Gladiatrix (13 page)

The walls began to vibrate. Then to ripple and swell, closing in on me. At that moment I recognised the sensation — it was like surfing the crest of a giant wave.

A sound like a waterfall enveloped me.

All coherent thought left as a massive surge of energy swept me up off my feet and sucked me forward.

The surge cut out abruptly. The feeling of being lifted forward was replaced by the sensation of dropping. Falling. Towards something green.

Then I realised I was falling! The green was a grassy field far below me.

A scream forced its way out of my mouth and my body went into red alert.

I started lashing out with arms and legs, but there was nothing to catch onto. Nothing at all.

Those bastards had altered the location setting of Victoria's transponder to make sure I didn't try and come back. They wanted to leave me a smashed body in a forgotten field, on the other side of time.

A blur of brown and green flashed up, and past my right side. Adrenalin had flooded all my senses so I could see every detail as it whizzed past. Rocks, bushes … more rocks.

It was a cliff face! I was falling down a cliff face!

I grabbed for it, but it was beyond my reach. I was parallel, but just too far away.

I looked straight down.

There was a large patch of green zooming up towards me. It was the top of a tree growing out of the
side of the cliff. I jerked my arms and legs out into an X, trying to maximise my catching ability.

Suddenly I crashed through the canopy. Sharp branches jabbing into me as I fell. Ahh … an upward-pointing branch speared through my pants. The cloth caught for a moment, flipping me over and into another branch, then ripped loose just as I hooked onto a heavy limb with my left arm.

I came to a bone-jarring halt.

But the limb I was holding onto was bending … then broke.

I dropped again.

I grabbed for the next branch down, fumbled, then caught it with both hands. Another reprieve. This limb was thicker, stronger. It held. I hung there for a second, legs swinging wildly, searching for a leghold, a foothold, anything to stand on!

Craaack. The branch was fracturing under my weight.

Below, my feet found another limb. I ducked my head to look. It was thicker, a main branch off the tree trunk. I swung both feet onto the lower limb and balanced. My weight shifted down. With that, the fracturing noise above my head stopped. I sucked in a breath.

The main trunk was only a few feet away, so, still clinging on to the top branch, I shimmied across to it. The tree was old and gnarled, but still strong, with its heavy roots buried deep in a rock cleft. It felt solid enough to hold my weight, so I hung onto the trunk for a moment and took a quick look around. My vision swam so much I felt I was pitching forward. Not good. The bang on the head was affecting my balance. I wrapped my arms around the trunk, leant my forehead against the rough bark, and shut my eyes.

Thump. Thump. Thump. I was so full of adrenalin my heart was trying to burst out of my chest. I had to calm down. Make the right decisions quickly.

Slow the breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. Drop awareness to just below my navel. To the hara, the body's main repository of energy. The area all martial artists cultivate. Uncontrolled fear makes this energy shoot upwards, sending the heart racing and short-circuiting the brain. The trick is to bring the energy back down to the belly and let the mind do what it does best — find solutions.

I breathed down into my hara, visualised the molten energy sinking back into the golden ball cradled by my hips, watched the ball expand with each breath like blowing on a fire. I felt my head clear, cool, calm, felt my heart slow, my chest soften.

I opened my eyes again. Good, the spinning feeling had gone. I crept the fingers of one hand round to touch the back of my head. It didn't feel too serious. Okay, it was sore and there was a lump there, but nothing was broken. No fractured skull. Anything else I could and would deal with.

Time to look down again. Then up. Good, no loss of balance there, and the news wasn't too bad either.

The tree was growing out of a cleft in a wide, flat ledge two-thirds of the way down the cliff. Solid ground, a deserted field edged with red wildflowers and a broken-down stone fence, was less than a hundred feet below. There was no-one in sight to call for help, but that could be a good thing. Down the left side of the cliff there seemed to be a series of potential holds ending in another rock ledge, not too far above the ground. It wasn't going to be easy but it was doable if I took my time. And, unless someone from the NTA
turned up with a rope or a cherry picker, that was the plan I was sticking to.

The bags and leather coat had come through with me, and the contents were scattered below. That had been close, too close. Heights don't worry me, but dying does. Except for the tree, I'd be lying with those bags now, contents also scattered.

Those bastards! Interrupting my search like this, making me waste my time having to survive this shit! Because I would survive, even if it was just to pound them into …

I stopped. I had to keep cool. Get down off this bloody cliff first.

Focus.

My boots, and to a lesser extent my pants, had given my body some protection on the way through the foliage. I had grazes on my hands but nothing too bad. No deep, welling gashes. I could climb as long as they didn't start bleeding again — that'd make my grip too slippery. I'd have to bandage them. I pulled off my white shirt, ripped it up, and wrapped my palms. Not too much, and not too tight. And nothing over the fingers. From what I could see from here, there'd be points where I'd need to be able to feel my way along the rock face. My boots were light with a flexible, gripping sole so I left them on.

