit and vines framed a highly romanticised version of Drucillus adopting an even more heroic pose than the statue in the square. The man didn’t skimp on self-promotion. On Drucillus’ right hand in the mosaic stood a young man dressed in close-fitting dark blue material which resembled a modern day suit. The face of the blue-suited figure glowed beneath a winged blue cap. Other figures from Roman mythology were arranged around the pair. Jack spotted Mars, Vulcan Apollo and Neptune plus some of the lesser immortals. On Drucillus’ left stood mighty Jupiter himself, fringed by the beautiful Venus and Diana.
Its colours were so stunning that Jack took a few moments to recognise that he’d seen it before: in Fulchester Museum, on the recent school visit. Then, the colours had been dull and lifeless, the tesserae chipped and missing. Now it seemed almost alive.
His thoughts were interrupted by sandals slapping on marble as the image’s main subject entered from a side chamber, flanked by the other dignitaries from the Games. Drucillus waved them to stand still, then walked over to Jack. He began pacing around him as if trying to find a new angle on a problem, giving Jack the chance to surreptitiously study his host with the same intensity. Gaius Drucillus looked a fit and still handsome man with a face only slightly marked by age, its haughtiness offset by keenly intelligent blue eyes.
Jack formed an instant opinion on him: an ego a mile wide but nobody’s fool. Nevertheless there was something false there.
Finally, in a high voice out of character with his impressive physique, Drucillus spoke.
“And who are you, boy?”
“Jack Johnson, Sir.” His own voice was shaky.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Gaius Drucillus.” Jack replied cautiously.
“I am Gaius Flavius Drucillus. First cousin of former Emperor Allus Vitellus and Governor of Britain.” He hesitated as if unsure how to continue, then looked around at his friends with an odd eagerness. “I’m sure this is he. After all this time, this is he!”
They stirred awkwardly. Some smiled indulgently, others looked away.
He seemed annoyed by the lukewarm response. “Very well, I will prove it!” He turned back to Jack. “That was a brave act you performed in the arena today, protecting the Christian girl.”
Baffled, Jack made no reply.
“But have we not met before? Think carefully, I would have been a much younger man…”
One of his guests cleared his throat but Drucillus ignored it. “You can speak the truth here. Tell us about the previous time you appeared to me those many years ago.” He bent to whisper conspiratorially. “My apology for not recognising you before. I did not expect you to return in such fashion.”
Perhaps he was mad and his friends were used to humouring him, but Jack felt compelled to respond. “I’ve never seen you before, Sir.” He instantly regretted it.
“Never seen me before!” He fell silent. When he spoke again it was with deceptive calm. “Many years ago I observed a vision of a young man dressed in the same Godly clothing you wear now, winged cap and all. He appeared out of the air before me at the North Gate of this very town. I was a mere lieutenant in the army, not the great leader of today. I challenged him. He pointed to the heavens, to Mount Olympus itself I believed, and granted me the blessings of the great god Jupiter. That was when I knew he was none other than the God Mercury, Jupiter’s own winged messenger sent down to Earth to foretell my destiny: one day I would rise to be Caesar, perhaps the greatest Caesar of all Rome. After many noble victories I too would become a God and join Jupiter at his mighty throne. When my cousin the great Aulus Vitellius was usurped by Vespasian and his idiot sons I vowed my revenge.” The unhinged voice rose in pitch as his face darkened. “Yet now that my enemy is on his deathbed and I have my armies readied to march on Rome, now that I have gathere
d my allies around me in readiness, now… He appears again to say he does not recognise our meeting!” Drucillus was burning with rage. “Are you not the vision I saw before made flesh? If not who, what, in Hades’ name are you!”
The tirade stopped as a he clutched at his chest. The centurion moved to support him but he seemed to gain strength and pushed him away. Breathing deeply he regained control.
“It seems the messenger has lost his memory!” His expression turned ponderous. “Also, although he has not aged one single hour, I see him now to be a mere child before me.”
