by Kevin Ashman
‘By the gods,’ she gasped eventually, ‘The city is ablaze.’
‘That it is,’ answered Nero, moving behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders, ‘The city is being cleansed of the accumulated filth of generations to make way for a place of greatness, a place where an Emperor can reside alongside the Gods and become immortal.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Rubria, ‘Who would do such a thing.’
‘Those who see clearly my greatness and would hasten my path to the Pantheon.’
‘But why,’ she asked, unable to take her eyes from the catastrophe unfolding below.
‘To scourge the city of what has been and make way for what will be. Across the hills to your front, the places that are presently occupied by the hovels of the poor will be replaced by magnificent gardens and marble palaces of unimaginable opulence. At its centre will be a building the like Rome has never seen before. A palace fit for a God, adorned with gold and bejewelled in stones from across the empire. The words greatest artisans will be brought to Rome to decorate the walls with friezes and mosaics of such breathtaking beauty that scholars and kings will travel from the corners of the earth to weep at their beauty.
‘But I don’t understand, Sire,’ she said, ‘Surely the palace in which you reside is glory enough for one man.nougA
‘Any ordinary man perhaps, but a God? No,’ he said, ‘And besides, how could I expect any woman worthy enough to rein alongside me to settle for anything else?
‘Alongside you, Sire?’ she asked, ‘I don’t understand, are you saying you have plans to marry?’
‘Oh yes, Rubria,’ he said, ‘Plans indeed. Look again to your front and imagine the sweeping hills covered with lush vegetation, interspersed with fountains and streams. Fish will dart in its pools and tiny deer will gambol through the manicured gardens. Bird song will be the only sound to disturb the peace and the tastiest of fruits will make the trees groan under their weight. Oh yes, Priestess, I have plans, and when all this is done you will understand why it was necessary.’
‘But what about people’s homes?’ she asked, ‘Where will they all go?’
‘It concerns me not,’ said the Emperor, ‘They are my subjects and would willingly give up their very lives for my benefit. What matters a few mud bricks and wooden doors? There is room enough on the outskirts for new buildings or even outside the city walls. No, the centre of Rome should reflect the greatness of my glory, or should I say, Our glory?’
Rubria’s heart missed a beat and her stomach turned as she realised what he had just said.
‘Our glory, Sire?’ I don’t understand.
‘You and me, Rubria,’ he said, ‘Ruling the world together. A living God alongside the most beautiful woman in the empire. I did it for you, Rubria, all this will be yours. A life of untold privilege and power the like that has never been seen before. All you have to do is consent to be my bride.’
Rubria felt sick. All of a sudden everything made sense. All the times she had been summoned to the palace to the exclusion of all other priestesses, all the compliments he had paid, and all gifts he had lavished upon her, all were simply a means to an end. While she thought he had favoured her for her honesty and council he had only one thing in his mind and that was to entice her into a union that was impossible.
‘Sire,’ she said, still staring over the city, ‘I am flattered but surely you can see this is impossible.’
‘I see no such thing, Rubria he said.’
‘But I am a Priestess of the Temple of Vesta, and am promised to her service. I cannot entertain the company of a man for many years yet. Perhaps when I leave her service it may be possible.’
‘An ordinary man perhaps,’ he said, ‘But I am your Emperor and such trivialities worry me not. When I am immortalised I will swat aside your Goddess’s little whims as I would a fly. I am Nero, and there has never been any such as I.’
‘But Sire,’ she said, breaking free and turning to face him, ‘Surely you understand, this is not a burden imposed on me but a calling I embrace completely.’
‘That will soon pass, Priestess,’ he said, ‘When you sample the glory of my power and the pleasure of my bed, all such thoughts will be like memories in the wind.’
‘Sire,’ she pleaded, ‘Please cast these thoughts aside. I can never forsake the Goddess. This can never happen.’
Nero’s face changed slightly as her words sunk in.
‘You misunderstand, Priestess,’ he said, ‘This is not an option, but a decree. You will be my bride and you will do so willingly or else suffer the consequences.’
