A MYSTERIOVS TALE OF GVNPOWDER, AND THE COLOSSEVM by Cian Morey
The lion jumped on the retiarius and tore off his head, helmet and all. Disappointed with the visor over the face, the lion tossed the head aside. Emperor Trajan watched from his box as the head rolled slowly across the sand and came to a stop against the wall, leaving a winding trail of stark red blood behind it. The crowd cheered and yelled, shaking their fists or clapping, some on their feet, others in their seats, others jumping up and down. The lion, having disposed of the head, proceeded to gnaw into the rest of the body.
‘More gladiators!’ Trajan commanded, to the lanista standing at the side of the arena. The man nodded and disappeared into the tunnel in the wall of the arena to fetch the requested gladiators.
The last gladiator who remained came up behind the lion slowly, with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. The lion, engrossed in the consumption of its victim’s torso, did not notice his approach until the gladiator stabbed down through the back of the beast’s neck. The lanista reappeared from the darkness of the tunnel and ushered out four more gladiators who immediately began hacking at each other. Emperor Trajan watched excitedly as one gladiator knocked another to his knees, drew back his sword and drove it straight through his throat.
Something tapped Trajan on the shoulder. Trajan looked around. A man in a dark brown cloak stood behind him in the box with a hood pulled down over his forehead and eyes.
‘What is your name, and what are you doing here?’ Trajan asked sternly. The cloaked man did not reply to either of those questions but reached inside his cloak and drew out a small wooden box which he proffered to Trajan. Trajan stared at it then turned to the Praetorian Guards stationed at the corners of the box.
‘Dispose of this man,’ he commanded. But they did not respond. It was as if they hadn’t heard him.
‘Dispose of this man!’ Trajan ordered again, more firmly this time. But still his guards were not moving. Trajan turned back to the cloaked man.
‘What trickery have you done to cause this?’
‘I have done no trickery,’ the cloaked man replied. ‘I have done something far more advanced than that.’ He proffered the box again. Trajan was struck by his unusual accent. He had not heard anybody speak with such an accent in all his life. He glanced down at the box then back up at the cloaked man then down at the box again. Cautiously, he took it and examined it from all sides.
‘You need not examine the box,’ said the cloaked man. ‘It is of no importance. Its contents are what you should be examining.’
Trajan narrowed his eyes at the man then opened the box with a creak. Inside was a small block of some heavy metallic substance, smaller than Trajan’s hand, along with three small boxes. Trajan lifted out the block of metal delicately and peered at it. There was a thin bar of metal curving from the front piece to the bottom piece and behind the bar was another metal protrusion. Trajan pressed it, and it slid back with a click.
‘What is this object?’ Trajan exclaimed, stupefied.
‘Allow me to demonstrate,’ said the cloaked man, snatching one of the small boxes, opening it and reaching inside, extracting a small golden cylinder. He plucked the block of metal from Trajan’s hand with long, tanned fingers, and loaded the cylinder into it.
‘You might want to block your ears,’ the man said, and Trajan, puzzled, did so. The cloaked man then held the object with both hands at arm’s length, aiming across the arena, and pulled the trigger. There was an explosion like nothing Trajan had ever heard before. A plume of smoke burst from the front of the metal object and slowly dissipated.
‘What was that?!’ Trajan gasped, tentatively lowering his hands from his ears.
‘A shot being fired,’ the cloaked man explained. ‘Look.’
Trajan stared out into the arena. A gladiator had sprawled back in the sand with a bloody hole in his forehead. The others were standing around him bewildered. Nobody in Trajan’s box seemed to have noticed that the explosion came from just next to them.
‘It can kill instantly,’ said the cloaked man. ‘It is called a pistol. Make good use of it.’
‘Me?’ Trajan said. ‘Me? You’re giving this to me?’
‘You will need it more than you think right now,’ the cloaked man said. ‘In the next number of years, you will find the Empire attacked persistently by savage tribes. I am sure this will aid you considerably.’
‘It will, I am sure…’ Trajan murmured, still perplexed. ‘But how does it work?’
‘It is all explained here,’ replied the stranger, indicating a small folded scrap of parchment in the box. ‘It should be easy to understand. Well… it was for the Native Americans.’
‘Who?’
‘Never mind. Take this,’ he said, placing the pistol and the ammunition back into the box and pressing it into Trajan’s hands. ‘Use it wisely.’
‘But… should I give you something in return?’ Trajan asked. ‘Do you want coins? I can give you-’
‘No need,’ the cloaked man interrupted. ‘You need not give me anything. The mere fact that you have taken the box is payment enough.’
Trajan looked down at the box again, then up at the cloaked man – but he wasn’t there anymore.
‘Emperor Trajan,’ said somebody at his side. Trajan looked up to see one of his Praetorian Guards facing him. ‘The gladiators want your decision, Emperor.’
Trajan turned to look out at the arena. One gladiator had another on his knees, with a sword to his throat.
‘Execution or release?’ the Praetorian Guard asked.
Trajan stared blankly into the distance, not really concentrating on the proceedings in the arena. He blinked a few times, looked down at the open box in his hand, and then at the gladiator on his knees.
‘Execution,’ Trajan said. ‘Use this.’
He passed the box to his Praetorian Guard.
‘And, if you will just follow me over here, we have one of the first pocket pistols, constructed, we believe, by the Roman Emperor Trajan some time during the early second century AD,’ explained the museum tour guide, indicating a small pistol that sat on a velvet cushion in a glass case. ‘It and its successors, and various other versions of the same weapon, were used by the Roman Army to fend off the waves of Huns, Goths, Visigoths and Vandals attacking the Empire persistently during the 4th and 5th centuries. This marvellous invention is one of the main reasons why the Roman Empire has stayed in power to this very day, in the 21st century.’
The crowd bustled over and gathered feverishly around the case to peer in at the pistol. The man in the brown cloak did not need to. He had stood in the shadowed corner of the atrium for the last ten minutes as the tour guide showed them around. He only needed to listen. That was enough to confirm his success. His work complete, he made his way through the shadows to the double doors of the museum, stepping out beneath the massive red and gold banner, emblazoned with the crest of the Empire. As he walked down into the Forum, he fished around in his cloak. His fingers felt spectacles, DVDs, cassette players, sunglasses, electric pencil sharpeners, a deck of cards, a tennis ball and several other objects. Finally, his hand closed around an iPod. He took it out from inside his cloak and turned it on, bringing up the App Store to fill the screen. His fingers danced swiftly over the keys and he selected Google Earth from the list of search results. It downloaded onto the iPod instantaneously thanks to a little refurbishment he had done recently, at some point during the 10th century. He tapped on the Google Earth app, bringing up a three-dimensional map of the world. The Internet here worked perfectly ever since he had set it up in 1722. And he was certain that, with a bit of effort, it would work perfectly in Ancient Egypt as well.