CHAPTER TWO: BACK IN TIME

 

The next thing Sydney knew was darkness and utter disorientation. What she dead? Could she move? Neither of these things was clear.

As her senses settled, Sydney found she was collapsed backwards onto some sort of damp, bumpy ground. She tried to shift her limbs, but they felt heavy and nothing would respond.

Her bewilderment grew as she felt gentle arms slipped under hers, and pull her head and upper body off the floor into a warm, comfortable lap.

A tentative hand lightly stroked her hair. ‘Its okay, Syd. It'll pass, you'll feel better soon.’

‘Nigel?’

‘Yes. It's me. It's all right.’ She'd rarely known anything more comforting than his soft voice at that moment.

‘Where am I?’ Sydney tried to raise herself, but she still felt dizzy.

‘Sssshhh, just try and relax.’ Becoming more aware, Sydney sensed an undertone of fear in Nigel's voice. He was trying to console her, but he was holding her increasingly tightly.

‘Where are we, Nigel?’ Her inquiry was more urgent this time.

‘I'm not sure,’ admitted Nigel, his voice still hushed. ‘I'd barely gathered myself when you suddenly appeared. I lay there on the floor for what seemed like an eternity. We’re in some sort of round, stone chamber. Light is coming in from a narrow opening over there.’ He pointed to a small gap in the stonework a few metres off. It led to a small passage, through which seeped light. ‘I was considering venturing out,’ continued Nigel, ‘when I heard voices… and found this note.’

‘What note?’ Sydney felt much better already, and extracted herself from Nigel's arms. He withdrew them quickly, wondering if he'd overstepped the mark. He handed her the bit of paper and she shuffled over towards the light so she could read.

Professor Fox. It is imperative that you and your assistant find me the Omniscient Eye of Hatshepsut. No, it is not a legend, it is a fine, azure stone possessed of great power. The last expert I sent on this mission found out the relic was taken to Nevium in 82 AD, by the Consul, Agroitus Poculus, who hid it somewhere in the city. He then met an untimely end. If you do not do the same, and wish to return to the present, you must meet the back here, and at the bottom of the Tour Magne, in exactly 7 days. Veronica.

‘Veronica!’ gasped Syd. She quickly communicated to Nigel about Derek Lloyd’s visit and warning. ‘Do you think she has she somehow transported us to the modern-day city of Nevium to find this relic?’

‘I don't know, Syd. There are no surviving records of who the consul was in this year, yet she claims it was someone called Agroitus Poculus.’ Nigel paused and took a deep breath. ‘And…those voices I heard, they were speaking Latin.’

‘Latin? But nobody has spoken Latin for centuries, apart from in religious services.’

‘They weren’t reciting mass, that's for sure.’ Syd could tell Nigel was agitated and, much more than usual, so was she. Where on earth were they? Or, more to the point, when on earth were they?

‘I think we'd better look outside,’ said Sydney decisively. On hands and knees, she began to crawl through the tunnel that led out of the stone chamber. Nigel followed.

The site which greeted her when she rose at the other end was breathtaking. They were on the top of the hill overlooking what would be, by modern standards, a small town. However, this was no town of modern standards: it was a perfectly constructed Roman city. They had emerged from the bottom of a stone tower, about thirty metres or so high, which was one of many that were placed at intervals along a wall which encircled the whole urban area. Within it, could be identified legions of neatly laid out streets, lined with tiled roofed buildings. Amongst them were interspersed several high standing colonnaded temples and an impressively massive, circular amphitheatre. Cascading down the hill in front of them, were spectacular waterfalls and fountains, which flowed into lakes in a formal garden below.

Sydney gazed in wonderment as she felt Nigel’s hand grasp hers from behind: ‘Sydney, it’s real!’ Nigel was now breathing so hard that she thought he might hyperventilate. She pulled away her hand and turned to face him, no words yet forthcoming. ‘Somehow, she’s sent us back in time,’ he gasped. ‘This is exactly how Nevium would have looked in the first century AD. The city wall, the gardens, the temples, the amphitheatre, it is exactly as the remains indicate. And this,’ here he indicated the tower behind them. ‘This still stands in the 21st Century…the Tour Magne… wasn't it the subject of the Nostradamus prophecy?’

Sydney ceased hearing the details of his banter as she tried to get her head around the situation. ‘She's sent us back in time?’ Sydney articulated the words slowly, but her mind was racing. Even with her vast experience, she'd never been landed in a situation like this.

Her quandary was broken by her ever-sharp instincts. ‘Quick, I hear voices. We’d better hide.’

