Our Eternal Curse I (21 page)

On the night of Sulla’s
banishment Julia sat alone in his lovely courtyard drinking copious quantities
of his finest wine secure in the knowledge that he would never again barge in
unannounced.

Julia completely understood how
the shame of banishment would be far worse than death for a Roman of Sulla’s
status.  She had utterly beaten one of the most powerful men in Rome and the
much anticipated elation washed over her.  Everything she had worked towards
for so many years was complete and now she would find security at last.

When Cecilia came looking for
her troubled “daughter”, she found Julia slumped over the fountain in a drunken
stupor and immediately lifted her head from the shallow water to prevent
drowning.  After checking to make sure that Julia was still breathing she
called for the strong house-slaves and ordered them to pick her up and carry
Julia to bed where she continued her nightmare-filled sleep.

Regrettably, the new day did not
bring the peace Julia craved.  Waking late she found her customary hangover was
accompanied by a hollow void which felt far worse than her usual insecurities. 
It was a realization that her life was now even emptier than before.  The
destruction of Sulla had been the driving force behind everything she had achieved
and now her very reason for being was gone.

Julia had no friends, her
commercial empire ran itself and she had nothing more complex than the fear of
an impending relationship to occupy her mind.  Sulla was on his way to the East
and would not hear the news of his banishment for many months so, even that
gave her no pleasure.  The fantasy of being a fly on the wall of his tent when
he received the news gave Julia some pleasure but it was insufficient to
distract her for any length of time.

Reaching for the numbing effects
of wine, Julia began drinking everyday as the sun came up.  She needed to
deaden her mind because it wasn’t easy for someone of her tender years to
accept that she no longer had a reason to live.  Only the thought of seeing her
“lions” provided Julia with an incentive to bathe and dress herself so,
unenthusiastically, that is what she did.  Like a jilted lover Julia walked to
the home of Marius seeking the comfort of a stolen glimpse of her beloved
amulet but when she arrived Clitumna had left.

Julia made enquiries and one of
the house slaves informed her that the big woman was on her way to Hispania,
for what purpose she did not say.  Falling deeper and deeper into her lonely
trance Julia berated herself for not taking more aggressive action.  She had
offered Clitumna a small fortune for the amulet on many occasions but to no
avail.  Even ridiculous sums had been refused out of hand.  Julia had regularly
fantasized about having Clitumna murdered and now she cursed her weakness for
not employing an assassin sooner.

This was not how she had
intended things to be; money was supposed to provide security, not this empty
fear.  Her gloom-filled mind was now more self doubting than when she had
absolutely nothing.  In an attempt to deaden the pain Julia spent aimless hours
drinking while sitting by the ornamental fountain and time simply slipped away
in great drunken chunks until the moment everything changed.

Julia heard a few unusual noises
throughout the house but she was too lost in her stupor to bother about
looking.  Trancelike, she watched two of the dirtiest-looking men she had ever
seen walking across the flagstones towards her.  As they came closer Julia
could see that they were covered in blood. With her mind racing she wanted to
leap into action but her drink-addled body would not respond.

Effortlessly binding Julia’s
hands behind her back the two men rolled her into one of Sulla’s ornate rugs
and manhandled her to a waiting carriage.  With no idea what was happening or
where she was being taken Julia lay terrified in the darkness listening to the
familiar street sounds of Rome.  At the end of a short journey the rug was
carried to a darkened room where it was opened and Julia was strapped to a
muck-encrusted table.

From the very moment they cut
the binding on the carpet and rolled her out, Julia began speaking.  Even as
the two men raped her one after the other she continued to talk in a seemingly
futile attempt to win them over.  It took some time for her to realize they
could not understand Latin because they said nothing to each other and never
appeared to listen to anything she said.  Speaking the dialect of her birth
provoked no recognition but a few words in Greek caused a brief moment of
hesitation and much to their obvious irritation she immediately translated
everything she had already said in Latin into Greek.

