A Sword in Time by Cidney Swanson

Author:Cidney Swanson [Swanson, Cidney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kindle Press
Published: 2018-01-29T22:00:00+00:00

30

• QUINTUS •

Florida, July

Thus far, Quintus had watched Everett operate the controls of the time machine on fourteen journeys to the Ancient Library of Alexandria. Moreover, so often had Quintus read the instructions for the operation of the machine that he had committed large portions to memory. Some of the words still gave him trouble, but for these he’d brought his Latin-English dictionary.

Troublesome words aside, he was finally prepared to return to Roma where he would deliver the letter from Gaius Julius Caesar to Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus as he had sworn to do. Quintus knew he would need to act swiftly once he arrived—the journeys to Alexandria lasted for only six minutes. Fortunately, the device could be configured to transport him to any location in Roma. To gain swiftest access to the general, Quintus was going to send himself to Pompey’s massive residence-cum-theater on the Campus Martius.

And, should he fail to meet Pompey on the first journey, Quintus would repeat his journey until he had met him. Some of the visits to Alexandria had necessitated this approach. It required patience, and for patience, there was no one like a soldier who had served under Caesar.

Five hours remained until either Littlewood or Everett was likely to appear. Enough time for seven or more visits, should they be necessary. Tonight he would accomplish the mission Caesar had charged him with almost six months ago, by his reckoning. Tonight!

And after?

Caesar’s charge belonged to a world now gone for more than two thousand years.

Quintus pushed the thought aside. It mattered not what he did after. Delivering his message faithfully was all that mattered.

With a soldier’s precision, Quintus began to change from the garb of the Floridae to that of a soldier of Roma, an immune of the Eleventh Legion.

He knew only one way to dress: swiftly, as if an enemy had caught the camp asleep and out of uniform. How familiar the process of belting his tunic, of tugging the overly long garment above his belt to the height proper to his rank. He laced his hobnailed soldier’s boots, recalling how Jillian, visiting his domus, his borrowed home, had mistaken his masculine boots for the sandals of a modern woman. She had remarked that she loved gladiator-style sandals. Quintus’s offense at the remark was sharp and natural, but he had hidden it. No one in this age acknowledged the sacred calling of service to Roma, the sacredness of each leather lacing, each nail in his boot.

He was nearly done. He grasped the apron of leather strips, his pteruges, upon which were displayed the decorative tokens of the battles he had fought in Gallia. Now his scabbard was ready to receive his gladius, and he secured both to his belt. With his sword in place, he felt once more like a true Roman soldier.

Lastly, he reached for his sagum, the woolen cloak that had kept him warm many a night in cold Gallia. The sagum, worn over his shoulders, was secured in place with a fibula, a pin from an age before buttons or zippers.

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