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fragment of Echo by Lori M Gasser
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
ECHO (the first book of a trilogy) is the story of two lovers who are under a curse---one of them always loses the other, tragically. But the two of them learn to beat the curse: whenever one dies, the other time travels to the lost lover's next (or past) reincarnation.
She didn't remember the moment of her birth.
But she did remember---with perfect clarity---the moment of her rebirth. She remembered every detail, to the finest point, of the moment she was reborn; an impossibility in an impossible world...
1.
When the time traveler opened her eyes, she was standing on a beach, staring at the ocean. The pure, clean smell of the salty air was strong, even though it was raining.
She didn't care.
The girl didn't run for cover (there was no cover in sight anyway). She just closed her eyes and stood there, getting wet. She stood there with her eyes closed, listening to the rain, feeling it soak her skin, for a long time. She may have fallen asleep. When the girl finally opened her eyes again, the rain had stopped. Not that it mattered much, since she was soaking wet, standing in the middle of a vast, empty beach, staring at a vast, empty ocean, and so cold.
She didn't care.
The time-traveler took a look around. She was small-statured, petite; her face wan and pale, but sprite-like. This impression was reinforced by her unusual eyes: greenish-blue and large, almost too large for her face, with a curious luminosity in them. Those eyes were haunted by desolation as she viewed her surroundings. There wasn't much to see. It was some unknown coastal plain. She was somewhere in the past---but where? When the girl had decided---decided? No. I had no choice, none at all---to come here, she'd known only that it would be in a time long gone. For all she knew, she was very far from civilization. For all she knew, there wasn't any.
She didn't really care about that, either.
She tried to be angry with herself. Damn you, Karissa, you'd better care! Can't you fucking remember WHY YOU CAME HERE?!
Of course she remembered. To find him. Him. To see him, to hear him, to touch him---alive. And even now, after traveling all this way, it seemed an impossible dream. He was dead. Death was irrefutable, relentless. He was dead. Yes, he's dead. He's dead, and I'm insane, thinking I can resurrect him.
It had been a long time since the girl Karissa had cared about anything. A long time since she'd felt a tingle of life inside or outside of her. Or maybe it only seemed like a long time? She looked up. The sky was a slab of stone: grey, cold, and opaque; as if the sun had never broken through, and or ever could.
She supposed it didn't matter what she did or didn't feel. This was where she was and that was that. She was here, and she wouldn't allow herself to die. She could've done that long ago---very easily---when he died. But a cruel, implacable fact, and then a small ray of hope, had kept her from doing so. Which then had brought her here. To this strange land.
But Karissa could feel none of that hope now. She didn't know why. She remembered feeling hope. Hope that she'd find what she'd lost.
How long ago was that?
Long ago? You really are a know-not. Don't use that phrase anymore. You're in the past now. It is long ago! That hasn't even happened yet. For some reason, that realization gave her a shred of comfort. To be in a time where that had not happened yet. Now you don't have to pretend it didn't happen. Because it really hasn't! It seemed a small ray of sun was breaking through the stone sky. That was no longer a reality. That, which had made her life, her world, and her own time unbearably hateful to her.
Her own time.
The twenty-first century isn't your time anymore, so just forget about that, too. This is your time now.
Her name was Karissa Sheffield. She was twenty-six. She'd come here, a stranger in a strange land, because she'd lost someone, and she'd come here, to this strange land, to another world, to find him again.
And she wasn't getting anything accomplished standing, freezing, and dripping here on this beach.
********
Karissa absently pushed her dampened auburn hair out of her face and began to walk across the wet sand, crossing her arms over the soaking brown cloak she was wearing, and heading toward whatever was beyond the coast of this land. So far it was no different than any beach she'd ever seen.
She'd walked perhaps twenty minutes when she smelled smoke. She walked another two minutes and heard voices. Her hand went into her cloak pocket. She'd known how imprudent it would be to bring anything from the twenty-first century with her, but she had brought two things for protection, imprudent or not. After all, this was a primitive time, and she was a woman alone.
She'd also had to bring two other things, which she could never let anyone see.
Taking about a half a dozen more careful steps, she came upon a little camp. A man and woman were sitting in what looked like a large tent, made clearly of sticks and animal skins. The woman was sitting in the tent, and the man was piling wood on the sand, feeding the small fire he had going.
Karissa stood there looking at them for a long while, trying to muster up the courage to speak to them. She wasn't usually shy by nature, but she was a stranger here, in more ways than one. The man was completely absorbed in building his fire. The woman---his wife?---had her eyes closed. Her lips were moving. As Karissa stood trying to figure out if the woman was talking in her sleep or just plain schizo, the woman's eyes suddenly opened and saw her.
At first, the woman looked so alarmed, Karissa was sure she'd shriek. Instead she muttered something to the man, and he looked up, too. Slowly, he got to his feet. Karissa's hand was still in her cloak pocket. She gripped one of the objects in there tightly, though she still felt far removed from it all. Even as she watched them watching her, the numbness remained. They just stared at her. Karissa knew how strange she looked in her plain but neat and clean clothes. She'd had, after all, no idea how she should dress for this trip. So they stared at her. She stared at them. They stared back at her. It became pretty damned irritating, so Karissa decided she'd better say something. She didn't know what time or place this was, but it was safe to assume they didn't speak English. At least, not the English she knew. However, Karissa hadn't come on this trip completely unprepared.
She spoke in Latin: “Salve. Quis est is locus?”
To her dismay, both their brows furrowed. Universal body language for: I don't understand.
Her frustration increased. I don't fucking believe this. Everybody spoke Latin in the past! Unless this is the stone age. Or the ice age!
The woman finally said something, addressing Karissa. The man threw his woman a look, evidently commanding her to be quiet, but the woman ignored him. Karissa listened intently. What the woman said was basically unintelligible, but a couple of her words were Latin, or Latin-based. Also, Karissa wasn't entirely sure---she was no linguist---but some of the woman's words sounded vaguely French.
Latin words mixed with French words?
Something familiar...?
Karissa could now feel the heat of the fire, making her finally aware of how cold and wet she was. She moved a few steps nearer to the heat. The man snapped something at Karissa, motioning her away. The woman spoke heatedly to the man, obviously chiding him. The man argued back at her. Karissa listened to them. Yes, some of the words were French-based. Was she in France? The French language she knew wasn't like the language these people spoke at all, except for a few words here and there.
Try it anyway. She spoke in French: “Bonjour. Madam. Monsieur.”
They looked less confused now, but still didn't answer. The man stared at Karissa for a minute more, then suddenly stomped off, disappearing around a sand dune. Karissa watched him go, suddenly afraid. Was he going off to gather a lynch mob, or something?
The woman spoke to her again, gently. Karissa looked at her. She appeared to be in her early thirties, with a pleasant face and gentle blue eyes. She wore what looked like two dresses on top of each other. No coat or cloak. She wore what looked like a piece of brown wool tied around her head so Karissa couldn't discern her hair color. She gestured to Karissa, obviously motioning her to sit by the fire.
