Anne Barbour (7 page)

“Oh, really?” Hilary smiled thinly. “And just who of your acquaintance has the knowledge to do such a thing with such minute, correct detail? Aside from your colleagues, of course, but do you really think Professor Barnstaple or—or Lord Emsbrooke or any of the other members of the Antiquarian Society would lend themselves to such a lark?”

“I can think of one who might,” muttered James, “but I cannot see him spending his valuable time on a mere prank.”

Hilary glanced at him curiously but said nothing.

Since this interchange had been conducted in English, Rufus had turned his attention elsewhere. Moving to one of the bookshelves, he removed a volume and held it gingerly in his hands. He riffled through the pages for a moment before turning an inquiring look toward James.

“It is a book,” said James. “We use them now in the place of parchment scrolls. They are more durable and easier to read.”

“Ah,” said Rufus. “But I cannot read this.”

“You can read?” asked Hilary interestedly.

“Of course, I can read. Do you think me an ignorant barbarian?”

James went to another shelf and plucked a volume from the shelf. “Here, try this.”

He handed the book to Rufus, who examined it carefully.

“Histories”—he read aloud—”by P. Cornelius Tacitus. Mmpfh. Never heard of him.”

“He was Agricola’s son-in-law.” Rufus stared at him blankly. “Julius Agricola.” James’s tone was dry. If the man had never heard the name of one of Britain’s most famous governors, there could be little doubt he was a fraud.

“Yes, of course I know who he is,” retorted Rufus testily. “He was some years before my time, though. I understand he was a good man, but I know nothing of his son-in-law, or his daughter, for that matter.”

“Oh?” James asked quickly. “And what about Agricola’s predecessor?”

Let us now see how much the fellow really knows about first-century Britain.

“Ah well then, I know even less about Julius Frontinius. He brought the Silurians to heel in Wales, and seemed to have a bug up his arse about public works. Never plant a garden when you can put up a building, was his motto. No skin off my nose, of course, except that he set a precedent, and it’s us soldiers who are expected to provide the grunt work. That’s what I was doing in the tower, by the way.”

James and Hilary exchanged glances and James knew a twinge of surprise. Lady Hilary might be young and flighty, but she had an unsettling pair of eyes. They were huge and, he decided, not so much amber as a deep gold, although sometimes they seemed more copper—and they displayed a bright intelligence that, despite himself, he found fascinating. He shook himself and looked away quickly.

To Rufus, he said, “Yes? What about the tower?”

“Construction was started about fifty years ago, before the frontier was secured. It was to be a watchtower—being right on the Via Martius—with a small fort attached. For some reason it was never completed, but it was never dismantled. So, now, what with Corinium developing into a major city—maybe a
colonia
some day—Quietus—he’s the present governor—Avidius Quietus— came in a year ago—apparently decided a theater would be nice— I hear he’s something of an intellectual, and ordered that the stones from the old tower should be brought to Corinium for that purpose.

“I was among a small detail sent to do the job. And a back-breaker it was, too.”

“I thought you were an armorer,” interposed Hilary.

“Well and I am, and a good one. I was sent along to Corinium to service the troops there, but, as I said, the detachment is a small one, and there’s been little tribal activity for years, so there is not much need for my skills, at least for the moment. I was standing in the wrong place at the wrong time, unfortunately, and got volunteered for the job.” He grunted disgustedly. “You’d think I’d know better by now after twenty years. I guess I must be getting slow on my feet.”

Despite himself, James grinned, and Hilary was made dismayingly aware of the stirring in her insides thus engendered. “I understand the problem,” he said. “I’ve been caught that way, myself.”

Rufus’ brows lifted. “You are in the army?”

“I was.”

Turning at a small sound from Hilary, he directed a frown at her. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” said Hilary hastily. “I was only surprised—that is, I did not know you had served. Were you at Waterloo?”

“No,” answered James shortly. “I sold out in ‘14, when we thought we had Boney safely kenneled on St. Helena. I served on the Peninsula.”

Hilary’s mouth formed a small, round 0. “I had no idea,” she murmured.

“Is it impossible,” asked James irritably, “that a scholar can be a soldier, as well?”

“Of course not,” replied Hilary, her surprise still evident in her tone. “But you must admit, it is an unusual combination. I suppose,” she added carefully, “that it only proves that one should not be too quick to judge on appearances.”