Rubria was breathing fast now, close to tears as she realised there was no way out of this.
‘Sire,’ she said eventually, ‘My calling permeates my very soul, and though I recognise your glory, the needs of my Goddess will always come first. I beg of you to turn off this path for I cannot join you. I will always be here for you as confidante and friend, but, whatever the consequences, I cannot consent to be your bride.’
Nero stared at the girl before walking towards the door and Rubria breathed a sigh of relief, believing he was going to leave.
‘I will not lie to you, Priestess, he said as he pushed the wooden bar across to lock the door, ‘I am bitterly disappointed. Ours was to be the most glorious wedding ever seen in the history of Rome.’ He turned around and faced her. ‘You could have had everything Rubria, and if you had only seen the sense of being my bride, I was willing to wait before partaking of your particular pleasures. Our wedding night was to be magical, romantic, sensual and gentle as I introduced your pure body to the pleasures of the flesh.’
Rubria was scared now, as Nero circled her like a cat circling its prey.
‘But you have taken that option away now, Priestess,’ he said, ‘You have spoilt it for yourself. However, all is not lost, for I will still have my vision. My grounds will be planted and my palace will be built, and though there will no longer be a wedding night to look forward to, there is an upside.’
She stared at him in fright as his voice lowered, menacingly.
‘Sire?’ she said, her eyes transferring the unspoken question.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘At least I won’t have to wait for the wedding night before enjoying your hidden treasures. In fact, everything suddenly seems much better. Why wait and share when I can have it all right now.’
‘Sire, surely you don’t mean…’
‘Oh but I do,’ said Nero. ‘You had your chance, Priestess. I asked nicely but it seems you don’t understand nice so now we’ll do it the other way.’
‘Sire, please, no…’
Nero lurched forward and grabbed Rubria by the throat, sneering his wine laden breath in her face as he forced her back against the marble wall.
‘Enjoy your last few minutes as a Priestess, Rubria,’ he snarled, ‘For your role as a Vestal Virgin is about to come to a painful and bloody end.’
He forced the terrified teenager to the floor, and, as the reflections of the fires sweeping Rome reflected off the marble walls, Nero Augusta, Emperor of Rome raped Rubria, Priestess of the Temple of Vesta.
Chapter 12
London 2010
‘First of all,’ said India, ’You have to realise, that the time period we are talking about covers thousands of years, and, for much of that time, nothing is documented. All we can go on are the stories handed down through the ages, until they were written down around the times of Homer in Greek history.
‘So everything you tell me could be rubbish,’ said Brandon bluntly.
‘Well, not rubbish, exactly, as many different historians wrote similar accounts. It is just that sometimes the details contradict each other. For instance, though the Roman and Grecian pantheons were based on the same gods….’
‘Pantheon?’ interrupted Brandon.
‘Sorry,’ said India, ‘I forgot I was dealing with a heathen. A pantheon is the collective name for a group of gods, and, though they were based on the same ones, their names
were different. Zeus was Jupiter, Poseidon was Neptune, and Aphrodite was Venus etc. Many of the legends were the same though details were different.’
‘Coincidence?’ asked Brandon.
‘Possibly,’ said India, ‘But some of the detail is so fantastic it has to share the same source.’
‘Such as?’
‘Okay, I’ll give you an example. In Greek history Athena was born from her father’s forehead, Zeus, while in Roman history, Jupiter, the Roman king of the gods, gave birth to Minerva in the same fashion.’
‘Who came first?’ asked Brandon, ‘Romans or Greeks.’
‘Greeks,’ said India.
‘So perhaps the Romans just copied the Greeks?’
‘That is possible,’ said India, ‘But it proves my point. The only written history we can rely on is from those two eras and there is often a grey area where they overlap. If you speak to a dozen different historians, you’ll get a dozen different points of view. What we have to do, is see through the maze of detail and identify the common references.’
‘And you are the person who can do this, I assume?’