Karissa smiled and said, "Merci,” hoping the woman understood it, or some part of it, and sat down under the primitive shelter beside the woman. She really was cold. Shivering, she put her hands out toward the fire. She kept her eyes on the fire, feeling the woman staring at her. Actually, the woman wasn't looking at Karissa in particular, she was studying Karissa's clothes and shoes. Karissa found this out when the woman tentatively touched Karissa's woolen cloak. Karissa instinctively recoiled. The woman instantly did the same. Karissa looked away. The clothes she came in were as primitive and plain as she'd been able to find, but of course they weren't primitive and plain enough. She sighed wearily. She wanted to sleep. Sleeping was something she'd gotten very good at after his death. Sleep was an escape. Sleep, her heart whimpered.
Not here. Not now.
“Nelleke,” the woman said suddenly.
Karissa looked at her. The woman smiled and pointed at herself. “Nelleke,” she repeated.
Karissa did her best to smile back and reciprocated the gesture: “Karissa.”
That's when they saw Nelleke's husband coming back. With a start, Karissa saw that he had someone with him. She stiffened, throwing Nelleke an anxious look. Nelleke smiled back reassuringly. Then Karissa relaxed as she saw that the person with Nelleke's man was an old woman. She wore a shabby dark green dress and some sort of brown wrap over it. She, like Nelleke, wore a woolen headpiece over her stringy white hair. As they came back to the camp, Nelleke pointed to her man and said, “Gervaas.”
The man scowled at this, but said nothing, not to Nelleke. He muttered something to the old woman, who gazed at Karissa with an unreadable expression that held not a little suspicion. Karissa stared back at her languidly; still with that odd dethachment.
Then the old woman said, in Latin, “My name is Keetje. Gervaas says that you speak Latin. What are you called?”
Karissa gasped, relieved. She began to wake up. Hurriedly switching to Latin, she said,"Meus nomen est Karissa. Quaeso, ubi sum? Quis est is locus?”
Keetje frowned. “You're in our village.”
Karissa gestured at the tent. “This is a village?”
“There are others who live in huts near the sea. My hut is close by.”
“Oh.” So this wasn't a camp. Nelleke and Gervaas lived here, in this animal-skinned tent. “Well...I mean...what year is this?” She thought she could get away with a question like that. Peasants probably didn't keep very careful track of the months.
Keetje stared at her. “It's spring.”
"What year?”
The old woman still looked baffled.
Gervaas said something. This time Keetje didn't ignore him. "Gervaas wants to know where you come from. He says he's never seen you before." Karissa stared at her, at Gervaas, not having the vaguest idea how to answer that. Keetje's suspicion noticeably grew. “Well?”
Now Karissa was beginning to resent this interrogation. Her mind raced. Then she put on a sad face and improvised, “I come from this land.”
“Where's your family?”
“I'm an orphan.”
“Where have you lived before now?”
Karissa pointed in the distance. “In the woods.”
Now Keetje stiffened. “Where in the woods?”
Are you writing a book or something, you old bag? Karissa fought to keep the irritation out of her voice. “It was a long way from here.”
“Then why're you here?” It was a plain challenge.
“I wandered too far away from our hut, and I got lost. I found myself here.” Karissa and Keetje glared at each other for a moment, neither dropping their eyes. Gervaas and Nelleke, left out, were entirely bewildered.
Then, a miracle. Keetje turned and said something to Gervaas. They spoke for a moment, then Keetje asked Karissa, “You have nowhere to go?”
“No.”
“Then you may stay with me at my hut. For awhile, at least.”
Karissa smiled with genuine gratitude. “Benigne facis,” she thanked Keetje.
Keetje didn't smile back.
2.
The year was 460 A. D.
Karissa found out the year not long after she left the beach-dwellers.
Good riddance, as far as she was concerned.
She found out the name of the country she was in before she'd even found out the year.
Gaul. Gaul?
As soon as she heard it, she began mentally rifling through her history lessons. She was in the country that contained all of Western Europe; the country that would, in time, become the three separate countries of France, Luxembourg, and Belgium. The language Nelleke and Gervaas spoke was most likely Old French, which had Germanic, Latin, and Celtic words mixed up in it!
Karissa hoped against hope that Keetje wasn't only one in the place who spoke Latin.
The Gaulish province she was in was Belgica Secunda. A Latin name. So it wasn't really a Gaulish province, she mused, it was a Roman province. My God, Karissa thought, dazed, the ancient Roman Empire is still standing.
Finding out the year was partly a relief, because it filled in all the blanks as to what part of the past she now resided in.
Yet it was only partly a relief.
460 A. D. Fifty years after the fall of ancient Rome. Yet the ancient Roman Empire was still standing, as she'd initially deduced. It was simply split up into two factions: the Western Roman Empire, which was now less than twenty years from its end; and the Eastern Roman Empire, which would not end for another millenium.
The fifth century. Dear God, she was in the Dark Ages. Literally. That period of history had begun not long after Rome was sacked, if she remembered her history correctly, and Rome had already been sacked for the second time five years ago!
The Dark Ages.
Her new time.
*********
Karissa was now living in a Frankish Christian commune in the forest, some distance from the beach. It was a cluster of huts that stood in a forest clearing, but still surrounded by enough trees to make her feel sheltered. She greatly preferred the people, too. There were many more of them here than on the beach, and they were obviously curious about her; but there seemed to be some respect for privacy here, and Karissa was grateful for that. Also, nearly all of them spoke Latin. Most of them were Franks, but there were some Gauls as well. The food was repulsive; the shelter was meager; many at the commune gave her a wide berth, vexed by her mystery and her silence; but it wasn't nearly as bad here as it had been among Keetje's tribe on the beach.
Actually, Karissa hadn't left the beach-dwellers. She'd been thrown out. Even though it had been a blessing in disguise, she didn't like thinking about that day. It had frightened her. Not all of the beach-dwellers had been bad, though. The woman Nelleke, the woman who had invited Karissa next to her fire that first day, had been the one to point Karissa to this place after Keetje had driven Karissa away from the beach. Nelleke was probably just as glad to be rid of her as Keetje was, but Karissa was grateful to her anyway.
Once settled in her new home, Karissa spent a lot of time listening to (eavesdropping on) some of the Latin-speaking Gauls who lived there, too. They spoke of barbarian tribes running rampant all over Europe. Goths, Vandals, Franks, Huns. When Karissa heard that, she was actually jolted from her lethargy briefly. Huns? Attila the Hun! That fucking maniac, running around loose? Here?! Then she remembered, he was dead. She racked her memory until she was sure: he had died in the 450s sometime.
She also found out about Childeric I, the Salian Frank who was the King of Gaul. The Franks had been one of the more fortunate barbarian tribes, and had gradually dominated the scene in Gaul; finally making their own kingdom there, which was acknowledged by the Roman Empire. As Karissa listened to the talk, a realization came to her, hit her quite hard in fact: I don't live in a free country anymore. There are no free countries anymore.
No, there are no free countries YET.
Anymore and yet.
Two time-sensitive words that had switched meanings for her.
Karissa had now been living with the Frankish Christians for two months. It had been March when she'd arrived on the beach, and it was now the month of May. This commune was a good place to wait. It was quiet and without conflict. Many of the people who lived nearby (there were beach-dwellers and forest-dwellers) were non-believers, pagans---paganus---and they gave this commune a wide berth, wanting nothing to do with these Christ God-worshippers. The feeling was more than mutual. All the members of the Christian commune were fearful of the pagans, refraining from any contact whatsoever, whenever it wasn't impossible; speaking of them and their bizarre religion (or religions---Karissa had never been able to pin down one unified religion among them) in fearful whispers; often crossing themselves at the sight of them. Karissa didn't blame them.
