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

by Jacklyn A. Lo

  “Come on, you dog!” shouts the Retarius, beckoning with his trident. “Not scared of getting a little prick are you?”

  “Hah!” shouts the Secutor in return. “You’ve already got a little prick! Reckon I’ll chop it off!” And he rushes at the Retarius, his sword clattering against the trident.

  Not all the gladiators are training at the same time. Instead, the arena has been divided up into twenty roughly-equal sections, with a handful of gladiators fighting in each, watched over by their trainers and the circus guards. Around the edge, sitting on rough, wooden benches, the remaining gladiators await their turn to practice.

  As Ra turns to survey the action to his right, his eyes fall on a fair-haired woman, sitting gracefully on a magnificent chestnut stallion.

  Wow, he thinks, his eyes taking her in. What a beauty!

  She sits tall and straight in the saddle, her knees gripping the horse tightly, leaving her hands free to fight. In one slender, strong arm she holds a small, circular shield and in the other a wooden sword, with which she beats back her opponent, another woman, whose jet black skin is mostly concealed by her leather armor. As she guides the horse with her legs, the woman’s long, blonde hair, tied together in a ponytail, is caught by the light breeze blowing across the sand.

  All Ra can do is stand, transfixed, staring at her, his jaw slack, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He can’t move even if he wants to, but is rooted to the spot as time seems to stand still. This warrior woman seems to have everything he doesn’t; powerful muscles, a desire to fight, bravery and courage even in the face of death. Suddenly she turns to face him, her smile proudly displaying her excitement. But that is not all her face reveals! There, running from the top of her left cheek down to her upper lip is a jagged scar, red and angry-looking. Ra’s heart sinks at the sight, not because the scar detracts from her looks, but because it reminds him that she is a fighter, a gladiator.

  She might as well already be dead!

  He sits down on the hard bench and shakes his head, his eyes still fixed on the woman’s face.

  I wonder where she’s from, thinks Ra. I’m sure I’ve never seen her before and I know most of the trainers around here, thanks to Caligula’s parties at the palace! She must be from somewhere out in the provinces or beyond; Germany maybe, or Britannia. Both regions have been providing Rome with gladiators and slaves recently, following Caligula’s latest campaigns to those distant lands. That must be it! All the people I’ve seen from Germania and Britannia have been tall and fair-haired too.

  A shout from the arena snaps Ra out of his thoughts. “You and you, you’re up next!”

  To his great disappointment, Ra looks down to see the woman’s trainer, a burly ex-gladiator with a flattened nose that is as wide as it is long, gesturing to the next couple of women gladiators to take the floor.

  The beautiful horse rider turns her mount towards a nearby gateway and Ra leans over the wall, watching her until she disappears out of sight, into the bowels of the Circus Maximus.

  No, he thinks desperately. Please come back! And there he stays, gazing unmoving at the empty gateway, willing the woman to return. All he can think is how much he wants to see her again, to look at her hair that almost glowed in the afternoon sun and her face, scarred but more beautiful than any other he has ever seen and with such physical strength as he could never hope to achieve himself. He stands waiting for what might be a few minutes or maybe hours. He neither knows nor cares.

  I have to see her again—even just to catch the briefest of glimpses. But eventually, when the sun has clearly begun to make its descent from the heavens and she still fails to return, he realizes he has to go.

  Grudgingly Ra turns away from the still-empty gateway and decides to head home at last, drawn by the thought of a refreshing bath and a meal of the finest Egyptian fare.

  Food, he thinks. I’ve not eaten anything yet. And although the last of the hangover has finally departed, he suddenly finds himself gripped by a savage hunger.

  As he makes his way up the hill towards the Temple of Isis, every step increases Ra’s feeling that something good is happening to him. His thoughts are consumed by the image of the woman sitting aside the stallion, her strong body moving with an easy grace as she fights her adversary, her golden hair flowing out behind her.

  Such beauty, he thinks. Such grace. If I do nothing else with my life, I must see her again.

