Chapter 8: The Road to Rome
Chapter 8: The Road to Rome
Now it was time to depart for Rome.
Emesa in Syria was the region called Homs in the modern era, located north of Damascus.
From Emesa to Rome, the straight-line distance alone was about 2,300 kilometers.
Which meant that even by actual travel routes, the journey would easily exceed 3,000 kilometers.
Following the Roman roads and the Mediterranean coastal sea lanes—combining land and sea routes—it would be a grand expedition of roughly six to eight weeks.
According to the envoy general, the plan was to pass through Antioch, head to the port of Seleucia, sail the Mediterranean, arrive at Brundisium, then follow the Roman roads to Rome.
The day of departure finally arrived.
From dawn, I checked the outfit I had carefully chosen for the long expedition.
I wore a pure white tunic woven from linen—it would block Syria’s scorching sunlight while still breathing well, making it suitable for a long journey.
Over the tunic, I draped a deep navy toga woven from fine wool.
Along the edge of the toga, Greek patterns embroidered in gold thread marked my noble status.
Around my waist, I fastened an intricately made leather belt, and attached an ivory-decorated dagger and a travel pouch.
On my feet, I wore calceus—Roman-style sandals made of sturdy leather.
I wrapped the straps up to the middle of my calves.
They would protect my feet on rough roads.
Around my neck, I wore a golden necklace Grandmother had gifted me, and on my finger, a signet ring engraved with the family crest.
On my head, I applied olive oil in the Syrian traditional way and combed my hair back to a glossy sheen, and for the journey, I draped a light shawl over my shoulders to block the sun and sand-laden wind.
The dawn mist softly embraced Emesa’s golden landscape.
I looked out one last time at the Syrian land spread beyond the window.
[Just thinking about the long journey starting today makes my heart race.]
“Pray earnestly to your sun god… that we’ll be able to see the Syrian land again.”
[Fine. I’ll pray day and night for our safe return in a few years.]
“Varius, are you fully prepared?”
Julia Maesa’s voice came from behind me.
Unlike usual, there was a trace of tension in her tone.
“Yes, Grandmother. I’m ready.”
The imperial envoys’ carriages were already lined up in the palace courtyard.
Twenty carriages in total, over a hundred guards, and even wagons loaded with all manner of supplies.
All of it would move together as one group toward Rome.
General Lucius, the head of the delegation, dismounted his horse and greeted Julia Maesa’s party.
“It’s finally time to depart. First, it will take about two days to reach Antioch. I will do everything I can to ensure this long journey concludes without incident.”
Whatever he truly thought, he was showing Grandmother the utmost courtesy.
The first day of travel went relatively smoothly.
The stone-paved road was well maintained, so the carriage didn’t jolt too badly.
But on the afternoon of the second day, a sudden sandstorm struck the group.
“Everyone into the carriages! Cover your faces with the canvas!”
The general’s shout rode the wind.
I hurriedly supported Julia Maesa and took shelter inside the carriage.
Bleak sand whipped in from all directions, turning the sky yellow.
The guards bustled to calm the startled horses, and the drivers gripped the reins tightly with cloth over their mouths and noses.
“Storms like this are common in the Syrian desert.”
A senator riding in the same carriage spoke.
“It will pass soon.”
Had about three hours passed?
When the storm finally eased, the group was able to resume the road.
But people’s faces and clothes were completely coated in sand, and a great deal of precious drinking water was consumed washing dust away.
We arrived in Antioch on the evening of the third day.
This city on the banks of the Orontes River was far more magnificent than Emesa.
Antioch was Syrian land now, but in the modern era it would be Antakya in southern Türkiye.
Built in the Hellenistic era, it flourished greatly in the Roman imperial period.
It played a very important role in Christian history; it appears in the Bible as the church of Antioch.
Peter and the Apostle Paul used it as a missionary base for preaching the gospel to the Gentiles.
The term “Christian,” meaning a follower of Christ, originated from how believers here were called.
“Remember Antioch well.”
[Why? Does this place become important later?]
“It will be extremely important and meaningful. After killing Caracalla and taking the throne, Macrinus will be defeated by the rebel forces led by Grandmother and us, and he’ll flee here.”
[Huh? That’s really true? Then this is a historic place. What happens here?]
“If I tell you that far, it’s spo— no, it’d be less fun if I tell you in advance, wouldn’t it? Check it when the time comes. Ha.”
[How can you do that—making me curious and not telling me! Tell me now!]
“No… don’t try to know too much.”
It’s basically leaking heaven’s secrets. Look forward to it.
But because I’m acting differently after coming here, I don’t know whether Macrinus will actually die here—or whether history will change and he’ll die in Rome or somewhere else.
Buildings lined with Greek-style columns and roads decorated with dazzling mosaics greeted us.
The provincial governor held a grand welcoming banquet.
Dozens of lamps were lit in the broad atrium.
Rare foods from every region filled the tables.
Lamb cooked with Persian spices, fresh Mediterranean fish, sweet Syrian wine—everything captivated the guests’ senses.