Summer was coming. Though the nights still held a chill, the days were becoming warmer; though the rain was still almost constant. Sometimes it rained while the sun still shone. Flowers were blooming in a glorious riot: daisies, red poppies, chrysanthemums, bluebells. The forest was a bounty of beauty. The days were now punctuated by children's laughter as they played, oblivious to their poverty.
It meant nothing.
As far as Karissa was concerned, it might as well have been the bleakest of winters: no warmth, no life, joyless.
Every night she dreamed of him; they were together again.
Every morning she woke up alone, seeing how cruelly she'd been deceived.
My love, I'm here. Where are you? Meus diligo, Adsum. Ubi es?
I don't know whether to search for you or wait for you to come.
Where are you? Where?
Expecto te. Egeo te adeo.
And I know you need me. I'M HERE.
The terrible pain...knowing he was here, here, in the same place she was, somewhere...and they were still apart.
********
Jens Claes, the self-appointed religious leader of the commune, and a middle-aged Frankish immigrant who spoke both Old French and Latin, had asked her a few perfunctory questions about her origins the first week she'd been there, and she'd been as evasive as ever. But instead of persisting like the nosy Keetje, he'd backed off. His only comment was, “I hope God will soon guide you into more trust with your Christian brethren.” Actually, Jens Claes wasn't as interested in the physical lives of his “flock” as he was in their spiritual lives. Physically, it was live and let live---as long as it didn't infringe on God's laws or the few rules of the commune.
Many of the congregation were illiterate, and Jens was teaching them to read, but only the Scripture. Every night after the evening meal, they all gathered around an outside fire and had a Scripture reading. Just like Sunday school, Karissa mused. Except Jens didn't read from a Bible. He read from some old, battered, rolled-up scrolls of paper. Evidently, Karissa deduced, real Bibles didn't exist yet. At any rate, though she was no illiterate, she might as well have been, because the words on the papers were Old Frankish---meaningless. Jens had nothing written in Latin.
“I can't read your language,” she told Jens as she tried to beg off of the evening reading. “I told you before, I can only understand Latin.”
Jens was undaunted. He assured her he would be happy to teach her Frankish, and any other language that was necessary. “That's why I'm here. To do whatever is necessary to teach, spread, and help everyone understand God's Word. You can learn with the children. If they can learn, you can.” Several of the congregation had children, and Jens insisted they learn God's Word right along with their parents.
Inwardly, Karissa groaned. Old Frankish would be just as much of a bitch to learn as Old French, if not more so. She was no atheist, she'd attended church when she was a kid, so why should she have to do this? Besides, she hadn't come here to go to Bible School, damn it! “It's all right,” she told Jens. “I know my Scripture already.”
“Do you?” Jens asked, frowning. He could tell she was putting him off, and he didn't like it. It was not live and let live when it came to spiritual matters. “Do you really know it, girl? If I said a few preceding words from a particular verse, you could finish it from memory?”
Karissa glared. “Are you saying you could do that?”
Now Jens was offended. He wasn't used to being challenged, especially by a woman. Not even a woman, a girl. "Yes, girl, I could,” he retorted almost harshly. “I wouldn't presume to be a teacher of God's Word if I still had very much to learn. I do not deserve this impertinence, Karise. I tolerate many things, but I will not tolerate disrespect or ingratitude.”
Her rising anger was neutralized by a real stab of guilt. He was right. He'd taken her in, protected her from those weird-ass pagans, sheltered her, fed her, all out of true Christian charity. Many people who called themselves Christians wouldn't have done as much---in this time, or her own. The food may have been disgusting, and the shelter may not have been much, but she was certainly in no position to be picky. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “You're right. I didn't mean to seem ungrateful. You've been very kind to me, Jens. To all of us.”
“Magister,”he corrected her. Apparently deciding to take her humble words at face value, he said more gently, "And I don't want to threaten you, but I must make myself clear: you must take part in learning the Scripture if you wish to remain with us.”
Well, that was that, wasn't it? She really had no choice, then. If she was kicked out of this commune, she'd have to live among the pagans, and that definitely was not an option.
Jens had actually gone among them a few times, not long before Karissa came, trying to preach to them. Christianity had by now become so widespread in both factions of the Roman Empire that it was now the accepted religion. But apparently, in Belgica Secunda, change was coming hard. He'd managed to convert a very disappointing few, and the rest he simply couldn't reach, no matter what. Their first reaction was derision, and when he wouldn't stop bothering them, they literally drove him away with rocks, and knives, too. This story Karissa heard several times as she sat around the fire with the congregation every night, trying to learn Old Frankish. He didn't seem to feel harshly toward these pagans; he only spoke sadly of the "lost souls." Karissa wished he could have as much pity for her when it came to these scrolls. One night, after two weeks had passed, she snapped in frustration, “Can't you find any Scriptures written in Latin, Magister? If I can't learn Old French, what makes you think I can learn Old Frankish?”
They all stared at her after she said that, perplexed. She stared back, nonplussed and defensive, wondering what the hell she'd said wrong this time. Then one of the young men, Aimeus Geert, only slightly older than she, demanded in Latin, “Karise, why do you keep calling those languages old?”
Oh, Jesus. Of course. Of course they weren't Old Frankish and Old French, not yet. There was no way she could explain it, and she was suddenly too tired to even try to improvise. She was so tired. So sick and tired of always having to watch what she said, of having to act like she belonged here, in this Godforsaken place, in this Godforsaken time, so tired of living, so tired of this goddamned rain.
In that moment, she was completely bereft of hope. In front of them all, she covered her face and wept.
3.
That night, it rained again.
And it was still raining an hour before dawn the next day, twenty-five miles away in Bononia, a coastal sea port. Once, in the long-distant days of Julius Caesar, it had been called Portus Itius. It had been the port by which Julius Caesar had traveled to invade Britannia. The port had been much smaller then. Many of its inhabitants now called it their “city,” though most Roman soldiers thought the inhabitants were flattering themselves and the port.
One such young Roman soldier now sat on his horse in the rain, and was also extremely tired of it. Sick to death of it, in fact. He'd never much cared for Gaul, but this province was the worst. The damned rain almost never stopped, no matter what season it was. He was sitting on his horse, staring at the building he'd just quitted, waiting for his comrade to come out and join him.
He was called a Roman soldier, though technically he was not Roman, nor was his family Roman. Yet he'd grown up in Rome, and his family had prospered there a long time before it was sacked by the Goths. This soldier's name was Adregin Valyis.
His hair was thick and dark, almost raven-dark, and he was ruddy-skinned. He had vivid blue eyes, almost cerulean-colored. Whenever they were fixed on someone, his eyes never flinched or flicked away; they seemed to pinpoint a person to their very center, their very core; which could be flattering, disconcerting, or even frightening. He was tall, strong, and vigorous; with a deep voice that literally boomed whenever he raised it. He was very nearly the ideal Roman soldier. The one thing that kept him from the ideal was that he was Greek. Not that that was a liability to him. Nowadays, there were fewer Roman soldiers in the Roman Empire than non-Roman soldiers. In fact, there were fewer Italian soldiers than non-Italian ones. For that matter, nowadays, a large number of them came from barbarus tribes.