  ~

  The sense of excitement and expectation, however, begin to wane as the days pass with an interminable slowness. And then one morning, as Ra is going about his usual duties in the Temple of Isis, his friend, Lucius Marcellus, a respected centurion of the second Augusta legion who retired two years previously, happens to be passing and drops in to see him.

  “How’s tricks, you old woman?” says Lucius, slapping his friend on the back with a hand like an iron shield.

  Ra stumbles forward slightly, but manages to keep his balance. “I was fine until you showed up and started molesting me.”

  “As if I’d bother molesting some half-man like you,” says Lucius, roaring with laughter at his own comments. “So what have you been up to? Still bothering that wretched Egyptian trollop?”

  “If you are referring to the great goddess Isis, the queen of heaven…” Ra replies, refusing to rise to the bait. “Then, yes, Lucius, I have been ‘bothering’ her, attending to her every wish and whim. It’s all part of worship. Something you might consider having a go at some time.”

  “Not bloody likely. I’ll stick to worshipping the things I can see: wine, women, dice and a damned good fight, if one happens to be on offer!”

  “But I thought you’d left the fighting behind you, old friend.” Ra’s eyes light up as a sudden thought strikes him. “Say, I don’t suppose you had much to do with Caligula’s recent campaign in Britannia, did you?”

  “Is that a joke?” said Lucius with a frown. “That’s where the Augusta has been for the past six months.”

  “Really?”

  “Course! Though the boys haven’t really engaged them as such. It’s more been about intimidation, taking out some of the grubby Brits who stray too close to the coast.”

  “What are they like?” asks Ra, intrigued by his friend’s knowledge of these strange, distant lands.

  “Weren’t you listening? I just told you they were grubby.” Lucius leans forward, as though imparting some special, secret information. “Though I have to say, some of them aren’t so bad. Not at all like our stuck-up Roman women. Most of the Brit girls are warriors, and bloody good at it too, by all accounts. Tall and blonde, the lot of them, and a punch that could knock your teeth out of your ass.”

  “Charming.” Ra smiles as he recalls the blonde beauty once again. “I don’t suppose you know if there are any being put into the arena for the games at the moment?”

  “The Brit girls? You bet there are. But you won’t see them fighting, I’m afraid. That spoiled brat of an emperor’s decided to shove them all in the chariot races.”

  Ra breathes a sigh of relief. Surely the woman, his woman, is one of these Britons, and chariot racing was certainly a far less dangerous prospect that partaking in the gladiator fights. She would certainly have more of a chance to survive at least a little longer.

  “Anyway,” says Lucius and belches loudly, snapping Ra out of his daydream. “Can’t hang around here all day gassing away with ball-less priests like you. I’ve got things to do. Catch you later, Stumpy.” And with that, and another tooth-rattling slap on Ra’s back, the centurion stomps away towards the circus, stopping briefly to scratch his backside and offer a mock salute to the priest.

  Ra watches him as he disappears around a corner and considers his companion’s words. He still enjoys Lucius’ company. He is a good friend, despite his constant mocking. The comments don’t really bother him that much, no more, in fact, than the physical defect itself. He was only a teenager when he was castrated, and becoming a eunuch had given him the chance for a bet
ter life here in Rome, with greater social status and far better living conditions than those he had experienced back in Egypt. Even his grandfather had not had the ear of a Roman emperor, the leader of the known world, and yet here was Ra, being called on as an adviser to Caligula himself.

  His standing had been greatly improved only a couple of years ago, when Caligula had fallen ill. As Isis is the goddess of love, magic, fertility and healing, Ra was called upon to tend to the young emperor and, using the sacred magic of the goddess, had brought Caligula from the brink of death back to full health. For this, he had been granted almost everything he could ever have dreamed of—wealth, luxury and, most important of all, his freedom. And yet, as he stands there, looking out across the city, he knows there is something missing from his life.

  What is this strange feeling? he wonders. How has this woman, someone I’ve only seen once and never even spoken to, how has this blonde fighter so captivated me?

