by Lynne Gentry
The last twenty-four hours had been packed with a flurry of physically and emotionally draining activity. A wedding. More plague patients. A complicated labor and delivery. Transporting and reuniting a sick mother with her ill family. And finally, after all this time and hesitation, locking eyes with Cyprian and knowing with surety that what had been growing between them was more than a ruse.
“The best kind of tired ever.” She turned to face him. “Why?”
“Because we never had that talk, remember?” He took her face in his hands and kissed her, tenderly at first, and then with the passion that made her insides quiver. “I don’t want there to be any secrets between us,” he whispered. “Tell me who you are, even if you belong to another.”
His desperate need to know sent a painful jab to Lisbeth’s chest. She drew a deep breath. “Come with me.” She slid from his arms. “Don’t just lie there staring; come on.” While she wiggled into a shimmering robe, she watched him rise from the bed. A breathtaking male specimen. Rock-solid, yet gentle as a new kitten. And hers, if she could keep the truth as simple and painless as possible. She tossed him a loincloth. “Not interested in sharing you with the world.”
He twined the fabric around his middle. “We’re going far?”
“Farther than you could imagine.” She slipped her hand in his and led him through the open doors and out onto the balcony.
A sea-scented breeze swept her hair from her shoulders and ruffled the dark waves against the harbor rock. They moved across the cool pavers to the railing. Moonlight silhouetted Cyprian’s solid build. Call it selfish or simply self-preservation, either way, she took a moment to soak in the calm of his demeanor before shattering the peace they had found together.
The list of people she must take with her whenever she finally made her break for the twenty-first century was growing. His name was now permanently lumped in with Mama and Laurentius. However, she knew executing her plan and even evading capture would not be nearly as difficult as convincing Cyprian of his need to come with her. Not his need. Hers. She was the one who couldn’t imagine a lifetime without him.
He drew her into his arms and kissed her. He tasted of sea salt, their lovemaking, and hope. For a few seconds she allowed herself to feel safe, to rest in the security of her husband’s strong arms. But time and experience had exposed the futility of such an illusion. Taming the danger of tomorrow was as futile as trying to erase the mistakes of yesterday. She pulled away reluctantly but determined to say what she should have said from the start.
“You better sit down.”
He reeled her back into his arms. “I’d rather hold you.” A long, slow press of his lips to hers and Lisbeth felt her resolve melt.
She wiggled free. “I’d rather look you in the eye.” She held him at arm’s length. “So you can see that everything I’m going to tell you is true.”
“Have you not always told me the truth?”
“Technically … yes … what I’ve told you is true.” Lying by omission was still lying in her book, a realization that didn’t make her feel any better. This wasn’t going to be easy. Maybe it was best if she took it slowly. “Please, sit.”
He bowed assent. “Your wish is my command.” He took a seat on a bench near the balustrade. “Speak, my love.”
Lisbeth hesitated; her courage suddenly vanished. What if he didn’t believe time travel possible? She really couldn’t blame him. After all, she would have admitted Cyprian to a psych ward if he’d fallen into her century spouting a story this preposterous.
His head cocked in an expectant manner. “Well?” He gestured for her to get on with it.
“You’re right. Let’s get this over with.” She perched on the opposite bench, her knees touching his for the added support. Whatever happened, for a few brief moments in time, everything had been perfect, and she would carry those memories with her forever.
She took a deep breath and dredged the truth into the open. Every incredible, unbelievable detail of the story, starting with Abra.
He pulled back. It was slight, but the distance was enough to make her reconsider this whole honesty thing. She reached for his hand as if her touch would keep him from leaving her or declaring her insane. He didn’t withdraw, but something had changed between them. His face had hardened into an unreadable mask. Anxious to get this behind her, she continued on with the telling of the strange letter from Papa.
Nigel was right, she thought as she explained flying to the camp. A person either loved endless horizons or hated them. Cyprian listened to her tale of cars, cell phones, and fast food with a baffled expression that made discerning his take on modern horizons difficult.