His lifelong---and only---friend and fellow soldier, Lentelus Mallicus, finally came out of the building where several of the soldiers had rooms, heaving a heavy sigh when he saw that it was raining again. He climbed onto his horse, which was standing beside Adregin's. These two had been close friends since they were in their teens, and they made a striking contrast. Lentelus was fair-haired and pale-skinned, yet with brown eyes; he also was strong and vigorous, but thin-shouldered and short-statured, with a rather boyish voice. He was very much Roman; his family had been born, lived, and died in Rome for generations past.
Lentelus threw Adregin a grimace as they started off down the road and said, “It's raining again.”
“Indeed. I hadn't noticed.”
“In a foul mood again, I see. Must I endure that and this damned rain as well?”
Adregin bit back a retort. He and Lentelus had been close since they were in their teens, but Lentelus had always had a perverse liking of baiting people, not excluding his friends. It had gotten him into countless fights. Adregin had long since learned not to take it personally, not to take the bait, and Lentelus would soon lose interest…but some days this was more difficult to do than others.
They rode in silence down the muddy road to where they would report to their centurion with the rest of their century. As always, they hoped that a miracle would happen and today would be the day they would be transferred out of Gaul, or at least out of this miserable province. What would be worse? Adregin often reflected. Here, or in Rome, where the Emperor Majorian and that dog Flavius Ricimer dwell? The weather might be better in Rome, but the company wouldn't be.
He actually had nothing against Emperor Majorian. He'd had nothing against Majorian's predecessor, Emperor Avitus, either. They hadn't done anything for anyone to hate them for. That was the point. They hadn't done anything. At all. They'd been nothing but figureheads. The person who really ruled the Western Empire was the one Adregin despised. Flavius Ricimer.
Uncannily, Lentelus said, out of nowhere, “Flavius Ricimer will be here tomorrow.”
Adregin noticeably stiffened. He almost stopped his horse. “Why? What business does he have in Gaul?”
“What business?” Lentelus was incredulous. “You haven't noticed what chaos Gaul is in, Valyis?”
“And his presence is supposed to remedy that?" Adregin made no secret of his feelings about Ricimer in front of Lentelus, though Lentelus often wished it otherwise. “Gaul has always been in chaos, Mallicus. And it's because of all these barbarian immigrants and invaders coming here. You remember Attila the Hun?”
“Attila is dead. There's no need to speak of him. He's in Hell where he belongs, and without him the Huns are nothing.”
“In Hell with all the other barbarians, Mallicus? And isn't Ricimer a barbarian, too?”
Lentelus flushed with both embarrassment and anger. All the soldiers knew of Ricimer's parentage, but none of them ever spoke of it (except Adregin Valyis, of course). It was the reason why he could never be Emperor himself.
So he simply rules through puppet emperors, which he chooses and disposes of at will, Adregin thought bitterly. And this is how low our great Empire has sunk.
"Damn you, Valyis. How many times are we going to have this discussion?"
"I believe you were the one who brought it up."
"He not only is the Patrician of the Western Roman Empire, he is the Commander of the Western Roman Army. In case you need a clarification of that, he is our superior. We are soldiers and we owe him our allegiance." Adregin said nothing. Lentelus pressed, "It was Emperor Avitus who gave him that title. If you're such a champion of our emperors, why don't you respect that?"
"Ricimer killed Avitus," Adregin said flatly. "And it won't be long before he kills Majorian, too. I'm surprised the bastard hasn't done it already."
Lentelus stared at his friend, shocked, then furious. That statement was treason, pure and simple. Lentelus hissed, "Are you trying to get executed, damn you?"
"I've never held my tongue for any will except mine. You know that, Lentelus."
"Well, you might have a care for me, then! If someone overhears you and reports you, they'll punish me for not reporting you myself!"
Adregin shot him a look of disdain. "Well, then, report me, if you wish. I'll not hold it against you," he lied.
Lentelus paused. This is what I get for riding with a Greek. "Well, if you're so miserable here, would you rather be a soldier in the Eastern Roman Empire? Would you rather have The Thracian as your emperor?"
"The Thracian" was Leo I, the Emperor of the Eastern Empire.
Adregin allowed himself a smile. "Perhaps it wouldn't rain so much over there."
"And its capital, Constantinople, is an ancient Greek city, isn't it?"
"Mmm. Its real name is Byzantium."
"Of course. So you'd be right at home over there."
"Would I? I was only an infant when my family came to Rome. I don't remember Greece at all."
"Well, it's also much bigger.
"Yes, it is. The Eastern Empire gets bigger every month, it seems. And the Western Empire is disintegrating."
Lentelus' smile faded. Adregin was right. All that was left of the Western Empire now was Italy and Gaul. The Roman centuries in the Western Empire were also shrinking.
Adregin and Lentelus rode out of Bononia. Now there was no sound but the rain and the sound of hoof beats. They could now hear the sounds of other Roman soldiers riding toward the same place they were.
After awhile, Lentelus said brightly, "How was the young piece you took home last night? She was quite a beauty. Did she taste as good as she looked?"
"No, she didn't," Adregin replied sullenly. He said no more. He could barely remember the incident, much less the woman. When they'd gotten back to his room, he'd passed out. When he'd come to, she was gone, and he couldn't find it in himself to be very disappointed.
"I was afraid of that. You'd drunk too much to fully appreciate her. What a shame she was wasted on you. If I had seen her first..."
"I wish you had seen her first. Perhaps she would've been more to your taste. I myself no longer have such a taste for whores."
Lentelus was taken aback. Adregin really was in a foul mood. Lentelus had never before heard his friend refer to any woman as a whore, even if she was one.
Was Valyis going to be in this foul mood tomorrow when Ricimer came?
********
Karissa woke up early that same morning, though she'd been awake most of the night, crying. The night before, when she'd started crying around the fire, Jaela and Anique, the two girls she shared a hut with, had helped her back to the hut and attempted in vain to comfort her. Finally, exhausted, they'd both fallen asleep. Karissa had continued to cry quietly, trying not to wake them. They were nice girls. Young (even younger than Karissa herself, in their late teens), unmarried, and childless. Jaela had blond hair and blue eyes and spoke both Old French and Latin. Anique was dark-haired and dark-eyed, and spoke only Old French. They were Gaulish orphans, taken in by Jens two years ago and easily converted to Jens' words of the kindness of Christianity. To them, it was an oasis in this harsh world, in this harsh time. They were lucky. They'd found their oasis. Karissa was rapidly giving up hope that she would ever find hers. That she would be trapped in the Dark Ages all alone forever. What if I am? What would be the difference between here and the time I left?
She quietly slipped out of the hut. It was dawn, and the sky was pink and clear, but Karissa didn't doubt it would rain sometime today. The early morning air was chilly, and she pulled her well-worn cloak more tightly around her. She wanted to go for a walk, but just a short one. Soon everyone would be waking, and it would be time for the early morning chores. The men would go out hunting and the women would stay here and do the cooking, housekeeping, and child-minding. Jens Claes insisted, along with the nightly Scripture reading, that everyone in the commune do his or her part to keep it up. Sloth, after all, was a sin. Karissa resented doing chores, but she did them, not having much choice. She supposed it was only fair. After all, they gave her shelter and food for free.
She walked past a nearby stream, where chrysanthemums and daisies blooming. She sat there, watching the sun climb the rest of the way up, listening to the birds singing, wondering what the hell they had to sing about. She hated the birds for singing, the flowers for blooming, the sun for rising. Why was she still alive?
