Out of Time: A story of archaeology... sort of

by David LaVigne

  “It only opened a month ago,” he said. “And the games will be going every day for two more.”

  “Can we see the games?” she said, that girlish excitement glowing bright in her eyes.

  “Tomorrow,” he assured her. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

  They walked on, past stalls and booths selling all sorts of fruit and meat and pottery and jewelry and weapons. Most of the stalls were closing down, but the smells were overwhelming and Mary was loving every bit of it. Campbell, on the other hand, was growing worried.

  The possibility had never crossed his mind that Marcus might not help. He assumed he would just ask and Marcus would say OK and they’d come up with a plan and everything would work out. But now he wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t sure he could pull this off without him and the last thing he wanted was to wind up imprisoned again, or stuck.

  “It’s over here,” He told Mary as they squeezed between a merchant who was packing up a tray of knives and a booth with whole skinned rabbits and chickens hanging from a pole.

  The sunlight was almost gone and as they walked into the tavern the waitress was lighting a few oil lamps in the corners. They didn’t provide much light, but it was almost enough to see. The clientele of the Phoenician liked the dark ambiance. Most of the patrons tended to feel a little more comfortable if no one could see their faces clearly.

  Campbell chose the table closest to the door. It was always the best lit and so almost always unoccupied. It was He and Marcus’s usual table. Amunet, the slave girl who usually served them, saw Campbell walk in and immediately brought over a ceramic mug of the spiced beer he liked. She was Egyptian, but from far down the Nile, and her skin was so dark you almost wouldn’t see her if it weren’t for the bright clothes she wore. She smiled as she set the beer on the low table in front of him.

  “Come here often?” Mary asked Campbell and gave him a little wink. “I’ll have the same, whatever it is.”

  Campbell ordered another and the waitress scurried off. He looked around the room and saw a few familiar faces. The creepy fat guy in the corner who never seemed to leave, the young seamen at the table by the window who thought no one knew they were pirates and thieves. He had come here with Marcus at least twenty times and he had gotten to know these people, even though he’d never exchanged a word with any of them. Most of the regulars had a strange sort of silent respect for each other, and though very few of them had ever really met any of the others they would always share a curt nod as if to say, ‘your secret’s safe with me.’

  “This is Marcus’s favorite hangout,” he told Mary. “He fought in the wars with a lot of these men.”

  “It doesn’t seem like a very friendly place,” she said.

  “It isn’t.”

  They had just finished eating a plate of steamed oysters, and Campbell his third beer, when Marcus walked in through the door and sat down at their table. He looked a lot more composed than when they left him, though they could clearly smell the wine on his breath. He picked up a piece of bread from the table and ripped a piece off.

  “So what’s our plan?” he said, then stuffed the piece of bread in his mouth.

  “Well first,” Campbell said, flagging the waitress. “We need to get Richter alone.”

  “That’s impossible,” Marcus said, ripping off another piece of bread.

  The Nubian slave girl walked over and Campbell asked for another beer for him and his friend and dropped a bunch of coins on the table to pay for their bill.

  “Is he with us?” Mary asked Campbell across the table and he nodded.

  “So what’s her story?” Marcus asked. “She going to be of any use?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, “she’ll be of good use.”

  “For you,” Marcus said, winking.

  They talked for another hour before leaving the tavern. It was probably the safest place in the city to talk treason. Campbell asked about how Richter became Caesar and it turned out he had been in Rome as long as Marcus had been back from the wars. No one had ever heard of him, but he just showed up as a senator one day and nobody ever said anything. He probably used his knowledge of history and his access to a time machine to bring back a huge amount of gold to bribe his way in.

  The Praetorian murdered Titus right before his ascension to the throne, probably at the request of Richter’s coin, and Richter stepped in as the new Titus. Very few people would have actually known what Titus looked like before that and he must have just paid the senators enough to keep it quiet. As long as he didn’t piss them off too much, and he kept feeding them gold, he could do whatever he wanted. And with Campbell’s time machine he had access to all the gold in the world.