He stared down at the mosaic images beneath their feet. Jack followed his gaze to the blue-suited figure and suddenly glimpsed the truth. Was it really that simple? Had Drucillus been the young soldier challenging him as he materialised in Fulchestorium the first time? Many years must have passed since but…
Was the figure in the partially obscured mosaic in Fulchester Museum not Mercury after all?
Was it actually himself: accidental time-traveller and myth-maker?
“I’m not a God.” A small voice stated. Unfortunately it appeared to be his.
Chapter 7
There was silence in the hall.
“If you are not a God then what are you? Drucillus asked in an intelligent steady voice, bombast replaced by fascination. “Why are you here again now?” Jack remained silent. “Where do you think you are? Do you know what this place is called?”
In his eagerness to answer at least one question Jack spoke too hurriedly.
“Fulchestorium, in ancient Britain.” The moment the words were out of his mouth he saw his mistake as his interrogator leapt on the reply.
“Ancient Britain, eh? And what Britain do you come from? Are we…” he indicated the others now crowding closer to get a better look, “all just ancient Britons and Romans to you? You appear out of the thin air yet are not a God. You remain ageless despite the passing years yet say you are not an immortal.” He looked around as if for emphasis. “That leaves us with a demon, does it not, gentlemen?”
Jack kept his mouth shut tight. He’d already said far too much.
“Tell us, demon, what is the date today?” Jack said nothing. “Then what month? What year, for the Gods’ sake?” He continued at Jack’s silence. “You do not know because you are not from this world! I don’t know if you are ghost, God or demon. But I intend to find out!”
The soldiers standing silently in the shadows began to shift and mutter to each other. Drucillus called for silence but the Centurion caught the mood and bent to whisper in his ear. Drucillus pushed him aside then reached out quickly to draw the surprised soldier’s short sword.
There were gasps but he seemed not to notice, his eyes centred on Jack.
“Are you God or demon? I will find out!”
The sword blade flashed through the air and Jack felt a stinging sensation as it nicked a stinging cut down his arm. He cried out, clutching the wound. The blood began to seep through his fingers onto the marble floor.
Drucillus stared wildly at it then around the crowd. “An impostor in our midst; he bleeds! That means he is mortal after all!” He turned to the Centurion motioning with the bloodied sword tip. “Find my apothecary and tell him to bring me the Amanita Muscaria from my chambers. Now!”
If the Centurion thought he was dealing with a madman he was careful not to show it. While he left the hall the tense silence continued. Both guards and wealthy sensed that one misplaced comment would bring Drucillus’ wrath down on their own heads. After a few minutes, with the dripping of Jack’s blood and Drucillus’ pacing sandals the only sounds in the cavernous hall, the Centurion returned. With him was a white-haired old man in a crimson toga too large for his withered frame. He carried a large gold goblet in frail hands, half filled with a turgid scum. Drucillus snatched it from his grasp impatiently and took a step towards Jack. “Drink this, demon, and we shall finally hear the truth.”
Jack tried to turn away but the sound of short swords raised from scabbards stopped any idea of escape; he would have to comply. He took the goblet Drucillus offered, feeling the gold stick to his bloodied fingers. He raised the vessel to his lips, shaking so much that he almost spilt the contents.
The thick vile liquid felt like a snake sliding down his throat and he fought down the need to vomit.
“All of it!” Drucillus commanded.
He finished, heaved then handed the goblet back. He felt nothing, apart from a general sense of revulsion. Then, gradually, a calming sensation began to spread through his body like a wave of gentle relief. He felt suddenly relaxed, lightheaded, talkative…
“I can make him do anything now.” Drucillus pointed at Jack.
“Bring me that.” He told the Centurion, pointing at one of the wall torches. The man took it out of its bracket and brought it over. Drucillus grabbed it from him. “Hold out your right arm, boy; let’s cauterise that wound. Be brave; not a sound, mind.” He thrust the torch at the sword cut as his friends flinched. The flames leapt across the skin. He took the torch away. “See, he makes not a sound. The potion’s spell gives me his soul. I can compel his utmost obedience. He’d gladly die if I so ordered it.”
It was true; at that moment Jack would have done anything Drucillus asked of him, answered any question, carried out any action without compunction. He was putty in his hands.
