CHAPTER 13: SECRET PLACES

 

 

 

The first thing that struck Nigel was the unfamiliar smell of moss, soil, and turf, with a hint of cooking and campfire.

It was as if he was out of doors, but he couldn't be, could be? He was certainly in bed. The pillow was soft, the blankets warm and he felt… well, actually, he didn't feel so good. His ankle throbbed, and there was a churning ache in his middle. He seemed to be awake, but he couldn’t yet muster resources to move his limbs, or open his eyes.

‘Bloody Hell,’ thought Nigel, mentally paging through the catalogue of disasters that encompassed the previous few days. ‘Where on earth am I now?’

He slowly lifted one eyelid, then the other, squinting at the stream of sunlight that poured from an opening into the dark space where he lay. He was in was some sort of small, round cabin, with dark brown walls. ‘Mud and dung,’ thought Nigel analytically. It was typical of the peasant’s dwellings of the era. The remnants of a fire were glowing in the middle of the floor, barely a metre from where he lay. ‘No wonder it smells funny’, he conjectured.

There was nobody else inside, so the logical next step was to say something, and see if somebody came. This, however, also presented a dilemma. His mouth and throat were interminably dry, and all he could produce was an inaudible croak. Coughing, then swallowing hard, he tried again. ‘Syd?’

Even he spoke, a willowy figure, with long, svelte limbs, appeared in the entrance. Backlit by the sunshine, the face was obscured, but Nigel knew full well who it was. Sydney fell to her knees by his side.

‘Hello, Nigel.’ He could simply feel her radiant smile. ‘Am I glad to see you. I never thought I’d find another assistant fluent in seven languages. I was at my wits end!’ She brushed back his hair affectionately.

‘I'm glad to hear I'm not easily replaceable,’ replied Nigel, his voice husky. ‘I don't remember anything… about last night…after we were in the cart, at any rate. What happened?’

‘That wasn’t last night,’ said Syd, with a slight grimace. ‘That was two days ago. Bluthus showed us to this place, deep in the woods – recently deserted by a hermit, or something – then took off to lie low in the village outside the forest.’

‘Oh.’ Nigel dragged a hand up to his chin and rubbed it. Yes, he could feel that some time had passed. ‘I've be ‘out of it’ all that time?’

Sydney lay down and stretched out next to him, gently laying her other arm across his waist. ‘You were very ill, Nigel. You were struggling to breath… there was blood…somehow your body wasn't dealing with your injuries, they brought on a fever and we thought… we thought you might…’ The nigh-garbled words stopped short, and Sydney Fox’s familiar, confident tones returned. ‘Well, let’s forget about what we thought, then. You're here, and that's all that matters. Isn't it?’

Nigel gave her a wide-eyed nod. No wonder he felt so fatigued.

‘Hungry?’

‘I don't think I could face food. Maybe I’m a bit thirsty, though.’

‘Great!’ said Sydney, as thrilled as if he’d translated the whereabouts of the lost Ark of the Covenant. She jumped up, dashed outside, and returned with a little goblet of water.

‘Did you boil it?’ asked Nigel, dubiously. ‘Because Derek made me drink this foul stuff the other day - couldn't have been safe, you know - and that could well have brought on the trouble…well, some of it.’ When Syd shot him a sceptical look, he added, ‘I'm sensitive to that sort of thing, you know. It's surprising I haven’t get cholera!’

‘I don't think that was the problem, Nigel. And yes, I boiled it myself.’ Sydney sniggered. His ‘precious’ ways had often annoyed her, but right now, everything about Nigel was endearing. ‘Can you sit up and hold it yourself?’

‘I’ll try,’ suggested Nigel. He shuffled slowly up onto his elbows, as Sydney placed a couple more blankets, as a bolster, behind him. As the coverlet slipped off his chest, however, he yelped and grabbed it, pulling it up to his neck.

‘I’m…I’m… I'm naked!’

‘No you’re not, Nigel. You're wrapped in several blankets. We gave you the softest, warmest, fluffiest ones we could find.’

‘But I'm not wearing any clothes!’

‘Well, you had made a bit of a mess of that tunic, hadn't you?’

Nigel pouted with appalled dismay. ‘That was hardly my fault.’

‘I'm not saying it was. But we couldn't leave you in those filthy rags, could we?’

‘We? Who else stripped me naked? Derek?’

‘He helped. If it makes you feel better, I didn't peek. We didn’t peek.’

Nigel flopped backwards against the pillows, and hid his face in his hands. Things just kept getting better and better.

