Remus guided the wagon around the bend, then whistled a command as he drew the aurochs to a halt once again. Claire could see Gerald and Flavius standing and talking together on the path fifty yards away. They were holding their horses reins as the animals grazed on the long grass to either side of the path, while around them dozens of twisted and bloodied bodies lay sprawled on the ground. Claire could tell by the armament the dead men wore that they were all Romans. Flavius and Gerald turned and headed back toward the wagon, trailing their horses behind them as Gervais followed. The wind had picked up and the older Roman’s cape fluttered behind him, his face etched with fatigue and pain.
“Looks like they’ve been dead a while,” Flavius said, pausing with one hand on the footboard as he looked up at Remus.
“Do you recognize any of them?” Remus asked with a grimace.
“Yes, there are a few I knew from the Second,” Flavius replied.
“Do you think Consul Carbo was with them?” Gervais asked.
Flavius shook his head. “I doubt it. There’s too few of them to have been part of the main force.”
Remus glared down at Gerald, his eyes hard and cold. “Did your people do this, barbarian?”
Gerald shrugged. “Maybe. It could have just as easily been Teutones, Ambrones, or any number of others as well. There’s no way to know for sure.”
“It hardly matters now who killed them,” Flavius said. “You and the girl come with us. We’re going to salvage what we can from their packs.”
Remus grunted in acknowledgment as he lowered himself to the ground. Claire followed, refusing Gerald’s help as she jumped down from the wagon. The Romans spread out, kneeling by each body and going through the packs, which were tied to poles about four feet long with a crosspiece around thirty inches wide.
“They’re called furcas,” Gerald explained, coming to stand beside Claire as he gestured to the packs. “It’s surprising, actually. It was generally believed the furca didn’t come into existence until after the Marius reforms some years from now.”
Claire glanced at Gerald with disinterest, then moved away until she reached a body. Now he talks to me, she thought with a snort. The dead soldier’s furca lay several feet from him at the edge of the trees and Claire dropped to her knees beside it. She saw a heavy cloak was tied to the crossbar along with a cloth bag, a cooking pot and saucepan, a battered leather satchel, and a mesh bag containing several chunks of bread, a square of moldy cheese, and a small leather bag of salt.
“Here, I’ll help you with that,” Gerald said, stooping down beside her. He unraveled the cloak and spread it out, then unhooked the pot and saucepan and set it on the cloak.
Claire just stared at him with dark eyes, sitting back on her haunches.
“Judging by that look, you must be mad at me for something,” Gerald said, pausing in his work. Claire just nodded, feeling color rising in her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” Gerald added, having the grace to lower his gaze for a moment. He took a moment to adjust the bandage on his injured hand, then looked back up at her, his face filled with regret. “I know I haven’t been around much these last few days. I guess that’s been hard on you.”
You guess? Claire thought with a snort.
Gerald fell silent as he opened the soldier’s leather satchel and started taking items out, placing them on the cloak. First came a sturdy wooden bowl and several bronze spoons, followed by a lice comb and tweezers. Gerald discarded the comb and tweezers, then dug further into the satchel. He brought out an amulet on a string that looked like a coin and threw it aside, then a cup made from a cow’s horn and some flint and steel, which he placed on the cloak.
“Not a bad haul so far,” Gerald said, suddenly glancing at her and winking.
Claire jumped, caught by surprise. She’d been staring in fascination at the knife pushed into his belt, willing herself to act. Had he noticed? Claire tried to smile, though she was sure it was more of a grimace, but her husband seemed oblivious as he returned to his task. She glanced at the knife again. It was less than three feet from her, and all she had to do was reach out and take it. A quick thrust to Gerald’s kidneys and it would all be over. Claire leaned forward with her hand extended to grab the hilt, and then she hesitated in indecision.
What are you waiting for! the darkness roared, startling her. We’ll never get a better chance than this!