“May this journey aid in fulfilling His Majesty’s will.” The governor raised his cup as he spoke.
This banquet hall was insanely luxurious.
The Roman Empire too…weren’t all the greatest empires basically like this—conquering and plundering, then indulging in pleasure and extravagance?
In some ways, I couldn’t help thinking the Bible might be right.
It’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven…Is it even possible to amass enormous wealth in reality without committing crimes…?
The next day, it was only half a day from Antioch to the port of Seleucia Pieria.
As we traveled down along the Orontes River…before long, the salty smell of the sea lingered at the tip of my nose.
The port of Seleucia was a spectacle.
(Translator’s Note: Seleucia - a major Mesopotamian city, located on the west bank of the Tigris River within the present-day Baghdad Governorate in Iraq.)
Hundreds of ships were anchored, and merchants from every country moved busily back and forth.
Grain ships arriving from Egypt, spice ships from India, and even ships from Hispania carrying… silver.
“That is the ship we will board.” The general pointed to a massive trireme.
A ship that looked easily forty meters long.
It bore the name “Neptune’s Trident.”
A warship widely used throughout the ancient Mediterranean world—triērēs.
Along both sides of the ship, rowers were arranged in three stacked tiers.
While cargo was loaded, I watched the harbor.
Heavy freight hoisted by crane, fishermen repairing nets, vendors shouting as they sold fresh fish—an energetic symphony.
No matter the era…the scenery of people living and eating felt strangely similar.
The first day of sailing was calm.
Gentle waves and a favorable wind let the ship cut smoothly through the water.
I stood on deck and admired the endless blue sea.
Dolphins leaping and playing beside the ship lifted my mood.
But starting on the second day, things changed.
Dark clouds rolled in from the west, and soon a fierce storm erupted.
The ship was shoved by huge waves, pitching violently up and down.
“Ugh… I’m dizzy…” Julia Maesa groaned, wobbling near the edge of the ship.
My stomach began to churn too.
Most passengers suffered seasickness.
The senators lay sprawled on deck with pale faces, and even seasoned guards struggled to stand properly.
“It looks like the storm will continue for several more days!” The captain shouted. “Everyone lie down inside the cabins!”
I supported Grandmother and entered the cabin.
Spending two days in a cramped space was miserable, but on a rough sea it couldn’t be helped.
The ship kept rising and falling like a roller coaster, and cargo rolled around.
After three days, the storm subsided, and the ship pressed on to dock at a small harbor on the island of Crete.
Everyone had to breathe out in relief just from stepping on land.
“Ah, what a welcome stretch of ground!” A senator said, deeply moved.
The port village on Crete was modest but warm.
White-walled houses clustered on the slope, and olive trees swayed in the wind.
Local fishermen brought out freshly caught octopus and fish, and for the exhausted, seasick party, it was the best medicine.
I climbed a small hill and looked down at the Mediterranean.
The sunset dyed the sea gold, and silhouettes of other islands floated mysteriously in the distance.
Because moments like this existed, the hardship of a long journey felt bearable.
“We depart again at dawn tomorrow.” The captain informed us. “We’ll sail along the coast from here, so it should be less rough than before.”
Five days after leaving Crete, the ship reached the Strait of Sicily.
There, I witnessed a spectacle I would never forget.
Mount Etna was revealing its presence, spewing smoke.
“That is Mount Etna, called the forge of the god Hephaestus.” A Greek philosopher traveling with us explained. “At night, you will be able to see it spewing red flames.”
When the sun set, a red glow shot into the sky from Etna’s summit.
Even from afar, we could see lava flowing.
Before nature’s power, everyone fell into awe.
While passing through the Strait of Sicily, another danger awaited.
It was an area where pirates appeared.
Fortunately, Roman naval patrol ships escorted us, but we couldn’t relax.
“A suspicious ship is in sight!” The lookout in the watchtower shouted.
Tension rose briefly, but it was confirmed to be a simple fishing boat.
Still, incidents like this sharpened the tension of the journey.
Ten days after beginning the voyage, Brundisium finally came into view.
The moment we saw the Italian port on Roman soil, everyone in the party burst into cheers.
“At last—the gateway to Rome!” A senator cried, overwhelmed.
Brundisium, true to its role as Rome’s eastern gateway, was imposing.
A massive lighthouse guarded the harbor, and columns built by Emperor Trajan rose into the sky.
When we arrived, a welcoming party dispatched from Rome was waiting.
Officials in red togas and praetorian guards stood in formation—an imposing sight.
“Welcome! We greet the honored guests from Syria!” The governor of Brundisium stepped forward to greet us.
After resting one day in Brundisium, the party finally entered the famous Appian Way.
The road—showing the meaning of “All roads lead to Rome”—was truly perfect.
Ha… damn it, this feels strange.
Living as an ordinary, straight-laced nobody in the modern world, I’d only ever heard of it, never once walked it—this Appian Way…and I only came here after reincarnating and possessing a body.
The irony felt sharp.