They dashed around the side of the tower and peered out as two men, wearing the distinctive breastplates and helmets of Roman soldiers, approached up the hill. They were speaking Latin alright, but Sydney found it hard to make out the words. ‘I think it must be some form of Gallic dialect,’ whispered Nigel. ‘But then again, we don't really know how any of it sounded, do we? Apart from reciting a few verbs in prep, my many years of Latin training were restricted to reading and writing.’

‘Can you make it out?’ inquired Sydney.

‘I think so. But do we really have to talk to anybody? Surely plan A is to get the relic as quietly as possible and hideout until we can go, well, back to the future.’

‘Sshhhhhh!’ The soldiers had reached the tower, and were climbing the steps which led to the first-floor level. Sydney sidled further around the wall, pushing Nigel ahead of her, until they were further out of sight.

‘If they are going on watch,’ Sydney whispered, ‘two other men who have been up the top will be coming out in a minute. It will be safe to go after that.’

‘Yes, but where are we going?’ Nigel desperately hoped that Sydney had a good, safe plan.

‘The only lead we have is the name of the consul who brought the relic here. You're going to have to try to speak to him.’

‘Me? Why not you? There’s nothing wrong with your Latin.’

‘No. But yours is better and, officially anyway, this is a highly patriarchal society. I'll pretend to be your wife or something. First, though, we need to find something to wear. I can't walk around a Roman town in my best university trouser suit. We need to get to get toga’d up!’

…………………..

Once the soldiers ending their shift had departed, Sydney and Nigel began to make their way down through the gardens and fountains towards the town. Fortunately, there were plenty of trees and statues to hide behind, and they managed to stay out of sight. Leaving Nigel hiding in the bushes, Sydney nimbly edged her way along the back of several villas, until she found an open window into to an empty room with some drying laundry. She appropriated a long, glamorous blue robe with a gold-thread belt for herself and a white toga for Nigel, and returned to his hiding place.

‘There, put that on.' Nigel had been expecting such a garment, but he still looked horrified. ‘You’ll look great.’ said Sydney encouragingly. ‘You know I think you have nice legs.’

‘Thanks,’ said Nigel unenthusiastically, snatched the toga, and ducked out of sight into the foliage. Sydney dressed herself in the sleeveless blue dress. Once drawn in around the waist, it fitted her surprisingly flatteringly. She felt both glamorous and able to move freely.

After a few minutes, Nigel emerged slowly from the leaves with his arms wrapped tightly around himself, as if he was naked. Eyeing Sydney up and down, he complimented her: ‘You look lovely,’ he said ruefully. 'I feel like an idiot.’

‘You look fine,’ affirmed Sydney. He really didn't look so bad. The toga seemed slightly too long, reaching to just below his knees, and was fastened with a leather belt. He did have quite nice legs, mused Sydney, even if they were a little, well, short. The ‘Roman’ look wasn't helped by the matter that he still had his modern leather shoes and socks on, but seeing as she had provided no alternative, Sydney did not suggest he took them off. They would have to pose as strangers anyway, and she hoped the odd peculiarity of appearance wouldn't matter too much.

Nigel obviously didn't want to talk about appearances for long, as he asked her again: 'So, what's the plan?’

Sydney sat down on the grass, and Nigel alighted next to her, carefully folding his legs. He still wasn't that used wearing a skirt. ‘What you know about Hatshepsut and her omniscient eye?’

‘Same as you, I suppose,’ replied Nigel. ‘Hatshepsutwas an Egyptian queen, the most powerful and long reigning of them all. They said her power was such that it had to be boosted by supernatural means. Hence the legend of the eye: apparently, it allowed its user to see what decision they should make for the best outcome… but there was never any historical evidence that it really existed.’

Sydney frowned. ‘Well, if it exists, it seems that Veronica traced it, using time travel and modern day experts, as far as Nevium in the 1st century, AD. It's amazing that something with so much power has been kept out of circulation for so long. If it fell into the wrong hands….’

‘… the hands of somebody who could also travel time?’ interjected Nigel.

Sydney nodded. ‘In the wrong hands, this stone could have the power to change the whole course of history, and mould it to the will of whoever possessed it.’

Nigel groaned. ‘And yet giving it to her is our only hope of ever getting home. That's just marvelous.’

Sydney rose and brushed the grass from her skirt. ‘We'll worry about that when we come to it. For now, we’ve got to find this thing. You've got to talk to the man who brought it here.’

‘The sex-mad consul?’

Sydney looked at him quizzically. ‘How do you know he’s sex mad?’

‘Don't even ask,’ replied Nigel. He had enough to worry about, without remembering the nightmare that was his ‘quiet little teaching job.’

……………………………….