James glanced at her sharply, but said nothing. He turned his attention to Rufus, who circled the room, tapping lightly on the windowpanes.

“Now, then,” he said, only to be interrupted by a scratching at the door, followed by the entrance of a plump, middle-aged woman, who wore a cluster of keys at her waist.

“Ah, Mrs. Armbruster,” he said as the housekeeper advanced into the room. “We have a visitor, for whom we’ll need accommodations for, er, an extended period.” He paused, indicating with a dubious gesture his guest, over whom Mrs. Armbruster had cast one startled glance before averting her eyes. “He is assisting me in a—ah—project for the Antiquarian Society.”

“Very good, sir,” said Mrs. Armbruster expressionlessly. To Rufus, she said, “If you will follow me, sir?”

She turned, swinging back in some surprise when Rufus did not follow her.

“That’s all right, Mrs. Armbruster,” said James. “I’ll show him up myself later.”

“Very good, sir. And will the gentleman be joining you for lunch? And Lady Hilary?”

“Lunch? Ah—it is that time, is it not? Just send in some sandwiches, please.”

He sank into a nearby chair when the door closed behind the housekeeper.

“Whew! I can see this entire situation is going to be fraught with peril.”

“Does this mean that you believe Rufus’ story?” asked Hilary eagerly.

James rose slowly and stared at Rufus. He sighed. “I just don’t know. He spins a good yam, but the whole thing is so preposterous—

“Devil take it,” he said to Rufus in Latin. “Are you telling me the truth?”

Again, Rufus thrust forth his jaw. “Are you calling me a liar, you underfed barbarian? Do you think it possible to rig a strike of lightning?” He waved his arms in indignation.

“No, but—” James’s eyes widened as his gaze fell on the dagger exposed at Rufus’ waist. “Where did you get that?” he breathed reverently.

Withdrawing it from its leather sheath with every evidence of pride, Rufus caressed the blade.

“A beauty, isn’t it? Case-hardened bronze from the finest craftsman in Lugdunum.”

“That’s Lyons,” said James in an aside to Hilary.

She nodded. “Yes, and known for the fine metalworkers there.”

Again, James experienced a surge of surprise.

“It was a gift from my father when I went into the army. I was just a boy, then.”

“May I?”

James extended his hand and Rufus grudgingly placed the knife in his palm. A footman entered with a tray of sandwiches just then, accompanied by wine and cakes. Munching thoughtfully, James examined the knife. He had seen similar specimens, unearthed after centuries in graves or river mud, but they were all in advanced stages of deterioration. This blade was whole and shining and beautiful, the handle carved from fine ivory. Engraved on the shaft was a hunting scene, portraying hounds closing in on an agile wolf. The detail was remarkable, the workmanship exquisite. The conclusion to be drawn from the knife, in its authentic construction and materials, was inescapable.

“All right,” James said at last, almost breathless with the implication of his words. “I believe you have been transferred from the end of the first century to this present year of 1817. The question now, I suppose, is how did you get here? And how do we return you to your proper time?”

“Oh, I know that,” replied Rufus, almost offhandedly. “At least, the part about how I got here.”

Chapter Six

“What?” gasped Hilary and James in unison. “It was the old Druid,” asserted Rufus, helping himself to a sandwich after a cautious perusal of the tray and its contents. “It must have been.”

“What old Druid?” Again, his listeners spoke as one.

“He lives in a little cave near the tower. Crotchety old buzzard. Says he’s the Guardian of the Stones. You know, the circle where the tower sits.”

Hilary nodded in fascination.

“At any rate, I understand he nearly foamed at the mouth when the tower was built. Sacrilege, he screamed. Claimed it was due to his curses that the thing was never finished. When I met him— when our lads showed up to begin removing the stones—he flew into a rage. Mm, what is this? Some kind of ham? It’s good, but how do you slice the bread so thin? Anyway, since I was in charge of the detail, he turned his temper on me. Told me to take my pack of desecrating savages and leave. Can you believe? That filthy old heathen calling Roman soldiers savages? I sorted him out in brief order, of course. Every day, though, he’s shown up at the fifth hour or so, hurling curses and making a general nuisance of himself. Yesterday, I finally cuffed him up the side of his head and told him to push off. He swelled up like a poisoned pig and let loose with what must have been the biggest, ugliest curse in his bag of tricks. Then, he just shuffled off.

