The smell of fresh coffee reached his nostrils and he reasoned that Melissa must be in the kitchen. He was tempted to wait for her to come to wake him, but that could be a while and his urge to be near her was too great. He began to imagine sneaking up behind her and pinning her body between his and the kitchen units. As he thought about all the ways he could entice her back to bed, he only excited himself further. He got up, pulling on his shorts with some difficulty and followed the smell down the stairs and into the hall.
When Anthony entered the living room he was surprised to find the French windows wide open. A chill breeze was blowing through them and cooling the room so much it made him shiver. He was heading across to close them when he heard Victor’s walking stick tapping on the floor behind him. He turned to greet him with reluctance as the old man’s presence would ruin his plans, but stopped when he saw the look of sorrow on Victor’s face.
“I am so, so sorry,” Victor spoke with total sincerity. “They have already gone.”
Anthony was confused. “What do you mean − gone?” he asked.
Victor sighed and leant against the door frame for extra stability “There is much I need to tell you. Lissa and Rebecca went to the river earlier this morning. They will not be coming back, at least not for some time, if they ever can.”
Anthony felt sick. He could not believe Melissa would leave, not after the night they had just spent together. He repeated his question slowly, pausing between each word to emphasise it. “What ... do ... you ... mean?”
“Lissa went to the river. Rebecca followed her. They were taken. You cannot help them.”
Panic overtook Anthony. He had no idea what Victor was talking about, but it sounded like the women were in trouble. There was no river nearby, only the stream that was what remained of the Rubicon. He had no idea what would make the women go there so early in the morning, or why Victor had failed to call him sooner. And why did Victor keep saying Lissa? He had never heard anyone call Melissa that before, but there was no time to ask. All he could think about was getting to her. He threw on a pair of trainers and sprinted out of the house and across the fields towards the stream. Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice was telling him he was already too late.
At the stream, there was no sign of anyone having been there that morning. Anthony searched the near side and then paddled through the shallow water to the other bank. The only footprints he could see were his own, where his wet feet had touched the gravel at the water’s edge, but in the growing warmth of the morning they too were fading fast. As forensic techniques were not dissimilar to archaeology, he knew he dare not contaminate the site any further than he already had by trampling to and fro across it and destroying any clues there might be to trace the women. He had to get help, and fast.
As Anthony turned to cross the stream again, a chill went through him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He had never really believed in déjà vu, but he had the distinct feeling that he had been there before in that very spot and feeling a similar sensation of fear. He shook the feeling off, continued into the water and then began to sprint back to the house. He had to call the police and get them to come out as quickly as possible, praying there was still a chance to find Melissa before she was too far away.
By the time he reached the house he was exhausted. His heart was pounding in his chest and every muscle in his legs stung from the exertion he had forced from his body. Climbing the front steps was the final straw and he collapsed onto his knees at the top, gasping for breath. Victor was standing at the door, so Anthony tried to make hand signals to get him to call for help.
The old man shook his head, sighing and muttering to himself. Anger drove Anthony to pull himself to his feet. As he staggered towards the door, Victor finally spoke. “Do not waste your time. The police cannot help them. They have been gone too long − two thousand years too long!”
He leaned on the door frame and extended his walking stick across the gap to prevent Anthony from going inside. Tears were welling in his eyes as he continued, “I tried to stop this so many years ago, but you would not listen. I tried to save them by making her hate you, but you wanted Lissa back and now it is too late. I can do nothing more. She has to find her own way home, if she ever can.”
Anthony stopped, completely confused. The build-up of lactic acid was causing agonising pains in his muscles, and he could no longer go on. Collapsing on the bench by the door, he gasped one word in total desperation.
“What???”
Chapter 7
49 B.C.
Melissa’s head pounded as she regained consciousness. She opened her eyes and stared upwards. She seemed to be in a tent, lying on a camp bed, and she was freezing. As she tried to sit up, her head began to spin and, groaning from the sensation, she lay back down.
From out of nowhere a face appeared above her. It was Rebecca, and the young girl looked terrified. “Thank God!” she exclaimed, “I thought he’d killed you.”
“Who?” Melissa pressed her hand to her temple and closed her eyes, trying desperately to remember what it was Rebecca was talking about.
“Anthony!” Rebecca wailed.
Melissa could not believe what Rebecca was saying. She tried to think about what had happened since she got up. She had left Anthony in bed and gone to the stream where she had met Rebecca. The two of them had argued and someone else had turned up. That was all she could remember, so something else must have happened. She knew Anthony would never physically hurt her, but she also knew Rebecca worshipped him and so was unlikely to make up such a farcical story. Melissa needed her to explain.
“What are you talking about?” she said.
Rebecca took a deep breath and began. “The men at the river. One of them is Anthony. They were all in fancy dress when they caught up with us. Or actually it was un-fancy dress. They looked like those butch fighters from that Russell Crowe movie. Anyway, Anthony kicked you in the back from his horse and you fell and hit your head. Then they dragged us here. It’s like a really big campsite and it’s full of men. Hundreds of them. Anyway, Anthony’s behaving really weird, it’s like he doesn’t know me. Oh, and he won’t speak English. Do you think it’s a movie set or maybe some kind of themed role play? I didn’t know he was into that sort of thing.”