The streets of the Roman city were bustling with all forms of life: men and women, citizens and slaves, children and animals. Despite this, Sydney and Nigel attracted plenty of probing looks and raised eyebrows as they attempted to look inconspicuous. Sydney realised she was exceptionally tall compared to most of the other women, and her striking looks engendered whispers and finger pointing. Nigel, height-wise, blended in better but his perpetual gaze of wide-eyed wonderment did not aid any semblance of ordinariness.

‘Sydney, this is amazing!’ he whispered, scanning from side-to-side to take in as much as he could. ‘There has got to be a way to document this. We could revolutionise the social history of the ancient world!’

‘Later, Nigel,’ hissed Sydney, smiling congenially at a wealthy looking man, wearing a tunic embroidered with gold and silk threads, who saluted her with a lecherous grin. ‘We need to find the consul’s house, remember? Who are you going to ask?’

‘To be honest, nobody has really struck me as being the one yet…’ Some Roman soldiers, larger and taller than most of the members of the public around them, marched round the corner, doubly reminding Nigel that this was not a nice, safe research field-trip. Sydney slipped her arm through his and led him off in the opposite direction. The wealthy looking man, who was tall like the soldiers, looked curiously after them, and then shouted a command to the soldiers.

‘Stop that man and the beautiful woman!’

Nigel launched into a run, but was abruptly halted when Sydney yanked him back by his toga. ‘I don't think running will do us any good, Nigel. This needn’t be a bad thing, maybe they'll help us.’

‘Maybe,’ gulped Nigel uncertainly. They turned around to face the music.

………………..

‘You are not a citizen!’ The man pointed an accusing finger straight at Nigel.

As the Roman soldiers encircled them, Nigel attempted a confident smile. ‘No, no….well, not of here, anyway.’

‘Of where are you a citizen, then?’

Nigel opened his mouth then shut it again in the manner of a goldfish. He wished they had thought of these important details beforehand. Sensing her assistant was floundering Sydney extracted her best Latin from the recesses of her mind and came to the rescue.

‘Let me apologise for my husband, Sir. We are not used to the sights and sounds of such a wonderful city. We have traveled from far in the north, from the territory known as Briton, when my husband was born. His father was a citizen of Rome, no less, one of the first conquerors of that untamed wilderness.’

Their inquisitor looked unconvinced, narrowing his eyes. ‘You are the son of a Roman citizen?’ Nigel nodded as confidently as confidently as he could. ‘That does not make you a citizen.’

‘I'm a partial citizen,’ said Nigel quickly dredging his memory for the intricacies of Roman law. ‘It was granted to me by Emperor Titus.’ He knew the date of this emperor should fit. He just hoped that this man was not an intimate friend. Fortunately, the wealthy looking man, who had graying blonde hair, seemed satisfied for now.

‘Will you introduce me to your beautiful wife?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Now he needed a name! Despite being a much simpler demand on him than remembering the legal details, every Roman name he ever knew fled from his memory.

After what seemed like hours of excruciating silence, Nigel sweepingly gestured at his charming ‘spouse’ and said: ‘this is Boadicea.’

A shockwave of startled voices resonated through the marketplace: ‘could the warrior queen be alive?’ A woman screamed, ‘she's come to massacre us all!’ Nigel knew, even as he spoke, that he had messed this one up badly. It was only a few years since the bloody rebellion by the Queen of the Iceni had been suppressed by the occupying Romans.

‘Sydney, I'm sorry,’ he hissed out of the side of his mouth. ‘My mind blanked. I couldn't think of any other name.’

Sydney had appropriated her most benign smile. 'Please, don't be alarmed,’ she addressed the populace. ‘I'm not that Boadicea. My mother, poor misguided soul, worshipped the woman before she realised the error of her ways. Nobody calls me Boadicea now, apart from my husband when he wants to chastise me.’

‘Yes, that's right,’ said Nigel, nodding enthusiastically. ‘I call her that to keep her in her place. She knows what becomes of nasty British rebels! Down with them, the barbarians!’ Nigel emphasised this last point by pumping his fist.

Their original interviewer was looking increasingly perplexed. ‘Your wife is from that godforsaken little island, too? I find that hard to believe. I thought all the natives of the North were as pasty as you are.’

‘Oooooh no. My wife comes from a tribe of beautiful British warriors who all look as gorgeous as she does.’ Nigel hoped everyone else was finding this more persuasive than he was. ‘They’re all loyal to Rome, now,’ he added as an afterthought. Sydney smiled sweetly again to affirm this point.

‘Well, I'm glad to hear that,’ said the wealthy looking man. ‘However, you had not told me what brings you to our city?’

‘We need to speak to the consul,’ said Nigel, hoping that he wasn't going to be asked for a reason.

Instead, the man adopted a commanding stance, placing both hands on his hips, and said: ‘You're speaking to him.’

Continue to  chapter 3