Fiction|Adventure|Drama

Rome’s Imposter

76 of 💯 — Based on an almost true story of Julius Caesar’s double.

It is said — everyone has a twin — somewhere in the world.

Stepping out of the colorful fabric stall, Felix arranged the blood-red cloak over his crisp white toga with satisfaction and pride. It only cost him over half a year’s wages for such frivolousness. Sticking his chest out a little further, he dodged several passersby on the dusty street as he weaved his way towards the Pantheon to pay homage to the Greek gods, as was his ritual.

He hadn’t walked one hundred yards when a guard stepped into the street without looking, causing Felix to crash into his back. Feeling as though he ran into a brick wall, he nearly fell as he stumbled backward, kicking up dust.

The guard roared as he turned to face the abrupt intrusion, “Watch where you’re going!” When he laid eyes on Felix, his entire countenance changed. Suddenly apologetic, “Merciful Caesar, I beg your forgiveness. It was entirely my fault.” Then begging to stammer, he saluted Felix — hand to his armored chest.

Felix, in a panic that Julius Caesar was in the vicinity and didn’t want to be run through, his eyes roamed the crowds frantically.

“If I may be so bold, what are you doing in the shopping district, sir? I thought you were on holiday.”

Felix’s roaming eyes rested on the guard who was looking squarely at him with respect. “Are you talking to me?”

The guard paused briefly before charging forth respectfully with his request, “Gracious Caesar, are you well? Would you permit me to escort you home?”

Taken aback by the guard’s demeanor, kindness, and absolute confusion about his words, all Felix could do was extend one curt nod.

Ushered to Caesar’s living quarters, Felix was left alone with his racing thoughts after a whirlwind of confusing events. Why was the guard addressing him as Caesar? Why was he brought here? Surely Julius Caesar would have him run through for being in his bedchamber!

Worked into a panic, he opened the door to leave only to find a guard stationed outside. “Do you need something, Caesar?”

Felix shook his head and abruptly shut the door. He was trapped. He sat heavily in the carved, wooden chair by the window, staring at nothing while contemplating his escape — and his demise when found out.

No solutions were presented, and he turned his gaze to his current prison. His eyes grew as they roamed over the bronze bed with massive animal paws for legs, candles throughout, and a dining table. He longed to test the bed’s comfort. Dare he?

In the midst of his warring thoughts, the door opened — causing him to jump. A servant girl, keeping her eyes low, placed a tankard of wine, a bowl of almonds, and a bowl of fragrant stew on the scarred wood before silently escaping his presence.

Felix stayed seated for several minutes as he warred with his thoughts, his ravenous hunger, and the tantalizing aroma of spiced meat.

Deciding even prisoners need to eat, he picked up the bowl and breathed deeply. The scent of seared meat caused his stomach to growl all the louder. Felix took a bite, tentatively at first, then shoveled spoonful's into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks.

He took a deep gulp from the tankard. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he thought, I could get used to this. Maybe I can have my cake and eat it too.

Confidence rising, he strode to the bed with the bowl of almonds in his hand. His head tilted sideways as he noticed fuzzy slippers. His fuzzy slippers now. Removing his shoes, his face visibly relaxed and a sigh escaped his lips as the plushness embraced his tired feet.

He sprawled on the wool-filled mattress, munching small handfuls of almonds, as he succumbed to the wiles of sleep.

Distant, muffled sounds whispered in his ears as he slept — better than he ever had. The sounds grew louder, even more intense, until the door was flung open with a loud bang. Felix bolted upright, fully awake, as his eyes took in an enraged man who could only be Julius Caesar.

“What are you doing in my bed?! Imposter!” Caesar drew his glimmering sword and held it to Felix’s soft throat in the span of one blink. “Marcus!”

“Yes, Caesar?” Marcus stood in the doorway, waiting for blood to be spilled, or orders to do so.

“Are the Egyptians still camped outside the city?” Caesar inquired through clenched teeth, his head tilted as his eyes narrowed on Felix.

“Yes, sir.”

Felix’s large eyes darted from Caesar to Marcus, and back again as moisture collected on his brow.

“Sell this imposer to them. I want him to spend the rest of his miserable life being tortured!” Spittle flew at Felix as if to enunciate Caesar’s words.

Felix’s already large eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets with this pass of judgment. Before he could consider voicing his protest, the guard had easily lifted him off the bed and was dragging him by his newly acquired garments.

Dusty, parched, and exhausted — Felix stumbled into Egypt. His wrists were red and painful from the ropes chafing as he was forced to walk behind a smelly, protesting camel. His day-old toga and cloak looked more like they were found in the garbage heap.

He found himself being shoved through the opening of a massive pyramid. Under other circumstances, he may have been in awe to witness the splendors of a self-proclaimed god’s tomb. Felix stumbled in confusion as the doorway was abruptly sealed behind.

After wallowing in his misfortune and misery for an unknown length of time, he began searching the many chambers. The pharaoh had been buried with his immense wealth of gold, stunning headdresses, and countless garments only afforded to his position of power. Felix’s dusty fingers tentatively reached out to finger the bright, quality fabrics and treasures as he explored his own tomb.

Torchlight glimmered off of the polished limestone surfaces, ornately detailed jewelry, and every golden object for the pharaoh’s use in the afterlife.

In the depths of the pyramid, Felix walked into a large, open room with a glimmering, ornate sarcophagus in the center. Torches illuminated the carvings of the tomb, the four canopic jars lining the wall, even the torch stands themselves. Despite his circumstances, his breath caught in his throat at the beauty surrounding him.

One room near the back of the pyramid seemed unfinished as there was a crater in the center of the floor. In another chamber near the back, Felix found paint brushes and jars of paint. Picking up a brush and jar, he looked around, his brow furrowed, when he noticed the hieroglyphs.

He was able to roughly read the history from the images painted on the walls. Despondent at what appeared to be the remaining days of his life, he walked towards the entrance of the pyramid with his findings.

If he was sentenced to die a servant to a dead pharaoh, he was going to tell his story. Dipping the brush into the jar of paint, he began writing. The brush glided over the smooth limestone wall, leaving a black trail much like a calligraphy pen. He shared his innocence, his mistaken identity, the death sentence issued by Caesar, and being trapped — to die alone, in the pyramid.

When he was finished, he set the brush and paint aside, slumping to the floor of an adjoining wall. He stared at the mesmerizing light dancing on the walls when he thought he saw movement.

His nerves worn thin, he jumped. Did he imagine it? Was the pharaoh from the sarcophagus going to walk in? Would he be whipped for painting on the pyramid wall?

Then a cat sauntered out from behind a miniature slave statue. At least he wouldn’t die alone. Or so he thought.

Centuries later, a team of treasure hunters and tomb raiders broke into the pyramid. Seeing the scribblings on the wall, one man exclaimed, “We are too late! Vandals have been here. There’s graffiti all over the wall!”

2 pts - both prompts

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