I looked around at the tree with a little too much affection. After struggling so desperately to catch hold of this perch I was reluctant to leave it, which wasn't a good sign for a climber. You can't afford to stay in one place and risk losing your nerve. Plus, if I stayed too long my hands would stiffen.

So I lowered myself off the tree, and onto the cliff. Then slowly down and across to the handholds I'd spotted before. I was lucky, this granite didn't crumble
like the sandstone cliffs I was used to. With my sore hands I don't know how I'd have gone doing this back home.

I climbed slowly, using my legs as much as possible, and keeping my weight close to the rock face. When I reached the lower ledge, I just dropped the final feet to the pasture, and collapsed on the soft grass.

The sun blazed overhead while fluffy clouds chased each other like lambs across a searing blue sky. It had to be around noon, on a hot steamy summer's day.

I carefully touched the grooves made by the infinity sign on the collar around my neck. The sequence was three pushes, wait for three, and then repeat. The NTA would oust the terrorists sooner or later, but I had absolutely no intention of trying to go back just yet. It was too risky. They'd just send me straight back again. And this time I might miss that last branch.

They'd said I was going to visit Marshal Dupree. That meant Rome, 8AD.

The base of the cliff was high up, and I had a good view of the surrounding countryside. Green hills on both sides and directly across, just a few miles away, was a city. Covering one, two … possibly seven hills. That could be wishful thinking, because there were so many buildings it was hard to tell exactly. But a river glinted in the middle of it. That could be the Tiber.

I stepped over my coat to get to Victoria's bag. The phactor was still inside, tucked into the side pocket. I muttered some kind of anonymous prayer, then flipped it open and switched it on. The screen lit up and the menu appeared. Yes! It still worked and the solar battery was charged.

I flicked through her mission files and found the Maps directory. There was a 3-D map of Rome. I looked from the digital image to the reality, and back
again. They weren't exact matches from this angle, but the topography seemed close enough, and two of the big temples on the city skyline were dead ringers for the Temple of Jupiter and the neighbouring Temple of Juno.

Yep. That city was Rome and, unless the terrorists had lied, Augustan Rome.

I let a big breath out. At least I knew where I was. And I knew enough about the place to have a chance of surviving. Watch out for bandits and street gangs. Don't smart-mouth anyone wearing a toga, or in a military uniform … The Roman Empire wasn't my area, but I knew enough about social norms to keep from getting myself killed in the first twenty-four hours.

Or was I feeding myself a line of bravado bullshit?

Panic slashed through me.

Stop it! I could panic or survive. Not both.

I focused on the city. Victoria could be over there, just a couple of miles away. Maybe close to death … And while those bastards held the portal, no rescue mission could get through to her!

There was no choice really. I couldn't risk going back through the portal yet, so I had to look for Victoria. We could help each other.

That was it. Find Victoria.

If she wasn't alive … Well I'd know pretty quickly, so I'd think about that when I had to. Make other plans. But, for now, I was going into Rome.

I looked down. I was wearing a bra and ripped pants, and had bandaged hands. The bloodstained bandages came off first — better not show any vulnerability in the shark pool I was about to enter. I had little choice with clothes, only what I'd packed in my shoulder bag. I pulled on the stretched red T-shirt I sleep in. Then a pair of black jeans, and my boots
again. I wanted to cover my gender as much as possible, so I tied my black bandana over my hair and pulled on the leather coat. It flattened out my chest a little.

Okay, so I was going to look foreign. Very foreign. And, with a bit of luck, male. I was sure women didn't travel alone in this time, and being foreign and female would bring me more trouble than I could deal with.

If I could just make it to Victoria's well-stocked apartment in the centre of Rome I had a chance, a real chance, of getting through this. I could get clean water, look after my hands, and find more suitable clothes.

Victoria might even be there.

But I wasn't holding to that hope.

I put a note describing my plans in Victoria's handbag, and left it at the base of the cliff. Just in case a rescue mission traced me here. I put the Glock in my right coat pocket, the phactor in my left and slung my bag over my shoulder. Then I started down the hill.

The road into Rome was choked with traffic and, judging from the smooth paving stones, it'd been that way for a very long time. Most were on foot, but the larger carriages hogged the paved road, basically driving over anyone that got in their way, and the adolescent idiots on horseback weaved in between us at high speed and with very little warning. Even worse, at regular intervals a bugle would squeal a peremptory warning from the rear, and we'd all have to dive out of the way of some official-looking rider in livery streaking through at full gallop. Not everyone made it in time.

