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‘You could return because you were not dead,’ said Proserpina, gently. ‘It is not the same. I cannot reverse the death of a mortal. I cannot reclaim a soul that has been permanently severed from its bonds. I do not have that power.’
Claudia’s desperate cries attracted Minerva, now wearing Jupiter’s crown and carrying his staff. She had returned to her normal size, allowing Claudia to run into her arms in distress. The goddess embraced her like a mother, stroking her hair as Claudia cried desperately.
‘What has happened here?’ she asked in anger, as if someone had done something to hurt her.
‘Gia is dead!’ Claudia sobbed. ‘After everything I have done, she is gone. Jupiter has taken her from me. How can it be so?’
Minerva looked past her shoulder, seeing Gia on the ground as Cassius held on tight to her body.
Gently, she moved Claudia aside and went to Gia, kneeling down. She laid a hand on her face.
‘How could you?’ sobbed Claudia. ‘After all she has sacrificed, to deliver your fate? What good is a goddess who would take her from me? It should’ve been me. Please, take me instead.’
‘It does not work that way,’ said Minerva. ‘We have lost, in this victory too. We have lost Fortuna. She was a primordial goddess, older and more powerful than all of us. She cannot be replaced or reborn. We owe our success to her… but… perhaps she can still help us?’
‘What?’ sniffed Claudia. ‘How?’
‘Everything in existence is made of stars, you see. You, us, the cosmos itself. Death and life are part of the same system. Our energy lives and dies, and lives again.’
‘Is this really the time for a lecture, Minerva?’ said Venus.
Diana silently shook her head in disapproval.
‘It is important, for her to know! That is what we mean, when we say we are immortal. We do not live for ever as we are, but our energy never dies. It only changes form. In death and destruction, lies creation and rebirth. The energy that made Gia Valerii exists no more. She can never be again, not in that form. But the energy that created her is free, to become whatever it wishes to be.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Claudia cried. ‘I just want her, only her, exactly as she was. Please.’
‘I cannot do that,’ said Minerva. ‘Well, not exactly. Honestly, I’m not sure yet. But I will do all I can.’
Minerva turned back to Gia.
‘What are you going to do, sister?’ asked Diana. ‘Only the king of the gods can reverse death.’
‘Jupiter is dead,’ said Minerva, matter-of-factly, ‘and I am queen of the pantheon. I have his staff.’
‘She does have a point there,’ said Venus.
‘You think you can bring her back?’ said Cassius.
‘We do not yet know what I am capable of.’
‘Then you must do it, whatever it is,’ begged Claudia. ‘Whatever sacrifice I must make, I will take it so she can live.’
Minerva nodded, fixed Claudia with a meaningful stare, took a deep breath and raised the shining staff.
24. EPILOGUE
On the festival day known as Romana, Empress Claudia Caesaria made her way through the city just before sunset, accompanied by a small party of colourfully dressed courtiers in matching flower wreaths.
Lively citizens, some already wine-merry, filled the streets and squares, telling tales about the day when the gods descended to Earth.
There were still lasting signs of the battle: statues missing heads and limbs, the sunken wall of the Colosseum and the burnt-out wreck of Jupiter’s Temple, but the city was at peace – particularly today, when they celebrated their freedom, protected by a goddess of their very own.
In theatres across the New Republic, actors recreated historical highlights, with flying chariots made of wood and Pegasi horses with stick-on wings. In the colosseums and amphitheatres, gladiators and gladiatrices dressed as the gods and goddesses fought for sport, resulting in matches between mismatched deities. Bacchus fought Hercules, and Pluto fought Proserpina, creating new myths to be woven into the centuries.
In temples, public feasts were held, where servants and senators sat together on long benches enjoying the festivities. Children played games, taking turns to play the bad gods and the good gods, while animals ran free, fed on scraps beneath tables. Prayers were chanted, poetry recited and songs played by bands. No one was enslaved on holidays.
Later, the people would organize themselves into smaller gatherings, including the one hosted by Senator Philopappos, where secret lovers danced wild and free, long into the night.