She heard someone coming. Stiffening, she reached inside her cloak for the can of mace she'd brought with her. She'd also brought a straight razor. She'd been sorely tempted to bring her zapper, but knew she couldn't risk that. She knew she was taking a great enough chance on bringing the mace.
"Karise?"
She relaxed. It was Aimeus Geert. She looked around at him. He was standing where he was, regarding her curiously. "What?" she said tersely.
"What are you doing here, Karise?"
"I wanted to be alone."
He walked over to her. He was a striking-looking man, she observed idly, with his straw-colored hair, yet with pale green eyes. Short-statured, yet muscular. He scrutinized her. His pale, searching eyes reminded her somewhat of another's. She looked away.
"Don't you know it's dangerous for a woman to be out here alone?"
"Yes, I know."
He stood looking down at her. "Well, if you know that, then why---"
"Aimeus, will you please stop it!" she snapped. "I'm getting so sick of everyone asking me questions!"
He looked wounded, but he didn't leave. Instead, to her surprise, he sat down beside her. Then he shrugged. "All right, then. I won't ask you any more questions. At least, not about who you are or where you come from. All right?"
"Thank you."
"May I speak to you about other things?"
She looked at him, perplexed. "Like what?"
"Oh, I don't know. Whatever may come up."
"Why would you want to do that?"
He surprised her again by smiling at her. He had a nice, quizzical smile. "Why not?"
Karissa stared at him for a moment, confused. Then, with a start, she realized he was flirting with her! It had been so long since any other man had flirted with her. Or maybe it had just been a long time since she'd paid any attention to other men. She gave a nervous laugh and stood up. "We'd better get back. We can't miss the morning chores."
Aimeus sighed and stood up, too. "I fear not." He offered her his arm.
Without thinking, she recoiled. "Uh...no, thank you." She walked on ahead, trying to stay a step ahead of him. She didn't want to hurt his feelings, but she had to discourage him, and fast. She kept her eyes straight ahead, but she could feel him glancing at her. And she continued to feel his glances for the rest of the day.
Oh, great.
*********
That night, after the fireside Scripture reading and everyone had gone back to their huts, Aimeus asked Karissa to sit with him beside the fire.
"Aimeus, I'm very tired..."
"Just for a moment or two? I want to speak with you."
She sighed, and, not wanting to be mean, complied. She made sure that a space was between them, and kept her eyes straight ahead. He said nothing. After a moment, she said irritably, "Didn't you have something to say?"
With an audible edge in his voice, he said, "I'll say nothing until you have the courtesy to look at me!" Stung, she did so. More gently, he said, "You haven't looked at me all day. I wanted to ask if I'd offended you in some way."
"No."
"Then why don't you look at me?"
Bluntly, she said, "Aimeus, I'm not offended. But I know you've been looking at me all day, and I wish you'd stop. I don't like being stared at."
She expected him to get defensive, but instead a hangdog look covered his face. "You're right. I have been. I suppose I've been trying to make you look back at me, but I suppose that's the wrong way to go about it. You must pardon me, Karise, I'm not an expert on how to behave with women."
"Is that why you're not married?"
"That's exactly why I'm not married."
Karissa surprised herself by laughing. Aimeus laughed, too. Then he said wonderingly, "That's the first time I've heard you laugh."
She sighed. "That's the first time I've laughed in a long time." She smiled at him. "Thank you. It was nice to laugh."
"My pleasure. It was good to hear you laugh."
She looked away. She knew where this was going. She wasn't discouraging him enough. But if acting cold and aloof didn't discourage him, what would? Outright cruelty? She lacked it. "Is that all you wanted to say, Aimeus?"
"It should be, Karise, but it isn't. I must tell you: I've been thinking of you often of late."
"Oh?" She tried to sound less concerned than she was. "And what have you been thinking?"
"I've wondered why you're so sad."
She smiled, sadly. "I guess I've hardly made a secret of it, have I?"
"I wish you would tell me the reason. I don't wish to pry, but they say that a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved. Perhaps speaking of it will lessen your heart's burden."
Karissa suddenly felt close to tears. It had been a long time since she'd really talked to anybody. She hadn't realized how much she missed it.
"Have you lost someone, perhaps? Not so long ago? Someone dear to you?"
She nodded her head.
Aimeus sighed. "Aegre fero." Which was a miserable comfort, he knew, but what else could a person say? "Was it your husband?"
Deliberately, she looked him in the eye and said, "No. My lover."
He wasn't as scandalized as she'd expected. "So...you weren't married, then?"
"I told you, no."
"But you were planning to be married, weren't you?"
"I wanted to. But Ian said---" She stopped, wincing as she said his name aloud for the first time since she came here. "He said it might not be a good idea, for...for a lot of reasons. One reason being my parents were so against it."
"Why did they object? Was it because he was not a Christian?"
The question threw her off for a moment. "I think he believed in God. Beyond that, I don't know." She shrugged. "We didn't discuss God very much."
Now Aimeus sounded scandalized. "Then what did you discuss?"
"There are a lot of important things to talk about besides religion, Aimeus."
"Not very many, Karise. Christ is the most important thing in any Christian's life." Karissa shrugged again, saying nothing. So Aimeus pressed, "So why did your parents object, then?"
She looked him in the eye. "Because he is---was---thirty-two years my senior. When I met him, I was twenty-four. He was fifty-six."
He stared at her. She stared back defiantly, refusing to drop her eyes. There was not a trace of embarrassment or shame in her face or her heart. Finally, Aimeus said, "I can see why your parents were against it. As young as you are...wanting to marry an old man..."
"He was not an old man!" she snapped, outraged. "Not the way you make it sound! He wasn't a young man anymore, but he was still strong, still proud, still a fantastic lover---"
"Karise, please---"
"And still my hero! He was my world, my life. He still is! My father thought I was interested in Ian for money. 'What money?' I screamed at him. 'Why else would a young woman hook up with an old man?' he yelled. 'You sure as hell can't want him for the sex!' I couldn't believe my own father was talking to me like this. Like I was some kind of heartless gold digger." Karissa was sobbing now. "Nobody would accept that we really loved each other. That we would've laid down and died for each other. That we couldn't live without each other. Why? Why wouldn't they?"
She felt Aimeus' hand on her shoulder, but didn't pull away. "What happened then?" he asked gently.
Her voice hitching, she continued, "I was so hurt. But I was furious, too. And I told Dad just because he wasn't interested in love and romance and sex anymore didn't mean all men his age were like that. I thought Dad was going to hit me for that, but he didn't. He just told me to get out of his house and not to come back until I apologized. I never saw him again. Him or my mother."
"You mean, they died?"
"No...no," she said, now growing more cautious. Perhaps she'd told Aimeus too much. But now that she'd started pouring the story out, she couldn't stop, and didn't want to. They're ...still alive...as far as I know." Actually, they haven't been born yet, but I probably shouldn't tell you that, should I?
"Then you can see them again, can't you? Since your... Since Ian is dead, there's no more need for discord. You can renounce your anger and reconcile with them. It would be wrong for you not to see your parents before they die and reconcile, Karise."
"They live too far away. I came here from...far away, Aimeus."
"God says that we must always honor our parents, Karise. It's wrong for a child to hold grudges against them. Perhaps you could write a letter to them."