  He has never experienced anything like this before. It’s like some poison that seems both to sicken him and to energize him. This, he supposes, must be what it feels like to be in love! This woman, this Briton warrior, full of beauty, grace and courage, she has captured his heart.

  As he turns away to begin the nighttime ritual, Ra knows what he must do.

  I have to see her again!

  Chapter Eleven

  A message for you, priest!”

  Ra turns from grinding herbs for the evening ritual to see who is addressing him. There, in the temple doorway stands a young man whom Ra recognizes as one of the imperial slaves. He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

  “A message? For me?”

  “Indeed,” says the slave, standing stiffly to attention. “From our divine emperor, the illustrious Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Ger—”

  “Yes, yes.” Ra holds out his hand for the scroll. “I am well aware of the emperor’s name, thank you.”

  For a moment the slave makes no move to hand over the message, but then shrugs haughtily and tosses it at Ra’s feet before turning and strutting away.

  Imperial slaves, thinks Ra, stooping to snatch up the scroll. More stuck up and full of themselves than an old senator! He considers the roll of parchment in his hand, wondering why Caligula would be sending him a message.

  Not another orgy, surely! Not so soon after the last one. He sighs and breaks the seal before opening up the scroll. As he carefully reads through the message, a broad smile spreads across his face. It’s an invitation to join the emperor’s entourage at the games. And not just any bit of the games, but the chariot racing on the last and greatest day of the festival.

  “Yes!” he exclaims excitedly, causing an elderly lady, kneeling in front of the statue of Isis, to turn and frown at him. “Sorry,” he says, more quietly. I’m going get to see her, he continues to himself. My beautiful Briton. I can’t wait. It’s only two days away!

  The next two days, however, seem to take an age to pass, and Ra is so excited about seeing the warrior woman again that he feels almost feverish, anxious and jittery, and he is so distracted that many of his rituals end up taking twice as long to perform. The evening before the races, however, Ra takes extra special care with his ritual.

  “Mother Isis, Daughter of the Nile and Queen of Heaven. Hear my cry, O Giver of life and love!” His voice is clear and strong, and he reaches a hand about a golden bowl, filled with fire, and sprinkles on it a secret mixture of herbs. The flame dances, turning a deep green that bathes Ra’s face. “The day is done,” he continues, “the night is near. Once again I commit myself to You. Come, Mighty Mother. Draw near, Great Goddess. Hear the voice of your servant.”

  He breathes in deeply, the smoke filling his lungs and clearing his mind. “I pray for safety, not for myself, but for another. For a woman I have never spoken to, but who is surely known to You, O Glory of the Heavens. I ask that you would protect her in the games tomorrow. Keep her safe, my Queen.”

  With these and many other words, Ra calls to Isis until late into the night, the prayers calming his nerves and easing his anxiety.

  The following morning, he gets up early, having been woken by an emotional mix of concern and excitement.

  Today, he thinks, as he pulls his best robes on over his head and begins to tie up his blue-black hair. Today, I will see her again. And maybe she’ll see me, or even meet me! Just in case such a wonderful thing should occur, he dabs on his favorite scent, a secret mixture of spices that he makes himself and applies kohl to his eyes.

  “Jupiter’s balls! You smell like a whore’s loincloth!”

  Ra spins round to find Lucius standing in the entrance to his chambers.

  “And you’ve got the make-up to match,” Lucius continues, laughing loudly.

  You can take the man out of the army, thinks Ra, rolling his eyes at his friend’s coarse comments, but you can’t take the army out of the man.

  “What are you doing here, Lucius?” he asks, turning back to finish the last touches of his makeup.

  “Same thing as you, Stumpy.”

  “What?” Ra straightens up in surprise. “You’re joining the emperor’s entourage at the races?”

  “You bet! You ain’t the only one with special privileges, you know. I’m famous, me.”

  “Huh.”

  “Anyways. You coming or what?” says Lucius. “Stop farting about with your face and let’s go. We don’t want to keep the golden boy waiting.”