  But the more time Richter had to mess with the Rome of 80AD, the more he would screw up history from that point on. So they had to find a way to get Richter alone and zap him back to 1936, and they had to do it soon.

  “If Titus is getting all his money from the future,” Marcus suggested, “why don’t we just go there and get more? We could bribe the Praetorian to bring him to us.”

  The Praetorian Guard was the personal body guard of the Roman Emperors. Members were hand picked from among the absolute best fighting men the Roman army had to offer, and they were notoriously backhanded. The Praetorian were responsible for the deaths of more Roman emperors than any other cause in the history of the Empire.

  “Can’t,” Campbell answered. “Our machine will only work one more time.”

  “Maybe we can find another way to get to the Praetorian,” Mary suggested. She had been participating in the conversation using Campbell as a translator. “You were in the army weren’t you?” she asked Marcus. “Do you know any of the guards?”

  “One,” Marcus said, “my old Primus Pilus, but he wouldn’t be keen to help.”

  “Is there any other way to get close to him?” Mary asked.

  “He’s Caesar,” Campbell said. “He doesn’t go anywhere unprotected.”

  “But when he travels he refuses to camp,” Marcus said. “He commandeers inns and rich people’s Villas when he’s on the march. That could give us an opportunity.”

  “Is he planning on marching any time soon?”

  “After the games,” he said, “he goes to meet the troops in Germania.”

  “Are you suggesting we ambush the Emperor of Rome at an inn?” Campbell asked.

  “Better to do it on the road,” chimed in a short, scarred man standing in the doorway. “The troops will stop to make camp where they have enough space, which often isn’t that close to where the emperor will stay. Titus will only have a few guards with him on the way to the inn. Best to kill him there.”

  Lunicus finished his suggestion as he took the cushion at the open end of the small table. He grabbed the cup in front of Campbell, winked at Mary, and took a long drink.

  “Who said anything about killing?” Marcus said, swiping the beer out of Lunicus’ hand.

  “You can’t spare a beer for your old shield mate?” Lunicus said, feigning a pout and holding his hand to his chest. Then, seeing the ‘go away’ looks on the three faces around the table, he tried a different approach. “A friend overhears you plotting an assassination, you’d be worse off not to buy him a drink.”

  “No one said anything about an assassination,” Marcus said, and handed the cup back to Lunicus.

  “Well,” Lunicus said, “either way, I’m in.”

  “Why?” Marcus and Campbell said simultaneously. Both of them surprised and confused.

  “I need a job,” Lunicus said plainly, putting the cup to his lips.

  “Again,” Lunicus said, slapping Campbell’s weapon back into position with his own.

  Campbell gripped his wooden sword tightly in his right hand and thrust forward, attempting a stab at Lunicus’ belly. But once again the attack was parried and Lunicus stepped in, bringing his own stick up to place it under Campbell’s chin.

  “Like this,” Lunicus said. He took the tip of Campbell’s sword in his hand and
moved it underneath his own, showing him how to counteract the parry. “Always keep your tip pointed at me, wherever the hilt of your sword moves. That way if our weapons make contact, yours will naturally push mine off line.”

  They were standing in one of the practice rings in the gladiator school next to the Coliseum. One of the head instructors had fought with Marcus and Lunicus while they were in Germania and Lunicus had convinced him to let him and Campbell use one of the rings at the school while it was open.

  For the past few weeks they had been attempting to gather intelligence and plot their little snatch and grab. Marcus would keep close tabs on what the Praetorian did while the Senate was in session, though he wasn’t able to gather much more than numbers and the fact that they rarely left the emperor’s side. Lunicus, at first, tried to see if he could get anything useful out of any of his other old army buddies, but none of them wanted anything to do with him and he quickly gave up. But then he found another way to occupy some of his time.