The good news was, the translator was working. Well, I could understand what the Latin speakers were saying at any rate; the rest was just a cacophony. And the Romans were easy to identify, both sexes wore tunics, though the women's were longer and more brightly coloured. The men were clean-shaven, with short hair, and seemed plain compared to some of the other males. Pale-skinned, bearded blonds in rough kilts. Tall, blue-black Africans in brightly coloured caftans and turbans … The road to Rome was packed
full of exotic-looking tourists, foreign slaves and workers, as well as their own people. This was good for me as I was trying to keep a low profile.

But it was hard to work out the social norm here, or even if there was just one. Rich women in carriages passed by, hassling their male drivers to pick up the pace, while others were veiled from head to foot and walked three paces behind their men. I couldn't even tell whether the veiled women were slaves or not. In fact, it was hard to tell who the slaves were, except for their treatment, and sometimes by what they were wearing. There didn't seem to be any standard slave collars, or other markings to go by.

So I just kept moving through the crowd as quickly as possible, because one thing was very clear. In black from head to foot, I stood out like a biker at a white wedding, and the people I passed didn't like it. I knew the language translator worked just fine, because every time I passed a new section of the crowd I could hear their speculations.

And they weren't friendly ones either.

But, while they looked, no-one actually came near enough to find out more. I towered over most people. Not all, but most. And like any big city, everyone kept their heads down and concentrated on their own business. That, and trying to avoid being run over by the carriages and idiot riders. So the Glock stayed in my pocket, and I basically sprinted the last stretch to the edge of the city.

Unfortunately, once I hit the city proper, the congestion got much worse. We all became wedged so tightly together, that we just flowed along the main road like a river. From the bottom of the cliff, Rome had seemed stately, attractive, with its hilltop temples and monuments rising above the line of the city. But
when we moved through their version of an industrial slum, the air, already thick with the stench from open drains, combined with smoke from the iron smelters to form a greasy, nauseating mist. Choking as I went, I stumbled over something soft. I felt my boot sink in, and looked down. It was a decaying body.

God! My boot was ankle deep in intestines. But I was carried forward before I could react.

That shook me up, but the road got better after that. Less open signs of poverty and suffering. Now every neighbourhood was a concentrated slice of a different ethnic community, organised around its own little plaza with a water pump in the middle. Aromatic cooking smells drifted out of strange little shops. Brightly coloured clothes hung on lines strung across the street …

I started to relax. This wasn't so bad. In fact it was intriguing.

Then the crowd came to an abrupt halt.

The man just ahead of me nudged his friends and pointed. I couldn't understand what he was saying, but I could see over his head to where he was pointing. The path was blocked by some kind of huge triumphal arch, with a massive iron gate hinged across it. The gate was open, but the flow of people through it had slowed to a dribble. This was partly because all the wheeled vehicles were stopped to one side and unloading their goods. This made sense, the closer we got to the centre of the city, the narrower the streets were becoming.

But that wasn't what worried me. What did worry me and, from the careful whispers around me, was worrying everyone else too, was the set of armed men standing right next to the gate.

They were Praetorians. Augustus' elite host, his sworn bodyguards. The very best of the best.

Stiff mohawk brushes topped their shiny helmets; they had gleaming new armour over the top of their even newer tunics, and an attitude that screamed trouble. They were the only soldiers allowed by law in Rome. Nine cohorts of them. That was nine thousand expertly trained and armed men in total. With no-one who could even start to oppose them …

That meant they were a power unto themselves. In times to come they would decide who ruled Rome and hence the known world. Even now they knew they owned this city.

And they were searching this crowd with mean eyes. Just waiting for an excuse to unsheathe the swords hanging at their sides and lay in to us.

You could almost smell the fear. They were scaring me and everyone else trapped this side of the triumphal arch.

No-one wanted to go near them. Or the gate.

What the hell was going on here? Why were Augustus' bully boys supervising a team of slaves cleaning a gate? Something was painted across the stone arch. I moved slightly, so I could get a better angle.

Wow, someone had really done some work here. Graffiti was spread right across the top of the arch. They hadn't brought tall enough ladders with them, so the slaves had to stretch to reach the remaining words. With little success.

The very top line said, ‘Bring Julia home. Now.' Underneath it said, ‘She was …' There'd been a lot more white writing, but all that was left of the last part was a blur of grey smudges.

Julia? Which one?

Hmm. This graffiti had to be about a member of Augustus' own family. Half of the Caesars had women
named Julia in their families. It wasn't called the Julian dynasty for nothing …

So that's why the Praetorians were so jumpy? A slur on their boss would be taken personally. They'd want someone to blame. Someone they could use to towel off their besmirched honour. A scapegoat.

I edged forward with the crowd, reluctantly. We were being pushed from behind.

A claustrophobic shiver slid over me. If this crowd panicked … with high solid walls on either side, a packed mass of humanity behind us and a tiny gateway in front … Well, we'd all be in trouble.