“
I can give you riches that you can only imagine!”
she begged but they were never even distracted from their task.

The pain was like nothing she
had ever experienced as they expertly used a device that looked like a smaller
version of the tongs she had seen furriers using to remove worn-out
horseshoes.  They expertly inserted one tip of the device between the back of
her nail and the finger then slowly and with extraordinary precision bent it
back away from the finger until she heard and felt a blood-curdling crack. 
Crying out Julia was in the depths of paradoxical despair, the richest person
in Rome was at the mercy of the only people who would not take a bribe.

There were so many people in the
empire who would have been justified in doing this to her but most of them had
no idea who she was.  It could not be Sulla because he was still oblivious to
what happened in the Senate.  Even if he had known he would not be able to link
Julia with his downfall.  Bromidus was another suspect but he could never
return to Rome and Clitumna was on her way to Hispania.

Joseph, Calpurnius, Antonius and
even Young Gaius all had grounds for revenge but the great ocean stood between
them and Rome.  Only one living person had any idea of her full power but
Gavius would never have the courage to arrange this house of horrors.

In an attempt to end the pain
Julia continued to talk through her destruction, desperate to find out who was
behind her torture.  If she could establish who was paying them she may be able
to find a way out of what was very clearly going to be a protracted death
sentence, but none of the names she mentioned provoked any kind of response. 
They simply went about their workman-like business totally ignoring everything
she said until she mercifully slipped into her pain numbing memory of her past.

It was a simple bucket of
freezing-cold water that put an end to the re-enactment of her incredible life
and returned her to the horrors of the torture chamber.  Laying in renewed agony
Julia realized that she must have been drifting in and out of consciousness for
several hours, or was it days?  Or was it weeks?  Her whole remarkable life had
been remembered, sifted though, as a means of pin-pointing her nemesis.

As she thought about her amazing
achievements, an idea formulated entirely of its own volition and it was the key
thought.
 
Julia was standing on the very cusp of finding the truth about
who she really was when the sound of a heavily accented Greek voice snatched
the most valuable notion of her existence from the forefront of her mind.

“
I think she is coming back to us; yes, here she
is.”

A second Latin voice added, “You
have played me for a fool for the last time.”

There before her straining eyes
was the source of her pain and in that split second Julia realized how foolish
she had been to underestimate this person.  She tried to talk but no words came
because the connection between mind and speech was completely lost.

As Julia let go of this
pain-filled life her discomfort was suddenly replaced by secure, floating
feelings of inner calm.  Distant rhythmic pounding made everything safe and
cocooned in warmth she felt completely new.  This poor exhausted creature could
never remember a time of such security — it was intoxicating and right — just
how things should always have been. But with barely enough time to even guess
what was happening and without warning, the brief respite was ended by an
abrupt pulsating expulsion.

In an instant she was cast from
the secure place to be confronted by light, cold and unwelcome physical
contact, and there she lay on her back in an unfamiliar cot as Julia ended and
Robert began.

His first realization as a male
was a painful one.  It came in the form of a revelation.  He intuitively
understood that Julia had lived twenty three lives and he had been the one who
linked them all.  He was the other side of her curse and he had also lived
twenty three lives.  They had been living and dying, one following the other,
for hundreds of years.  He also knew that her memory of Rome would soon be
completely erased by the act of transition and destiny would determine that her
insecurity and doubt would linger throughout his life about to start.

She was now Robert John
Pishiobury born to Lord and Lady Pishiobury in Hertfordshire a county in the
countryside of Southeast England.  The year was 1793, Louis XVI had just lost
his head as a result of the people’s revolution and France was soon to declare
war on England.  His new parents loved each other very much.  They were
extremely wealthy members of the aristocracy who lived on a very large estate
set in a wonderful part of the English countryside.  There was absolutely no
reason for Robert to be a troubled boy and not a soul in this secure
environment ever understood why he was to become so.