  During his previous months in ancient Rome Campbell had urged Marcus to teach him how to fight like a Roman soldier, but Marcus was more than a little reluctant. He was proud of his skills and of his great deeds in the war, but he had no clue how to teach. He didn’t even know what he was doing half the time, he just kind of reacted and people died. Lunicus on the other hand, when he was sober and put his mind to it, turned out to be a great teacher.

  This was the fifth day that they had actually been able to use the space, but in Lunicus’ opinion Campbell was progressing rather well. Again his reenactment days came in handy. One of the groups he used to run around with spent their time trying to recreate medieval combat and he could see now that they weren’t too far off in many ways, and really far off in others.

  “Again,” Lunicus said.

  Campbell brought his sword up to thrust again and again Lunicus parried, but this time Campbell kept his hand low and moved the tip of his wooden sword under the other man’s blade and Lunicus stepped into his point.

  “Good,” Lunicus said.

  At this point Campbell had a good grasp on footwork and his sword technique was coming along nicely as well, but when he tried using a shield was much slower to pick it up. Lunicus walked over to a rack of weapons, real as well as wooden ones, at the edge of the little arena and picked up two shields. They were large oval shapes, like the ones cavalrymen would use. He placed one in Campbell’s left hand.

  “Now hold it tight to your shoulder,” Lunicus instructed. He showed Campbell how to tuck it tight into his shoulder and angle his body away from his opponent.

  “Ok,” Campbell said, thinking he was about to get his ass kicked again.

  Lunicus mirrored Campbell’s stance with the shield, but before he had a chance to do any more the instructor called his name from the next ring over where he was working with two new slaves.

  “We need that ring now,” Apollo, the head gladiator instructor said as he was walking over. “But I could use your man for a few minutes if you don’t mind.”

  Each of the practice rings were set up for different purposes and as the new recruits progressed in skill they moved to different rings to learn different ways of fighting. Campbell looked over at the two young, and quite muscular, men following Apollo. Yep, he thought, gonna get my ass kicked.

  Apollo walked over to the weapon stand and picked up another oval shield and handed it to one of the slaves. Lunicus handed his own to the other slave. Then he walked over to Campbell to wish him luck.

  “Remember it’s only wood,” he said. “And keep that shield tucked in close to your shoulder.”

  Apollo had the two slaves stand a few yards away from Campbell and he told them, one at a time, to attack him. When the first man came at him Campbell instinctively tried to hide behind the shield, but the slave shoved hard against his shield and brought his sword over the rim, smacking Campbell on top of the head. He lasted a few extra seconds against the second slave’s attack, but it was equally as painful. After three or four minutes of this, he was starting to get the hang of it and even won a couple of the quick matches. But another minute of this and his hand was having trouble holding the shield and he got sloppy.

  “Cardio,” Campbell said to himself, breathing hard.

  “What?” Apollo asked.

  “Nothing,” Campbell answered between heavy breaths. “I just need a little breather.”

  Apollo held back the insults he would have given to one of the gladiators in that situation and instead slapped his fist against his chest in a half assed salute and let him walk to the stands. He turned back to his pupils and started having them take turns at each other.

  Campbell walked up to the stands where Lunicus was talking with Mary. She would always come to the gladiator school with Lunicus and Campbell and watch, trying to learn what she could from observation because Lunicus wouldn’t teach a girl how to fight. When the boys weren’t hitting each other with sticks they would teach her Greek and Latin. Their group tended to speak Greek amongst themselves since it was a less common language than Latin and they could all speak it. But it was just as important that she learn Latin in order to get around in Rome.

  As Campbell walked up he heard Mary asking Lunicus how his day was in Greek and he smiled.

  “That’s coming along nicely,” he said as he plopped himself down on the bench next to her.

  “I have good teachers,” she replied, returning his smile.

  “Well,” said Lunicus, “I believe that’s about how much use we’ll get out of training today.”

  “I am a little beat,” Campbell replied.