“I think, though,” he concluded, “that the old gopher’s incantation must have held more juice than I credited him for. I mean, here I am.”

“Indeed,” said James, unable to control the broad smile that spread across his features. What a find! The old warrior’s theory on the cause of his remarkable journey was ludicrous, but no matter. The important thing was the journey itself. He, James Wincanon, most ordinary of mortals, was actually entertaining in his study a denizen of first-century Roman Britain. What unimaginable nuggets of information could be gleaned from this citizen of the ancient empire? Why, Rufus could no doubt provide him with more information on the Roman occupation of Britain than he could discover in a lifetime of digging. Here was history on the hoof! He could travel the length and breadth of England with Rufus, and the warrior could simply tell him where to excavate.

James smiled. Mordecai Cheeke would be ready to chew bricks.

Suppressing an ignoble chuckle, he said to Rufus, “We must get you settled in here. Please consider my home as your own. We’ll have to get you out of those clothes, of course. I think my head coachman is about your build, though a little taller. His clothes should do until we can get something made up for you. Then, we’ll—”

“Hold on,” interposed Rufus abruptly. “I can’t stay here.”

“Of course, you can. As you can see, I have plenty of room.”

“No, no,” continued Rufus impatiently. “I mean I can’t stay here in your year 1870 or whatever. I must go back to where I belong. Now.”

He moved toward the door as though to leave, but Hilary, who was in his path, laid a hand on his arm.

“Of course, you must return to your home, Rufus,” she said hurriedly. “But how are you to do that? Do you know how to, um, reverse the Druid’s curse?”

Rufus paused uncertainly and James stepped up.

“Besides, your theory is absolutely absurd. Do you honestly believe an old Druid, muttering in his beard, could send you hurtling eighteen centuries ahead of yourself?”

Rufus bent a look of outrage upon his host, but his reply was interrupted by Hilary, who said witheringly to James in English, “Well, of course he does! This is a man who probably believes one can tell the future by staring into sheeps’ insides.” To Rufus, she said placatingly, “Never mind him, he speaks without thinking sometimes. The thing is, you must have somewhere to stay while we sort all this out. We’d like to help you figure out how to get back, if you will let us.”

James knew an urge to grasp Rufus by his shoulder plates to keep him in the house, but he knew such a move would be foolish. Time traveler or not, he couldn’t keep the fellow chained up in the basement. Although, that was at present very much his inclination. No, he could only hope that Minimus Rufus would accept his hospitality. He held his breath as Rufus considered, and then at last allowed Hilary to shepherd him back toward his chair.

“Ah.” James exhaled. “Now, then, let us get you up in your own chamber. I’ll show you about, and at dinner we can discuss what is to be done next.”

Rubbing his hands briskly, he ushered Rufus into the corridor, only to be told by a footman that Lady Hilary’s maid had arrived and awaited her instructions in the hall.

“Oh!” Hilary, who had followed the gentlemen into the corridor, started guiltily. “I suppose—that is, I must get home.” She glanced down at her gown, drying into a wrinkled, misshapen mess.

“Yes,” agreed James promptly. Hilary flushed. “Unless you’d care to stay for dinner,” he added in a more courteous tone.

“No. That is, no thank you,” she replied coldly.

James knew a twinge of shame. She was so very earnest and she could not, of course, be faulted for trying to take advantage of the situation. Having parlayed a nice little display of antiquarian knowledgeability into what she must now see as a winning proposition, she would be foolish to abandon the scene.

“I should prefer,” continued Hilary in a voice that could have chipped diamonds, “to keep our—our arrangements on a businesslike basis, Mr. Wincanon. To be perfectly frank, I have no desire to spend any more time in your company than necessary. Perhaps we can work out a schedule, alternating the time we spend with Rufus. We can both ponder on the problem of getting him back to his own time.”

James, startled by the depth of her anger, could find nothing to say in response. They had by now reached the hall, and Hilary gestured to the maid awaiting her. To Rufus, she added in her halting Latin, “I hope to see you again, soon. Minimus Rufus. Perhaps tomorrow, if Mr. Wincanon can spare you, you will do me the favor of some conversation.”