complete detail. At the end of her narrative, she put her hand to her head, as though suddenly overwhelmed.
“I know this all sounds incredible, but I simply didn’t know what to do next—so I brought him to you.”
James stiffened, but said not unkindly. “And just what is it you wish me to do?”
At this. Lady Hilary stared up at him. “Why—why, talk to him, I suppose. Try to ascertain—”
“Come, come now, dear lady.” Mr. Wincanon smiled in what Hilary could only describe as a patronizing manner. “I acquit you of any part in this—this taradiddle, but surely you cannot expect me to take this charlatan’s tale seriously.”
Hilary sighed. “I can’t blame you for your skepticism. I certainly felt the same myself. But to what purpose would a man perpetrate such a monumental—and complex—fraud?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, but he must have some nefarious plan in mind. People, after all, do not stroll about the corridors of time as they would on an afternoon tour of the British Museum. Or, perhaps he is mentally deranged.”
“If he is, he possesses a great deal of knowledge about the Roman occupation of Britain. Does he look like a scholar to you? And the coins—oh yes, wait until you see the coins.” Briefly she described their apparent veracity. “Where could he have come by them? When you see them, I am sure you will judge them quite authentic—and recently minted. Mr. Wincanon,” she finished, “all I’m asking is that you talk to him and draw your own conclusions.”
She grinned suddenly. “And just think. What if he really was hurled from the first century to the nineteenth by a lightning bolt? Would you not enjoy a conversation or two with him?”
James gazed thoughtfully at the young woman before him. Good Lord, she must be all about in her head to approach him with such a piece of nonsense. Or perhaps simply gullible. Just look at her. She moved with a youthful, coltish grace and her wide, amber eyes were those of a complete innocent. She claimed to be an expert in antiquities, yet she gave the appearance of the veriest schoolchild. On the other hand, she seemed to have some familiarity with the subject. And she did speak fair Latin.
He thought back to the lightning that had rent the sky. The resulting thunder had shaken the ground beneath his feet. According to Lady Hilary, Rufus had described a similar occurrence just before his alleged transference through time. If a man in another era were to be the victim of such a strike on the same spot where lightning would again strike a number of centuries later, was it possible ...?
No, of course it wasn’t. But James glanced speculatively at the older man, still fulminating where he sat near the gig. His gaze wandered over the armor plating and thickly studded boots. His garb was undoubtedly that of a Roman legionary stationed perhaps in Caerleon circa 100 A . D . In addition, his garments and the metal strips that made up his armor showed signs of everyday wear.
James sighed. At any rate, it did not look as though he would be rid of either one of his visitors until he probed the matter further. He approached the old warrior, who glared at him with obvious suspicion.
“My dear sir,” began James in his best classical Latin, “we seem to have a most unusual situation here. The young lady”—he gestured toward Hilary—”says that you are in possession of a small quantity of coins. May I see them?”
Rufus’ expression of suspicion deepened. It took some effort on James’s part to assure him that he had no designs on the legionary’s pocket change. Grudgingly, the warrior pulled out his pouch and emptied it into James’s palm. Seating himself on the gig’s mounting step, James examined the little hoard.
“Mmp,” he grunted. The coins certainly did look authentic. One by one, he turned them over in his hand. There were two sestercii, six denarii, ten aes, and twenty quandrans. Just what one might expect a soldier
“I know this all sounds incredible, but I simply didn’t know what to do next—so I brought him to you.”
James stiffened, but said not unkindly. “And just what is it you wish me to do?”
At this. Lady Hilary stared up at him. “Why—why, talk to him, I suppose. Try to ascertain—”
“Come, come now, dear lady.” Mr. Wincanon smiled in what Hilary could only describe as a patronizing manner. “I acquit you of any part in this—this taradiddle, but surely you cannot expect me to take this charlatan’s tale seriously.”
Hilary sighed. “I can’t blame you for your skepticism. I certainly felt the same myself. But to what purpose would a man perpetrate such a monumental—and complex—fraud?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, but he must have some nefarious plan in mind. People, after all, do not stroll about the corridors of time as they would on an afternoon tour of the British Museum. Or, perhaps he is mentally deranged.”
“If he is, he possesses a great deal of knowledge about the Roman occupation of Britain. Does he look like a scholar to you? And the coins—oh yes, wait until you see the coins.” Briefly she described their apparent veracity. “Where could he have come by them? When you see them, I am sure you will judge them quite authentic—and recently minted. Mr. Wincanon,” she finished, “all I’m asking is that you talk to him and draw your own conclusions.”
She grinned suddenly. “And just think. What if he really was hurled from the first century to the nineteenth by a lightning bolt? Would you not enjoy a conversation or two with him?”
James gazed thoughtfully at the young woman before him. Good Lord, she must be all about in her head to approach him with such a piece of nonsense. Or perhaps simply gullible. Just look at her. She moved with a youthful, coltish grace and her wide, amber eyes were those of a complete innocent. She claimed to be an expert in antiquities, yet she gave the appearance of the veriest schoolchild. On the other hand, she seemed to have some familiarity with the subject. And she did speak fair Latin.
He thought back to the lightning that had rent the sky. The resulting thunder had shaken the ground beneath his feet. According to Lady Hilary, Rufus had described a similar occurrence just before his alleged transference through time. If a man in another era were to be the victim of such a strike on the same spot where lightning would again strike a number of centuries later, was it possible ...?
No, of course it wasn’t. But James glanced speculatively at the older man, still fulminating where he sat near the gig. His gaze wandered over the armor plating and thickly studded boots. His garb was undoubtedly that of a Roman legionary stationed perhaps in Caerleon circa 100 A . D . In addition, his garments and the metal strips that made up his armor showed signs of everyday wear.
James sighed. At any rate, it did not look as though he would be rid of either one of his visitors until he probed the matter further. He approached the old warrior, who glared at him with obvious suspicion.
“My dear sir,” began James in his best classical Latin, “we seem to have a most unusual situation here. The young lady”—he gestured toward Hilary—”says that you are in possession of a small quantity of coins. May I see them?”
Rufus’ expression of suspicion deepened. It took some effort on James’s part to assure him that he had no designs on the legionary’s pocket change. Grudgingly, the warrior pulled out his pouch and emptied it into James’s palm. Seating himself on the gig’s mounting step, James examined the little hoard.
“Mmp,” he grunted. The coins certainly did look authentic. One by one, he turned them over in his hand. There were two sestercii, six denarii, ten aes, and twenty quandrans. Just what one might expect a soldier
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