“
Fine young boy you have there Pishiobury, what?  Be
good for one of the guards’ regiments one day, what, what?”

The four-year-old Robert
wondered why his father’s friend Arthur Wellesley said “what” or “what, what,”
after each sentence.  It made no sense to use the word at the end of a
sentence.  His beloved Nanny had taught him how to speak English correctly and
the word “what” is used in a completely different context.

“
Thank you Sir,” replied Lord Pishiobury.  “Lady
Pishiobury and I are both very proud of young Robert.”  Lord Pishiobury looked
at his boy with pride.

“
As you should be my dear fellow, what.”

The master of the hounds walked
up to Lord Pishiobury doffing his cap before saying, “The hounds are ready for
the off my Lord.”

Robert enjoyed how his voice was
turning to clouds of vapor in the frigid air as he spoke.

Lord Pishiobury, or Pishiobury
as his friends called him, made an imposing sight dressed in his hunting pink
and mounted on his favorite grey horse.  Placing a silver goblet on the tray
held by his loyal butler he said, “Be a good fellow Pinker, collect the stirrup
cups and inform lady Pishiobury that we are ready for the off.”

“
Certainly my Lord.”  Albert Pinker turned to one of
the many footmen and nodded an indication to carry out the request.

“
On my way Sir,” said the footman.

Dressed all in black Lady Amelia
Pishiobury glided down the stairway from the main entrance hall of Pishiobury
house to the spot where the hunt was gathered.  She looked mesmerizing but the
agony of grief could still be clearly seen through her stoic expression.  This
was the first time she had been seen by anyone outside of the immediate
household since her beloved sister had been guillotined by the angry mob in
Paris and all of her guests sympathized with her pain.

As an English-born lady in
waiting to Queen Marie Antoinette, Lady Pishiobury’s younger sister was being
held in the Bastille prior to her deportation to England when the mob broke in
and massacred hundreds of aristocratic prisoners.  Poor dear Prudence and her
French husband had been unlucky enough to be taken before the citizenry could
restore order.   The revolution taking place across the English Channel was so
hard for the aristocrats who attended the Pishiobury annual hunt to
understand.  Many of them had been guests at the wedding of Lady Amelia’s
sister; they had even met some the people who were now losing their heads and
the tragedy was unbearable.

Young Robert looked nervously at
his mother as she walked directly over to him.  He hated being separated from
her even for the duration of the hunt and today he appeared particularly
unsettled.  Lowering herself to kiss Robert she said, “Be a good boy while we
are hunting, my darling.”

“
I will mother, but please hurry back.”  He was a
nervous lad.

“
Such a sweet boy,” said lady Pishiobury to Miss
Parks, Robert’s nanny of many years.

“
Yes Ma'am a fine young man, a credit to you both.” 
Nanny Parks clutched young Robert’s hand.

Lady Pishiobury walked over to
her husband and with a pained but loving smile she handed him his favorite
tricornered hat.

“
Thank you my love, what would I do without you?” 
He was a handsome and pleasant-looking man with a warm and friendly
temperament.

John held the bridal of the
powerful black mare for Lady Pishiobury who wore her wonderful brunette hair in
a net under a top hat to keep it from blowing into her deep hazel eyes as she
rode with the hounds.

The breath of the wide-eyed
animal turned to a bellowing cloud of vapor as it hit the cold, crisp air and
the most senior of all the grooms calmed her Ladyship’s mount with a soothing
touch as he ordered one of the young apprentice stable-lads to kneel down by
its side.

“
Thank you Philip,” said the lady of the house as
she stood on the boy’s back to mount her distinctive, brown leather
sidesaddle.  Lady Pishiobury’s personal handmaid then stood on the lad to make
sure that her wraparound sidesaddle skirt was properly in place.  As he watched
the garment being attached John relished the fact that no matter how many staff
worked on the estate both his Lord and his Lady always knew them by name.  This
treatment was by no means the norm on every estate in England and all staff at
Pishiobury were extremely grateful and happy with their lot in life.

