Virginia Henley (22 page)

Marcus decided the time was ripe to take Diana on her boar hunt. One morning, he kissed her awake at an ungodly hour, and when she curled against him and opened her arms, he teased, “God of Thunder, is that all you ever think about?”

Pale amethyst eyes looked up into devilish black ones. “Am I too much woman for you, darling Marcus?” she asked, stretching sensually for the pleasure of brushing against the hard length of him.

“If you want to go on that boar hunt you’ve been nagging about, you’d better get dressed before I change my mind.”

Diana jumped up immediately. “Today? The hunt is
today?” She didn’t even try to hide her great excitement. She had had a doublet made in the style she imagined they wore in medieval times, which she would wear atop her leather riding pants. It was emerald green embroidered with a great golden eagle, which she decided would have been Marcus’ device if he’d had one. She had even bought a gold hunting horn to wear about her neck.

Sylla fashioned her hair in a braid as thick as a mooring cable and wound it about her head in a coronet. Then she used emerald and gold hair ornaments to fashion a small crown. After all, this was her fantasy of going on a royal hunt and most likely would be the closest she would ever come to such an experience.

Tor had her mare saddled and ready for her when she arrived at the stables. She let him lift her into the saddle when she heard the dogs barking. Marcus was astride Trajan with Romulus and Remus circling him with excited yelps when she rode into the courtyard.

“Diana, the huntress, you are indeed a goddess today.”

“Where are the others?”

“What others?”

“You can’t hunt boar alone, ’Tis too dangerous!”

“I have the dogs, I have an extra pack horse. That’s all I need to hunt boar.”

A frisson of fear curled inside her belly. He had no gun, no crossbow, no pack of hounds, no attendants.

“Don’t be afraid, love, I’ll protect you,” he vowed with unconscious arrogance.

Diana straightened her shoulders. “Afraid? I’m not afraid! With all my heart I trust you to keep me safe.” She wished she felt as brave as her words. “I love adventure!” she cried, taking off like the wind toward the forest.

Marcus easily overtook her before they reached the trees, and once they entered the forest, their pace was slowed considerably. Sunlight came through the tall trees in great shafts, setting the red and gold autumn leaves ablaze.
Where the trees were too dense for the sunlight to penetrate, it was dim and shadowy.

Diana stayed as close as she could to Marcus. She realized the forest must be filled with unseen danger for she could clearly hear animals crashing through the underbrush and also detected strange rustlings in the fallen leaves. Marcus controlled the pair of mastives with sharp orders or they would have taken off after the first deer they scented.

The air, heavily scented with pine and bracken, was filled with bird calls, some twittering, some screeching their warnings that danger approached. Marcus seemed to know where he was going so Diana swallowed her apprehension and followed. They came to a clearing surrounded by massive oak trees and there, large as life, stood a wild boar with its head down rooting out acorns.

Marcus spotted it long before it saw him. He gave the dogs a hand signal to keep them quiet, followed by another signal for them to take chase. Diana stopped breathing. The beast was so ugly, fear gripped her throat. In that terrible moment she wished she hadn’t come. More, she wished she had never suggested this terrible thing they did. Marcus didn’t need a weapon, she thought wretchedly; his dogs would tear the boar apart.

They took up the chase immediately. It ran well, despite its heavy belly and short legs. She watched in horror as it tried to gore the dogs with its viciously sharp tusks. Her mare was so nervous it began to toss its head and blow through its nostrils. Her hands tightened on the reins to keep it from bolting. Marcus was out of the saddle in a flash, running close on the heels of his baying dogs.

In horrified fascination, she watched them run the entire length of the clearing. It slowly dawned upon her that Romulus and Remus were only nipping at the boar’s ears, while warily keeping their distance from its vicious tusks. The mastives were well trained to prevent the boar from escaping into the forest. It was their job to keep it in the
clearing. Finally, with one on either side, the dogs brought it down.