‘It’s my passion,’ said India. ‘I have no interest in establishing the absolute accuracy of detail as I believe we will never know the exact truth. All I am interested in is establishing the provenance of the cult of the great mother. However, to do this I am forced to read every fact and fable, no matter how fantastic, and, by default, I have become a bit of an expert.’
‘Okay,’ said Brandon, ‘I’m convinced. You are hereby designated official historian. Now, what can you tell me about Samothrace?’
‘Like I’ve already explained,’ said India, ‘The cult of Isis was spreading westward throughout the Mediterranean, and, over the course of time, became absorbed into local history in many different guises. In Crete she became Athena, In Greece Artemis, and In Rome, Vesta. I could go on, but suffice to say, there are countless goddesses linked to the great mother, and, as the cult of Isis spread through the Aegean, it was inevitable that many of the thousands of islands were populated, and, due to their isolation, the memories remained relatively undiluted. It seems that over time, the last stronghold of her memory was the island of Samothrace.’
‘Is there any evidence?’ asked Brandon.
‘Well, if you accept that Athena and Isis actually refer to the same deity, then yes.
‘How.’
‘It is a bit complicated due to the countless versions available.’
‘Give me the streamlined one.’
‘Okay, but don’t forget, that no matter how fantastic it may sound, the historians of the time passionately believed in the accuracy of the stories. In most versions, Athena was the daughter of Zeus and lived with the Gods on Mount Olympus. She and her Sister, Pallas were play fighting one day when Zeus intervened to avoid injury.’
‘Health and Safety?’ sneered Brandon sarcastically. India ignored him
‘Anyway, it backfired. Pallus was distracted and Athena dealt her a fatal blow. She was devastated, and created an idol in her honour, a wooden statue, three cubits high.
‘Cubits?’ interrupted Brandon.
‘About four feet,’ sighed India. ‘The statue was of Pallus, and Athena set it up as a shrine in her honour. Obviously Zeus was devastated at losing a daughter and for Millennia, mourns the death of Pallus.’
‘Is this relevant?’ asked Brandon.
‘If you want the whole picture, you need to know the background,’ snapped India.
‘Okay, calm down.’ said Brandon.
India glared at him,
‘Legend has it that Zeus seduces Electra, one of seven Sisters known as the Pleiades and she falls pregnant, but when she pays tribute at the shrine of Pallas, Zeus is enraged that the statue has been soiled by the hands of an un-pure woman.’
‘Un-pure,’ said Brandon, ‘How?’
‘She was pregnant,’ said India, ‘Virginity was highly prized by the ancients.’
‘Seems to be a recurring theme,’ said Brandon.
‘Zeus cast the idol from Olympus,’ continued India, ‘And Electra returned to her birthplace on Samothrace, to build a new Temple, placing the statue of Pallas at its heart. Eventually Elektra gives birth to a son, Dardanus, and a few years later has another son, Iasion, again fathered by Zeus. The stories say that Zeus favours Iasion and teaches him the great mysteries of the pantheon, and Iasion starts a cult dedicated to the gods. People travel from all over the known world to this little known island to join the cult. The initiation rights became known as the Samothrace mysteries.
‘Is that where Phillip comes in?’ asked Brandon.
‘Oh no, he came thousands of years later,’ said India. ‘Anyway, when Iasion falls under the hooves of his horses during a chariot race and is killed, his brother, Dardanus is overcome with grief and leaves Samothrace, taking the statue of Pallus with him. He forms a new kingdom called Dardania, at the foot of Mount Ida in modern day turkey.’
‘Hence the name Dardanelles, I suppose,’ said Brandon.
‘You’re learning fast,’ said India. ‘His city thrived for three generations, until eventually, on his death bed, he summons his grandson, Illius. He told him to form a new city on the lower plains of Dardania and to place at its heart the statue of Pallus. He said that Zeus had visited him in a dream and had told him that the city would become the greatest ever seen, and, as long as the statue stayed at its heart, it would never fall to any enemy.’
