Our Eternal Curse I

by Simon Rumney

  Our Eternal Curse I

  By

  Simon Rumney

  Table of Contents

  Her Twenty-Fourth Death

  Her Twenty-Third Beginning

  Unnecessary cruelty

  Sulla

  Rome

  Learning

  Joseph

  Homecoming

  Sulla’s Parade

  War

  Disaster

  Victory

  War’s End

  Circus Maximus

  Courtship

  Gavius

  Bromidus

  Marcus

  Learning Strategy

  Deceit

  Uncle Gavius

  Hispania

  The Greek Captain

  Money for Lions

  Antonius

  Wine & Guilt

  Using Joseph

  Manipulating Young Gaius

  Crucifixion

  Total Control

  Political Corruption

  Murdering the Captain

  Clitumna in Rome

  Mithridates

  Pardoned

  Vulnerability

  Frustrating Sulla

  Revenge

  Transition

  His Twenty-Third Beginning

  Spellbrook School

  Surviving

  Toughening Robert

  Miss Wagstaff

  Return to School

  Building a defense

  Cambridge

  The Leys

  Kings College

  The History of Rome

  Learning on the Riverbank

  Julia

  America

  Duke of Wellington

  Robert’s Waterloo

  Victory

  Battle’s End

  France

  Clarity

  “We who cannot love ourselves, cannot love anything or anyone.”

  Her Twenty-Fourth Death

  To Julia, it felt as though her unconscious mind was taking control - as though something familiar was guiding her thoughts. As though whatever, or whoever, was in control had been in this terrible situation many times before, but she knew that to be impossible.

  She would have remembered surviving this kind of agony. She would surely have remembered this futile searching at the very edges of sanity in a desperate attempt to find peace. But, more importantly, she would have remembered these occasional warm feelings of acceptance, these comforting feelings of achievement, these intoxicating feelings of pleasure, and these unusually positive feelings of being at one with her own mind for the very first time in this life.

  Even in her anguish, Julia wanted to experience more of this bizarrely redeeming partnership with herself. She needed to understand why the mind, which had betrayed her, lied to her, hurt her, was now fighting on her behalf with grim determination. Why had it waited until this moment of miserable destruction to deliver the truth?

  Warm, even happy, sensations began to enter Julia’s mind as she found herself accepting and trusting her ability to love for the very first time. Also, for the very first time, she felt comfortable acknowledging the immensity of her achievements. Through a memory cleansed of distortions, she looked at herself and saw the intelligence, compassion, kindness and beauty that others had always seen, and this positive state of being felt wonderful.

  Instinctively, Julia began to understand how this was the moment which came only once in each of her lifetimes - the moment her mind was allowed to understand the truth; her only chance of making this fleeting state of being permanent. This is where she must search for some kind of reference point, something fixed that she could take a bearing on. If she could mark this place, she may be able to preserve this optimistic state forever but, even as she searched, something was changing. She could feel something tugging at her thoughts.

  As though coming from somewhere in a faraway memory, something outside her dreamlike state felt real. She could smell sweet wine but it was more than wine alone. It was wine on his breath, smelt through her nostrils, in this cold, dank, dark stone chamber. Or were these sensations merely memories? Could she feel a maddening prodding sensation on her chest or was that also something from within her collected thoughts? Was anything happening to her now or were these sensations merely phantoms passing through her pain-distorted mind?

  The truth was, Julia could no longer keep an idea steady long enough to place actions in time. There was only one way to confirm or deny the one nagging at her now. Driven by the need to understand something, anything, Julia marshaled every remaining ounce of determination to center her mind in order to provoke a physical response.

  From inside her thoughts, she silently called to herself: ‘Eyes!’ ‘Open your eyes!’

  Success. She could feel things changing. Commands were being sent and received. Instructions were being obeyed, and when the lids of her eyes eventually fluttered apart, she could see his mouth just inches away from her face. In that instant, she understood why she and no one else was lashed to this muck-encrusted table.

  ‘But you are crossing the great ocean!’

  She wanted to say the words, but the connection between mind and speech had been completely lost. Her torturers had gone too far. Julia’s body was close to death and its functioning parts could no longer be relied upon to work.

  The man, whose face still hovered so provocatively close to Julia’s, smiled. Even in the unreliable light of two burning torches, she could tell it was a smile with absolutely no pleasure, just a gloating, evil satisfaction. It was intended to increase her discomfort but failed in its task. Her body was simply too damaged, and in the way of nature, she was passing into painless darkness.

  Julia felt no more suffering, just a secure floating feeling of inner calm. Wrapped in warmth, she felt completely new. Distant pounding offered wonderful feelings of security, which felt both familiar and powerful. She wanted to trust this state of being. She wanted to let her guard down, but she had been tricked by this safe place on at least twenty-three prior occasions. She knew full well this was merely a prelude to more suffering. She also knew why she must suffer, because this was the moment of enlightenment. The moment during each of her transitions when she was allowed to remember her sins and why she had been cursed for committing them.