Marcus flung himself on top of it and grasped its tusks so it could not gore him. The boar, now maddened by anger, fought like any enraged wild animal would whose life was threatened. Diana’s hand was pressed to her breast. She felt as if her heart were ready to burst. She no longer feared for herself, or even the dogs. All her concern was focused on Marcus. His bare arms and legs were already bloodied from deep scratches and she feared he would be badly wounded any second. Her heart pounded so heavily, she heard it inside her eardrums until she became faint. She loved him so much she could not bear to see him hurt and bleeding!

As Marcus wrestled with the boar, sweat glistened on his face and the bulging muscles of his bare arms, then mingled with the blood from his scratches. Incredibly, the boar’s struggles lessened and Marcus took a rope from his belt and bound its back legs together. Then he wrapped the rope around its tusks and pulled its head down to its front feet, securing it in such a way that it was totally immobilized. He left it on the ground and came to her across the clearing, grinning with satisfaction.

“You didn’t kill it,” she said in a stunned voice.

His grin disappeared. “Are you disappointed?”

“Oh Marcus, no! It was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.” She reached out her arms so he could lift her down to him.

“I stink,” he said bluntly. “A boar’s odor is disgusting.”

“I don’t care,” she said, flinging herself upon him so that he was forced to catch her. “You are so reckless! My heart stopped beating, I was so worried for you.”

He let the dogs go off after a hare, while they sat on a fallen log so that Marcus could catch his breath. “I couldn’t do it without the dogs,” he explained. “I’ve trained them to go for the ears so they won’t damage the
boar. I take them back to the fortress, to a large boar enclosure where we breed them. That one is a little female.”

“Little?” Diana repeated in astonishment.

“Males are much larger, but not nearly so valuable.”

“Am I hearing you correctly, Marcus Magnus? Are you actually admitting that a female is superior to a male?”

He grinned at her, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. “It takes only one or two males to keep a score of females impregnated and breeding litters.”

“What happens to the males?”

“We eat them, of course.” He took his axe from his saddle and built a temporary holding pen from sturdy branches, then set sharp stakes about it, explaining, “I don’t want wolves to get it while we hunt the next one.”

“Wolves?” Diana cried, hoping he was teasing her. When she saw that he was perfectly serious, she said, “Why don’t we take the boar back? My desire for a boar hunt has been well satisfied.”

“Do you suppose your medieval men would stop after just one?”

“Oh, I’m certain they would, Marcus.”

He grinned. “Then all the more reason why I can’t stop until I’ve outdone them.”

Her heart overflowed when she realized he was doing this all to impress her. He was actually jealous of “her medieval men” as he called them. Marcus Magnus had nothing to worry about: He would have outshone other men of any age. And she would tell him so, but not until they were in bed tonight, where she could reward him for bravery, strength, and endurance above and beyond the call of duty.

When the hunt was finally over, they emerged from the forest with three boars. The two females were tied onto the packhorse, while Marcus had slung the male about his own shoulders. Romulus and Remus, dog tired, trailed behind them and as the small hunting party neared the villa, Diana blew her hunting horn with gusto. Though it had not been
what she envisioned, she realized that no hunt in any time of history could have surpassed the one she had experienced at the side of her magnificent Roman general. At that moment she would not have changed places with Cleopatra or the Virgin Queen herself!

During the week that followed, Marcus took Diana with him all over Aquae Sulis as he went to check on the progress of various projects designed to improve the town and the outlying district. They rode out on a Roman road that was being extended toward the coast. Diana knew that beyond Bath was Bristol and the great Bristol Channel, which Marcus called the Sabrina Aestuary. They came to a crossroads that led to the northeast.

“I’m very proud of this particular road. My own engineers designed it and my slaves built it. It runs all the way to Lindom over two hundred miles distant.”

To Diana, Lindum sounded very much like Lincoln and she suddenly realized this road that went from Bath and Exeter, all the way to Lincoln, was still used in Georgian times. She dismounted and placed her hand reverently on. One of the paving stones.

