‘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
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.