“He’s not,” Melissa said impatiently. She sensed she was hearing only half the story. There were so many questions still unanswered, but she guessed there was little more useful information retained in Rebecca’s vacuum of a brain. She contemplated getting up again when the door flap of the tent opened. A man she did not recognise entered. He was tall, with a muscular frame and boyish good looks that belied his real age. He was dressed in the full military uniform of an officer in the Roman army. That would certainly qualify as fancy dress, but that was not what Rebecca had said the men had been wearing. It amazed Melissa how Rebecca could have ever worked for Anthony when she knew so little about the period of history in which he specialised. If this man was dressed as a Roman then Melissa surmised Anthony must have been speaking in Latin to Rebecca earlier.
“Good,” the officer said. “You are awake. Your friend is unwilling to talk, but perhaps I can loosen your tongue.”
One question was answered. He was speaking Latin, and very well. Whatever game was being played, Melissa was not going along with it. She sat up slowly and responded in English. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I want to speak to Anthony now.”
The officer looked at her quizzically as if he had no idea what she had said. She tried again. “I want to speak to Anthony Marcus.”
Still the man looked confused, but he had understood one thing she had said even if he changed the order of the words. “Marcus Antonius?” he asked “You wish to speak with Mark Antony? Are you acquainted with him? How do you know him? I know all of his friends and I have never seen you before. Where did you meet him?”
“Oh, for Chrissakes!” Melissa exclaimed. “Fine. Have it your
way.” She switched to Latin. “I will answer when I know who you are and where you have brought me.” She made sure she was deliberately rude and short in her manner.
The officer was taken aback at her abruptness, but answered nonetheless. “My name is Caius Scribonius Curio and you are in the camp of Caius Julius Caesar. Now I ask you again, how do you know Mark Antony?” Curio crossed the tent and stood in front of Melissa. “Your attire is strange. You are not from any of the local villages. Tell me where you are from and why are you here, and I may be lenient with you.”
Melissa was now the one who was confused. Either she had hit her head harder than she realised or there was more going on here than she knew. She had no idea where they were, but it all felt horribly wrong. She looked back at the man who had identified himself as Curio. She took a deep breath and prayed she was not about to make a huge mistake as she followed his lead in the conversation. “We are not from any land you have knowledge of. I will not answer any more of your questions. I will only speak with Anthony,” she said calmly.
Curio was annoyed. He stepped towards her and slapped Melissa with the back of his hand, turning her head sideways and doing nothing to improve her headache. Rebecca gasped in shock and Melissa glared at her before turning her head back to face Curio. “I will not answer to you. I will speak only with Anthony,” she repeated.
He hit her again, a little harder. Her face stung from the impact, but she was not backing down yet. She turned to face him again “You can do that as much as you like. I will not answer to you. I will only speak with Anthony.”
Curio looked as if he wanted to kill her, but instead threw his arms up in the air in disgust. “Insolent woman!” he shouted, “You will regret this!” And with that he stormed out of the tent.
Melissa put her hand on her cheek. “Damn, that smarts,” she said. It was a weak attempt at a joke.
Rebecca looked horrified. “What’s going on?” she wailed. “Where are we and why are they being so mean?”
Melissa sighed. “I don’t know,” she began. “From what he said it would appear they want us to think we are in a replica Roman military camp, but I doubt that very much.” She stood up and looked around the tent. All of the contents were Roman in design: a camp bed, a folding chair and table, a portable altar with household gods, a comb, some other personal items. Melissa picked up the items from the table one by one. They had to be replicas, but they were very good ones. She had to get more information, and turned back to Rebecca. “OK, he said we were in an army camp. Tell me exactly what you saw.”
“Tents, horses, men. Ooh, thousands of those. Oh and it’s really, really cold. It’s like winter out there or like we’re in Siberia or something, but it only took us a few minutes to get here. I think we should still be on Anthony’s estate, but we can’t be because it’s so cold. What’s going on?”
The only answer Melissa had was a crazy one. Common sense told her this was not real. Logically, she had to be dreaming, but could not wake herself up. Maybe she just had to play along and this would work itself out. If it were a dream, nothing bad could happen to either of them: it would only be in her mind, after all.
Despite this, a tiny voice in the back of her head kept telling her she was in the same Roman camp that she had been trying to excavate for the past month and she had just met Curio, one of Caesar’s officers and a good friend to Mark Antony. She thought about the facts as she believed they had happened. It had been summer this morning when she got up. She and Rebecca had gone to the stream that Victor insisted was the Rubicon, although the stream had become a fast-flowing river overnight. They had met three men on horseback who had brought them here. It was cold in the tent; every time the flap opened an icy chill blew in, which made it feel more like January than August. In the January of 49 B.C. Mark Antony held the office of tribune of the plebs. He, Curio and another of the tribunes had fled from Rome, fearing for their lives, and reached Caesar’s camp, dressed as slaves. That fitted with Rebecca’s initial description and what she could vaguely remember from the tatty cloak worn by the man at the river. Rebecca said they had been taken to a camp not far from the river and thought they were still on Anthony’s land. The man calling himself Curio had said this camp was under the command of Julius Caesar. Everything Melissa was seeing and hearing led her to believe that, unbelievably, they had gone back in time to a pivotal moment in history. They were witnessing the days just before Caesar crossed the Rubicon and marched on Rome. But that was ridiculous. It was not possible.