But she was in this far and he hadn’t bolted, so she risked a bit more. She told him about her parents and their quest to explore the Cave of the Swimmers. She recounted the night her mother disappeared, growing up in Papa’s excavation camps, her travels to a place called the United States so she could attend med school, and she even threw in her friend Queenie and her crazy ten-thousand-member church, a number so staggering she finally garnered a reaction from Cyprian—granted it was a head shake of doubtful amazement, but at least he was still listening.
When she reached the chapter about Craig, she hesitated again. Cyprian was just now coming around, seeming a little less skeptical. Bringing up an old boyfriend seemed an unnecessary risk, especially since their love was so new. How could she explain that although she would always be somewhat divided between two worlds, somewhere in the midst of the adventures she’d shared with Cyprian, things had forever changed? She now belonged wholly to him. Every inch of her heart, soul, and very satisfied body.
For now she would skip Craig altogether, as well as her discovery of the way home, and move on to the impossibility of two women falling down the very same hole in the ancient cave, the exact same one he’d mentioned at the arena. But when the full impact of time travel registered in his thinking, his lips stretched into a tight line. He’d heard enough for one sitting.
Lisbeth took a relieved breath and let the information sink in. When she could stand his contemplative gaze no longer, she said, “Well? Say something.”
His eyes drifted from her to the stars overhead. “So you want me to believe that people can fly?”
Lisbeth burst out laughing—releasing the tension that had been building since the day she arrived. “After all I said, that’s what you heard? That Nigel flew me out to the desert to get my father?”
“What kind of wings does this Nigel have?”
“Pilots don’t have wings. They fly planes.” Lisbeth pointed to the harbor. “Ships with sails designed for the sky.”
“Sometimes my clients tell me incredible stories.” He stroked his stubbly chin. “Tales to hide the truth.” He didn’t believe her.
Had she chosen him over going back to the life she knew for nothing? “So what do you do?”
“I defend them anyway.” Cyprian scooped her into his arms and headed for their bed.
She wrapped her arms around Cyprian’s neck and kissed him. If she could stop time, she would stop it at this very moment.
They fell into bed. But even as they pulled the sheets over their heads, Lisbeth knew they couldn’t hide from the future. It was a greedy and relentless master that wanted her back. The only way to alter her destiny was to change the past.
47
A COUPLE OF DAYS AFTER Lisbeth told him everything, Cyprian confessed to Caecilianus that he had a list of questions concerning his wife’s dire predictions. Parts of her story were harder to believe than Caecilianus’s claims of the Messiah. How could the past intersect the future to create a tenable present?
However crazy her claims, he had no interest in crushing the trust developing between them, a trust he treasured more than he could have ever anticipated. He did, however, take comfort in knowing he wasn’t losing his mind. His wife really was different. He suspected her an exception to the rule the minute he’d laid eyes on her and knew her peculiar
ities to be fact once she opened her mouth. Yet he loved her, and he did not regret giving in to those feelings.
What to do about his beautiful wife’s fledgling faith was something Caecilianus assured him the Lord would work out in time. Already he could see her heart softening. For now, he would keep his priority focused on securing the quarantine Lisbeth believed necessary to stop this plague. Since they had transported Eunike and her new baby to his villa, others afflicted with the sickness had flocked to his doorstep.
He sat upon the bed and stared at the sleeping woman who’d stolen his affections. Both of her new patients had endured a restless night. Therefore, Lisbeth hadn’t slept either. He hated to wake her.
Lifting an auburn curl, he let the curly tendril wrap his finger. He couldn’t wait for the hideous color to fade. Thank God her face had been scrubbed clean of all that ridiculous paint Ruth insisted she wear in public. He loved the natural shape of Lisbeth’s eyes, blazing emeralds that did not need the harsh outline of kohl to captivate.
“My love.” He ran his finger down her naked shoulder and along the curve of her exposed hip.