“Oh Marcus, this is the great Fosse Way—it’s probably the most famous road in Britain. Only a couple of days before I tumbled back to your time, I remember standing on the Fosse Way and feeling this incredible sense of timelessness, that something the ancient Romans built was still in use.”

Marcus stared at her, slightly uncomfortable at some of the things that went on in her head. Most of the things she said made sense. Only once in a while were the things she spoke of beyond the realm of possibility, but he could never accept her story as truth. For once he did, the possibility of her disappearing back as quickly as she had arrived would haunt him.

“This stone is such a beautiful color. It’s native to Bath, I mean Aquae Sulis.”

He laughed at her. “I know that. I own most of the stone quarries.”

Diana stood up slowly and stared at him as if she were seeing a ghost. When he said the words “stone quarries,” something clicked in her brain. Was it possible that Marcus Magnus could be the Earl of Bath?

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” she said quickly. The idea was so bizarre she could not possibly tell him. She tried to dismiss it, but whenever she stole a look at that dark, proud profile, the impression was still with her. She suddenly recalled that the first time she laid eyes upon him bearing down on her in the chariot, she mistook him for the Earl of Bath, playing ridiculous games. Mark Hardwick … Mark … Marcus …

He took her down to the river and pulled out a folded parchment. “The next project is a permanent bridge across the river. Let me show you my sketches.”

“No! Don’t show me.” Diana considered both banks of the Avon for a moment, then said, “It will span the water down there where you have built the weir. It will be a high bridge with beautiful stone arches. I can tell you the precise number of them.”

“You’ve seen my sketches!” he accused.

“Marcus Magnus, you have an explanation for everything! I have
not
seen your sketches. It still stands in modern times. It is called the Pulteney Bridge. A Georgian designer takes credit for it, but obviously he stole your ideas.”

His eyes narrowed.
“These
are modern times,” he said flatly.

Diana looked at him and understood his reluctance to believe the things she said. They were too much in love and too possessive of each other to accept the idea that anything
could separate them, especially a thing like time, which was so frighteningly ephemeral.

It was a glorious autumn day, possibly one of the few remaining to them this year, so they continued to ride along the riverbank until they found a secluded spot where nature seemed to be having a last mad fling before the long sleep of winter blanketed the world.

“I brought food,” Marcus confessed.

“And I brought a writing tablet and stylus!”

Marcus groaned. “That isn’t what I had in mind.”

They dismounted, tethered the horses, then Diana spread her cloak on the grass and sat down with her back to the bole of a copper beech. The water sang as if it were happy to rush over the stones of this blessed place. Bees droned endlessly as they collected pollen from the Michaelmas daisies, and fork-tailed swallows swooped across the river catching insects.

Marcus unfolded a big linen napkin that held cold venison and a couple of roast pigeons. He also had bread and cheese and olives, which no Roman meal was complete without. They had no goblets, so Marcus showed her how to drink from a wineskin, which of course turned into an hilarious game, whose laughter became intimate, turning their thoughts to love.

They stretched out full-length so they could enjoy their kisses completely. When Marcus’ hands removed the brooch that fastened her tunic, she demurred. “Marcus, I cannot lie naked out here in the open.”

“You won’t be naked. You can wear my Caesar coin.”

“I’m sorry I criticized one of your heroes. Do you forgive me?” she asked, tracing Caesar’s noble profile with her finger.

“Only if you wear my coin, and nothing else!”

She laughed up into his eyes. “You are so persuasive. How can I deny you anything?”

“Veni, vidi, vici,”
Marcus quoted.

“No. I came, I saw, I conquered,” Diana said slowly,
challenging his manhood, knowing he would master her before their loveplay reached its tumultuous climax.

Later, she sat between his legs as he showed her how to use the stylus. When she learned how to make legible letters in the thin lead that covered the wooden tablet, she took up a fresh one and said, “I’m going to put down our names and bury this so that our lovely day will be recorded forever.”