‘Derek! Looking good!’ Sydney’s tones were ecstatic.

Nigel peeped through his fingers to see the Special Agent leaning through the doorway, a wide grin on his handsome face. Tanned by the sun, his skin was gleaming with a healthy sheen of sweat, which showed off his biceps to great advantage. The slash the tigers had made across his face only added to his rugged charm. He wore a fetching thigh-length, sleeveless get-up, made of crudely stitched together animal skins, with fur-trimmed edges. It was only then that Nigel noticed that Sydney was wearing a similar outfit, but hers was a sexy, feminine, off-the-shoulder number. They both looked bloody fantastic.

It was rather ironic, mused Nigel, if Sydney's enthusiastic cry of ‘looking good’ was supposed to apply to her wretched, little teaching assistant. He rather doubted it had.

‘How’s the patient?’ enquired Derek, crouching down next to Nigel.

‘Wishing he was dead,’ mumbled Nigel, but beamed at Derek, his smile only partially drenched in sarcasm: ‘I’m just peachy!’

………………………

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like any help with that?’

Nigel, sitting up in bed and still wrapped only in the blankets, was trying to shave with a razor, a fragment of warped mirror and some oily smelling soap that Derek had used successfully for the same purpose. Nigel supposed it was a lot easier if your hands weren’t shaking, but declined Sydney’s help nevertheless.

From where he was, he could see that she was enjoying herself outside in the sunshine. Syd was perched decorously on an upturned log, fashioning a long stick, into a very impressive bow, with a small knife. Nearby, Derek was swinging an axe, chopping wood with masculine gusto. They were both laughing heartily about something or other.

‘Great,’ he muttered, gingerly pulling the blade across his skin. ‘I’m stuck on a camping trip with Tarzan and Jane! They’re just loving this! Ow!’

Nigel managed to complete the job with only a couple of minor nicks. He then perused himself in the mirror. He looked marginally more respectable than he had, but the face that stared back at him was somewhat gaunter than usual. The bruise under his lip and the cut on his forehead were still evident on the pale skin, as were grey patches under his eyes. He cringed at the contrast struck with Derek, currently wielding heavy tools with such power and prowess. Still, there was one more improvement that could easily be made.

‘Sydney? Would you be so kind as to find me some clothes?’

Sydney rushed over and leant in through the hut door. ‘You can’t get out of bed, yet, Nigel. You’re still healing.’

‘I’d heal a lot better if I had some clothes on!’

‘Okay, Nigel, I think Derek plundered you something on his little rounds. He got most of this stuff, you know.’ Syd started to rummage through the few little luxuries, food and fabrics lying around them. ‘He’s been raiding the nearby Roman villas by night and the supply carts to Nevium by day. He’s not only brought these things back for us, but he’s also taken food for the poor in the villages. He’s going to originate the legend of Robin Hood several centuries too early, if he’s not careful!’

‘I’ve got one hell of a Maid Marian in Syd, though,’ yelled Derek from the woodpile. ‘The one time I forced her to leave your side and let me stay, she raided twelve barrels of the best Roman wine from a convoy and distributed it all around the villages. They had one hell of a party!’

‘I’m just thrilled for you both.’ Nigel’s fixed grin became an increasingly exasperated one. ‘Clothes?’

Sydney pulled out a thin fabric tunic from a small wooden chest.

‘Oh, that’s just great,’ hissed Nigel. ‘You’re both ponsing around in cool, ‘his ‘n’ hers’ jungle outfits, and all I get is slave-boy chique. Again.’

‘I thought the fur would make you sneeze, Nigel. Besides, there were barely enough of the animal skins to cobble our costumes together.’ A thought struck her. ‘I might be able to adjust mine a bit to fit you...’ Sydney started to peel her clothes off over her head.

‘No!’ Nigel raised a hand abruptly. ‘It’s fine. Give the tunic here.’

Nigel pulled it on, grateful to be covered by anything. He hadn’t the energy to get up yet, but it was nice to know that now he had the option.

Sydney, readjusting her clothing, settled herself down next him. ‘We need to talk.’

‘We do?’ Nigel looked up at her, optimistic. Was it going to be about the fact she’d told him she’d loved him? Had that meant anything other than ‘you might be about to die, Nigel’?

‘We do need to talk,’ confirmed Sydney, ‘about how we’re going to get home.’

‘Oh, about that.’ Nigel sighed, but conceded, ‘I would like to go home.’