She rolled over and smiled. “Waking up to you is so much better than the alarm on my phone.”
Alarms? Phones? Her strange ways would keep him occupied for a lifetime. “I hate to cut your slumber short, but we’ve got four new arrivals waiting in the atrium.”
Her eyes snapped open, immediately alert. “Thank God you must have some kind of natural immunity.”
THANKS TO a couple hours of sleep in Cyprian’s arms and a good breakfast, Lisbeth had gained an entirely new perspective on the plague situation. Why had she not thought of it before? The people of Carthage did not have to sit idly by and wait on Aspasius to do something about the continual infiltration of the virus. They could band together. Turn Cyprian’s home into a makeshift hospital. Organize a place where she could control the quarantine. It wasn’t much, but doing something was better than doing nothing. Armed with a plan, a tangible way to slow the spread of the disease, Cyprian would have an easier time rallying governmental support.
In the remaining hours of daylight, Lisbeth shooed Laurentius, Junia, and Barek out to the shed to prepare it for those who’d not had measles. Next, she and Ruth gathered the supplies needed to pull this hospital thing off. Organizing the logistics was a slow process, one Lisbeth wished her mother were here to direct. But she hadn’t seen Mama since the wedding. Fearing the worst, she’d scarcely allowed her mind to visit the question of what had happened to her mother once Aspasius sobered up. Now that she’d finally found Mama, she wanted her safe and close. Sharing the things mothers and daughters shared. Like how much she loved Cyprian, and that she’d discovered the secret of the cistern. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go back anymore, but Mama had the right to decide whether she wanted to take Laurentius and go home … to go back to Papa.
Lisbeth tucked away the guilty niggling of having left Papa to fend for himself. Tomorrow, albeit eighteen hundred years away, had enough trouble of its own. She would do what she could to make today a better day.
Several hours later, Lisbeth and Ruth surveyed their work. Every mattress had been stripped from the beds and carried to the hall. Eunike’s family had been placed on some of the woven hemp mats outfitted with vaporizers cobbled together out of sticks pruned from the trees in the garden and shredded stolas from Ruth’s wardrobe. The villa looked more like the Thascius family was hosting a carnival rather than expecting an onslaught of deadly disease. Who knew an assortment of gaily colored silks and the addition of a new baby in the house could add such a festive touch to the starkness of their situation?
Exhausted and dirty, Lisbeth and Ruth stopped long enough to make a meal out of a small round of hard cheese and warm wine.
“Here are the things we’re certain of.” Lisbeth broke off a chunk of cheese. “Word will spread quickly. We’ll be overrun with cases of every kind. We must prioritize those in the earliest stages. They are the most contagious. Separating them from the others is imperative.” Lisbeth took a large gulp of watered wine. “Even though I’m pretty sure Cyprian must be immune, I want him to stay with you, Caecilianus, Barek, and my brother in the shed.” Lisbeth held up her hand. “Don’t argue with me, Ruth. We must keep anyone who has not had measles away from the sickness as much as possible.”
“And Junia?”
“She can stay with me, since she’s had measles. She’ll make a great little helper.”
“God will protect.” Ruth stuffed a hunk of bread in her mouth, determined to once again get in the last word.
“Let’s hope so.” Lisbeth gazed at their crude setup. Papa’s dig sites were better equipped for medical emergencies than this third-world stopgap. What had she been thinking? “A few home remedies and a little help from above are about all we’ve got going for us.”
They finished their lunch in silence; then Lisbeth encouraged Ruth to take a rest on one of the mats in the library. Lisbeth thought about doing the same, but she stayed in the atrium and within easy access of Eunike and her little family. Fear that she might have overlooked some detail kept her eyes from closing. What if she couldn’t pull this off? She didn’t have a single vial of vaccine, antibiotic, or even a bag of intravenous fluid. Basically, she was waving a stick at a hungry lion.