She covered her eyes. "I don't want to talk about my parents anymore, Aimeus."
Aimeus sighed. "All right, then."
"I'm not holding any grudges against them anyway. When I left my home, I cried. And I left them a letter."
"What did the letter say?
"It said..." She closed her eyes. "It said, this was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life. It said I loved them, and I always would. It said I hoped they forgave me for the hurt this would cause them, but I was a grown woman now, and I had to go away, far away, and I wasn't coming back. I told them if they just wanted to tell people I died, that might be the best thing. In fact, it might be best for them if they thought of me as dead. Because where I was going, I wouldn't be able to return from..." Karissa was crying hard now. The words she'd just recited were almost verbatim of what she'd written in the letter. She'd cried while writing it. She'd cried when she left it in their mailbox. And she was crying now. The final break she'd made with her parents had been a sacrifice she was prepared to make, but it had been the hardest sacrifice of all.
When Aimeus pulled her into his arms and held her, she went gratefully, sobbing for a long time against his chest.
4.
The next morning, all the Roman centuries of Gaul convened on the coast, not far from the place where the stranger Karissa Sheffield had arrived into their world.
Flavius Ricimer was already there when the legion arrived at the appointed place. He was sitting in a covered litter, surrounded by his personal guards, as yet seen by no one.
Adregin Valyis scowled. He was in an even worse mood this morning than he was yesterday morning. Flavius Ricimer couldn't even trouble himself to come to Tournai, the capital of Childeric's kingdom, or any of the other towns in Belgica Secunda. He had to make all the Roman soldiers ride all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere. Beside him, Lentelus kept glancing uneasily at him, wishing that the look on his Greek friend's face wasn't quite so eloquent. It wasn't that Lentelus didn't empathize. Adregin's opinion was, in fact, shared by most of the Roman soldiers. They all resented having to ride out here. Many of them had had to ride overnight to get here this morning.
The centurions all rode to the front, near Ricimer's litter. Adregin looked around. He didn't see Aegidius anywhere. Not that that was a big surprise. Aegidius reputedly despised Ricimer as much Adregin secretly did, and, according to what Adregin had heard, the feeling was mutual. Ricimer had probably made sure Aegidius didn't know about this gathering; though, as the Emperor Majorian's own appointed magister militum of Gaul, Aegidius had more business being here than even Ricimer did. Which meant that Emperor Majorian himself probably didn't even know about this gathering.
After another fifteen minutes, Flavius Ricimer came out and stood before them. It was true , he'd been born a barbarian, but he didn't look like one. He was rather small in stature; and pale, since he no longer ventured outdoors that often. His white hair was perfectly combed. His Roman robe was immaculate. In the time of Emperor Valentinian III, he'd been a soldier, but was now too old. Yet he stood straight, walked with no trace of a stagger, and still spoke with a strident voice. When Ricimer stood before the men, the centurions saluted and shouted, "Hail, Ricimer!"
Which signaled the rest of the soldiers: "HAIL, RICIMER!"
Catching a warning look from Lentelus, Adregin compliantly saluted with the others, but only mouthed the words. After that, there was no sound except Ricimer's voice and the waves breaking.
"Soldiers of Rome," Ricimer began, his voice carrying over the legion, "I need not tell you why I've made the long, arduous journey to Gaul to speak to the Roman centuries. You can all see that the Western Roman Empire is in chaos. And that it is shrinking. Yet our great Emperor Majorian is more sorrowful than outraged. Sorrowful, because he fears that the Western Empire is beyond rebuilding. That no matter what we do, the cause is lost. I suppose Commander Aegidius feels the same, since he isn't here today---a serious and shameful dereliction of duty by a man the Emperor himself placed his trust in. This cannot go unpunished."
Liar. Adregin felt like spitting. Aegidius isn't here because you made sure he wouldn't know. And Majorian---!
"The raiding barbarians are still destroying the Western Empire. Attila the Hun may be dead, thus neutralizing the Huns, but there are other enemy tribes; the Vandals, the Visigoths, the Franks." There was an almost indiscernible reaction from them all. Gaul was ruled by a Frankish king, who was in league with the Roman Empire. And now the Patrician was calling the Franks enemies. Adregin pressed his lips hard together. That's why you had us assemble all the way out here, isn't it, you dog? So none of Childeric's spies would get wind of it. But who's to say they won't anyway?
Here Ricimer looked hard at them all. Even the soldiers near the back could feel the heat of his glare. "I know what most of you are thinking. I was born a barbarian myself, was I not? My own mother was a Visigoth. And the Visigoths were the accursed barbarians who sacked the Eternal City fifty years ago. That is why I, even now, am regarded with suspicion, and even hatred, by some. For their sins, I am judged." His voice had taken on a wounded, almost pitiful note, then abruptly strengthened. "And I know that many of you, our proud soldiers of the Roman Empire, also have that bane, being born of parents of barbarian tribes. I offer no apology for my parentage, just as I would ask none of you to apologize for yours. Nor would our Emperor. None of us have any say in where we are born, or to whom. That is completely in the hands of God. And we must all accept His pleasure. All I---the Emperor Majorian asks is for unquestioning loyalty and obedience to him, the Empire, and to Christ, our Savior. Anyone who succeeds in these simple things will not be persecuted for the blood in their veins!"
He evidently expected an admiring cheer at that point, and he got it. All the men (except one), including the centurions, shouted, "Hail, Ricimer! Hail, Majorian!"
After the cheering died down, Ricimer went on, now showing some faint signs of fatigue, "Romans, you all know about the Vandal ruler Gaiseric."
All the men, even Adregin, were startled at that. Yes, they all knew about him, but they'd never expected Ricimer to bring him up again, at least not publicly.
Gaiseric was one of the Empire's greatest humiliations. This lamed Vandal king hadn't been considered much of a threat back in the 430s, and the Empire had paid a severe price for underestimating him. Gaiseric and his tribe had conquered the Roman governor of North Africa. And then, five years after that, Gaiseric had forced the Romans to make a treaty with him, which granted him much of eastern North Africa. That treaty had soon been broken and the Romans fought him again, determined to get their territory back, but in vain. And then, in 442, Emperor Valentinian III had officially recognized Gaiseric as King of Africa. It had been an official proclamation of the Roman Empire's failure.
And the humiliation hadn't ended there. It was Gaiseric and his Vandals that had sacked Rome for the second time five years ago, and had also captured Valentinian's wife and two daughters. Gaiseric had never asked for any ransom, and, as far as any of the soldiers knew, none had been offered. No attempt had been made to rescue them, either. Rome had, evidently, left the captives to their fate.
Ricimer noted the Romans' surprise. "It surprises you to hear me speak of him? You thought that I---that Emperor Majorian was just going to forget that he stole North Africa from us? And because of that, he now controls our granary? That he and his Vandals disrupt the Roman Empire's commerce all along the Mediterranean? You thought that Emperor Majorian and Emperor Leo were just going to lie back and let Gaiseric have it?"
And why shouldn't we think that, you two-faced dog? Adregin thought, suppressing a sneer. Emperor Valentinian did just that.
