RomanQuest (5 page)

36

 

These old Romans were amazing engineers. You sort of think things like central heating and all that jazz had to be modern inventions, but that first room you beamed into when you arrived had underfloor heating and this little room seems to be the boiler house that drives it. Apart from the fact that it uses solid fuel, this set up wouldn't be out of place in an
ofch s-d
in East Cheam.

“Oil-fired centrally heated semi detached in Cheamus Orientalis,” murmurs the Mercury Phone, obviously bored at having so little to do lately.

 

There is a door in the western wall of this room leading to
XXII
and a door in the southern wall leading to
XXXXVIII
.

 

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37

 

“Well,” says Titus, in the sort of practised tone that suggests he's done this a thousand times before, “This is the Forum Romanum, as we call it in the city, the most important forum in the country, which is what you'd expect and how it should be, of course. Traditionally it's been used for public meetings, lawcourts, gladiatorial combats, that sort of thing, although that's been gradually changing since the time of the divine Augustus.”

He starts to walk slowly forward, gesturing you to follow. You can imagine if he ever reincarnates, he'll end up at the front of a coach-load of Americans holding a microphone. “From this viewpoint,” he tells you, “it is possible to see several of our most important buildings. Here -” He points. “- you have the Temple of Castor and Pollux, the Temple of the Deified Caesar, that's the divine Julius, of course, the first one we deified. Over there is the Mamertine Prison, some very bad people in there, then away to your right you have the Curia or Senate House, some very bad people in there as well, hah-hah-hah. Now down at the bottom is the religious area. You know what a clannish lot the gods are. From here you can see the Temple of Saturn, the Temple of Vesta and the Temple of Romulus. Follow me and try to keep up, please.”

He strides off through the crowd, leaving you to follow as best you can. He stops again, so suddenly you actually bump into him. You follow his gaze. The stretch of ground stretching about 125 by 70 feet is set to grass except for three plants - a grape vine, a fig tree, and a little olive grove - which divides it in two.

“These two open spaces are the political Comitium and the social Forum,” Titus tells you. “That's the Comitium at the wide end. It's where the Popular Assembly meets. Lot of nonsense talked in both, if you ask me, but I suppose brave speeches are a lot safer than actually marching against the Huns.”

“Yes, you're probably right, but what I really want to know is how I can -”

“Look between the two clearings,” Titus says, ignoring you. “That's the orators' platform. We call it the Rostra, on account of the fact that it's decorated with the iron rams we took as trophies from the warships of Antium.”

You frown at him. “Why would you call -?” you begin.

“Rams are rostra in Latin,” the Mercury Phone whispers in your ear.

“Remember I pointed out the Curia where the Senate meet?” Titus asks. “That's it there at the end of the Comitium. The original got burned down, but Julius Caesar built this one - they tell me it's a lot bigger, which would be just like Julius. Matter of fact, he renovated or rebuilt quite a few of the things round here.”

“Yes,” you nod, “but what I really want to -”

He grabs your hand and leads you away before you can really take in what he's saying.

“See this canal?”

You stare into the canal, a fine example of Roman engineering. “Yes.”

“Used to be a little stream, that did,” says Titus thoughtfully. “Ran diagonally across the valley. About six hundred and a few years ago they made it into a canal. Used for sewerage mainly. They call it the Cloaca Maxima. I expect you've heard of it.”

Without stopping for your answer, he drags you to the far end of the valley. “Now down here you have the precinct the high priest next to the Vestals - they're the girls who keep the sacred flame. They also keep most of the important records in Rome: wills, deeds to land, that sort of thing. Between the high priest and the Vestals you've got all the temples, as you can see. Jupiter's the main one, of course. That's his there, marked LXXVI. Janus and Saturn - that's their temples over there - were our earliest gods, well, some of our earliest. You'll notice the Temple of Vesta is circular. That's tradition, that is, because the very first Temple of Vesta was just a clay-and-wattle hut and you can imagine how long ago that was.”