Sydney rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. ‘I know. We all would. If we can just lay low here, then sneak back to the Tour Magne, we’ve still got that fragment to bargain with. It’s a shame you dropped the relic, Nigel. I never intended to give it to Veronica, but it limits our plans…’

Nigel interrupted her, both his fists clenching, unseen under the blanket. ‘What do you mean, ‘dropped the relic’’?

‘Bluthus told us about it. I know you were poorly, Nigel, but it was a little careless.’

Nigel’s jaw dropped. ‘I didn’t drop it. I used it!’ He took a large gulp of breath. ‘I asked it to tell me the best thing to do…for you!’ He gasped again, so upset that he verged on hyperventilating.

‘Okay, Nigel. Calm down.’ Mildly berating her assistant came naturally to her. He didn’t usually react like this, but then he had been through a lot lately. ‘So you’re telling me that you destroyed the relic deliberately?’

‘Of course I bloody did!’ Nigel bit down hard on his bottom lip. After everything – everything – she still thought of him as nothing more than her bungling assistant. She’d been kind to him – she still was being kind - but there was nothing more than that in her attitude towards him. Not even respect.

Sydney paused for a second, striving to read his emotions. The act of sacrifice and heroism that she had just dismissed as a careless accident was slowly dawning on her. She reached out to touch his face, but Nigel rolled dejectedly onto his side out of her reach.

‘Go flirt with Derek, Sydney. I’m feeling lousy and I’d like some peace.’

‘Nigel, I…’ She rested her hand on his thigh, and felt him tense at her touch. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have believed what that bastard said. I don’t know why I did…’

‘You believed him because it sounded so ‘like Nigel’, didn't it? Who can blame you? Poor, clumsy Nigel! He always ‘drops the ball’ at the crucial moment, why not the relic?’

Sydney could hear that he was struggling to hold back tears. She tried to pull him back towards her, wanting nothing more than to hold him. Nigel, however, haughtily pulled the blanket up around him, until it concealed his face.

‘I’m sorry. Really, it was thoughtless of me. What you did was very brave.’

‘It’s okay, Syd,’ sniffed Nigel, his voice muffled by the blanket. ‘I guess I just woke up cranky. I suppose I should be thanking you and Derek for saving my life several times over, rather than snapping your head off.’

‘Don’t be silly, Nigel.’ Sydney checked herself. There she went again with the scolding. ‘It sounds like it's me who should be thanking you. Thank you Nigel.’

Nigel eased himself onto his back and peeped out of the covers. ‘You’re welcome. But it was the obvious thing to do, really, wasn't it? Something that powerful had to be destroyed. I guess the magic was just waiting for the first person not to use it for their own sake.’

‘That’s got to be a special person, Nigel.’ She lay down next to him again, and was pleased when he let her enfold him in her arms, even if he did not reciprocate.

Nigel merely sighed. ‘You’d have done exactly the same and you know it.’

They lay now with their bodies pressed intimately together, her hair cascading onto his shoulder and her hand tenderly caressing his now-covered chest. Nigel, who had been staring up at the straw roof, slowly turned his face towards hers, which hovered barely an inch away on the pillow.

Syd’s first sentiment as their eyes locked was sympathy. Close up, Nigel appeared so drained that his gaze seemed glazed, vacant even. As she conjured up a sweet, consoling smile, however, something moved, deep in his hazel eyes, which unsettled her completely.

‘Nigel, I…’ As she spoke, her lips edged almost indiscernibly towards his, parting slightly.

‘Hell!’ thought Syd. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to hold him tight forever. She’d nearly lost him and now she couldn’t endure the thought of being more than a few metres away. The glint in his eyes beneath that weary, yet still so beautiful, facade, simply told her what he had already demonstrated to her, over and over. He loved her more than his own life.

She moistened her lips and moved in for the kill.

Rather than receiving her, however, Nigel blinked heavily, as if waking himself from a dream, and said ‘I’m sorry Syd.' His voice was flat and jaded. 'I really just want to sleep. Otherwise, I’ll be biting your head off - and Derek’s - for the next three days.’

His breath brushed off her lips then faded as he turned away and shut his eyes.

‘Okay, Nigel. Just holler if you need anything.’ She sat up, floated her fingers up his cheek and drifted them through his hair. She’d lost count of how many times she’d done that now. Each time it was harder to pull away. But why was this so difficult to articulate when they weren’t teetering on the verge of danger and death?

‘I’ll be near, my darling…’ she whispered, so softly that she doubted he heard.

Nigel heard well enough. The words were no comfort but his thoughts were clear. ‘Why does she have to toy with me? She strips my soul naked, time after time, and then runs off to a real man…’

…………

Agroitus was so livid that he slopped the contents of his oyster right down the front of his toga.

