Anne Barbour (9 page)

Thank God, thought James, relieved that Cheeke’s visit would be brief.

“I must say,” continued Mordecai, all ingenuous interest, “I was surprised to learn that you had left the metropolis for the pastoral scene. What drew you here, James?”

“As you say, a bit of rustication,” murmured James. Wordlessly, he removed the figure of Minerva from Mordecai’s acquisitive grasp and locked the cabinet door before leading his guest to a satin-striped chair near the fire. Pouring wine into two glasses, he handed one to Cheeke and took the second to another chair on the opposite side of the fire. Mordecai sipped appreciatively before cocking his head. His eyes widened innocently.

“But did I not hear you have discovered the remains of a villa hereabouts? On your newly purchased estate, in fact?”

“Mm, yes,” James replied casually. “Certainly the remains provided an additional incentive for purchasing Goodhurst. However, I had already decided to buy a place in the country. My collection”—he swept an arm toward the cabinet—”has grown somewhat extensive. Unlike Sir John Soane, I did not wish to turn my house in London into a clutter of odds and ends gathered from the corners of the earth, so I elected to place my things in a more, er, commodious setting.”

“I see.”

A silence fell, as Mordecai continued to drink his wine.

“Have you turned up any artifacts of interest?”

James affixed a lazy smile to his lips. “A few bits and pieces, merely.”

Mordecai waved an admonishing finger. “You don’t fool me, my boy,” he said playfully. “Despite your secretive ways, I know your propensity—nay, your very genius—for sniffing out major finds. You’re onto something here, James. I can smell it. And I want to know what it is.”

James stiffened warily. He was tempted to simply deny Cheeke’s ludicrous suspicions. Unfortunately, this would not serve to allay them. Indeed, denial would simply inflame Cheeke’s acquisitive instincts even further. He bent a bland smile on his adversary. “Even if such an absurd assumption were true, do you think I would be likely to confide in you?”

“Ah, my dear colleague, you refer to the brisk, not to say, fervent spirit of competition that has sprung up between us over the years. I understand perfectly, but surely, something of this magnitude should be shared.”

“And so it would be—if there were something to share—at the proper time.”

He transferred a meditative gaze to a point beyond the window.

Mordecai sighed. “I see you mean to be difficult, but I shall not give up. I know there must have been a compelling reason for you to abandon your snug digs in Duke Street, and I mean to discover what it is.”

The words were spoken in a tone of light badinage, but James had no difficulty in discerning the predatory glitter in Cheeke’s pale gray eyes.

“Really, Mordecai”—James tipped up the last of his wine—”I must not keep you. The daylight hours are still lengthy, but the sun set some time ago, and it is growing quite dark. If you wish to make Stratton before nightfall, you had best be on your way.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Mordecai emptied his own glass and rose, smoothing a hand over his blinding waistcoat. “Yes, yes. There will be a moon tonight, but one requires some daylight to travel, given the state of the roads these days. One wonders if any improvements have been made to the Fosse Way since the Romans departed, eh?”

He chuckled at his own witticism and James smiled dutifully. Within a few minutes Mordecai had taken his leave, promising a return betimes to “... look in on your progress, old man—at your villa.”

When the door had closed behind him, James moved across the hall to the staircase, where he sank thoughtfully onto the bottom step. He had apparently allayed Cheeke’s suspicions, but as surely as the showers of spring would follow the snows of winter, Mordecai Cheeke would return to Goodhurst. Keeping him out of Rufus’ orbit would be the devil’s own work.

Upon entering the bedchamber allotted to Minimus Rufus, James stepped into a scene of mild chaos. Robert and Rufus stood in the center of the room, facing each other in a confrontational stance. Each spoke at peak volume, neither apparently listening to what the other was saying. The dissonance was further augmented by the fact that the dispute was being conducted in two languages.

“Nullam notlonem habuisti de quibus hablis!”
bellowed Rufus.

“What the devil is the matter with you?” returned Robert at full roar.
“Esne non dicere potens instar hominis prudentis?
Or, no, that’s not right,” he added in English, in response to Rufus’ expression of puzzlement. “Can’t you speak like a reasonable man? That’s what I meant. Not a reasonable cabbage.
Hominem,
not
holinem. Rationem.”