“Yes,” you say, “but what I really -”

There's no stopping him. “That building over there, the forge of Vulcan, the Volcanal as we call it, had very early beginnings too. And the Regia - that's the Regia there, no there: you're still looking at the Volcanal - used to be where Numa Pompilius lived. You know who Numa Pompilius was, don't you?”

“No, I don't, but what I really want to know is -”

He's not listening. “He was the second of the seven kings who ruled Rome before the formation of the republic in 509 b.c.,” he tells you. “His house became the administrative building for the pontifex maximus. You know who the pontifex maximus is, don't you?”

“No, I don't, but what I really want to -”

“He's the high priest. Rotten job. You spend your whole life looking at entrails to predict what's going to happen next week. Over there, that's the Temple of Castor and Pollux who were brought up by a she-wolf and founded Rome in the first place.”

“No they didn't!” you cut in, shocked. “That was Romulus and Remus!” If this young clown can't tell the difference between Castor and Pollux and Romulus and Remus, you'd be hard put to know how many mistakes he's made in the other information.

He grins at you. “Just checking to make sure you're still awake. Romulus and Remus did indeed found Rome. Castor and Pollux were the twin sons of Zeus which is the stupid Greek name for Jupiter. They look after shipwrecked sailors and bring you favourable winds if you sacrifice enough to them. Now over here -”

He stops talking abruptly as you grab him by the throat. “Read my lips,” you growl. “What I really want to know is where I can find the Emperor Caligula.”

His eyes bulge and not entirely because you are currently choking him to death. “Nobody goes near the Emperor if they can help it. He's too unpredictable. If you want to find Caligula, you have to be as nutty as he is!”

“Maybe so, maybe not,” you tell him. “Do you know where to find him?”

“He'd have to be at the Imperial Palace,” Titus tells you. “Unless he's gone to the Circus for the races. You haven't got a tourist map by any chance?”

You nod. “Yes, I have.”

“The Imperial Palace is marked as XV and the Circus as XXXIV. Now do you think you might let me breathe for a bit?”

You release his throat. “Thanks,” you mutter as you reach for your map.

“Don't mention it,” he gasps, massaging his throat. “If you're going to the Circus, you won't get in without one of these.” With which he hands you a ticket to show there's no hard feelings.

“Thanks,” you say again, with a lot more feeling this time. You pop the ticket into your pocket.

 

The map shows that both the Imperial Palace and the Circus aren't too far from here. As Titus says, you'll find the former at
15
and the latter at
34
. Take your pick.

 

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38

 

You are dragged off, unceremoniously, to the Mamertine Prison, where a jailer dumps you in a filthy cell, locks the door and throws away the key.

You pick yourself up and look around, wondering about your chances of escape. There's a small window fairly high up and the bars look rusted. Besides which, how difficult could a Roman lock be for someone with futuristic skills?

 

Make an Absolutely Anything Roll to find out whether you succeed in escaping through the window. If the roll kills you, go to
13
. If it fails, you can make another roll to see if you can pick the lock. If that roll kills you, go to
13
. If both rolls fail, you'll eventually starve to death in this filthy cell. When that happens, go to
13
. If either roll succeeds, sneak quietly back to your map at
25
and select another destination.

 

Please select an option from the previous page.

39

 

“Yes,” you say with some trepidation.

“Sum,” the Mercury phone translates for you.

“Excuse me,” says the young man and whips a blindfold over your eyes. “Not too uncomfortable? Good. Now, you just come with me and don't worry about the ritual responses -- I'll prompt you.”

He takes you by the arm, leads you forward then stops. You hear him knock three times on a door.

“Who seeks to enter this sacred place?” asks a portentous voice from inside.

“One who seeks light and drunkenness,” the young man prompts.

“One who seeks light and drunkenness,” you repeat, hoping the Mercury phone got the translation right since the words seem very peculiar.

“Then let him enter the Dionysian rites!” the voice exclaims.

You hear the door open and the young man leads you into somewhere that smells heavily of incense.