"And what about Gaiseric's abduction of the former Emperor Valentinian's family? Surely, you didn't suppose Emperor Majorian was going to forget about that? Well, Romans, if you did suppose that, you were wrong!" Ricimer was now all righteous wrath. "The Roman Empire never forgives such affronts. And the Roman Empire will never rest until it retrieves what was stolen from it, no matter that it takes forever! Anyone who doesn't know that doesn't deserve to be called a Roman! That's why I've assembled you all here---to tell you of the Roman Empire's new strike against this loathsome Vandal usurper! The Roman Empire WILL recover North Africa!"
He looked at the Roman soldiers expectantly. They stared back. You could've heard a pin drop on that beach.
Then Ricimer roared, "VICTORIA AUT MORS!!"
Victory or death.
And all the soldiers (except Adregin) roared back as one: "Victoria aut mors!! Victoria aut mors!! HAIL, MAJORIAN! HAIL, RICIMER!!"
5.
"What's been all the commotion this morning?" Karissa asked Aimeus.
"You mean the beach pagans?" he asked her. She nodded.
Early that morning, a beach dweller and his wife and child had come running through the forest close by the commune. They were clearly frightened by something. Jens had stopped them and asked them what the matter was. The husband had said something about soldiers on the beach, and that nearly all the beach dwellers were hiding in the forest. That was all Jens could get out of the man before he'd hurried his family on, ignoring Jens' offers of help.
A few other beach dweller families had hurried through the forest in the next hour or so, though they'd skirted the commune without stopping. Karisa thought that one of the fleeing couples looked like Gervaas and Nelleke, but she wasn't sure. Finally, Jens, Aimeus, and two tawny-haired young brothers---Lieven and Kjell---had decided to see what the situation was for themselves. The four men had armed themselves with clubs and daggers and set out. Anique, always high-strung, had wept, certain they would never come back. Jaela and Karissa comforted her, though they had been apprehensive themselves.
But the men had returned, about two hours later, Karissa guessed. (Christ, what a bitch it is to be without clocks or watches! she lamented.) Anique ran to Jens and hugged him. Karissa ran to Aimeus and asked him, "What's been all the commotion this morning?"
"You mean the beach dwellers?
"Yes."
Suddenly Kjell stiffened, staring off in the distance at something. He said something in Old French to Jens and, without waiting for a reply, ran off again. Lieven started to go after him, but Jens stopped him.
Distracted, Aimeus said, "All the beach-dwellers had deserted their huts when we got there. We walked a little way down the beach and saw a large gathering of soldiers in the distance. Flavius Ricimer has come to Gaul to speak to the centuries."
"It looked like over three hundred soldiers," Jens interjected. "We thought it best not to let them see us. So we came back here when Ricimer dismissed them."
"Why were the beach-dwellers afraid of the soldiers?" Karissa asked.
"Perhaps for the same reason they're afraid of us," Lieven suggested gravely. When he said that, something triggered in Karissa's memory. Something that troubled her.
Aimeus noticed. "Karise?"
Karissa turned to Jens. "Is Kjell coming back? Why'd he run off again?"
Jens tried not to look worried. "He said something about wanting to make sure we weren't followed."
Jaela had come walking up to them. "The soldiers didn't see you, did they?"
"I don't see how they could have," Lieven replied. "They were very far down the beach from where we were."
Karissa walked away from them. Aimeus followed. She felt easier about him now. There was now a rapport between them, a sort of understanding, and it made her feel not so alone. She was, however, still a bit uncomfortable about the fact that he clearly had interest in her beyond friendship; yet he hadn't tried anything; and she was grateful for that.
"What troubles you, Karise?"
"I'm not sure..." She suddenly turned to look at him, smiling faintly. "You know, Aimeus, I told you a lot about me yesterday, but you still haven't told me anything about you."
"Well..." Eyes averted, he almost squirmed. "There's not much to tell..."
Ah. So he has secrets, too, she mused. "Well, if you don't want to---"
"No, I do want to. It's just---"
"Look!" one of the children shouted.
Kjell was running back to the commune. He ran to Lieven, who grabbed his arm. "Kjell, what's the matter with you?"
Kjell tried to catch his breath. "Those soldiers...the ones we saw on the beach...they're coming this way."
They all stiffened, exchanging glances. Lieven and Kjell were speaking Old French, so Karissa couldn't understand a word. Considerately, Aimeus translated for her under his breath. Karissa and Jaela exchanged nervous looks. Were they supposed to be afraid of this? Jens didn't seem to know himself. He demanded, "All of them?"
"No." Kjell tried to calm himself. "It's only one century, I think. A small one. There are perhaps twenty-five men in it."
"Are they Childeric's men?" Aimeus asked.
"No," Kjell said in an odd voice. "I got a good look at them. I'm not sure if they saw me or not, but I am sure they're not Frankish soldiers. They're Roman soldiers."
Aimeus muttered the Latin translation to Karissa.
Jens turned toward the rest of the commune, most of whom was now watching and listening, and ordered, "All the women and children in their huts. Now!"
No one argued.
Sitting in her hut, Karissa tried to think. Frankish soldiers. Roman soldiers. Was there was any difference? Wasn't King Childeric was supposed to be in kahoots with the Roman Empire? Anique and Jaela came rushing into the hut. Karissa scooted over to give them room. They all held hands.
Karissa suddenly felt close to panic. This was a Christian commune. The men approaching were Roman soldiers. The Roman Empire was notorious for the persecution of Christians. Throwing them in the arena with lions, torturing them, killing them. Maybe the Roman soldiers were coming here to plunder this place and kill all the Christians. Or maybe just the men. The women they would---
No, that can't be right. She tried to think, to remember. Jens said the Roman Empire doesn't persecute Christians anymore. Christianity is the dominant religion in the Roman Empire now.
They could now hear the approaching century.
Yeah, sure, but that doesn't mean the whole goddamn Empire has embraced it. I know there's still plenty who haven't. And Roman soldiers...they may call themselves Christians, but they can still do whatever they want to whoever they want and get away with it, can't they?
Karissa now felt close to panic, though she still wasn't sure if she should be afraid or not. Why else would Jens send the women and children to the huts? She felt inside her cloak for the items of protection she'd brought with her from her time…but what goddamn good would they be in fighting off a platoon?
"They're coming this way!" Jaela whispered to Karissa. "I can hear them!"
"So can I," Karissa said dully.
"Oh, dear God, why're they here?! They never come to this part of Belgica! They only stay in the cities!"
Anique babbled something in Old French as she huddled close to Karissa. Karissa put an arm around the frightened girl and asked Jaela, "What did she say?"
"She said she's heard what the Romans do to Christians," said Jaela, tears streaking her face. "So have I."
"No," Karissa said, trying to convince herself as much as them. "Not anymore. The Roman Empire has embraced Christianity. Remember Jens telling us that?"
"Yes," Jaela said, relaxing a bit.
She repeated that to Anique, who cried, "That doesn't mean anything! Not to Roman soldiers! They still do horrible things to their prisoners just because they can!" Jaela translated to Karissa, then said, "That's true , too. What will these soldiers do to us? Oh, sweet Jesus, I cannot bear the thought of being tortured, or..." She trailed off as she began to cry. "Deus succurro nos," she sobbed.
Karissa put her other arm around Jaela. After a moment, Karissa peeked out of the hut again. The men were still outside, gathered around Jens. Jens looked pale, but was calm as he spoke to them. She felt a surge of admiration. Jens Claes was definitely a rock. Then, to her surprise, all the other men turned and walked into their huts, obviously at Jens' command.