Melissa kept thinking about something she had once read, which implied that when you had exhausted all of the impossible answers, whatever you were left with had to be the truth, no matter how improbable it seemed. She knew it was a quote from fiction, a Sherlock Holmes novel, if she remembered correctly, but it kept shooting back into her mind. She also remembered the odd behaviour of Victor the day before. It was as if he had known something like this was going to happen, although he had said he remembered it in the past tense. If they were really in the past, they were in big trouble, but they could not possibly be. She had to be dreaming. So why could she not convince herself of it?
Curio returned after a short while and when he did, he seemed smugly pleased. “You have been granted an audience after all,” he barked. “It appears you have roused Antony’s curiosity, amongst other things. I would advise you to think carefully before you speak, woman. Despite the lies Cicero spreads, Antony is no fool and your charms alone will not save you.”
He took each woman by the arm, leading them to the entrance of the tent. His grip was firm and designed to control, but not to deliberately hurt, them. He pushed Melissa through the flap first and as her eyes surveyed the scene in front of her she began to realise the true scale of the situation. For once, Rebecca had not been exaggerating in the slightest: in front of them for as far as she could see were rows of tents all aligned with perfect military precision. Men swarmed between them like ants, all of them in Roman dress. There were piles of weapons and armour, all being sharpened, polished and repaired: it was an army in the midst of preparations for war.
“Holy shit!” Melissa exclaimed. Her mouth was wide open in total awe of the spectacle she was witnessing. She knew instantly that this was not a dream and it was not a re-creation. This was a real camp, it was freezing and now she knew they were in real trouble.
Curio yanked on her arm, pulling her in front of the tents and up a wider path. As he moved forward, the swarming bodies parted, allowing him clear passage. From the layout, Melissa assumed they were being taken along the Via Principalis to the centre of the camp. All Roman encampments were laid out on a grid and this would have been the main thoroughfare running through the centre. On her left were the tents for the men and, to the right, larger tents for officers’ quarters and administration. One of these would hold the legionary standards and eagle. Melissa would have loved to have taken just a quick peek inside them, but now was not the time. About halfway along the Via Principalis there would be an open area to replicate the Roman Forum, or meeting-place, with the largest structure next to it for the Commander-in-Chief. Curio had to be taking them to one of the tents nearby.
Many of the men just stared at the women as they passed by; both of them were oddly dressed for the century in which they apparently found themselves and they were attracting a great deal of attention. Melissa began to regret asking to speak to Anthony. She had done so when she believed this was merely some horrible joke, but now she knew it was not. That meant they were going to see Mark Antony, not Anthony Marcus and she did not fancy making his acquaintance one bit. Some of the men made coarse remarks about both Melissa and Rebecca, mostly requests for Curio to share his ‘spoils’. One particularly unpleasant remark made Melissa raise her hand to her mouth in a reflex action to cover her shock and for a moment Melissa wished she did not understand Latin so well. This seemed to draw Curio’s attention briefly and she immediately dropped her hand to her side, hoping he had not seen it.<
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Curio made no comment and continued onwards towards the entrance of a much grander structure just ahead. It more closely resembled a marquee in sheer terms of its size and appeared to be at the very heart of the encampment. An odd feeling of relief began to rise in Melissa. It was highly unlikely this was Antony’s tent. That would have been the same size as Curio’s. This had to be Caesar’s tent and centre of command. If they were going in there then they were most likely being taken to meet Caesar himself, if that was who he really was.
Melissa’s thoughts spun wildly in her head. There might be an opportunity for negotiation, though she would have to be extremely careful. There was no chance of freedom, but perhaps she could save both herself and Rebecca from a fate far worse than death at the hands of some of the men they had passed. In her mind she rapidly formulated a scheme to offer Caesar something of great value in return for their continued safety.
Curio halted before the guards and spoke to one of them to request entry. The guard disappeared into the tent and Melissa heard him announcing Curio and his prisoners. A moment later he returned and Curio again pushed Melissa through the opening in front of him.
It took Melissa a moment to adjust her eyes to the change in light. It was much darker in the tent than it had been outside. She looked round as quickly as she could, surveying the scene in front of her. Four men stood around a long table at the far side of the tent, all in military dress. They were studying a range of papers spread across the table. One of them was much older than the others, with greying hair and a well-developed bald patch, and Melissa decided he had to be Caesar. The other three had to be his most senior officers, Antony, Pollio and Labienus, though which was which she had no idea.
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