Empire's End

to him feeling unwell, one of the first things he would ask was: “What dreams have you been having?” Dreams were one of the ways in which the gods spoke to us, and Asclepius often sent cures in dreams. The great doctor, Galen, had cured his own serious illness after following the advice of a dream. So, I told myself, even in the dream, that I had to pay close attention. Whatever was being shown to me was important. But although I waited and waited, the play did not begin. The stage was empty. All I could see was the sea behind the pillars.

I began to feel as though something was wrong. As the shadows lengthened, the Diascuri seemed to frown at me.

I gripped the cold marble edge of my seat, frightened. Even the sea seemed shadowed, although there were no clouds in the sky. Then, I realised that it was not a shadow. It was a wave – a huge wave the length of the entire horizon. It was coming towards me, and growing fast.

I leapt to my feet. A distant rumble and crash told me it had hit the shore. Spray flew up in the air, with shards of stone, brick and dust. Where there had been a forest of columns, there was suddenly just boiling sea, racing towards me faster than wild white horses.

I screamed.

The wave came, racing up through the helpless city, drowning the houses, smashing down the trees, tossing boats like blossom in the wind, spurting between columns, swamping the Diascuri, heading straight towards me. I tasted salt and felt spray in my face—

Then I woke up, my heart pounding.

The moonlight was shining straight through my window and I was soaked in sweat. My blankets were twisted and tumbled on the floor. I could hear voices and hurrying feet outside in the courtyard and wondered if I had screamed so loudly that I had woken people up. The dream had been so horribly real. I could only think of one meaning: I was going to die soon. After all, the wave had come for me and no one else in the theatre.

“I don’t want to die!” I sobbed out loud.

Hooves clattered outside in the courtyard. The light was not all moonlight, I realised; some of it was torches carried by people outside. This surely wasn’t all happening because of my nightmare. I jumped up and went to look out of the window.

The courtyard was full of men and horses. The men wore armour and carried flaming torches. The horses snorted and shook their harnesses till they jingled. I spotted a familiar shape, a box carried by weary slaves: the Emperor’s litter. Then I heard a voice that was more than familiar.

“Father!” I gasped.

I didn’t stop to think if I were dressed to go out or not, I just flung open the door, raced down the stairs and threw myself into his arms.

I was home at last.

19.

The Return

“My grandfather!” you say. “You never told me how he died.”

I look down at my hands on the reins. Even now, I feel hollow and lonely when I think of my father. How can it be over twenty years since I last heard his voice? But it is.

“He died,” I begin, my voice sounding strange in my own ears, “because he was murdered.”

“You’re back at last!” I pulled out of my father’s arms, looking up at his face with delight – and my happiness vanished just as the dream had. Even in the flickering torchlight, I could see that he looked terrible. His eyes were hollow and haunted; his face was like that of a man already dead, eaten from inside.

“My daughter,” he said, and kissed my forehead. “Thank the gods you are safe. I have worried so much about you.”

“What has happened, Father?” I asked in a low voice. I looked around me. The soldiers filling the courtyard were menacing as the torchlight glinted from their breastplates and helmets. Their boots and their horses had churned the snow in the courtyard to slush, and they looked wild-eyed and savage, and there was an edge in the air that I could not describe. I felt as if I were in the presence of a terrifying god, one who might swing his sword of vengeance one way or another without warning. The Emperor was nowhere to be seen, nor was the Empress. But Caracalla was there. Caracalla was dressed in travel-stained clothes and he looked older and harder-faced than before. He was glaring up the steps that led from the courtyard to the higher floors where the imperial family had their rooms. At the top of the steps, I now saw, stood Geta.

He had clearly just been woken, and he had his toga thrown over his tunic. Although he stood higher than Caracalla, there was something about the way he felt for the edge of his toga, to stop it slipping, that made it seem as though he was the weaker.

“Welcome home, brother,” he said.

Caracalla did not reply. As if his silent glare was a signal, the soldiers in the courtyard separated, without words, like water and oil. Some moved towards Caracalla, and some went up the steps to join Geta. More went towards Geta, but the men who stayed with Caracalla had the look of hungry dogs about them.

I watched, frozen with terror. I actually expected one of them to attack the other at that moment, but instead, Geta glanced at my father.

“Physician,” he commanded, “the Emperor needs you at once.”

My father broke free from me and went after him without a word. Caracalla followed them, his gang of soldiers behind him. I was left standing and shivering in the cold shadows, with the stars above me, frightened and confused. There was nothing to do but go back to my room and wait for news. I did not go back to sleep.

At daybreak my father came to find me. In the pale light he looked worse than ever.