“You have no cash?” the owner groaned, “So what will you give me...?”
“Cinnamomum,” Felix said, holding out a large pinch of the spice. With a look of incredulity, the vendor brought his nose to Felix’s fingers.
“Cinnamomum! I don’t believe …? Here. Take as much pastry as you want!”
“Two pieces are enough.” Felix laughed, sprinkling the powder onto the stall’s pitted counter. That said, he and Carolyn stepped away. The vendor was too excited to notice: he was gathering the spice and sniffing it ecstatically.
Nibbling on the pastry, they hatched a simple plan. Now that they knew where to find the lupus ridens, they would return to their present and travel to the right Panarium. Balbus would be easy to track down — he seemed to be well known in the region — and once they had the lupus ridens, their mission would be over. All in all it seemed very straightforward. Felix was going to say as much, when someone seized him from behind.
“Hey!” he cried, as he was shoved into a space behind an empty stall. Carolyn was being similarly handled.
“Tace, amice,” one man spoke. He was powerfully built, burned black by the sun, and had a menacing, lopsided grin. His companions had the same hardened appearance. Felix saw that they were dressed in identical lacernae, short cloaks fastened with a clasp at the shoulder, and grasped that they were part of the visiting army.
“Can we help you?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, you can. Hand us the cinnamomum and we’ll leave you alone.”
“What do they want?” Carolyn asked.
“It’s the cinnamon. They saw it when I paid for the pastry. I’ll give it to them.…”
“You can’t. It could easily trigger a butterfly effect. With wealth like that, these men could alter the future.”
“You’re right. What do you suggest …?”
“Enough gibberish!” the leader barked. “Hand the loot over!”
“I’m sorry,” Felix said. “I can’t.”
“I’m not asking,” the man growled, pulling a dagger from his tunic. It was sharp and looked like it had been used before. “Give it to me now or …”
By the time he looked behind him, Carolyn had knocked down all his friends, tempering her blows so she would only bruise them. With movements too fast for the eye to follow, she grabbed the dagger from the leader’s hand. The man cursed and threw a punch, but she ducked it easily and brought him to his knees.
“Tell them to leave,” she said.
Before Felix could translate, the men were up again and bent on violence. Three of them had daggers now and were closing in on Carolyn. Felix raised his fists, but she needed no assistance. Effortlessly, she had them on the ground again, with no damage afflicted but for minor aches and sprains. Full with rage, the men were going to rush her a third time. Before they could, a voice rang out.
“That’s enough! Attention, all of you!”
Felix glanced around. Other troops had gathered without his noticing, as well as a man who was mounted on a charger. His clothing marked him out as a general: he was wearing a breastplate, a leather kilt, and a blood-red cloak that reached his calves. Felix started. He recognized this man. He’d seen pictures of his bust before and … yes! As incredible as it seemed, he was poised before Pompey the Great, one of Rome’s greatest leaders.
“Explain yourselves!” Pompey was directing his soldiers.
“We were having a joke, dux.” the leader spoke, “We intended no harm.”
“Is that true?” Pompey asked Carolyn. The epitome of calm when she’d been fighting, she looked lost and confused when the general addressed her.
“It is true, dux,” Felix volunteered, aware that if he told the truth, the soldiers would be flogged and their wounds might lead to a butterfly effect, “They meant no harm.”
“Who are you?” Pompey demanded, frowning at Felix’s accent. “And why does this girl not speak for herself? She fights for herself,” he added, with a look of approval.
“She speaks no Latin, dux. And my name is Felix Aceticus, son of the Druid Belenus from Prytan, and adopted son of Sextus Pullius Aceticus.”
“You’re Sextus’s adopted son?” Pompey asked, smiling suddenly. “Why didn’t you say so? The old bookworm is a client of mine, although it has been ages since I last saw him in Cremona. But I’m tired of talking in the open like this.” He called to a servant with enormous ears. “Flaccus! See to my guests. They will come with us to Rome this afternoon.”
“Very good, dux.”
Felix wanted to say they had business to look after, but the general had already turned his back on them. His soldiers followed after him, but not before their attackers looked them over, bewildered why they’d been let off so easy. Felix was hoping that he and Carolyn might escape in this confusion and return to the temple and the TPM, but Flaccus was keeping a close eye on them.
“You heard the dux,” he said, leading them forward. “You’re coming with us.”
With no choice in the matter, the pair stepped off. While Felix was thrilled at the thought of spending time with Pompey, part of him suspected that they were sticking their necks on a chopping block.
Chapter Eight
Felix rolled onto his back and exchanged stares with a ceiling. He had slept like the dead and, in his first waking moments, had trouble recollecting where he was. Wrestling back his panic, he pieced his memories together.
He was in … Italy, 71 BC. Check.
At Pompey’s prompting, his slave Flaccus had piled them into a wagon. Check.
They had travelled along the Via Nomentum to Rome, at which stage they had left the wagon and followed Pompey when he’d passed behind the Servian Walls. Check.
Inside Rome they had wandered the Via Longus, with its towering apartment blocks on either side, whose ground floors had exhibited a hive of stores, each buzzing with crowds of noisy shoppers. As they had walked between the Quirinal and Viminal hills, he’d descried the temple to Jupiter on the Capitoline’s crest. Check.
At the foot of the Esquiline, Pompey had turned up a steep, winding alley. After a gruelling hike, he had led them to a spectacular domus on the southeast slope. Check.
Entering the house, they had been welcomed by a crowd of slaves. Advising them that dinner would be served before sunset, Flaccus had led them to separate rooms. Check.
After dismissing his slave, a Spaniard named Fuscus, Felix had washed using a pitcher of water, then stretched out on a bed and fallen asleep, overcome by the heat and the strangeness of time travel. Check.
And now Fuscus was due to arrive at any moment and conduct him to the triclinium where dinner would be held. Check.
He shook his head wearily. It defied belief that he was present in Republican Rome, and was rubbing shoulders with one of its most famous sons. On the one hand, he was smiling with pleasure; on the other, he was aware they had a mission to complete. Never mind his encounter with Pompey; they had to find the lupus ridens and …
A knock rang out and Carolyn entered.
“You look upset,” Felix said.
“A slave wanted to wash me and help me dress,” she complained. “Are people so helpless they can’t manage these tasks for themselves?”
“We’re not much different. We rely on our machines.”