“
Shall we?” Lord Pishiobury asked this year’s
special guest of honor for the Pishiobury Park annual hunt.

“
Yes please, lead us off Pishiobury, what?”  It was
said in a warm voice.  Arthur Wellesley held an obvious regard for his friend
of many years.

“
On on!” cried the master and off moved the party of
over one hundred mounted huntsmen and women.  The hounds made a terrible din as
they ran ahead enthusiastically searching for the scent of a fox.

Young Robert wondered at the
spectacle as the impulsive horses strained at heavy leather bridles while their
iron-shod hooves carried them away from the house across the vast frozen lawns
towards the hedge-lined fields of the estate.  Robert loved these excited
hunters and their musky aroma which still lingering in the freezing air gave
him a comfortable feeling of familiarity and safety.

Brittle, white, frost-laden
blades of grass had been snapped by the galloping limbs and the disturbance had
left a passage of green behind them like the wake of a great ship crossing a
white ocean.  Robert had never seen a ship or the ocean so he wondered how he
had so clearly pictured such a sight.  It could only have been in a book.  He
could not remember seeing such a book but that was the only explanation which
made sense.

Remaining perfectly still he and
Nanny held hands as they absorbed every element of this wonderful scene until
the drama of the hunt passed completely out of sight.  Distant hounds barked,
the faint call of hunting horns sounded and the odd cry of “tally-ho!”  found
their way across the fields but eventually silence.

After standing in complete
stillness for many minutes Miss Parks became aware of Robert’s shallow wheeze. 
Still holding his hand she closed the collar of his overcoat and lifted his
scarf; then, after kissing the faint ribbon-shaped birthmark on his wrist,
Nanny pulled his cuff towards the little glove she had so lovingly knitted for
him.  Miss Parks then turned and slowly led him towards the staircase leading
to the warmth of the great house.

‘
Will Mummy be back soon?’  asked the always fearful
Robert of the woman who had become his surrogate mother.

Miss Parks felt the relief in
his strong grip as she answered, “Yes she will be back before lunch my
darling.”

Robert always had a strange
insecurity about him.  Nanny had noticed it from the very moment he expressed
his first emotion.  It was so peculiar that he should feel anything other than
totally safe because the environment in which he lived was without doubt one of
the happiest and secure she had ever encountered.  Fear of starvation or
poverty could also be ruled out because the Pishioburys were a very rich
family.  They had been accumulating assets and investments for hundreds of years
and were now one of the wealthiest families in England, and as was important in
English society, the Pishiobury name had been very well established over many
generations.

Their fortune had been
established over two hundred years before because the first Lord had been a
very shrewd man who supported Oliver Cromwell during the English civil war.  As
luck would have it his decision to support the roundhead army against the
royalists was the correct one and he had moved rapidly from the owner of a
small estate to a privileged Lord within a few years of the war ending.  It was
ironic that his descendants were now extremely close to the Royal family which
Cromwell’s Parliament first deposed and then restored to power.

The family had gone from
strength to strength as a result of Cromwell’s victory and the accumulated
wealth had been invested well.  The father of the current Lord had been one of
the first investors in the extremely lucrative slave trade.  He had purchased
many ships to ply the triangular route, as it was known, and his vessels now
carried textiles from England to Africa, slaves from Africa to America and the
West Indies, then rum, sugar and raw cotton back to England.  Each route was
extremely profitable in itself but linking them all together in a nonstop round
trip made it a huge money earner.  The present Lord, Robert’s father, had also
invested a good deal of his substantial cash flow in sugar plantations in
Jamaica which were now yielding incredible profits.

Robert’s problems could not be
traced to issues of money because he was heir to a fortune.  Nor could his
mental frailty be attributed to lack of affection because he was surrounded by
the unconditional love of everyone on the vast Pishiobury estate, but even with
all of this he behaved with the unexplainable insecurity of a penniless orphan.