|
CHAPTER 16: HEROES AND MAIDENS
As Sydney galloped back towards the fields where Valerius had made his camp, she felt very grateful that she'd laid down her own conditions for the forthcoming expedition. There was simply no way she was going to lead an army of these poor, benighted villagers to storm the city. She’d ridden around all the outlying settlements. While the people greeted her with open arms, most shied away at the thought of open battle. Who could blame them? They were not trained soldiers, or even fighters like she was. A few brave men volunteered, but even she couldn’t muster an army for that afternoon. On the other hand, while half of her wanted to run away with Nigel and at least try to get home the ‘quiet’ way, her conscientious side was reawakened to her promise to repay Lydia. After all, without the girl’s help she may never have escaped from Agroitus in the first place and Nigel could be…well, it didn’t bear thinking about. They could both be dead. Besides, Syd had always been a sucker for the sentimental pull of family ties – even those of people she hardly knew. Her empathy with familial love had led her to search for relics way out of her usual remit: a baseball glove, even Elvis’s lost guitar. Equally, she wanted to reunite Lydia with her Dad. Surely there was some plan through which everything could come right? Sydney dismounted and expressed her anxieties to the general. ‘How about some sort of Trojan horse?’ she suggested. Valerius frowned, unhappy at her apparent lack of faith in his military schemes. ‘It hasn’t been tried for a few centuries. Then we could get your men and me inside the city without a fight.’ ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But it will take some weeks to build, and I have urgent business in Britannia.’ ‘I’ve got a fairly pressing appointment tomorrow too,’ agreed Sydney, well aware of her imminent rendezvous with Veronica. ‘I think I’ll have a word with my assistant…err, my husband about this. Can you show me to our tent?’ ‘Of course!’ said the general. ‘On your request, I gave him the very best. My own!’ ………………………. Sydney expected Nigel to be asleep, so she crept into the large goat-skin tent without a sound. Her jaw dropped nearly to the floor at the sight that greeted her. Nigel was lying on a coach, mildly embarrassed but not entirely unhappy, entwined in the arms of a particularly sizable, blonde and buxom peasant girl. Despite being surrounded by numerous cushions and plush fabrics, his head was resting comfortably upon her most obvious assets. A second, much slighter, maiden was perching next to them. She was dressed in robe of pure white with flowers woven in her loose flowing hair. Her behaviour, however, was far from virginal: she was stroking the outside of Nigel’s thigh, whilst popping juicy red grapes between his lips from a platter of fresh fruits. Catching sight of Sydney, a look of sheer panic crossed Nigel’s face. ‘Oh God! Syd…this isn’t what it seems! They just kind of turned up…and I was trying to learn their dialect but, we, err, appear to be having a bit of a communication problem.’ ‘So that’s what you call it, is it Nigel?’ Sydney concealed her amusement at his fluster with mock anger. ‘Surely you’ve worked out the word for ‘no’?’ ‘Um, yes…but they won’t take ‘no’ for an answer!’ Nigel tried to extract himself from the girl’s embrace. Reluctant to relinquish her delectable quarry, the substantially proportioned wench held him fast and promptly began to curl a lock of his light brown hair around her finger. ‘See what I mean?’ said Nigel, exasperated. Sydney folded her arms and fixed the girls with a steely gaze that meant ‘hands off, he’s mine’ in any language. Well aware of the reputation of the ‘warrior princess,’ they sighed and began reluctantly unravelling themselves from Nigel, their fingers lingering on the object of their affection for as long as possible. ‘Time's up, ladies!’ Sydney, patience growing thin, took a firm hold of the loitering girls and yanked them away. The smaller one hurtled on cue to the other side of the tent, but the larger lass, who was blessed with a charmingly pronounced overbite, did not budge. ‘Girder’s rather, umm, stubborn,’ muttered Nigel, as the two women’s fiery eyes locked together. ‘Girder? You’re on first name terms?’ said Sydney, not quite incredulously. ‘Yes…well, the conversation was limited, but we got that far…’ Syd was about to kick Girder unceremoniously from the tent - or at least try to do so - when it occurred to her that the strapping countrywoman was the closest thing she’d seen to a natural warrior all day. She could be of use. Rather than ‘upping the anti’, Syd smiled benevolently and tried amicable persuasion. ‘Girder, my friend,’ she articulated with exaggerated chumminess. ‘Would you wait outside for a bit?’ She pointed to the opening of the tent in case of language difficulties. Girder’s initial awe at the sight of the famed ‘warrior princess’ was fading fast. This dark haired beauty was not nearly as big as she was! She pointed at Nigel and pursed her voluptuous lips doggedly. ‘Want boy! Nice! Mine!’ Girder’s preternaturally low bellow echoed around the tent. ‘See what I mean!’ hissed Nigel, grasping a cushion in front of him for protection. ‘She’s impossible!’ Syd ignored him and laughed appeasingly. ‘Yes, Nigel’s very nice, isn’t he? Maybe we can share…later?’ With a hefty shove, she shifted the bulk that was Girder to the exit and, with an affirming cry of ‘later!’ booted her out of the door. The withering look she gave Nigel said it all: ‘what is it with some women! You’re mine.’ ………………………. Nigel could barely believe his rapidly improving luck when the position formerly occupied by Girder was swiftly filled by Sydney. She cuddled up on the couch behind him. ‘Any joy?’ Nigel asked. He rolled onto his back, still enfolded in Syd’s arms, so he could fully enjoy the sight, as well as the feel, of her. ‘Not really,’ said Sydney, resuming Girder's little game with his hair. ‘We’ll never be able to storm the city, or even lay siege, without risking too many lives. We need some other way of getting inside the walls and confronting Agroitus. I’m working on it, but I was wondering if you had any ideas?’ Nigel frowned as he gave the matter thought and carelessly reached up and stroked her cheek with his thumb. It felt such a natural thing to do, with her holding him as she was, even though it still seemed a bit naughty. Syd didn’t seem to object, though. A soft smile wavered on her lips. The moment was broken when Nigel, as if waking from a dream, suddenly said: ‘Oh, I might have an idea...’ Syd’s eyes widened. ‘I’m all ears. I’m yet to think of a plan myself that we can organise in less than a day!’ ‘Well, I was talking to the other girl, Girder’s little companion … well, trying to… and I discovered that she is going into the city tomorrow along with one of the other village maidens. They will be presenting wreaths as part of a ceremony dedicated to Vesta, the goddess of the hearth. The consul is bound to be there. So maybe you could take her place and…’ Sydney frowned playfuly: ‘Nigel...you seem to be able to understand an awful lot that those girls said when you want to!’ ‘Well I understood them alright, they were having the problems. Maybe it was my accent…’ She laughed. ‘Never mind, Nigel. I think it’s a great idea. I can take the girls place in the parade, challenge the consul in public, undermine his power and rally the citizens behind Valerius! And I have a good idea which peasant girl I should take with me…’ ‘Girder!’ interrupted Nigel. ‘She’s enough to scare anybody. That giantess will have Agroitus quaking in his boots!’ Nigel giggled at the mental image. ‘You and Girder are going to be the least convincing Vestal virgins in all the ancient world!’ Syd feigned shock. ‘What the hecks that supposed to mean?’ ‘Umm,’ stammered Nigel, ‘I mean, err, you, at least, are so gorgeous that there is no way anyone would believe some man wouldn’t have …well, err, oh.’ Nigel stopped dead, wishing he’d kept quiet. ‘Do go on! Where is your gutter-dwelling little English mind going with this one, I wonder? Some man would have what?’ Nigel, now deeply uncomfortable, ran his hand across his face. ‘Oh God, Syd,’ he moaned, ‘as if you don’t bloody know! It is unthinkable that hundreds of men would not have begged for the privilege to…to…’ He uncovered his face and looked up at her earnestly: ‘it is inconceivable that hundreds of men haven't pleaded for the honour of worshipping at your altar for all eternity and of making mad, passionate love to you all night.’ With this, he clasped her face tenderly and eased her momentarily speechless lips towards his, plunging in for the longest, most lingeringly luxurious kiss yet. ‘I may be in the gutter,’ murmured Nigel as he surfaced for air. ‘But at least I am looking at the stars.’ ‘You’ve never been in the gutter, my angel,’ purred Sydney, wondering why she’d ever chided him so. ‘But you kiss like a demon!’ Nigel grinned naughtily. ‘Ah, well. Neither of us are Vestal virgins you know…’ Just then, there was a grunt and a rustle in the entrance of the tent, and Girder’s toothy and impatient face peeped between the goat-skin sheets. Syd screwed up her nose in disappointment. ‘I guess I’d better go make friends with my fellow innocent beauty,’ said Syd. ‘Do you want to help?’ ‘Umm, I think we’re friendly enough already.’ As the rush of reviving passion passed, the now familiar look of weariness returned to Nigel’s face and he yawned. ‘Do you mind if I grab forty winks?’ Sydney smiled sympathetically. ‘You go ahead. I’ll keep your little fan-club at bay!’ Acutely aware Nigel was still an invalid, she climbed off the couch and covered him with a plush embroidered blanket. ‘I’ll be back soon…I won’t wake you, though.’ ‘Please do, Syd,’ said Nigel dreamily. ‘I’ll be fine…and I want to enjoy our last evening together in the ancient world…with you.’ ‘So do I, Nigel,’ whispered Sydney, ‘more than anything,’ but her words were lost. His steady, heavy breathing indicated to her that he was already asleep. ………………… Nigel woke up first the next morning. Sunlight seeped through the fabric of the tent, filling his soul with a radiant joy before he’d even focussed his eyes upon the world. When he did, for a second his ecstasy was limitless. Sydney was still there, lying next to him on her front, her slumbering face turned towards him and her luxuriant hair flowing over her bare, bronzed shoulders. His peace, however, was short lived. All too soon, a foreboding fear swelled from the pit of his stomach and overwhelmed him. Today they would triumph in glory and go home to the twenty-first century, or they would fail and die. As he shut his eyes again, the optimist in him struggled in vain for supremacy over the endless nag of his physical and mental pain. ‘At least,’ he whispered to himself, ‘we had last night.’ …………………….. When Syd awoke, Nigel’s fears abated a little. She was composed and confident, laughing and joking with him and the General, although he discerned that, deep inside, there were probably a few well-smothered butterflies. Moreover, his concern for Syd’s safety on her dangerous mission was such that he was not at all happy when she suggested he should stay behind while she attended to the business in the city. ‘What do you mean, I’m staying here?’ objected Nigel, still reclining on his coach in their tent, which he had become rather attached to. ‘I’ve got to get ‘back to the future’ as well, you know? Besides, who’s going to watch your back while you publicly clobber the consul!’ ‘Well, I suppose we can have three Vestal virgins, if you’re desperate.’ Syd raised her eyebrows teasingly as Nigel glared at her. ‘You’ll have to wear a longer skirt than you are now, I dare say.’ ‘No. There’s absolutely no way I’m doing that,’ spluttered Nigel, despite wondering if this was just a ploy to make him stay. ‘And will you stop being rude about my Roman soldier outfit? I bet you never made jokes about Derek in his faux-macho furs, even through he looked like Tarzan as dressed by John-Paul Gaultier!’ Sydney smirked, but Nigel still wasn’t satisfied. ‘Why can’t I sneak in with the soldiers while you cause the diversion?’ ‘It’s just too dangerous, Nigel!’ ‘I don’t care,’ said Nigel, lying very slightly. ‘Besides, if I can’t be of use to you, I can find the jailhouse and rescue Derek.’ Sydney was both surprised and amused. ‘Nigel, am I going to have to tie you up?’ A naughty smile flickered on Nigel’s lips. ‘Is that an offer…?’ It vanished again just as quickly. ‘Look, Syd, joking aside, I’m not staying and that’s an end to it.’ Sydney was unsure how to counter Nigel’s uncharacteristic resolution, so she conceded: ‘Okay, Nigel. You sneak in with the soldiers while we cause a diversion. If you get separated from them, or anything goes wrong, just get back to the tower and see if Veronica will let you go home. You still have the shard of Hatshepsut's Eye?’ ‘Oh…um, hold on.’ It had slipped out of his belt, and Nigel rummaged frantically through the blankets and cushions while Sydney held her breath. ‘Thank God. Here it is!’ Sydney rolled her eyes. ‘Take care of it, okay? And take care of yourself.’ She sat down on the coach next to him and they pressed their lips together longingly, their emotions saturated by the pain of an uncertain goodbye. ‘You take care, Syd,’ whispered Nigel. ‘I love you…’ ‘The feeling's mutual, Nigel,’ smiled Sydney, her determination swallowing her sentiment. ‘See you soon.’ ……………………… It was a good plan. In the midday sunshine, Sydney and Girder approached the city clad in scanty white robes, low cut and loose, with thin veils over their faces. The disguise was enough, Syd hoped, to stop anyone recognising the ‘warrior princess’ too soon. With flowers in their hair and bouquets in their arms, they shed laughter and petals in all directions. The citizens cheered and shouted and Sydney discovered that the wolf-whistle was a well established part of Roman culture. The guards on the gate were a pushover. Although primed to let in the Vestal virgins without a question, they hadn’t expected to have quite so many ‘favours’ bestowed upon them by such well-developed and attractive ladies. Rather than attending vigilantly to the rest of their duties, they took the proffered hands of the ‘innocent maidens’, and were willingly drawn along the crowd-lined streets by the stars of the show. They were having far too much fun, drooling over their companions and leering superiorly at the bystanders, to notice the small group of men – their armour and weapons disguised beneath villager’s smocks- slipping through the gate at the back of the frivolous parade. Girder grinned like a Cheshire cat - she was really enjoying herself - while Sydney beamed and simpered nervously through gritted teeth. The crowd loved the curvaceous ‘virgins’. Syd figured they would be putty in her hand when they realised she was also their favourite ‘warrior princess’. But it couldn’t be this easy, could it? ……………… Meanwhile, Nigel was a man on a mission. He wanted to help Syd, but everything was going so well there that he hoped he had time to carry out one important task before she faced her showdown with the consul. He wanted to rescue Derek. Moreover, he had a burning desire, counteracting his usual caution, to do it all by himself. Slipping away from the other disguised soldiers, he asked directions to the jailhouse from a toothless old woman, who complied after some pleading on his part. ‘Do you know if there are many guards?’ enquired Nigel. The crone regarded him suspiciously but said, ‘with a festival like this on, I expect they will only have one or two.’ ‘Great!’ said Nigel enthusiastically, and them quickly backtracked as the woman’s probing glare returned. ‘I mean, um, it’s great our soldiers are so good you only need two for a job like that. Very efficient!’ He turned on his heels and hobbled off as fast as he could. His first destination, however, was not the prison but the now empty guardhouse at the gate. There may have been only two prison guards for him to overcome, but hand-to-hand combat was hardly an option. ‘If you can’t beat them,’ thought Nigel, ‘join them!’ He snuck in through the open door and into the now vacant chamber, whose usual occupants were enjoying Sydney’s company. As he hoped, there was a whole array of spare armour. Still shunning the heavy breastplates, Nigel picked a heroic looking helmet with a clunky visor and an ostentatious red plume. He then headed off in the direction of the jail. As the woman had said, there were no more than two guards outside. Nigel put on his helmet, pulled down the visor and marched up tentatively, glad that the headgear also covered the strain on his face as he agonisingly disguised his limp. ‘Salutations comrades!’ he cried, in his best Latin and lowest timbre. ‘I’ve come to take away one of your prisoners.’ ‘One?’ said the first guard, a fat chap with a bulbous nose who was greedily chomping a leg of mutton. ‘We’ve only got one! Agroitus came and dragged off the other one earlier. I suppose he’s probably dead by now…’ Nigel swallowed hard, trying not to fear the worst. ‘Well, I’ve come for the other!’ His confident tone wobbled slightly. The guard scrutinised him. ‘That’s a commander’s helmet, isn’t it? Not that I can see your face, but I know all the garrison commanders. Do I know you?’ ‘Damn,’ thought Nigel searching for a comeback in vain. ‘I should have known that this fancy helmet would cause trouble.’ While the first guard stared, waiting for an answer, the second pointed to Nigel's well-strapped ankle. ‘Did you pick that injury up in the line of duty, comrade?’ ‘Umm,’ stammered Nigel, ‘err, yes!’ A timely idea hit him. ‘I was rapidly promoted to the rank of commander this morning when I captured the ‘warrior princess’ herself! It was nasty, but I took her down in a one-on-one fight!’ He pointed to his ankle. ‘This?’ he waved his hand dismissively. ‘Nothing! You should see the poor, unfortunate lady!’ The first guard threw his finished leg of mutton over his shoulder and gulped. If this guy had really brought in the ‘warrior princess’ he must be some fighter! ‘Well, you’d better take the prisoner, then.’ He handed Nigel the keys. ‘There you go, Commander.’ Nigel let out a long breath and hurried inside, thanking heaven that the thugs of the ancient world were every bit as gullible as those in modern times. …………………… At the helmeted figure blundered through the prison door, Derek jumped to his feet, ready to fight the death if he had to. Then he observed the newcomer's limp and bandage. His grimly-set face broke into a broad grin. ‘Aren’t you a little short to be a Roman soldier?’ Nigel pulled off the helmet and pouted. ‘No, Derek, I am not. And you're hardly six foot four, are you?’ Nigel was just too darn pleased with himself for having got past the guards, and about Derek being alive, to be annoyed. His frown melted into a beaming smile: ‘aren’t you pleased to see me?’ ‘I'm always pleased to see you, my friend!’ said Derek, now standing at the front of the cell, gripping the bars. ‘Need a hug?’ His eyes glinted mischievously. ‘Don’t mock me, Derek,’ retorted Nigel, although still in good temperament. ‘Are you alright?’ He started to fumble with the key in the lock. ‘I will be as soon as you get me out of here! Where’s Sydney?’ ‘Right now?’ The key clicked and the door opened. ‘Dancing through the streets as a Vestal virgin on her way to confronting the consul at the forum, I hope. We've got to get out of here and help her!’ Derek was already out of the cage. Despite the hilarious image of Syd as chaste, girlish damsel that flashed through his mind, a look of serious consternation crossed the agent's face. ‘What the heck is she doing there? The consul has a date with that bitch Veronica at the tower - any minute now!’ ‘What?’ said Nigel, alarmed. ‘How on earth does he know about that?’ ‘You can thank your friend Bluthus for it, Nigel. They headed off together not half an hour ago. We’ve got to get back to that tower immediately before Agroitus and Veronica become best buddies and you can kiss goodbye to the 21st century forever.’ Nigel was torn: ‘What about Syd?’ ‘Sydney Fox can take care of herself. Come on!’ He cracked his knuckles determinedly and charged out of the jail, taking out his frustration on two surprised and subsequently unconscious guards. …………………. Sydney was beginning to wish that she exercised the muscles in her face as much as she worked out the rest of her highly toned body. As she danced towards the altar, the fixed grin beneath the thin veil was beginning to really ache! Moreover, there appeared to be a hitch in the well-laid plan. Where the hell was the consul? The only people by the alter were a few bald-headed old men in togas and a frail looking woman with a tremulous smile. City dignitaries should always be at ceremonies like this, but Agroitus was nowhere to be seen. Syd noticed Girder’s fists clench excitedly as they reached their destination: the woman really was a natural born warrior, and was just burning for a fight. Unfortunately, though, there was nobody currently present on whom either of them could unleash their pent-up energies. Sydney tripped as daintily as possibly up to the altar, and laughed breezily as she waved her wreath in the air. ‘Where’s the consul?’ she asked the veiled woman, failing miserably to sound appropriately demure. ‘I was so looking forward to meeting him!’ ‘My husband?’ The woman shook her head hopelessly. ‘He should be here, my dear, but he said he had some business at the Tour Magne. I knew he neglected his duties, but to neglect his religion… ah, I'm only his wife. Why should he listen to me?’ she sighed. ‘I despair!’ ‘The Tour Magne!’ Sydney threw down her bouquet in frustration. The jerky movement caused her veil to slip and the consul’s wife cried out in surprise. ‘Aren’t you the…warrior princess?’ she gasped, loud enough for the crowd around to hear her and join in her recognition. ‘Err, maybe,’ said Syd: ‘And, believe me, its way easier than being a Vestal virgin! Now…rain-check!’ Sydney dived into the crowd and pushed her way through the excited spectators who, unsure quite what was going on, cheered their heroine anyway. A ‘warrior princess’ and a Vestal virgin in one gorgeous package! For the men in the crowd, it was as if somebody had invented Christmas. Syd didn't care. Her showdown wasn’t cancelled. It had merely shifted its location back to the first place she ever visited in Nevium. For better rather than worse, she sincerely hoped it would also be the last she would see of the Ancient city.
|
