“No,” she answered.
I grimaced. “Probably for the best. It’s one of those movies you have to see to believe, and while probably more farfetched than reality actually was, it definitely portrayed Tiberius as the sick bastard he, again, very probably was, and Caligula was raised around all this sex and degeneration and violence. Many historians credit this upbringing as the cause of his eventual insanity, but it wasn’t until he became very sick that his mind was finally warped. Supposedly, he started doing things like appointing his horse consul, Rome’s highest elected position, and started an incestuous affair with his sisters. All three of them. Historians are conflicted on the matter, though. They’re conflicted on everything.
“One of the earliest writings about Caligula claims he went insane as a direct result of his illness. There are many others, though, that feel too much emphasis is put on the illness, and shouldn’t be taken seriously. Either way, he rose pretty high on people’s shit list, including his own Praetorians. It wasn’t long before they assassinated him, and proclaimed Claudius emperor. The way things were going, it was definitely for the best. Claudius did a good job, and despite the hiccup with Nero, Rome prospered for quite a while before beginning its inevitable decline.”
“So…” she said, her voice dripping in impatience.
“So…” I mimicked, her impatience beginning to irritate me, “that’s about the gist of it. If we got here too late, chances are we’re fucked. Better expect to suffer a painful, painful death, in some gruesome, grotesque manner. Hey, I once learned about a Roman execution method where they would have you stand on a platform above a ramp with a revolving buzz saw running down the center of the plank. Then, they would slice your Achilles tendons, causing you to fall off the platform because, you know… pushing would be too nice. Then, you’d fall from the platform down onto the ramp, and slowly slide your way down into the saw, slicing you in half. Right down the middle. There. Happy?”
Her stare was blank and I wondered if she was thinking about the execution method I’d just detailed or whether or not I really was crazy, like Santino suggested.
“So were you some kind of high school teacher before joining the military?
I smiled, forgetting my tirade. “No, but I did go to college, and had to major in something. Double majored in history and classical studies. Mom was proud. I always did figure I’d spend my life as a history teacher, not in the military. Hopefully, meet a nice Spanish teacher and settle down.”
“You really are a strange man, Jacob.”
“Hey. A guy can dream, right?”
She rolled her eyes.
“I was even working on my Masters when I was forced into the Navy,” I provided proudly, “and hoping for a PhD one day.”
“Why would you need a PhD to teach children?”
“Why not?” I asked with a look that suggested her question should have had an obvious answer.
She ignored the sarcasm, but I saw she had a small smile on her face. “So, why were you forced into the Navy then?”
“For a girl who couldn’t take a little history lesson a few minutes ago, you sure do ask a lot of question, but again, sorry, let’s leave that story for another time.”
That was another annoying story, and I wasn’t about to let it ruin the fantastic dream I must be having right now. Here I was, strolling through Rome, with a beautiful woman on my arm, taking in the sights like a couple on vacation. It was something I’ve always wanted to do, but never given the luxury to actually do.
I must be dreaming.
Granted, the woman was half unconscious, came close to losing a leg, we were under armed guard, and while we may be in Rome, we were somehow in a time when gladiator tournaments were still popular…
Even so, I couldn’t help but admire the view.
The landscape was almost completely unrecognizable from the city I had just driven through. St. Peter’s Basilica was gone, and many of the ancient ruins were either in perfect condition or not even built yet. Most of Rome’s landscape was due for a series of major renovations in the coming years, and most of what I was seeing would be gone in two thousand years anyway.
Nero would build his magnificent golden palace, along with a pool the size of a football field just a ways down the road to my right. It wouldn’t last long though, as Vespasian would later build the Flavian Amphitheatre, better known as the Colosseum, on that spot. Later, Trajan would move half of a mountain to build his own forum, just because he needed more room.
But none of that was here at this point, and I found myself saddened we weren’t transported to a time when Rome’s more lasting structures existed. Sure that sounded superficial, but all the fun times of social and civil wars occurred well before we got here and the wonderful building projects were probably out of my life span, even if I had to stay here. I even missed Augustus, my favorite emperor, probably one of the top five most influential figures in all of western civilization. At least as far as I’m concerned.
Oh, well. Looks like we’re about to meet another influential figure in history, I just hope we were sent back early enough. After all, he was only emperor a few months before he got sick.
***
Twenty minutes, a few drunken witnesses, and a number of reproachful charlatans later, we made our way to the Curia, Rome’s senate chamber. As we passed through the Forum Romanum, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. I was walking through Rome’s political epicenter. The place where most of its major decisions were made. A thousand years of governance and policy were debated right here. Everything so was saturated in history, I felt drenched just thinking about it, and not just in my pants. Every debate settled by the men of this city affected the world in ways few truly appreciated. Without these walls and the men who filled them, my world would have been far different.
I saw the Curia, an unremarkable building, with its plain, brick facade, as well as the Rostra, on the other side of the forum. There was the source of it all.
“Take a look over there,” I told Helena, nodding off to our right. “That’s the Rostra, a speaker’s platform. Back during the Second Triumvirate, one of the greatest writers and orators of all time, Cicero, had spread some rather nasty propaganda about Marc Antony. It had something to do with how Antony should have been killed along with Julius Caesar on the Ides of March or something like that. Anyway, Antony, being the spoiled little shit that he was, had him killed, and had his head and hands cut off. He then had them placed on those poles to further insult him as if killing the most learned man of his time wasn’t enough. Those poles are actually called rostra, by the way, the Roman word for a ship’s prow, which is where the title for the platform came from.”
“Always the history lesson with you.”
“There’s just so much of it here. I’m overwhelmed. How can you be so disinterested?”
“I’m not ‘disinterested.’ I’m just a bit queasy, and I could really use some sleep.”
“Oh, sorry. Well, perk up. A few more months with me and you’ll be an expert in no time.”
“Fantastic.”
“Heads up, people,” Vincent announced. “Looks like we’ve arrived.”
Making our way to the building, the enormous outer wall blocking the moonlight, we were ordered to stop by one of our guards. He, along with three others, made their way inside, while the rest of us were directed towards a few stone benches just outside the Curia.
Dragging Helena all this way was tough work. I had been ready to pass out the moment we entered the Forum, and by the time we made it to the benches, Helena was practically moving under her own power, receiving little help from me. I heard her moan in pain when she took a particularly heavy step on her bandaged leg, but we managed to make it to the bench before either one of us collapsed completely.