48
MAGDALENA HID IN THE shadows as storm clouds gathered in the chambers of the Supreme Council. The Carthaginian Senate was a group of venerable men clad in purple and gold chains who’d been elected from the nobility of Carthage. Aspasius was seated in the leader chair. While she knew Aspasius said he was only too happy to entertain Cyprian’s proposal, the men in the ornately furnished room had no idea the proconsul meant something totally different.
Cyprian had come armed with a pile of sketches, statistics, and cost estimates for the completion of the aqueducts, as well as an unheard-of plan to slow the spread of the disease plaguing the tenements, something that must have come from Lisbeth’s twenty-first-century mind.
He stood head and shoulders above any man who’d taken the floor. Aspasius’s elevator shoes failed to compensate for the difference, and his irritation showed on his face as he stepped aside in order for Cyprian to make yet another flawless argument.
“With the fever taking such a large toll on the general population”—Cyprian spoke confidently despite the obvious hostility of the audience—“further reducing the workforce by singling out those who do not bow to Roman gods is foolishness.” This fine young man was her son-in-law, not that she could tell anyone, but knowing something good had come from this life-changing experience was a blessing Magdalena intended to count. “Can religious freedom not be extended or, at the very least, our differences tabled until after this crisis has passed?”
“Why such a fondness for these Christians, Cyprian?” Aspasius gnawed the solicitor’s name and let it hang in the air like a shredded sheet.
“I see no advantage to destroying any segment of your workforce.”
“I agree, but if these Christians continue to multiply faster than rats, the gods will withhold their blessings. Already these heretics fill far too many places among us. The shops, the harbor, the forum.” He turned and addressed his colleagues. “Next thing you know, our honorable solicitor will have vermin filling not only our Senate seats but also the palace of our emperor and the temples to our gods.”
Murmurs swelled in the giant hall. Magdalena peeked around a pillar.
Cyprian’s smile faded into controlled calculation. “We’ll see whose generosity the emperor rewards.”
Aspasius chuckled. “Generosity?”
“I intend to raise the finances myself.”
Aspasius let the silence grow thick in the room, the same type of dramatic pause that always preceded the impact of his fist into Magdalena’s face. If she shouted out a warning, Cyprian’s pride would not be the only casualty. All she could do was watch and pray.
“More than one reputation has found its gr
ave at the walls of Carthage.” Aspasius patted his belly. “If you choose to bury yours for those who dare to anger the gods, I shall miss you, Cyprian. You are a worthy opponent. But don’t think others will join you in this. Now that Rome has turned a hungry eye upon Africa, I have the support I need. A vote in opposition to your plan is merely my concession to the council’s vanity.”
“Politicians, hear this!” Cyprian’s voice rang out as he gathered his sketches. “A pound of words for an ounce of action will not pacify the dying masses for long.”
“Best of luck in the election.” Aspasius’s shrill laughter needled Cyprian’s back on his way out the door and punctured Magdalena’s last hope of her son-in-law securing her family’s freedom.
IT HAD been weeks since Cyprian exercised his oratorical privileges on the council. He expected to be a bit rusty. That he’d become totally ineffective was a shock. He’d not intended to storm from the assembly of senators, but he’d been so incensed by their total disregard for human life that he’d grabbed Pontius and fled.
“Poor sanitary conditions will kill Carthage.” Cyprian and Pontius jumped aboard the waiting litter. “As long as the patricians can escape to their summer homes, why should they care what happens to the plebs left behind?”
“We were outmaneuvered,” Pontius stated flatly, “but we are not defeated.”
“Short of mounting a rebellion, I have no backup plan.”
“Did you not just say there is more than one way to finance a worthy project?”
“So right, my friend.” Cyprian halted the litter. “Pontius, stop at the market and order large quantities of fruits and herbs for the sickly multitude that has taken over my house. While you’re at it, pay the fuller’s bill, and have the clean bedding delivered later today.”
Pontius climbed out of the rig. “And where are you going?”
“To sell off part of my shipping fleet.”