  Just as she had during each of her previous reincarnations, Julia searched for the person who had condemned her to this endless fate. Just as she had during every single one of those twenty-three transitions, she wanted to confess her sins and beg for forgiveness, but that person was not there. What is more, she knew the person she sought would be waiting to hurt her somewhere along her next journey. Waiting to punish her for those same sins all over again.

  All Julia could do now, as she waited for the inevitable new beginning, was search through her painful memories and try to understand them. If she could just find a clue? Some memory to explain how the deceptions were created? The reason why she had allowed herself to be misled into believing she was ugly and lazy and stupid and worthless? If she confronted her fears and looked deep enough, would she find the precise moment her tormentor exacted revenge? If she could arm herself with that knowledge, would she be able to prevent it happening again in the next life?

  As though heralding a change, the pounding within the warm, secure, darkness grew louder and faster. Sensing time was working against her, Julia cast her mind back to her last journey’s beginnings in Italy, at a time when the Roman Empire was on the verge of greatness. There, among all of her experiences, was the vivid recollection of her as a nine-year-old child sitting at the edge of her father’s olive grove, and that is where she chose to begin her mental path to enlightenment.

  Just as then, everything felt completel
y real; sights could be seen, every touch felt, and smells breathed in. Even the rays of sunshine playing on her face felt warm as, in her mind’s eye, she watched the victorious Roman legions marching proudly homewards along the Via Aurelia.

  Her Twenty-Third Beginning

  Staring on in wonder, nine-year-old Julia recalled the strangely familiar musk of the impulsive cavalry horses straining at heavy leather bridles while their iron shod hooves rattled on the old cobblestones.

  Brilliant red cloaks played in the wind behind mounted cavalrymen as their brightly plumed helmets reflected flashes of sunlight through the branches of the olive trees. It was a spectacle made for the pleasure of an impressionable young girl and Julia drank in every sound, every color and every scent. Not a single sensation was allowed to escape her razor sharp powers of observation.

  As the magnificent horsemen passed from sight, a vast column of legionaries marched by, bringing even more sensory reminders as they came. There were thousands of war-hardened men and each one of them carried more equipment than Julia had ever seen. Cooking pots and bedding rolls, and axes and leather flasks hung behind them from long, sturdy, forked poles that rested on each man’s shoulder. The poles were bound by rope to dangerous looking spears that pointed ominously back towards the place they had so recently vanquished.

  Under red woolen cloaks, great curved shields, some oblong and others oval, somehow clung to each man’s back, while metal helmets hung from armored breastplates. Some of the men wore chainmail instead of articulated plate, while others wore jerkins covered with small metal shapes that reminded Julia of the layered feathers on a bird’s breast.

  She noticed that some of the hanging helmets had plumes but, like the body armor, not all plumes were the same. The few men with plumes who marched had bright red, stiff bristles on their helmets which, had they been wearing them, would have crossed from ear-to-ear. The occasional men who rode along the column on horseback wore glorious red, black, white or even multi colored feathers that ran from front to back.

  Some of the soldiers had leather purses hanging from their studded belts. Others had hanging pickaxes or shovels, and most had a variety of ornate, shiny, brass fittings attached to strips of leather which hung in the place where men are most vulnerable. The only thing common to every man, marching or mounted, was the short sword attached to the belt on the right hip and the dagger attached to the left.

  Watching this passing mass of humanity in total wonder, Julia could hardly comprehend how each man was rich enough to own more possessions than her family kept in their tiny, one room hut. Her life would be greatly improved if she had access to part of their equipment, and just one of those thick woolen cloaks would make winter nights so much more tolerable for her and her parents.

  Something about the procession began to tug at Julia’s memory. Something about the way these soldiers marched ten abreast but in a single stride snagged her imagination. Even though their hobnails crashed on the stones, she could still hear the muffled crash of a million brass tassels striking knee length woolen tunics. Every slap in unison, like a timekeeper for the endless procession. Looking through the soldier’s legs as each sandal-clad foot fell, she saw a clear tunnel of daylight opening then closing. Something about this regular pulse provided a secure floating feeling of inner calm.

  Something important was happening in Julia’s mind, but the ideas, which felt a lot like clarity, vanished when the perfect rhythm was corrupted by the appearance of hundreds of very tall, very sad, and very bedraggled people walking by the side of the procession. One of the guards called them Germainians and for some reason they were all shackled together with heavy chains. All of them were strange, pale creatures sprouting long blonde hair on their heads, while their bodies were draped in animal pelts. Even an inexperienced little girl like Julia could tell they were a badly beaten people.

  She was attempting to understand the circumstances that could have brought these wild looking men, women and children to their tragic predicament, when the sound of distant cheering grabbed her attention away from the broken tribespeople. She wondered what could be causing the excitement and, even though she stood up to get a better look, the cause of the revelry could not be seen.