“Well, would you look at this,” Gerald said in wonder as Claire snatched her hand back. He held up a bent silver spoon. “Do you know what this would be worth in our time?” Gerald glanced at her, then frowned. “Are you all right, Claire?” he asked in sudden concern.
Claire could only nod weakly, pressing her hands together between her legs. She could feel her body trembling but could do nothing to stop it as she looked at the ground. Gerald shifted, turning at an angle to her, blocking her access to the knife. Claire could hear the darkness inside her head hissing in anger.
“Now, this is going to make your day,” Gerald said. He grinned, holding up two boards folded one over the other like a book and tied together with string. He opened the boards, revealing a light, creamy surface inside on either side. “This is a wax tablet,” he explained. “You write on it,” Gerald added at Claire’s blank expression. He reached inside the satchel and produced a pointed object with a flared end at the back that was around four inches long. “This is a stylus,” he said. Gerald used the sharp end to scribble on the waxed tablet, then turned it proudly for her to see.
CLAIRE
Claire felt her heart skip a beat, all thoughts of killing Gerald gone for the moment as she realized what the tablet meant.
“That’s right,” Gerald said in delight. He handed her the tablet and stylus. “Now we can finally talk to each other.” Gerald grinned. “So, what do you want your first words to be?”
Claire hesitated, having gone so long without the ability to communicate with anyone that she’d almost forgotten how. She had a sudden vision of Frida’s mother and her husband rolling around naked in some hut together, and she started to scribble madly on the tablet beneath her name. The stylus bit into the wax surprisingly well, and it took her only a moment to write the words out in English. She turned the tablet for him to read.
You bastard! Why?
Gerald’s smile quickly faded at the fierce look on her face. “Why what, Claire?”
Claire used her thumb to try and erase the words, but all they did was smear.
“Not that way,” Gerald said, reaching out for the stylus. Claire batted him away in anger and Gerald sat back, looking perplexed. He motioned with his hand. “Use the flat part of the stylus like an eraser.”
Claire did so, surprised when the wax smoothed out easily, taking her words with them. She started to write again.
You cheated on me. How could you!
Gerald blinked in surprise when he’d read what she had written. “Cheated on you? How?”
Claire snorted as she wrote. With Alodia!!!
“Oh shit,” Gerald said, looking crestfallen. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, for the moment at a loss for words.
Did you think I wouldn’t find out?
“Claire,” Gerald said, lifting a hand to her. “You don’t understand. This isn’t what it seems.”
What? That you were fucking her? Claire wrote. She used the flat end of the stylus, rubbing furiously as the darkness egged her on, stoking her anger even more as Gerald waited for her to finish. Are you going to try and lie about it now?
Gerald looked down, shaking his head. “No, Claire, I’m not going to lie.”
You slept with her.
“Yes.”
Claire grunted. At least the bastard had the decency to be honest. What about Julie? Claire showed Gerald what she’d written, ignoring the crestfallen look on his face as she erased and added, Does getting your rocks off mean more to you than your daughter does?
“It’s not that simple,” Gerald said, looking even more miserable now.
&n
bsp; Seems pretty simple to me. You’re a cheating bastard!
Gerald sighed and removed his helmet as he rubbed his sweat-streaked hair. He took a deep breath while Claire waited, ready to blast whatever he said next.
“Claire,” Gerald said, clearly searching for the words. He came forward on his knees until he towered over her, then put his big hands on her shoulders. “I’ve been trying to find the right moment to tell you this, but it never seemed to happen.” He shrugged and looked around, pausing to watch the Romans as they worked before facing her again. “I guess the truth is I didn’t want to hurt you.” He smiled sadly. “I still don’t.”
Claire pushed away his hands, then wrote, Then why did you? You had to know what this would do to me.
Gerald opened his mouth to speak and Claire held up a finger, silencing him as she erased and wrote again.
The blackness is back, Gerald. Stronger than ever. You did this to me. You and your cock!
“I’m not who you think I am,” Gerald whispered. He put his hands on her shoulder again. “Claire, I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m not Gerald.”
