When Caesar Met Cinderella

Chapter 7：Hadrian's Night

The silence of Emily’s spare bedroom was a stark contrast to the bustling sounds of the Roman night Hadrian was accustomed to – the distant shouts of vendors, the rhythmic tramp of the city watch, the occasional boisterous laughter spilling from a nearby tavern. Here, there was only a low hum from the unseen refrigerator in the kitchen and the faint, rhythmic ticking of a clock on the bedside table, a sound that struck Hadrian as both monotonous and unnervingly precise.

He lay on the soft mattress, a far cry from the firmer sleeping arrangements of his imperial villas, staring up at the ceiling. The darkness was absolute, unbroken by the flickering glow of oil lamps or the soft moonlight filtering through thin curtains. It was a darkness that felt heavy, almost oppressive.

Sleep eluded him. His mind, still buzzing from the strange concoction Emily had called “coffee,” raced with a torrent of thoughts. The sheer improbability of his situation weighed heavily upon him. One moment, he was succumbing to a fever in his beloved villa at Baiae, the next… this. This world of horseless chariots, talking boxes, and images that moved within glass. It was a world that defied logic, a world where even the simplest tasks seemed imbued with an almost magical complexity.

He thought of Rome, of the Forum alive with activity, of the legions marching in perfect formation, of the weight of empire resting upon his shoulders. He remembered the meticulous planning of Hadrian’s Wall, the grandeur of the Pantheon, the quiet satisfaction of bringing order and prosperity to his vast domain. Could he ever return to that life? Was it even possible? The thought was both a desperate longing and a terrifying uncertainty.

He shifted restlessly, the unfamiliar softness of the mattress making him feel oddly vulnerable. He missed the familiar weight of his signet ring on his finger, the reassuring presence of his guards nearby. Here, he was utterly alone, a king stripped of his kingdom, adrift in a sea of bewildering modernity.

A low creak from the hallway outside his door broke his reverie. Hadrian tensed, his instincts honed by years of political intrigue and potential threats. He listened intently, his senses on high alert. Another creak, closer this time. Someone was moving about.

He sat up cautiously, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards beneath his bare feet felt strangely smooth and cold. He crept towards the door, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached for the handle, then hesitated. Who could be awake at this hour? One of Emily’s peculiar offspring? Or perhaps… something more sinister? The thought of unseen enemies lurking in the shadows of this strange dwelling sent a shiver down his spine.

He slowly eased the door open, peering into the dimly lit hallway. A soft light spilled from the living room at the end of the corridor. He moved silently towards it, his bare feet making no sound on the carpeted floor.

As he reached the doorway, he saw him. Arthur, Emily’s father, was sitting in an armchair by the window, bathed in the pale glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. He was dressed in a thick, woollen dressing gown and held a book in his lap, though his gaze seemed to be fixed on something unseen beyond the glass.

Hadrian hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to announce his presence. But then Arthur turned his head, his eyes, though clouded with age and illness, seemed to focus directly on Hadrian. A slow smile spread across his face.

“Ah, il mio grande re!” Arthur exclaimed softly, his voice filled with a gentle reverence. “I knew you couldn’t sleep either. The weight of empire, even one so long past, is a heavy burden.”

Hadrian, taken aback by the unexpected greeting in his native tongue, stepped fully into the room. “You… you are awake, old man.”

“Sleep is a fickle companion these days,” Arthur said with a sigh, patting the armrest of his chair. “Come, sit. Let us talk. Two kings, awake in the quiet of the night.”

Hadrian, despite his initial surprise, found himself drawn to the old man’s quiet dignity. He moved to a nearby armchair and sat down.

“You still believe…?” Hadrian began, his voice hesitant.

Arthur nodded firmly, his eyes twinkling. “The aura, maestà. It is unmistakable. One does not simply shed the mantle of greatness. It is woven into the very fabric of your being.”

Hadrian felt a strange mix of amusement and a flicker of something akin to hope. This old man, clearly touched by some malady of the mind, was the only person in this strange new world who seemed to recognize him for who he was – or at least, who he believed him to be.