  Even on tiptoe, the commotion, which was coming from somewhere towards the rear of the vast column, remained a mystery as it traveled in a wave from man to man. Suddenly, a soldier nearby unsheathed his sword and struck it hard against the edge of his huge red and gold shield. The man next to him followed his lead, then another, then another. Soon every legionary was using his viciously sharp, yet wonderfully shiny, weapon to make a cacophony of noise.

  Recovering from her initial surprise, Julia smiled as her fertile imagination turned thousands of shield-covered soldiers into slow moving tortoises with heads, arms and legs protruding from their shells. Her smile grew even wider when one of the tortoises shouted something. Another tortoise followed the first tortoise’s lead, then a few, then all of Julia’s tortoises crashed their blades while lifting a thunderous chant which revealed the object of their adoration.

  “Marius! Marius! Marius!” They shouted in a single voice as their beloved General Gaius Marius rode along the column laughing and joking with his victorious troops.

  Above the crescendo, Julia heard his voice repeating over and over: “Well done my lads, you are true heroes of Rome!”

  Passing one of Julia’s tortoises, who had a sideways red crest on his helmet, Gaius Marius slowed his horse to match the pace of the marching column. Julia could see that this particular tortoise looked older than most of her other tortoises.

  Leaning down, the general smiled as he spoke to the battle-scarred veteran. “How many years, Accius?”

  “Twenty-four, General.”

  “Just one more left to go, Centurion. What say you and I go and see where the senate have allocated your parcel of land?”

  The centurion looked as though he may burst with pride as he replied: “This part of Italy looks good to me, General.”

  Gaius Marius laughed, then spoke loud enough for as many of his men to hear as possible. “Well then! Why don’t you and I go and get those lazy, good-for-nothing senators off their asses and get them to allocate you some of this land!”

  Sitting up tall in his four-pommel saddle, Gaius Marius called out to those men too far away to hear his exchange with the beaming centurion. “What do you say, boys? When your time comes, where do you want your land?”

  First one, then two, then all of the soldiers close enough to hear their general started shouting: “Italy!” “Italy!” “Italy!”

  This soon became the new cry adopted by all of the legionaries in the column. Gaius Marius encouraged his men to shout louder as he kicked his horse into action and set off towards the head of his army.

  Julia could hardly contain her excitement. She had been close enough to hear the words of Rome’s greatest general; one of the two consuls of the Roman Republic; the most powerful man in the world. Someone who even she and her sheltered parents had heard of had been close enough to reach out and touch. She desperately wanted to tell someone how close she had been and how marvelous he looked, but there was simply no one to tell.

  While lamenting her isolation, Julia’s fleeting glimpse of euphoria was totally shattered by the always needlessly venomous tone of her mother. “Julia! Come here you stupid girl! Stop daydreaming and finish your work!”

  Even the downtrodden barbarians looked up in shock. Helpless men and women, even children, with nothing to live for were looking upon Julia with sympathy as she was being yanked away with sadistic force.

  As Julia stumbled from the people in chains, she wept tears of desperation because her anguish was made so much worse by the attentions of its pathetic audience.

  Unnecessary cruelty

  Until this moment, Julia had given very little thought to her upbringing. She had simply assumed every child endured a foundation such as hers. Having nothing to compare it with, she neve
r questioned her sad and lonely childhood, but the memory of the expressions on the faces of those enslaved Germainians gave her parents’ vindictive malice form. It cried out to be stopped. It was obviously extremely abusive and very wrong.

  For the very first time, Julia wanted to ask her parents why they did it. But, even if she could have found that kind of courage, they would not have been able to answer because they were merely perpetuating generations of hurtful behavior. They bullied Julia from dawn till dusk because they had been bullied from dawn till dusk. Their destructive behavior had been thoughtlessly passed down to them by their parents, their grandparents, and their great grandparents. They did it because that was simply all they knew.

  They did not question why they were never encouraging and always critical. They did not query why they picked on Julia’s appearance, her behavior, her ability, and anything she achieved. They did not stop to think how their criticism would become the self-disparaging thoughts which shaped her life. It simply made no sense for them, or Julia, to question the people who were, and had been, their very measure of truth. After all, when parents and grandparents said “summer was hot” and “winter was cold”, they were, without exception, hot and cold respectively. When they said “fire burns”, it burned and also hurt. When they said “rain is wet”, it was never anything other than wet. These measures of truth extended to a million other things, big and small, so why would Julia or her parents question any of the horrible things said about them?

  Just like her parents, these years and years of nothing but negative messages, heaped one on top of the other, served to mold Julia into the lonely, defensive, insecure creature she became. Starved of human affection, Julia naturally compensated by seeking contact with other living things. But forming emotional attachments to the mice, cats, or squirrels that lived in the groves simply exposed her to another kind of parental torment. However hard she tried to conceal her little secrets, both her mother and father positively reveled in hunting them down simply to beat them to death with sticks.