“What is your name?” Drucillus asked but the soft voice seemed to come from inside Jack’s head.
“My name is Jack Johnson.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Fulchester”
“Where is that, is it near here?”
“It is here.” Jack replied. It was more like a thought than actual spoken words.
“And what is the day of your birth, Jack Johnson?” His friendly interrogator spoke even more softly, almost as if he knew that the boy’s next words would cause uproar.
“July the tenth, nineteen ninety-nine.” There was a gasp from the guards now leaning forward to catch the details.
“Is that time of the Judean calendar?”
Jack nodded.
The Centurion stepped swiftly to Drucillus’ side to whisper audibly in his ear. “This is madness, Proconsul, the boy is obviously possessed. He is disturbing the men!”
“I believe he speaks what he knows to be true.” Drucillus replied. “The potion is the creation of Boudicca’s shaman Egrid Calaburnis. I call it my ‘Obedience Serum’ as I know not how else to name it.” Drucillus motioned to the shrivelled ancient who’d brought him the potion. “This old man here is a Celt who’s travelled all the way from the Iceni tribe to share with me his lifetime’s creation, a mixture of hallucinogenic mushrooms, belladonna, henbane and others I know not. Common enough but then Calaburnis added to these substances his own secret ingredient. Simply put, the plants have the power to open man’s third eye of consciousness and once vulnerable the other, the secret part of the potion, has the ability to dominate it.”
He noticed the Centurion’s unguarded expression of doubt. “It works! It will bring its possessor great power, the unlimited obedience of his enemies, their will broken, their minds enslaved…” He gave a howl of exasperation. “I do not have to explain my methods to you, Centurion! When we march on Rome you will see its effects. I shall turn the conquered to our cause, not with brute force but by the gentle persuasion of this potion. I will be unstoppable. Now, this child-demon appears to be from the future. As the potion also has the side effect of a truth drug let us see what he knows…Tell me,” he turned back to Jack, “what is to become of Gaius Drucillus? Will he not soon become the greatest of all Caesars?”
“I’ve never heard of him.” Jack knew all of the Caesars’ names, once learnt for a History exam and never forgotten. He was more than happy to share this knowledge.
Drucillus looked poleaxed. “What do you mean, never heard of him, I mean of me? I am about to march on Rome and take my rightful destiny. I am one step away from being the most powerful man in
the world and you say you’ve never heard of me?”
Jack smiled inanely at the future most powerful man in the world and nodded. One of the dignitaries asked the obvious follow up question. “Who will be the next Caesar then?”
“Vespasian’s son Titus and after him, his younger brother Domitian; one will rule wisely and well, the other not so much.”
No one in the hall risked laughter at this, although a glimmer of a smile crossed the Centurion’s face. Drucillus appeared to have collected his ego again. He frowned dangerously at Jack then continued in a sarcastic tone. “What of Rome herself then? What is the future for our glorious empire?”
Unable to stop now, Jack began to recite a litany of battles and conquests, the perfect memory rolling out one event after another as he regaled his new friends with the empire’s coming years of triumph. They all had satisfied grins on their faces at this. If he was indeed a demon from the future the boy was certainly telling them what they wanted to hear.
The man who had spoken out could contain himself no longer. “Bad luck on you, Drucillus, but not for Rome herself. Gentlemen, our Lady of the Seven Hills shall rule forever!”
But Jack had not finished. And his next words struck chill into the hearts of all who heard them.
“…AD166, plague rats from the east will contaminate the harvest and many will die of famine …AD 286, the empire will be divided in two …AD391, Christianity becomes the accepted religion of all …AD410, Alaric the Goth sacks Rome …AD451, Attila the Hun conquers Gaul …AD476, the empire collapses for the final time… glorious Rome is no more…” Jack’s voice tailed off into silence.
No one spoke. Then Drucillus let out a howl of anguish, his tall frame convulsed. “Plague? Division? And I’ve barely even heard of this troublesome Christianity! These are all lies, what trickery are you trying to sell us? Who are these Goths and Huns you speak of? Where will we find these men who will murder our great grandchildren? Well?