The Rome Prophecy

28

Mother tells us Her story.

The one about how the old King could have had all nine books. If only he hadn’t been such a fool.

If only he had realised that what Mother was offering him was the greatest prize on earth.

Nine books that would have secured the safety and success of Rome until the end of time.

Nine volumes that would have protected his throne, his people and himself.

But the old fool laughed in Her face.

He held his fat belly like it had been freshly filled from royal feasting and he roared like a drunkard in the Aventine.

Mother says She’d never been so humiliated.

All She’d asked for was a small share of the riches She’d helped create.

A meagre portion of the prosperity Her prophecies had produced. But he waved Her away like he would a kitchen skivvy.

My sisters and I can feel Mother’s pain. Even now it hovers in Her spirit as she tells us how She refused to go. How She stared the King down and set aflame the first three volumes of Her treasured work.

He showed not a hint of concern.

Indeed, he even smiled as the fire’s flame-red lips greedily chewed their way in blackening bites through Her sacred works.

Poor Mother.

She says some madness must have visited the monarch, for he laughed uncontrollably and even warmed his hands in the heat of the hearth as the pages turned to ash.

And so Mother left.

In Her absence, the winds of pestilence and the rains of plague began to gather in the Roman skies. From the dark holes of the underworld, the goddess Proserpina and her minions slowly turned their heads with great expectancy towards the Eternal City.

The King’s augurs could see the dark clouds of calamity gathering and they urged Mother to return.

But still She was not welcome.

We ask Her why She subjected herself to such indignation. Mother tells us everyone makes mistakes.

Even kings.

Everyone deserves a second chance.

Even fools.

And so the foolish King was given his second chance to secure the remaining six books at the same price that Mother had originally demanded for all nine.

But the wisdom of Minerva was not with him.

He said the price was too high – far too high for something of such little worth.

Mother told him his foolishness bordered upon blindness.

She decided to show him the light.

She burned three more books.

It seemed to work.

Now, while he watched the flames grow, the gods whispered in his ear. It was as though fleet-footed Mercury had rushed to the King’s side with words straight from Jupiter and Juno.

‘Stop!’ shouted the King.

Mother smiles and we hang on every syllable of Her story.

She tells us that with six of the books gone, the King now begged for the remaining three.

We all cheer!

Mother bids us be quiet.

She explains that although She was now offered all She’d wanted – recognition, power, land and much coin – She was filled with great sadness.

Sadness and a doubt that the King and his descendants would properly use and protect the knowledge they’d been given.

We bow our heads, because we know of Mother’s gifts of prophecy and that Her fears would come true.

The last three of the nine books would eventually meet a similar end to the first six.

She smiles at us.

‘Worry not, my sweet ones,’ She says. ‘It is because of these doubts and these fools that you are so treasured, that your innocence is of such import. It is why the Tenth Book was created. And it is because of these reasons and our enemies that its contents and whereabouts must never be known to anyone.’