Claire felt her mouth dropping open, with even the swirling blackness inside her recoiling from his words. She started to shake her head, not believing him. It was a ploy. A sick, horrible attempt to wiggle out from what he’d done. Gerald was Gerald. Who else could he be?
“Claire,” Gerald sighed. “Your husband died in prison not that long after you took the serum.” Claire’s head snapped back as if she’d been punched, and she almost fell if not for the strong hands holding her. “Your sister found the recording you left for Gerald after your funeral. She didn’t know what to make of it and showed it to her husband.” Claire just shook her head, not believing what the man in front of her was saying. “He took the video to his work and it followed the chain of command upward until finally landing in the hands of Homeland Security. And that’s where I come in.”
Claire stared into the eyes of the Cimbri warrior, having believed all this time that Gerald was hiding behind Artturi’s handsome features. But now, seeing the sincerity on the man’s face, she realized that he was telling her the truth. Whoever this person was, he wasn’t her beloved husband. She reached for the tablet with shaking hands.
Then who are you?
“It’s me,” the man whispered so low that she barely heard him. “Malcolm Foster, from High School.” He shrugged, his eyes clouded and sad. “They sent me here to try and stop you from meddling with the past.”
Claire stood frozen for a moment, unable to believe it, yet knowing that it was true. Malcolm Foster from Texas. She had a sudden vision of a skinny, cheerful teenager who’d come to her house a lifetime ago, not realizing at the time that he was stepping into hell. She sobbed out loud, thrusting the image away as she jumped to her feet and started to run while Malcolm shouted for her to stop. Claire ignored him, sweeping past the startled Romans as the piercing heartache of a dead daughter, and now a dead husband pressed down on her chest like a thousand-pound weight. She wept as she ran, ignoring the scratching branches as she hurtled through the forest, heedless of which way she was going. It was over, she knew. Everything was finished, so it hardly mattered what happened to her. There was nothing left for her now except an endless string of past lives to live filled with loneliness and misery. Maybe until the very end of time itself for all she knew.
Claire moaned at that thought, the full import of the trap she now found herself in spread out like a roadmap in her mind. Gerald had been the key to everything, and without his guidance and knowledge, she knew she couldn’t risk making another mistake like the Titanic—a mistake that might have tragic consequences for her family in the future. Claire could feel her mind unraveling as the darkness gained in power, aided by a ghost from her past that had come to hammer the last nail of despair into whatever hope she’d had left. She fled through the trees, delving ever deeper into the bowels of the sprawling forest, with each step taking her that much closer to outright madness.
Then, just before the veil of darkness could envelop her rational mind completely, a new voice cut through the shroud like a bright light, urgent and demanding. This was the voice of reason that Claire had listened to for most of her adult life. Claire, you need to stop and think about this! It’s not Gerald!
Claire hesitated as her mind turned that thought over and over. She slowed, then came to a halt as a dawning realization came over her. Gerald hadn’t been cheating with Alodia all this time. It had been Malcolm, not her husband. Claire felt her heart soar with emotion as she realized what that meant. Gerald might have died in the twenty-first century, but her husband’s faithfulness and love for her had never wavered. Claire started to cry again, though this time it was with tears of joy. She turned and looked back the way she’d come, sudden hope rising in her breast as the darkness slowly dissolved, leaving in its wake a crystal clear clarity. She understood what she needed to do now. All hope was not lost. There was another way. Claire started to retrace her steps, moving with renewed vigor as her brain worked it out.
Gerald Blackwood had been an up-and-coming historical author in the twenty-first century, but the man wearing Artturi’s face—Malcolm Foster—was an undisputed expert in the field of history. A man who had lectured worldwide and on the internet on any number of topics ranging from the Mesopotamian civilizations from 3500 BC right up to the world wars of the twentieth century. Claire had read somewhere that Malcolm had a photographic memory, which meant he would most likely know every major event and pressure point in virtually every timeline they landed in together. An incredible advantage that she could only envy, but also one she had full intentions of using to her benefit.