“And you, old friend,” Hadrian said, a touch of his imperial pronouncements creeping into his tone, “you have shown a remarkable loyalty. When I reclaim my throne, when my legions once again march to my command, I shall not forget your steadfast belief.”

Arthur’s eyes lit up. “Oh, grazie, grazie, mio signore! What honour could a humble servant ask for?”

Hadrian considered this for a moment, a grand gesture forming in his mind. “When I have found my Praetorian Guard in this… London, and when my royal villas have been restored to their former glory, I shall decree that you, Arthur, shall be my… my Praefectus Praetorio! My most honoured Praetorian Prefect! Second only to myself in power and glory!”

Arthur gasped, his eyes wide with delight. “Generale! Me? A general? Oh, Emilia will be so proud!” He clapped his hands together, his face beaming.

Hadrian felt a surge of satisfaction. It felt good to make such a pronouncement, to bestow a title, even if it was to a man who likely wouldn’t remember it by morning. It was a small echo of the power he once wielded.

They continued to talk for some time, Arthur recounting fragmented memories of Roman Britain, his tales often jumbled and anachronistic, but always filled with a deep respect for the “great king” sitting before him. Hadrian listened patiently, occasionally correcting a historical inaccuracy with a gentle authority.

Suddenly, a light flicked on in the hallway, and Emily appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“Dad? Hadrian? What on earth are you two doing up?” she asked, her voice laced with sleepiness and a hint of annoyance. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Arthur beamed at her. “Emilia, my dear! Our great king has just appointed me his Praetorian Prefect! A general, no less!”

Emily stared at her father, then at Hadrian, her expression shifting from annoyance to exasperation. “Dad, you know you get confused at night. And Hadrian…” She turned her gaze to him, her arms crossed. “What are you doing keeping my father up? You need to sleep.”

Hadrian regarded her with a look of haughty disdain. This… common woman, scolding him, a former Emperor of Rome? The audacity!

“I was merely engaging in conversation with a loyal subject,” Hadrian said, his voice cool and imperious. He stood to his full height, his gaze sweeping over Emily with an air of regal dismissal. “A subject who, unlike some, recognizes true greatness when he sees it.”

Emily’s jaw dropped. “A loyal subject? Hadrian, he’s my father! And he’s not entirely well. You shouldn’t be encouraging his… delusions.”

“Delusions?” Hadrian repeated, his voice laced with aristocratic scorn. “It is you, woman, who are deluded if you cannot see the majesty that stands before you. Your father possesses a wisdom that transcends your modern sensibilities.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Emily muttered, running a hand through her messy hair. “Look, both of you, it’s late. Dad, you need to go back to bed. And Hadrian, you need to try and get some sleep too. We have a whole day of… exploring… planned for tomorrow.”

Arthur, still beaming, nodded obediently. “Yes, yes, Emilia. The great general must rest.” He struggled to his feet, and Emily gently guided him back towards his bedroom.

Hadrian watched them go, a slight smirk playing on his lips. He, a Praetorian Prefect? The idea was ludicrous, yet… there was something strangely comforting in the old man’s unwavering belief.

Emily returned a few moments later, her expression still a mixture of weariness and annoyance. She looked at Hadrian, who was now standing by the window, gazing out at the silent street.

“Look,” she said, her voice softer now, “I know this is all new and probably very strange for you. And I appreciate that you’re being… polite to my dad. But he really does get confused, especially at night. Please don’t encourage him.”

Hadrian turned to face her, his expression still carrying a hint of his earlier haughtiness. “I was merely acknowledging a truth that your father, in his… ‘confusion,’ seems to grasp more readily than you.”

Emily sighed. “Right. Well, just… try to get some sleep, okay? We can talk more in the morning.” She turned and headed back towards her own room, muttering something about emperors and late-night chats under her breath.

Hadrian watched her go, then turned back to the window. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the city seemed to hold its breath in the darkness. He was still no closer to understanding this strange new world, or to finding a way back to his own time. But for a brief moment, in the quiet of the night, he had been a king again, bestowing titles and receiving the unwavering loyalty of a subject, however addled his mind might be. It was a small comfort in this vast and bewildering alien landscape. And perhaps, just perhaps, this “elixir of black beans” was starting to have some rather… interesting effects on his imperial disposition.