“What a peculiar-looking young person,” a voice says as your blindfold is taken off. “Not even wearing a toga.”

You look around a candlelit room where an elderly man is strumming a lyre and softly singing something you could guarantee would never make it to the charts. Beside him, a younger man is playing Pan pipes.

Across the way, there seems to be a marriage going on between a couple who look cheerful enough to be falling-down drunk while a group of men in satyr masks and costumes cavort around them.

“Behold the Rites of Dionysius!” intones the old boy with the lyre.

“Follow me,” whispers the young man at your side. “It's time for your Ordeal.”

With which he leads you through another door, down a flight of steps and into a subterranean maze.

 

 

“You go in here,” he says, pointing to the part of the maze marked IN, “and you try to find your way to the exit marked OUT within five minutes. But the catch is you have to pick up a piece of amethyst hidden in there on the way.”

 

If you can find your way through the maze via (‘By way of,' mutters Mercury in your ear, not realising several Latin expressions have found their way into English) the amethyst in less than five minutes, you'll find the exit leads to
117
If not, you'll find you starve to death, in which case turn to
13
.

 

Please select an option from the previous page.

40

 

You look around, wondering what on earth to do now. What you'd like to do is make a dash for that exit arch, but there are still dozens of armed men in the arena and you have a sneaking suspicion you wouldn't get five yards. Besides which, there's no guarantee the arch really does lead to freedom.

While you're still wondering, the decision is taken out of your hands. The distinguished grey-haired man in the VIP box suddenly stands up.

“Fellow Romans,” he booms and even through the thing in your ear you can tell he's definitely a politician, “it is the rule of our games that the victor may go free if the crowd wills.” He stretches out his arm, his fingers curled into a fist and the thumb extended horizontally so it's pointed neither up nor down. “Is it your wish, Fellow Romans, that this young person be released?”

Anxiously you look up at the crowd as their arms come out to give the sign.

 

This could be worse. The only other time the crowd is asked to give thumbs-up/thumbs-down is when they're deciding whether somebody should be killed. But for now, you'd better find out how the decision goes. Roll two dice. Score 2 to 9 inclusive and a majority of the thumbs turn down, sending you to
110
. Score 10 to 12 and the thumbs are up there waving like a little forest in a gale, encouraging you to go to
150
.

 

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41

 

This is really weird - the temple actually smells of fish.

Or maybe it's not so weird. Pompeii is a busy port and market city and judging by the shops you've passed,
garum
-

Fish sauce, mutters your Mercury Phone.

- and fish are very popular here. Somebody has to catch those fish and the chances are every sailor in the place comes to this temple to make his peace with Neptune before venturing out to sea. Most of them probably hadn't time to visit the Baths before they did so. No wonder there's a lingering scent.

There's also a lingering scent clinging to the little bald-headed priest of Neptune who's hurrying towards you. “Minimum donation three denarii,” he says, eyeing you sharply. “Special price for foreigners. I assume you are a foreigner? No Roman citizen would be seen dead in clothes like that.”

“I am a foreigner,” you admit, “but this gear is the height of fashion in my ti - where I come from.”

“Be that as it may, it's still three denarii,” he says holding out his hand.

You fish three copper coins from the purse the Senator gave you and hand it across, thinking that in your own day they only make you pay to get out of a church, not to get into one. The priest pockets the donation. “I suppose you'll want a Sibylline Pass to the Fortuna Augusta Temple,” he sniffs. “Get your fortune told, eh? Find out whether you'll have a successful journey, what?”

“A Sibylline Pass would be very nice,” you tell him, never one to pass up something for nothing.

Except it isn't for nothing. “Where's my bit of amethyst then?” asks the priest.

 

If you have a piece of amethyst to trade for a Sibylline Pass, give it to him now, collect your Pass and get out of here fast before Vesuvius explodes. If you haven't, get out of here fast without the silly Pass. Either way, you can leave Pompeii by the Porta Neptuna at
69
or get back to your map at
150
and select another destination.

 

Please select an option from the previous page.