‘And did he?’
‘He did, and the vision from Zeus was correct. It became one of the most famous cities of all time.’
‘What was it called?’
‘He named it after himself, and called it Illium.’
‘Never heard of it,’ said Brandon.
‘Perhaps you know it by the name of his father,’ said India, ‘His name was Tros.’
‘Troy,’ said Brandon immediately, ‘The city was called Troy.’
A call came over the tannoy, calling them to the plane.
‘We’ll continue this on board,’ said Brandon and they made their way to the gate. The conversation didn’t resume as they found themselves sharing a row of seats with a particularly friendly old lady, who insisted on talking to India for most of the flight. Finally they arrived in Rome and after they had cleared customs, they went out to find a taxi.
‘There they are,’ said India, and started to make her way over to the rank of white cabs.
‘Wait,’ said Brandon, ‘It’s all sorted.’ He walked towards the bus stop, and a battered old fiat pulled up before him.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘This is our ride.’
She paused before getting in the back of the car and looked at the typical dark haired Italian behind the wheel.
‘Did you get my message?’ asked Brandon from the passenger seat as soon as they pulled off.
‘I did,’ said the driver, in a welsh accent, causing India to stare at him in amazement, ‘The package is in the glove compartment.’
Brandon retrieved a padded envelope, and took out a pistol and a thick bundle of fifty euro notes.
‘Any news on transport,’ asked Brandon.
‘Early morning flight to Athens,’ he said, ‘There’ll be a boat waiting for you the other end. Got you a safe house for tonight. The address is on the envelope.’
‘Great,’ said Brandon, putting the gun into his jacket pocket. ‘How’s business?’
‘Good,’ said the driver, ‘I’ll be sorry to leave.’
‘Always said you had all the easy jobs,’ said Brandon.
‘The summit ends in a couple of days,’ said the driver, ‘I’ve been told my next posting is out in the sticks.’
‘Good,’ said Brandon, ‘About bloody time you earned your rations’. He peered out of the window. ‘Could you drop us off here Jonesy?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Why here?’
‘The lady needs some bikinis.’ he said and the driver smiled at India in the rear view mirror. India threw hi
m a sarcastic smile as he pulled over to the pavement.
‘I’ll take your bags to the house,’ said Jonesy, ‘Make sure you’re at the port by ten tomorrow morning. There’ll be a boat waiting.’
‘Will do,’ said Brandon, ‘See you soon.’
‘Take it easy,’ said the driver and drove off leaving them outside a shopping precinct.
Brandon peeled off twenty notes from the bundle and gave them to India.
‘I’ll be in that cafe,’ he said, ‘You go and get yourself some clothes.’
‘Do you need anything?’ she asked.
‘You could get me some shreddies,’ he said.
‘Shreddies?’ she asked with a sigh of impatience.
‘You know, underwear.’
‘Right. What about clothes?’
‘Already sorted,’ said Brandon, ‘The mob will have had some sent over already.’
‘The mob?’
‘India,’ said Brandon, ‘Stop asking questions and go and spend some money. I’ll have a dozen pairs of Calvins, the rest is yours, now, go and have fun. I’ll see you back here in two hours.’
‘Okay, keep your hair on,’ she said, ‘I was only asking. You secret squirrels can be so touchy.’ She turned around and stomped into the nearest shop doorway.
Brandon waited for a moment and watched in amusement as she pulled fruitlessly on the locked door handle. She took a deep breath and turned around to walk past him without making eye contact.
‘Don’t say a word,’ she snarled as she passed.
The following morning they returned to the airport and boarded a small plane to Athens. A few hours later they were stood on the quayside of the docks. India was reading a timetable on a chalkboard, written in Italian, Greek and English.
‘Next ferry is at one,’ she said. ‘Seems like we’ve got a bit of a wait.’
‘No we haven’t,’ said Brandon, ‘There’s our boat.’
She looked across and groaned as a battered fishing boat chugged alongside the harbour wall.