“I
am
being reasonable!” The dialogue continued in Latin. “It is you and your barbarian master who are committing the unconscionable crime of laying hands on a soldier of the emperor’s army.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, nobody’s laid a hand on you, but I’m liable to land you a facer if you don’t stop screeching like a ravished maiden.”

At this point, James, who had been trying to make himself heard above the roar of combat, brought his fist down on a nearby table, causing the various accoutrements set on it to rattle impressively.

“Please, gentlemen,” he said calmly as Rufus and Robert whirled about simultaneously.

It was some moments before order was restored, but at last, Rufus, breathing heavily, sat gingerly on the edge of a chair and Robert flung himself into one nearby.

“Now then,” said James. He raised an admonishing hand to Robert, who opened his mouth in obvious indignation. “I shall explain all in a moment. First allow me to make peace with our guest.”

He turned to Rufus. “Minimus Rufus,” he began in Latin, “I have no intention of keeping you here against your will.”

Rufus snorted and rose from his chair.

“However,” continued James coolly, “if you will but listen a moment, I believe you must see that it is to your best interest to remain in my home—at least for the time being.”

He paused for a moment, eyeing the warrior. Rufus, while not precisely subsiding, looked as though he was prepared to give ear to James’s arguments.

“As the Lady Hilary said awhile ago, you are in a difficult position. You have traveled from your own time to one that is completely foreign to you. You have no money and no clothes, except for what you are wearing, and you don’t speak the language.”

Behind him, Robert gave utterance to a choked gasp.

“If you travel thus into the world, I think you will eventually find yourself taken up by the constabulary and placed in a facility very much less pleasant than your present lodgings.

“On the other hand, if you agree to stay here and follow my direction, I will do everything I can to return you to your proper place in the cosmos. Frankly,” he said again, “I haven’t the slightest notion how you got here, or how to get you back where you belong, but I’ll do everything I can for you. Now, what do you say?”

Rufus bent a hard stare on him. Robert seemed to have stopped breathing, and the only sound to be heard in the room was—appropriately enough, thought James—the ticking of a little clock on the table by Rufus’ bed.

“You will allow me to come and go as I please?” asked Rufus, his suspicions obviously not completely allayed.

“Of course, although I suggest that you not leave the premises without me.”

“And you will help me escape this benighted time period?”

“I will, indeed, although I hope to demonstrate to you that we are not such a bad lot here in the nineteenth century.”

“Very well, then. I wish to go to the tower right now. Or, no,” he amended glancing out of the window, where darkness pressed against the panes, “first thing tomorrow morning.”

James bowed. “As you wish. As for the rest of the evening, would you care to peruse some of the books in my library? I have quite a few in Latin. Or perhaps we could embark on a program of English for you. As I think I have told you, that is the language everyone hereabouts speaks now. It is descended from Latin and Celtic and a few other tongues with which you are probably unfamiliar.”

Rufus grunted. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’m for bed. It’s been a long day. I’d like to look at a couple of your books, though—the Latin.” He paused for a moment as an idea struck him. “Do you have any written a few years ahead of my own time? It might be interesting to know who the next few emperors will be.”

James frowned. “I had not thought of that—of the repercussions of sending you back to your own time with a foreknowledge of the future. I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

Rufus stared at him, uncomprehending.

“If you know what’s going to happen in your future, you might be able to change what is to come.”

“Mm,” replied Rufus, rubbing his chin. “But,” he said slowly, “I would have already done that if it were possible—if you see what I mean. And the future—or rather, your present—is already changed. No?”

“I—I have no idea,” said James. “You may be right, or”—he tapped his chin thoughtfully—”in any event, the histories of Tacitus should provide you with some interesting reading material. By the by,” he continued, an arrested expression in his eyes, “where did you say you were from?”

“I was born in Italica—in Iberia.”

“Ah, Spain. Italica is near Seville, I believe. Tell me, are you familiar with the name Hadrian?”