‘So you’re telling me that the Gallic villagers drank all twelve barrels of my finest wine? And then they had the greatest revelry since the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah?’

Agroitus’ henchman was terrified by his master’s wrath. ‘I'm afraid so, consul,’ he simpered. ‘They're saying the wine was given them by the ‘warrior princess,’ and the rest of the goodies were distributed by the one called ‘Maximus.’ We’re doing everything we can find them, but they disappeared back into the forest.’

This did not appease the consul, who continued to rave: ‘Several legions are passing through here over the next few days, on their way to suppress rebellions in the north. I won’t have them finding my province in a mess and the peasants agitated against us!’

Agroitus moaned in anguish, tearing at his hair so it stuck out in clumps from his head.

‘You will find that floozy - and her new man - and you will bring them here. Then I will personally cut both their hearts out with this oyster spoon!’ He brandished the said small implement in the air as if he were wrapping it against his enemy’s nose.

The lieutenant promised he’d deliver them, and scuttled off to rally his men.

…………………

Emerging into the open after leaving Nigel, Sydney saw that Derek had erected a very impressive pile of chopped wood and was now priming some stone-headed arrows to go with the new bow she had made.

Seeing the distress on Sydney's face, however, Derek dropped everything. ‘What’s wrong? Is Nigel worse again?’ He had nearly darted through the cabin door when Sydney barred his way and forced a smile.

‘No. He’s fine…better even. But he’s asleep.’

‘Oh.’ Derek sighed with relief. ‘Why the long face, then?’

‘Because I upset him,’ confessed Syd. Derek frowned. ‘Honestly, I didn’t intend to. He destroyed the relic deliberately…for me.’

‘Let me guess,’ said Derek, as they sat down on the logs. ‘Sydney Fox thundered in, with all the sensitivity of a sledgehammer. She recalled that lying oaf’s story about a clumsy accident, and reprimanded Nigel like he was a naughty schoolboy?’

Right though he was, Sydney couldn’t believe that Derek Lloyd, of all people, was calling her insensitive. ‘Since when did you become ‘Mr touchy-feely’, Derek? Oh yes, I remember, it’s because you collect stamps! That’s the big excuse for all the times that ‘Mr kill or be killed’ comes out, isn’t it?’

‘He’s in semi-retirement, Sydney. You know that. The killer appears only when he has to.’

Sydney didn't quite have the heart, or a case, to argue. Both sides of Derek's personality had come through for her lately. Moreover, she had a slightly resentful suspicion that she could never have rescued Nigel from the amphitheatre, let along nursed him through his injuries, without him.

‘I guess I did mouth off with all the subtlety of a bulldozer,’ she conceded. ‘Nigel must be feeling very vulnerable right now.’ She paused and her head drooped. ‘Oh God - I don’t know what I’d have done if we’d lost him, Derek.’

‘You care a lot for Nigel, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do.’ Sydney’s reply was almost dismissive.

‘I suppose you realise he’s desperately in love with you.’

Sydney resisted the urge to snap in self-defense. ‘We both care a lot for each other,’ she muttered.

‘When I found him, the first time, he was inconsolable, you know? But it wasn't about all of the sickening things that had been done to him that day. It was about you, Sydney. He thought you might be dead.’ Derek chuckled dryly. ‘I didn't believe that for one minute!’

Sydney was now looking at him intensely, as if she was on the verge of saying something. She didn't, so Derek continued. ‘And then, in the ring, he insisted I helped you - there was no arguing with him - even though he must have been in a lot of pain…’

Sydney finally interrupted ‘What do you want me to say, Derek? Am I supposed to feel guilty?’ She raised a defensive hand. ‘Because I do, okay? I love him too, you know. It's just that…well, Nigel isn't like other men…the kind of men I have relationships with…’

‘No, Syd, he isn’t. And I don’t mean that he can’t take a bit of fooling around…at the right time. But you’re going to have to let him go, Sydney, before you destroy him, physically and mentally. Or get yourself killed in the process.’

‘What the heck are you talking about? Okay, we’ve had a close call, but this hasn't exactly been a typical Relic Hunt. You said that.’

‘But there’s been tight moments before, haven’t there? His devotion to you means he’s putting himself in even more danger than he would be otherwise. Besides, he’s the obvious target for everyone who wants to get to you. I saw that a mile off and, I admit, I took advantage…before I knew you both so well, of course.’