Claire heard Malcolm calling out her name somewhere to her right, oddly touched by the obvious anxiety in his voice. Who better than a man who remembered every line word for word out of the history books to help her change the world? The despair Claire felt moments ago was gone now, replaced with nothing but optimism and hope as she headed toward Malcolm’s voice. The ghost from her past was not the final nail in a story of failure that she’d thought him to be moments ago, but was, in fact, a springboard she would use to save her daughter and husband. And maybe, just maybe, the world along with them.
Claire just needed to convince Malcolm of that fact first.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MALCOLM: City of Noreia, Noricum
The glittering mountain city of Noreia, the pride of the Norici kingdom, lay in shambles, with her great walls sitting undefended and her massive gates lying broken and twisted on the ground. Malcolm stood with Flavius on a high ridge that jutted out above the city as dark smoke coiled lazily from within the scorched walls, staining the sky black. All was quiet below them, eerily so, with nothing moving anywhere that might indicate that anyone remained alive in the city.
“I tried to warn you,” Malcolm grunted, breaking the silence between them.
“That you did,” Flavius agreed in a subdued tone. The older Roman’s eyes looked haunted as he studied the stricken city. “I should have listened to you.” He hesitated as he flicked his gaze to his companion. “Now that Noreia is no more, will your people head for Rome next, Artturi?”
Malcolm took a deep breath, and then he shook his head. “No, my friend. Rome is safe. My father and Teutobod will take the tribes west over the mountains into Gaul. Rest assured, they have no interest in sacking Rome.”
Flavius looked unconvinced. “How can you be certain of that? The legions are destroyed, and Rome is at their mercy. They must know this.”
Malcolm sighed and removed his helmet, wiping the sweat from his brow. He could understand Flavius’ unease right now, but the Roman didn’t know what Malcolm did, so all he could do at the moment was try and assuage the man’s fears. The Cimbri and Teutones could have easily attacked a weakened Rome after the battle with Carbo, and they most likely would have triumphed if they had. But they had chosen to turn away from the riches to the sou
th in favor of heading west, which had mystified historians for generations. But now, after having lived with the Cimbri for so long, Malcolm knew the decision had been left to chance spun by seeresses like Gunda. He shook his head in wonder, realizing that a simple round stone had changed the course of history and had saved the Roman people from destruction.
“So, what do you want to do now?” Malcolm finally asked.
Flavius shrugged. “Keep going, of course. We’ll try to make it back to Aquileia, I suppose.”
Malcolm nodded, having expected that answer.
“And you?” Flavius asked, a hint of anxiety in his voice. “Will you continue to accompany us or return to Alodia?”
Malcolm hesitated. The company had been traveling for four days since he’d told Claire who he really was. Dario had died that same night, and the next day they’d been discovered by a small band of Helvetti, who were occasional allies of the Cimbri and Teutones. The Helvetti had heard nothing of the agreement Malcolm had made with Adalwolf and Lugius, so he’d been forced to do some quick talking to keep them from slaughtering his companions. Luckily, Artturi had met their leader once, a dour-faced man named Maeron. The Helvetti leader had eventually agreed to let the Romans live, though not before demanding a hefty price. They’d taken the company’s two horses, the aurochs and wagon, and everything inside of it, leaving them nothing but the weapons they carried. The three Romans, Claire, and Malcolm had been on foot ever since then, with Flavius insisting that they head southwest and take refuge behind Noreia’s thick walls. Malcolm had told him the city would be under siege or destroyed by the time they arrived, but the Roman was a stubborn man, insisting he needed to see for himself. Now the company was faced with a dangerous journey over many miles to the south if they hoped to get to Aquileia. Malcolm felt conflicted, needing to learn Alodia’s fate, but also aware if he abandoned the Romans here, they would almost certainly never make it home.
Past Lives (The Past Lives Chronicles Book 1) Page 30