“Of course. He is a protégé of Trajan--the Imperator, you know, and he, too, is from Italica. In fact, my father worked on the estate of Hadrian’s family, and we played together as children.” Rufus chuckled. “You know, I saved his neck when he was just a pup. One day we went fishing and he took a tumble in the river. I pulled him out. I don’t suppose he remembers.”

“Hmm,” replied James. “One never knows. We’ll have to discuss this further. At any rate, I shall see you in the morning. When you arise, ring the bell—here it is—and I shall instruct someone to send for me. Robert?”

He gestured to his secretary, who followed him dazedly from the room.

“Wh—wha—?” he mumbled as the door closed behind them. “D’you mean to tell me that the fellow we just left back there is— is—” He seemed unable to finish the thought, but followed, unresisting as James led him downstairs to the library.

“Yes, Robert. ‘The fellow’ is Marcus Minimus Rufus, late of the Emperor Trajan’s army and he comes to us from approximately seventeen hundred years ago.”

“My God!” Robert gaped at his employer. “With all due respect, sir, I think someone around here has gone round the bend. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure if it’s that old walrus or you or me, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t me.”

James grinned. “I don’t wonder at your, er, skepticism, Robert. Allow me to allay your fears.”

Briefly, he recounted the remarkable appearance of Minimus Rufus, detailing the old soldier’s knowledge of the period and his finely crafted dagger. Of Lady Hilary’s part in the fantastic tale, he said little, for some reason reluctant to discuss her with his secretary.

“Well!” exclaimed Robert at last. “Well. It is difficult to see how a mere lightning bolt—although Max and I heard it, too, and it certainly was a stunner—could effect the transportation of a man from one century to another. On the other hand, I cannot imagine anyone pulling such a rig so successfully, especially on someone like you. I mean, you’re not stupid to begin with—”

“Thank you, my boy,” said James solemnly.

Robert flushed. “Yes, sir, but you know what I mean. You’re known to be a downy one. I’d think it would be just about impossible to fool you. Besides, what would the man gain?”

“The same conclusion I’ve reached myself. I may be all wrong, of course, but I’ve decided to proceed as though our friend upstairs is the genuine article.”

Robert’s eyes lit. “If that’s the case, sir, imagine what he can tell you!”

“I have thought of little else since his appearance. My only concern right now is Mordecai Cheeke.”

“Good God, yes. If he should get wind of this—wait a minute. Did you say he was here? What did he want?”

“Merely to pass the time of day, if he was to be believed. I bundled him away from here with all possible speed, but his instincts are in full cry. I don’t know what got his wind up, but he apparently thinks my Roman villa will prove to be the archaeological find of the century. Which, it might, of course, for one never knows what might turn up, but—”

“And now you have two reasons for keeping him away from here.”

“Precisely. He said he was on his way to visit Sir Harvey Winslow, who lives some fifteen miles from here, but it takes barely two hours to traverse that distance. From what he said, I imagine he will be buzzing around here like a starving honeybee— and just as much of a nuisance.”

“I’ll instruct the servants that you will not be home when he calls.”

“Good. And now, in the words of Minimus Rufus, it’s been a long day, and tomorrow will come early. I shall want to send word first thing to Lady Hilary, inviting her to participate in my first real conversation with that gentleman.”

Robert’s brows lifted in surprise.

“Ordinarily, I would not allow a female within miles of either our guest or the villa, but I do not see how, under the circumstances, I can keep her away. In addition, as you remarked earlier, she is something of an original. I have decided to permit her limited access to Rufus and to allow her to assist in the excavation of the villa—on a strictly circumscribed basis, of course.”

Robert’s lips twitched. “Of course.”

James bade his secretary a dignified good night, and made his way toward his bedchamber. Later, he gazed at the ceiling in the cool darkness, reflecting on the extraordinary day that had just come to a close.

Who would have thought that a slender young hoyden, who looked to be barely out of the schoolroom, could have been responsible for the good fortune that had just befallen him? It was as though someone had just handed him the deed to a gold mine. No—much better than a gold mine, for the information that he would glean from Minimus Rufus was a thousand times more valuable than any paltry metal that one might dig from the earth.