Page 70 of Enslaved
“Wolves?” Diana cried, hoping he was teasing her. When she saw that he was perfectly serious, she said, “Why don’t we take the boar back? My desire for a boar hunt has been well satisfied.”
“Do you suppose your medieval men would stop after just one?”
“Oh, I’m certain they would, Marcus.”
He grinned. “Then all the more reason why I can’t stop until I’ve outdone them.”
Her heart overflowed when she realized he was doing this all to impress her. He was actually jealous of “her medieval men” as he called them. Marcus Magnus had nothing to worry about: He would have outshone other men of any age. And she would tell him so, but not until they were in bed tonight, where she could reward him for bravery, strength, and endurance above and beyond the call of duty.
When the hunt was finally over, they emerged from the forest with three boars. The two females were tied onto the packhorse, while Marcus had slung the male about his own shoulders. Romulus and Remus, dog tired, trailed behind them and as the small hunting party neared the villa, Diana blew her hunting horn with gusto. Though it had not been what she envisioned, she realized that no hunt in any time of history could have surpassed the one she had experienced at the side of her magnificent Roman general. At that moment she would not have changed places with Cleopatra or the Virgin Queen herself!
During the week that followed, Marcus took Diana with him all over Aquae Sulis as he went to check on the progress of various projects designed to improve the town and the outlying district. They rode out on a Roman road that was being extended toward the coast. Diana knew that beyond Bath was Bristol and the great Bristol Channel, which Marcus called the Sabrina Aestuary. They came to a crossroads that led to the northeast.
“I’m very proud of this particular road. My own engineers designed it and my slaves built it. It runs all the way to Lindom over two hundred miles distant.”
To Diana, Lindum sounded very much like Lincoln and she suddenly realized this road that went from Bath and Exeter, all the way to Lincoln, was still used in Georgian times. She dismounted and placed her hand reverently on. One of the paving stones.
“Oh Marcus, this is the great Fosse Way—it’s probably the most famous road in Britain. Only a couple of days before I tumbled back to your time, I remember standing on the Fosse Way and feeling this incredible sense of timelessness, that something the ancient Romans built was still in use.”
Marcus stared at her, slightly uncomfortable at some of the things that went on in her head. Most of the things she said made sense. Only once in a while were the things she spoke of beyond the realm of possibility, but he could never accept her story as truth. For once he did, the possibility of her disappearing back as quickly as she had arrived would haunt him.
“This stone is such a beautiful color. It’s native to Bath, I mean Aquae Sulis.”
He laughed at her. “I know that. I own most of the stone quarries.”
Diana stood up slowly and stared at him as if she were seeing a ghost. When he said the words “stone quarries,” something clicked in her brain. Was it possible that Marcus Magnus could be the Earl of Bath?
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” she said quickly. The idea was so bizarre she could not possibly tell him. She tried to dismiss it, but whenever she stole a look at that dark, proud profile, the impression was still with her. She suddenly recalled that the first time she laid eyes upon him bearing down on her in the chariot, she mistook him for the Earl of Bath, playing ridiculous games. Mark Hardwick … Mark … Marcus …
He took her down to the river and pulled out a folded parchment. “The next project is a permanent bridge across the river. Let me show you my sketches.”
“No! Don’t show me.” Diana considered both banks of the Avon for a moment, then said, “It will span the water down there where you have built the weir. It will be a high bridge with beautiful stone arches. I can tell you the precise number of them.”
“You’ve seen my sketches!” he accused.
“Marcus Magnus, you have an explanation for everything! I havenotseen your sketches. It still stands in modern times. It is called the Pulteney Bridge. A Georgian designer takes credit for it, but obviously he stole your ideas.”
His eyes narrowed.“Theseare modern times,” he said flatly.
Diana looked at him and understood his reluctance to believe the things she said. They were too much in love and too possessive of each other to accept the idea that anything could separate them, especially a thing like time, which was so frighteningly ephemeral.
It was a glorious autumn day, possibly one of the few remaining to them this year, so they continued to ride along the riverbank until they found a secluded spot where nature seemed to be having a last mad fling before the long sleep of winter blanketed the world.
“I brought food,” Marcus confessed.
“And I brought a writing tablet and stylus!”
Marcus groaned. “That isn’t what I had in mind.”
They dismounted, tethered the horses, then Diana spread her cloak on the grass and sat down with her back to the bole of a copper beech. The water sang as if it were happy to rush over the stones of this blessed place. Bees droned endlessly as they collected pollen from the Michaelmas daisies, and fork-tailed swallows swooped across the river catching insects.
Marcus unfolded a big linen napkin that held cold venison and a couple of roast pigeons. He also had bread and cheese and olives, which no Roman meal was complete without. They had no goblets, so Marcus showed her how to drink from a wineskin, which of course turned into an hilarious game, whose laughter became intimate, turning their thoughts to love.
They stretched out full-length so they could enjoy their kisses completely. When Marcus’ hands removed the brooch that fastened her tunic, she demurred. “Marcus, I cannot lie naked out here in the open.”
“You won’t be naked. You can wear my Caesar coin.”