Jens intended to face the Romans alone.
She was terrified, both for herself and him. Jens shouldn't have to stand out there alone, even if it was his wish to do so. Mentally prodding herself, she began to crawl out the flap. Anique and Jaela grabbed her arms, pulling her back, restraining her. Fear overwhelmed her again and she allowed herself to be restrained; though she continued to look outside.
The soldiers were now in sight. She could see their faces. Actually they were wearing helmets, the kind with the brass line down the nose, so she couldn't see much of their faces. Yet they didn't seem like they were getting ready to attack. There weren't even any weapons visible. Maybe they'll pass us by, Karissa hoped. Maybe they're just riding through the forest on their way somewhere.
Too much to hope for, of course. They rode straight up to the commune, then their leader commanded them to stop. He then got off his horse and strode toward Jens, who was still standing like a statue. Karissa looked at the soldiers. Except for their helmets, they didn't look very much like the Roman soldiers she'd seen in movies. Their clothes didn't, anyway. These Roman soldiers were dressed much more plainly, without capes, had longer swords, a more diverse cache of supplies on their belts, and they actually wore pants.
It was an irony that trousers had only recently been introduced to the Roman Empire---by the Huns.
Karissa's hut was one of the nearer ones to where Jens was standing, so she could hear most of the exchange.
"You're the master of this little commune?"
"I am, sir."
"I'm Licinius Gaius, the centurion of this Roman century." He looked around with seeming interest. "Such a well-hidden place. We very easily could've ridden right past it. In fact, we did ride past it on our way out here this morning. Is this a place sacred to Christ?" He gestured to the wooden cross Jens wore on a string around his neck.
Jens inclined his head.
"But then, why is it so hidden?" Gaius asked with seeming concern. "Surely you have no need to hide a Christian place like this. Surely you're not ashamed of being worshippers of Christ?"
"You know we're not, sir," Jens said, more sad than angry. "It's not our wish to hide this holy place. But the pagans hate us, I fear. They're lost souls who prefer their pagan religions to the truth. And they've been known to do violence to us. That's why we've been forced to this seclusion."
Gaius shook his head gravely. "Yes, that is a pity. Not merely a pity, I would call it an outrage. We should call more legions down here and do something about this."
"Oh, no, sir!" Jens exclaimed anxiously. Seeing the scowl on the Roman centurion's face, Jens backtracked, "I thank you for your concern, but I wouldn't wish any harm to come to them. We must let Christ judge them. And we must never give up hope that they will someday embrace the truth. Christ had no wish for people to come to Him by persecution, as a Christian like yourself surely knows."
Gaius looked ready to severely admonish Jens---or worse---for presuming to tell a Roman centurion his duty, then seemed to think better of it. "I will take up this matter with the Patrician tomorrow. You know who he is, don't you?"
"Yes, sir." Jens sighed. "Flavius Ricimer. Is he here in Gaul?"
"Yes. He is a devout Christian, as I'm sure you know." Something must have flickered across Jens' face at that, because Gaius snapped, "Surely you don't deny it?"
"I do not, sir.”
"And so, we, his underlings, may trust him to decide what's best to do with these pagans who are threatening the Christians of this land."
Karissa sighed. All the Gaulish pagans feared Christians, and this was why. All this time she'd thought it was simple hatred, intolerance. It wasn't. It was fear. No, the Christians aren't getting persecuted anymore. At least not publicly. Now the Roman Empire has been Christianized, so now it's the Christians who get to do the persecuting.
"And something should be done about them," Gaius went on cheerfully. "For they really are mad, even for pagans. They don't even worship gods. They worship animals!" He laughed.
Jens nodded, though he didn't laugh. "I thank you, sir, for coming here and giving us your concern. We are honored. Is there anything we can do for you?"
"In fact, there is." Jens was nonplussed. Before he could ask, Gaius went on, "We would have some of your Christian charity. My men and I are hungry and thirsty. We've ridden all the way from Bononia and have had no breakfast."
Jens Claes knew, as did they all, that refusing them wasn't an option; though this would cause a considerable decrease in the commune's resources. So all the soldiers dismounted, and Jens Claes beckoned to some of the men to come out of their huts and help serve them. Aimeus Geert and three other men did so, keeping their heads down and their mouths shut. They served the soldiers bread and meat and water. One soldier complained, "Nullus vino?"
Jens muttered, "I'm sorry, sir, we can't afford wine."
Another soldier remarked, "Are there no women in this commune?"
The men of the commune stiffened, looking at Jens, who said anxiously, "They're in the huts with the children, praying."
Karissa, Anique and Jaela exchanged frightened looks.
The Roman centurion and his soldiers seemed amused by the Christian men's consternation. The soldier who asked about it said, grinning, "I was only asking, of course. Don't look so worried. Far be it for us to disturb prayer."
The soldiers laughed.
Karissa's relief quickly turned into resentment. Why are they doing this? Why do they want to scare us like this? Isn't it enough that they're helping themselves to our food? They were doing it on purpose, she knew. She hadn't bought that asshole centurion's act for a second. He was no Christian. Except pro forma. Roman soldiers were nothing but bullies.
Then Karissa happened to notice one soldier who stood a little off to the side, away from the others. He was leaning against a tree, looking at the ground, his arms folded. He wasn't joining in the taunting or partaking of anything. Gaius called out to him, "Valyis! This might not be much, but it's all we're going to get until we get back! And it's a long ride!"
"I'm not hungry, sir," Valyis muttered.
"Karise, come back inside, don't let them see you," Jaela whispered.
Karissa ignored her. That soldier, Valyis. His voice...
All the other soliders had taken their helmets off when they started eating. Valyis only now seemed to notice this and now took off his.
Karissa froze. Literally froze. No part of her body moved, not even her heart. She did not breathe for four seconds, which is what kept her from screaming. Her fists clenched so hard that her nails drew blood, but she took absolutely no notice.
It was him.
Standing not ten feet away.
The one she'd come over a millenium and a half into the past to find.
She felt her heart begin, tentatively, to beat again.
There was no doubt, none at all.
She began to breathe again, taking a deep, shuddering breath, almost gasping.
The same crystal blue eyes---clear and unashamed.
The same intense, strong-featured face.
The very same. And yet so different.
Ian had been in his late fifties.
This man was in the prime of his life. He couldn't have been more than thirty, if that…but it was him.
Her tentative heartbeat began to speed up, her face flushing, her eyes tearing.
Oh, God. Oh, thank You, God. Thank You, dear, sweet, merciful God...
She'd found him.
I'm not much for time travel stories since HG Wells wrote the Time Machine and the Terminator series perfected it. But I must say that I found your excerpt quite interesting and appealing, even if a bit far-fetched for two souls to find one another across the chasm of time and geography.
I'm a fan of well-written historical fiction, and you seem to have researched the time period so well that it fits the story like a glove. I commend you for that, because I prefer fact over fiction where appropriate and your plot background does that very well. I would have to read much further to find out if this love story is as great as suggested.
In order to get the paragraphs right so that it is much easier to read, I would suggest that you save the file in Rich Text Format (rtf) before copying and pasting it into the editor… And turning the editor off so that much of your formatting will be preserved.
The ancient kings of Whitehawk were all too aware of the temptation of magic. They could feel its threat, a presence in their courts, a serpent slithering at their feet, even entering into their beds.
To de
