Axum was in the northernmost tip of the country, a five-day journey by car, so they had no choice but to brave Air Ethiopia. The propeller-driven plane resembled a Lego toy. But once they were airborne air safety records were forgotten: this was true wilderness. The aircraft’s shadow was a midge on the landscape as the Great Rift Valley slipped below them, a cleft lip on the world. It was there that ape became man. They scudded over a silvery lake the shape of a Christmas tree. How long since human foot had trod its banks? Next Jake saw a tombstone of rock the size of a tower block embedded in the earth, like a prehistoric henge cast down from space. Soon the ground faded from sight, cloaked in a pall of dust that made it impossible to tell where earth ended and the sky began.
To pass the time Jake retrieved Britton’s notes. The century-old pages were now dog-eared, but he had given up hope of finding anything useful in them. If Life of Constantine was a map, then the bundle accompanying it was a testament to delusion.
“What are you doing?” Florence’s voice became sharp on the ‘do’ and rose on the ‘ing’, turning the question into a challenge.
Jake ignored the hostility, immersing himself in the pages. Florence stared at the seat in front as he read, her head buffeted as the tiny aircraft skidded over the airstreams.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, despite himself. “If you were willing to suspend disbelief, some of Britton’s conclusions almost make sense. You can see why someone predisposed to mental illness would read something into this stuff.”
“Such as?”
“Well, this for a start. In 217 AD the Colosseum gets hit by lightning. It’s easy to imagine what a stir that must have made in a superstitious time. The Colosseum was built with treasure stolen during the sack of Jerusalem – it symbolized Roman power. The strike was seen as a warning. Within two decades Rome gets its first Christian emperor, Philip the Arab. Then voilà, lightning strikes the Colosseum again. It’s like the sky was grumbling. And what happens next?”
“The Third Century Crisis,” said Florence. “Plague. Barbarians at the gates. Civil war after civil war. The Emperor Valerian suffered the indignity of being captured by the Persians, something totally unheard of.”
“It says here the Persian King used him as a living footstool. When he got bored of that he had Valerian flayed alive.” Jake grinned. “Not ideal.”
“There were sixteen emperors in as many years,” Florence went on. “Gallienus and Aurelian spent their entire reigns rushing across the empire fighting fires. The Goths were hammering on the door at one frontier, Persians at the other. Athens got destroyed by barbarians – the very birthplace of western civilization.”
“And in 283 the Emperor Carus was actually killed by lightning,” Jake said. “While he was campaigning in Persia. To us, as much of a coincidence as Roger’s death. But to Roger while he was alive? Or to ordinary Romans in the third century? More evidence that the skies were angry.”
“Evidence the skies had been snubbed by Philip the Arab,” said Florence. “Pagan Gods gave Rome a whole world. By taking the auspices the empire had become the greatest superpower ever known. Look how the Gods were repaid.”
“And which emperor finally restores order?” asked Jake, handing her another page. “An emperor famous for his devotion to Paganism? An emperor who persecuted Christians without mercy?”
“Diocletian,” Florence whispered.
Jake shivered. For an instant it had all felt real and his dream returned to him in a spasm: the end of the Etruscans, foretold by thunder.
“The Emperor Diocletian,” Florence repeated. “Who we think met Eusebius, when he visited Palestine. The perfect moment to convince Eusebius to become his man on the inside.”
“But why was Eusebius up for it? If Christians were willing to be martyred in the blood-pits of Rome, a few honeyed words from the emperor are hardly going to convince him to abandon his faith.”
“Well, if Diocletian could show him that the Disciplina Etrusca actually worked …”
Jake guffawed at that; the dream retreated.
“Nice one,” he said. “You know, I almost admire Roger’s intellect. Pulling the whole weird web together.”
“Especially as first-hand sources for the Third Century Crisis are so rare,” said Florence. “That so few manuscripts from the period survive tells its own story.”
“It’s just a shame Roger’s version of history is a complete work of fiction, brilliantly embroidered though it may be. But even if you engage with his theory it makes no sense, any of it. If the Etruscans really could tell the future, ask yourself this. Why didn’t their civilization dominate the world? And if Rome somehow stole that power from the Etruscans, why did they lose a single battle? Why are we not at this moment speaking Latin and wearing togas?”