He laughed at her. “It’s common practice to bury these things, but they usually contain curses.”

“What sort of curses?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, wives who have unfaithful husbands write nonsense such as: ‘I curse his life and mind and memory and liver and lungs’ and then they bury them in the superstitious belief that the curse will work.”

She glanced over her shoulder to look up into his black eyes. “And what if it is the wife who is unfaithful?”

“The husband would bury the wife, not some writing tablet.”

It sounded as if it could be a veiled warning. “Perhaps I am lucky that I have no husband,” she said lightly.

A look of contemplation came into his dark eyes, but Diana, intent upon holding her stylus at just the right angle, did not see the longing writ clearly on his face. He watched from over her shoulder as she wrote:

His finger touched the numbers. “What is this?” he puzzled.

“That is the date, the year we are in.”

Marcus shook his head. “This is the eighth year in the reign of Nero.”

“Yes, I know that, my love, but future generations date
everything from the birth of Jesus Christ. So the year is either B.C., before Christ, or
A.D.
, anno Domini.”

Marcus accepted her explanation without demur. He was too filled with love for her to argue and spoil their precious time together.

They buried it among the roots of the copper beech like two children intent on burying a treasure. When it was time to return, Marcus lifted her before him in the saddle while her own mare followed. Though they had spent the entire day together, he was loath to let her go from his arms.

Upon their arrival at home, Kell presented Marcus with a message that Julius Classicianus was to arrive on the morrow, which meant Marcus had to rush off to see that all was in order at the fortress, in preparation for the Procurator’s visit.

As Diana lay alone in the pedestal bed with its towering columns, her thoughts wandered back to the time before she had come there. Her other life seemed a thousand years and a million miles away. Like another lifetime. Her thoughts touched for a moment on the Earl of Bath. It was amazing how much he and Marcus had in common. What if they were one and the same man? Were such things possible? Now that she was a woman in the full sense of the word, she realized that she had been sexually attracted to Mark Hardwick’s dark, arrogant maleness. Sparks had flared between them every time they met.

A smile curved her lips as she drifted off to sleep. What a comforting thought it was that Marcus might live again and again, down through the ages, in the place that he loved. Yet if it were true, seventeen hundred years of civilization had not altered his dominant, arrogant personality. Thank God. Marcus would be Marcus forever!

* * *

“It’s official,” Julius told Marcus. “Emperor Nero has decided to keep Britannia in the empire.” They were sitting in the map room of the principia at the fortress.

“I imagine your shipment of gold and silver ingots stamped
DE BRITAN
made it impossible for the Emperor and the Senate to even consider giving up such a lucrative source of income.”

Julius came straight to the reason for his visit. “I am recommending that Paullinus be replaced. We need a governor who is a statesman, not one who massacres the native tribes by the thousand.”

“To exist here and prosper, we Romans need the support of the Britons,” Marcus agreed.

“Yes, and Paullinus fosters hatred wherever he goes. His determination to eradicate whole tribes of Iceni and Trinovantes incites more rebellion. We need a man of diplomacy. Only a statesmanlike attitude can restore the full support of the Britons.”

“You will have to return to Rome to present your ideas to the emperor and the senate. Messages are easily intercepted, lost, or ignored.”

“We are of like minds. I want you to come to Rome with me, Marcus. Two voices carry more weight than one. You are the best advocate for this country that I have. I will personally see Nero, but I would like you to speak before the senate.”

Marcus’ emotions warred within him. He would love to visit Rome, to see his father again and the villa and lands to which he was heir, but he no longer thought of it as home. This was his home, this was where his heart was, and the thought of leaving Diana behind was unimaginable. Still, he was a man who had always put duty before personal considerations. He was incapable of sacrificing his honor for gain, for gratification, or for any other temptation. “Julius, you have presented me with a dilemma.”