  “I think I’ll go for a walk, see you at the Phoenician for dinner?”

  Before either of them could answer he was already halfway to the arena floor, heading for the exit.

  “Where does he always run off to?” Mary asked.

  For the past couple weeks Lunicus had periodically come up with random excuses to run off. Campbell spent most of the time that he wasn’t training with Lunicus or brainstorming ideas for their plan showing Mary around Rome, doing all the touristy stuff he had made Marcus do with him, and Lunicus would run off with some hasty excuse.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Campbell said.

  “He is an odd fellow,” Mary said. “But he seems very nice. You don’t think he’s up to something?”

  “I don’t trust him. The first time we met he tried to stab Marcus over a bad game of dice. I don’t like that he was so eager to help us.”

  “He’s obviously not very well off,” she suggested. “I don’t think he was lying when he said he needed a job.”

  “He certainly isn’t an upstanding citizen, but I don’t think a roof and some meals for a while worth treason, even to him.” Lunicus had convinced Campbell to give him a small stipend to keep his mouth shut, in addition to room and board.

  Campbell was thinking too hard, in Mary’s opinion. Every time he started thinking about their plan, or about Richter, he would get depressed. As much fun as he was having with her, and with Marcus, sometimes he couldn’t help feeling useless. As if he didn’t stand a chance at putting time right. Mary tried to distract him.

  “Let’s go,” she said. She stood up and held out a hand for him.

  “Where,” Campbell said, coming back to the present.

  “I want to see a show.” She pointed up the stairs to the entrance to the training arena. There was a flyer posted on the wall advertising a play.

  “Very well, my dear,” he said, taking her hand and standing up. “Let’s go see a show.”

  On their way out they stopped to examine the flyer and see which playhouse to go to. The play was called ‘Another One Bites The Dust’ and Campbell had to reread it twice to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Mary gave him a curious look when he chuckled and said, “I wonder if Queen is doing the soundtrack.”

  “What queen?” Mary asked with an eyebrow raised.

  “Never mind,” he said. “It looks like
a comedy.”

  They headed off, arm in arm, down the street.

  Lunicus stopped in the entryway and looked around. The restaurant was impressively spacious. There were tapestries on the walls and heavy, dark red curtains outlined the huge windows. There were tables surrounded by lecti, the reclining couches Roman’s loved to eat on, arranged in groups around the big room where fat men in togas chatted with beautiful women. The tables were topped with silver platters and fine, hand-carved crystal glasses. Lunicus hadn’t set foot in a place like this in a very long time.

  As he looked around a young man in extremely heavy makeup walked up to him and gave him a snobbish look.

  “Can I help you,” the man asked in a voice that made Lunicus think he had planned on adding ‘to the door.’

  “I’m expected,” Lunicus said. Just then he spotted the man he was looking for. He smiled at the young man and walked across the room.

  Amunet, the waitress at the Phoenician, had discreetly slipped him a piece of paper the night before, when he had gotten up to use the restroom. She had whispered in his ear that someone had told her to give that to him, privately. He waited until the middle of the night to read the note, so as not to raise suspicion.

  “Ah, Lunicus,” said a rather large man in the striped toga of a senator reclining on a lectus as Lunicus walked up. There were two thin women in loose blue dresses feeding the man, but he waved them away when Lunicus approached. “I was hoping you’d come. Please, have a seat.”

  Lunicus lay down on the couch and picked a grape from a bunch on the little table. He felt weird being there. Though he had been raised with money, he hadn’t been around this kind of luxury since he had gambled and drank away his inheritance many years ago.

  “I must say I didn’t expect to be seeing you any time soon, Flavius,” Lunicus said. He reached over to the table and poured himself a cup of wine from a small crystal amphora.

  “It’s been a long time,” the man said. He and Lunicus had fought together in the Army. They had both come from money. They both ass-kissed their way up the chain of command in record time. Flavius, however, had been smart with his money and quickly turned his military career into a very successful political career.