Julia? Some memory was trying to bob to the surface, but I couldn't reach it. Instead I kept my eyes fixed on the enraged soldiers.

As we edged closer and closer to the gate, everyone dropped into complete silence. No-one wanted to give them any excuse to do anything. But the Praetorians kept scanning the crowd, thumbing their scabbards and looking for someone, anyone, to vent on.

Unfortunately that's when the nearest one, a cruel-faced tough with razorblade eyes, spotted me: all in black, weird clothes, maybe a man, maybe not. I had to be doing something wrong.

He lunged across the crowd, trying to grab my shoulder. ‘Hey, you!'

He couldn't reach me as the crowd was too tightly packed, so he started shoving.

Like a pack of velociraptors scenting blood, the other Praetorians' heads swivelled.

I instinctively veered away. The gate was the only way out. But it also took me closer to them.

He lunged again. ‘Come here, you fucker. Or I'll have your balls for breakfast.'

Something whizzed past my ear and the nose of the
Praetorian who was reaching for me. A rock. It struck the uppermost slave, knocking him off his ladder, mid-wipe.

Then it was on.

The Praetorians, swords drawn, ran at us.

With one mind, the crowd surged towards the gate, knocking the bully off his feet. I squeezed out the other side of the arch, and took off at a sprint.

Behind me I could hear screams. It was chaos. People were being crushed against the gate …

Three of the Guard were after me, wedge formation, blades held high, glinting.

Holy …!

I put on a burst of speed, crashing through and past the running crowd. My only chance now was to out-distance them and get to the apartment as quickly as possible.

Ahead was the Tiber. Victoria's apartment lay on the eastern bank in the very heart of the city.

I squeezed onto the crowded stone bridge.

Below, the river traffic was just as chaotic. Barges carrying cargo jostled for position, their sailors howling abuse at those already docked, demanding they hurry up or else. Lines of slaves hefted barrels and bales, and in one case a screeching male peacock, up the stone stairs and into long, wooden warehouses on the embankment.

With half an eye on the three behind me, I tried to orient myself as well as keep up the speed. The two hills ahead were the Capitoline on the left and the Palatine to the right. Victoria's apartment lay somewhere in the shallow valley between them in the rich heart of Rome: marble buildings, graceful columns, monumental architecture.

I shot off the other end of the bridge and into a covering maze of narrow streets and tall buildings.

I spun around in confusion.

The apartment was in the valley straight ahead. Where the main traffic was headed … But I had to find a way to lose the Praetorians first. Otherwise I'd just lead them straight to my hideout.

I ducked left, climbing the wide stone stairs running up the side of the Capitoline Hill and hid myself behind a herd of Latin-speaking tourists shopping at one of the awning-covered souvenir stands along the side.

I shucked off the leather jacket and bandanna, slid them under a pile of empty wooden boxes, then fluffed out my hair. Now I was a blonde woman in a red top and black pants. There was a large cloth sack lying discarded next to the boxes. I wrapped it around my waist. It hung to my calves.

Below, the three Praetorians had come to a halt in the exact same spot I'd been standing in a moment before. They scanned around, then one ran ahead, one went right. And the last one … the who'd gone for me in the first instance, came left, face twisted in fury.

He really wanted my scalp.

I retreated further into the deep shade to crouch behind a couple who were busy bickering about the crowds, the food and the expense of a holiday in the capital when they should've stayed at home. I was bent over, rolling my jeans legs up to my knees, when the Praetorian came level with us.

He peered up the stairs, cursing. Then ran back down to the bridge and recrossed it. He was probably going for reinforcements.

I took off up the hill.

At the very top was the luminous white marble temple of Jupiter I'd spotted from the base of the cliff.
The grounds were packed full of sunburnt sightseers clutching wailing children.

The porch running in front of the temple doors looked like it had the best view of the valley below, so I pushed my way up the stairs.

Inside, the giant statue of bearded Jupiter stood with a thunderbolt in his raised right hand, face painted red and grimacing. The walls around him were lined with exotic treasures: multi-armed statues of gold, a carved ivory throne and silken wall hangings. War booty. Payment for success to the king of their gods.

There was a 180-degree view from the front of the temple of Augustan Rome. The largest city in the world at this time. I grabbed a precious space at the front of the porch and hurriedly opened the map file, keeping the phactor carefully out of view.

The hill opposite was the Palatine, full of marble mansions set amidst formal gardens. In the valley between, was the centre of government and business focused around the two main forums, the Roman Forum and the new Forum of Julius, named for Julius Caesar.

Victoria's apartment was opposite the Forum of Julius on the Palatine side.

I looked from the map to the reality. From here I had to take another set of stairs down into the Roman Forum, then cross through it and past the Forum of Julius.

But where were the other two Praetorians?

I had no choice. The longer I waited, the more likely that reinforcements would arrive.