Sydney scowled at him, but she was pleased she wasn’t the only person admitting their faults that day. Derek, however, continued his tirade: ‘Nigel needs some sweet, little English rose, who clings to him as her rock. Someone who waits for him at the cottage door until he gets home from a lecture, or dig.’

‘That's a bit cliche, isn't it, Derek?’ Sydney’s words were bitter.

‘Maybe. But that isn't my point. If you don't let him down gently, he'll let you drag him about by the collar, variously scolding and cosseting him, until the bitter end. And Sydney, it will be a bitter end. He doesn't belong in our world.’

‘Do we have a world, Derek?’ said Sydney sarcastically.

Derek’s expression lightened. ‘If you're asking if you and I should have a serious, long-term relationship, Sydney, I think not. That would be equally fatal and the end would come much quicker. But you know what I mean.’

Sydney’s emotions were too awhirl to argue. ‘Can we change the subject, Derek?’ She tried to sound feisty, but her voice was merely strained.

‘Hey,’ he rubbed her back encouragingly. ‘Let’s not dwell on it now, eh? Do you want to go out plundering? Go and express some Sydney Fox attitude?’

Sydney shook her head. ‘Nah. I’d rather stay here. Build the fire…watch over Nigel…’

‘Yeah? I’ve noticed all the girls love looking at him. Is it that cute way he pouts?’

Sydney raised her eyebrows in amused surprise. ‘Derek, are you saying you think Nigel is ‘cute’’?

Derek laughed heartily. ‘Not like that. Hey, I’m sure a lot of guys think he is! But would I really be hitting on you all the time, if I did? I was just curious.’

Sydney giggled, thankfully smothering her complex, deeper sentiments with throwaway teasing and flirting. Derek slung the bow and arrows into a halter on his back. Then he picked up the largest, heaviest looking sword on their weaponry pile, and grinned devilishly. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

‘Can you grab a take-out? I’d kill for some sushi!’

‘I’ll see what I can do. Maybe the Romans have been raiding Japan this week!’

……………………..

Nigel found sleep wasn’t the easy way out he’d coveted. Leering images, of faces he’d rather forget, harassed him from the moment he shut his eyes. He soon wished he’d not sent Sydney packing – maybe there was more peace with her there, despite everything?

He coughed politely. Nobody came. Nigel laboriously raised himself up on one elbow so he could see outside. ‘Syd?’

Still nobody heard, and Nigel was soon glad. He observed silently as Sydney and Derek chatted and laughed, and then as Syd favoured the hunky Special Agent with a teasing peck on the cheek. As Derek turned and vanished into the undergrowth, Nigel smothered a genuine cough, dismally half-wishing for the return of the familiar taste of blood. Dying had to be more entertaining than watching those two. He didn’t even have a book…

Exhausted, he decided disturbed sleep was still a better option than company.

………………

In a peasant village a few miles away, Agroitus’ men had made an interesting discovery amidst their general burning and pillaging. Cowering in the corner of a hut, where the elderly women looked after little children as their parents gathered food, was a fat old man in a lady’s headscarf.

‘By the God’s, that’s an ugly old hag!’ said the first marauding soldier who laid eyes on him. The children squealed and the women wailed. ‘Where have I seen you before?’

‘No idea,’ squeaked the headscarved one, in a strange falsetto. ‘Why don’t you take the little ones? They’ve got whole lives ahead of them you know, many years of labour. Some of them might fetch quite a price!’

‘Hold on,’ said the soldier, pulling off the bad disguise and dragging Bluthus out into the light. ‘You’re the toad-faced one responsible for Demetrius’ demise! Hey…didn’t you escape with the ‘warrior princess?’’

Bluthus shook his head so hard that dizziness forced him to stop. ‘Oooooh no. I’ve no idea where that violent woman is. I’d obviously tell you if I did.’

‘Maybe you should come and talk to the consul, old man. He’ll have reliable ways of finding out if you’re telling the truth.’

Bluthus was particularly adverse to physical pain, and realised instantly that it wouldn't be worth enduring any torture. Of course he would talk! He might as well 'spill the beans' now and be done with it. He congratulated himself on his logic, and virtuously held back just a little of the truth.

‘I don't know where they are now, of course. But I've got a feeling that they might pop in here again here later. If not, I certainly know where they will be in a few days time.’

‘You should tell this to Agroitus Pocculus.’

Bluthus smiled peevishly. He still didn't fancy his forthcoming interview, but at least he had bargaining tools. If he really must, he could not only deliver the ‘warrior princess’ and her friends, but he could also suggest that Agroitus could replace his lost treasure with a gorgeous, enchanted, time-travelling necklace.

 

Continue to chapter 14