  Together, Ra and Lucius head down to the Circus Maximus, entering through the royal gate and mounting the steps to the emperor’s platform. As they emerge into the sunlight, Ra is again struck by the immense size of the Circus. The sandy floor of the arena, marked in places by the dark patches where gladiators have fallen in the fights of the last few days, stretches away like a desert. Its smooth surface is broken only by the high turning posts at each end and the long, central divider. At one end, to Ra’s left, are the starting gates, awaiting the arrival of the first chariots and their riders. All around, the ranks of benches, which were almost deserted the last time Ra was here, are packed with spectators from every tier of roman society. Men, women, plebeians, patricians, senators and even slaves have gathered together, eager to watch the spectacle. That said, many of the slaves are only there to hold parasols above their master’s heads to ward off the sun as it rises higher and hotter in the sky. Ra looks up and is pleased to see the canopy has already been put up over the emperor’s viewing platform, shielding the entourage from the searing heat that is to come. Looking around at the others gathered in its shade, he spots a number of influential dignitaries among their number, including senators, merchants and soldiers. In the center of them all, lounging in an ornate, ivory chair is the emperor. Caligula is dressed as he always is on such occasions, in expensive purple robes, his face painted in subtle, and some not-so-subtle, shades.

  Ra bows low to the emperor, but Caligula turns his attention towards the pretty, young lady sitting the next to him without even acknowledging Ra’s presence.

  Lucius always says the emperor only wears the elaborate clothes and makeup to annoy the “stuck-up old women in the Senate”, but then that was just the sort of thing Lucius said! Ra, however, thinks it’s more likely that the emperor finds the old-fashioned, traditional togas far too dull, and he is pleased to see that the cloth and kohl in question are distinctly Egyptian in style and remind him of the priests back home.

  Well, he makes a striking contrast with the senators, thinks Ra, looking from the emperor’s extravagant getup to the pale faces and boring togas of the senators; no wonder Caligula is so paranoid and sees conspiracy everywhere, when he deliberately distances himself from the senate! Not to mention the fact he gave his favorite horse a senator’s chair!

  Ra peers at the lady sitting next to the emperor and wonders who she might be.

  This must be the emperor’s latest fiancée, Ra thinks, though the priest cannot immediately recall her name. That would be his third, no, his fourth marriage. Let�
�s hope this one lasts a little longer than the others!

  Here and there, slave girls attend to the needs of the entourage, serving them with cups of wine and bowls of fruit, even feeding some of those who cannot be bothered to lift their own hands to their mouths.

  This is the life, thinks Ra with a smile, watching the games, and hopefully a beautiful woman, in style!

  “What are you grinning at, Lady-Balls?” says Lucius close to Ra’s ear, causing the priest to jump.

  “Nothing for you to trouble yourself with.”

  “Well, I’m gonna put a couple of sestertii on the reds, my lucky color. You going place a little bet? ‘Little’ being the operative word!”

  “I don’t think so,” Ra replies, his attention drawn away by the first of the chariots as they make their way out of the gates into the arena. “And gambling is restricted to fools.”

  “Well, I’m still betting on the reds!”

  “My point exactly, Lucius.”

  Muttering under his breath, Lucius walks away to join the crowd clamoring around the book-makers’ tents. Ra ignores him, focusing instead on the chariot. The first races are always made up of those riders who had not participated in the games before, and even as he looks, Ra catches sight of his woman and his heart seems to stop.

  What incredible beauty! What poise and style! He stands, staring with his mouth open, until suddenly someone nudges him.

  “Yes?” he says and turns to see a young woman carrying a tray filled with roses for the spectators to throw for their favorite competitors. Pulling out his purse, Ra buys a single, white rose. Perfect! The same color as her hair!

  “What do you have there, Ra?” He turns to find the emperor staring at him, looking quizzically at the flower, gripped in his hand.

  “A white rose, Emperor,” says Ra, holding it up.

  “And for whom is it intended?” asks Caligula, and waves a hand towards the chariots which have lined up at the gates. “Is there one of these fine creatures you favor?”