to carry with him on a routine outing. All bore the heads of various emperors from Augustus to Trajan with appropriate details on the reverses.
James lifted his head to gaze penetratingly at the man who called himself Marcus Minimus Rufus. The older man did not flinch, but thrust forward an already pugnacious chin and stared back.
“My good fellow,” said James, only to be rewarded with a surly grunt.
“Minimus Rufus,” James began again. “May I ask you—what year is this?”
Minimum grunted again, this time in exasperation. “The little wench there asked me the same thing. It is the second year of the consulship of the Imperator, Trajan.”
“Oh, God.” James drew a deep breath. “Minimus Rufus, old man, I think you’d better sit down.”
At this. Minimus stiffened,
“Who are you calling old?” he asked belligerently. “I am in my prime—my forty-eighth year, if you must know. I’ve been—”
“Yes, yes,” interposed James placatingly. “I only meant— Please. Sit.” The legionary seated himself with a great show of reluctance on the remains of a stone wall. “Rufus, I must tell you that the year is actually eighteen hundred and eighteen in the Year of our Lord.”
Obviously, James’s words meant nothing to Minimus, for his response was a vacant stare.
“Um,” said James by way of explanation.
Hilary spoke up in irritation. “What he means to say. Minimus Rufus, is that the lightning strike you suffered some moments ago apparently propelled you forward in time. You have made a leap of approximately seventeen hundred years.”
Not unnaturally, this statement deprived Minimus of speech. His eyes bulged alarmingly and his mouth opened and closed several times.
“Lunatics!” he cried at last. “I am fallen in with lunatics! Leave me!” He struggled to his feet, ignoring Jasper’s minatory growls. “Let me be on my way!”
Casting a “now-see-what-you’ve-done” glance at James, Hilary stepped forward and set a hand on Minimus’ brawny shoulder. Jasper stepped up to offer his enthusiastic assistance, but it was several moments before Minimus subsided enough for James to resume speaking.
“No, no,” he said soothingly. “It is all true, and I believe I can prove it to your satisfaction. You stand now on my land. Come with me to my, er, villa.”
This produced another burst of invective from Minimus and this time it took much persuasion on the pan of both Hilary and James, to say nothing of Jasper’s persistent urging, to propel him into the gig. James, still unconvinced of Minimus’ authenticity, rode beside the gig as Hilary drove the short distance to the manor house. He did not speak, but listened carefully as Hilary interrogated the legionary. He did not know whether he was more astonished at the perspicacity of Hilary’s questions, and her ability to calm Rufus’ sensibilities or the man’s almost offhandedly correct answers. Answers that revealed a comprehensive knowledge of the world of ancient Rome and its colony, Britannia. James watched Minimus carefully as they rounded the last bend of the drive and the house came into full view.
Once more, the warrior’s mouth fell open. He gaped vacantly at the structure, constructed of the famous Bath stone that seemed to gather all the light of the afternoon into itself. After a long moment, he turned first to Hilary and then to James, fairly gabbling in consternation.
“It’s all right, Rufus,” said Hilary hastily. “This is what grand houses look like now. I know it must seem very large to you, but you need not be frightened.”
Immediately, Rufus jerked upright. “Frightened? I? A soldier of the empire? I have seen many buildings of this size, of course. Nero’s Golden House in Rome would make this place look like a thatched hut. However, I’ve not seen many so tall. And with so many windows. They appear to be glazed,” he concluded in some awe,
James chuckled. “Yes, we can make glass easily now, and
James lifted his head to gaze penetratingly at the man who called himself Marcus Minimus Rufus. The older man did not flinch, but thrust forward an already pugnacious chin and stared back.
“My good fellow,” said James, only to be rewarded with a surly grunt.
“Minimus Rufus,” James began again. “May I ask you—what year is this?”
Minimum grunted again, this time in exasperation. “The little wench there asked me the same thing. It is the second year of the consulship of the Imperator, Trajan.”
“Oh, God.” James drew a deep breath. “Minimus Rufus, old man, I think you’d better sit down.”
At this. Minimus stiffened,
“Who are you calling old?” he asked belligerently. “I am in my prime—my forty-eighth year, if you must know. I’ve been—”
“Yes, yes,” interposed James placatingly. “I only meant— Please. Sit.” The legionary seated himself with a great show of reluctance on the remains of a stone wall. “Rufus, I must tell you that the year is actually eighteen hundred and eighteen in the Year of our Lord.”
Obviously, James’s words meant nothing to Minimus, for his response was a vacant stare.
“Um,” said James by way of explanation.
Hilary spoke up in irritation. “What he means to say. Minimus Rufus, is that the lightning strike you suffered some moments ago apparently propelled you forward in time. You have made a leap of approximately seventeen hundred years.”
Not unnaturally, this statement deprived Minimus of speech. His eyes bulged alarmingly and his mouth opened and closed several times.
“Lunatics!” he cried at last. “I am fallen in with lunatics! Leave me!” He struggled to his feet, ignoring Jasper’s minatory growls. “Let me be on my way!”
Casting a “now-see-what-you’ve-done” glance at James, Hilary stepped forward and set a hand on Minimus’ brawny shoulder. Jasper stepped up to offer his enthusiastic assistance, but it was several moments before Minimus subsided enough for James to resume speaking.
“No, no,” he said soothingly. “It is all true, and I believe I can prove it to your satisfaction. You stand now on my land. Come with me to my, er, villa.”
This produced another burst of invective from Minimus and this time it took much persuasion on the pan of both Hilary and James, to say nothing of Jasper’s persistent urging, to propel him into the gig. James, still unconvinced of Minimus’ authenticity, rode beside the gig as Hilary drove the short distance to the manor house. He did not speak, but listened carefully as Hilary interrogated the legionary. He did not know whether he was more astonished at the perspicacity of Hilary’s questions, and her ability to calm Rufus’ sensibilities or the man’s almost offhandedly correct answers. Answers that revealed a comprehensive knowledge of the world of ancient Rome and its colony, Britannia. James watched Minimus carefully as they rounded the last bend of the drive and the house came into full view.
Once more, the warrior’s mouth fell open. He gaped vacantly at the structure, constructed of the famous Bath stone that seemed to gather all the light of the afternoon into itself. After a long moment, he turned first to Hilary and then to James, fairly gabbling in consternation.
“It’s all right, Rufus,” said Hilary hastily. “This is what grand houses look like now. I know it must seem very large to you, but you need not be frightened.”
Immediately, Rufus jerked upright. “Frightened? I? A soldier of the empire? I have seen many buildings of this size, of course. Nero’s Golden House in Rome would make this place look like a thatched hut. However, I’ve not seen many so tall. And with so many windows. They appear to be glazed,” he concluded in some awe,
James chuckled. “Yes, we can make glass easily now, and
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