by Lynne Jonell
Will closed his eyes, and the picture was gone. When he opened them again, he could hear voices shouting his name. He ran down the path, where just a moment ago—no, hundreds of years ago—Sir David and his grandson had met. Will leaped tree roots like a deer and bounded farther down the hill.
“There you are! We’ve been calling and calling!” Nan pointed at the hole in the earth where Jamie had found the Roman helmet. “Gormlaith just dug up something else!”
The dog, dirty-pawed, sniffed at the bottom of the hole and seemed to lose interest. Her leash trailed behind her as she wandered over to a nearby bush and poked her nose beneath its branches.
Jamie, on his knees beside the hole, held out his open hand with a beaming face. “It might be another Roman thing!”
Will took the small metal object from Jamie’s grubby palm and held it up away from the shadows. It looked, he thought, like a small harp without any strings. One side was curved and one straight and pointed, and there seemed to be a sort of hinge, too.…
“I don’t know if it’s Roman,” he said slowly, “but I think it might be partly gold. See that spot? And there?”
Three heads bent over the object with sudden interest. There were definitely golden gleams here and there.
“Here, let me.” Nan carefully picked away at the excess dirt with her penknife. “I bet it used to be covered with thin gold, only most of it flaked off. And see that hinge?” She tapped at it with the knife’s point. “It might be a sort of a pin—you know, like the pins ladies wear in their scarves sometimes?”
Jamie snatched the curved bit of metal from Nan’s hand. “My Roman guy wouldn’t wear a lady’s scarf. I bet he stabbed things with this.”
“Your Roman guy?” Nan countered. “Since when?”
“Since I dug up his helmet!” Jamie’s face was flushed. “And Gormly dug this up when I was with her, so I get to say what it is!”
Will stepped back, frowning slightly. He had thought his little brother was back to normal, but now he wasn’t so sure. “It’s all right, Jamie, calm down,” he said. “It does look like you could stab stuff with it—”
“Like cloth,” Nan said, dimpling.
“But we can show it to Cousin Ewen,” Will went on, “and he’ll tell us for sure.”
“Hey! I have a better idea!” Nan clapped her hands, and her penknife fell to the earth. “Why don’t you open a time window, Will? Then we can see the Roman for ourselves.”
“Yeah!” Jamie leaped up wildly. “I want to see my Roman guy! And his helmet, and his stabber—”
Behind them, Gormlaith stopped sniffing dirt and looked up, her ears alert.
“No,” said Will.
“Oh, come on.” Nan tugged at his elbow. “It will be fun. And it will settle an argument.”
Jamie stood still. “You said we could go back and forth. Just like the pages in a book. And I want to see my Roman.”
Will hesitated. It went against his better judgment. Still, if it helped Jamie understand better about moving through time …
“All right,” he said. “But only to look. We’re not going through.”
Nan dug inside her satchel. She had the Magic Eyeball book halfway out when Will put a hand on her wrist.
“Forget the book—I don’t need it anymore. Just put the—uh, stabber on the ground by my foot, and let me concentrate.”
Nan and Jamie moved close, and Will slid his foot until the toe of his sneakers touched the Roman pin. Down the hill, through the trees, he could see a bit of the castle, and the historical reenactors busy setting up awnings in the parking lot.
He took a deep breath and blocked out everything but his thoughts of the Roman helmet, and the pin, and the man who had worn them. He focused on a point in the air ahead, moving his focus in tiny increments and searching with the part of his mind he had begun to call Time Sight. He searched back, back, farther than he had ever gone before. It felt like hundreds and hundreds—no, a thousand years, two thousand …
Jamie’s delighted gasp sounded in his ear.
The castle had disappeared. At the bottom of the hill, the reenactors’ clean white pavilions had been replaced with soiled wheat-colored military tents, and one man in a leather tunic seemed to be standing guard.
“Can you make the window bigger?” Nan whispered. “I want to see more.”
Will carefully adjusted his focus, and the scene enlarged. Men in short tunics and sandals were cutting wood, digging holes, shoving logs upright and nailing them to crosspieces. A horse reared, whinnying, and two men shouted as they pulled on the reins. Most of the men were bareheaded, or wore leather caps, but the sun blazed off a couple of shiny helmets, and one helmet had a bright red crest.
“Romans!” breathed Jamie. “Gormly, look!”
Will sensed rather than felt the dog crowding in. “Hold on tight to her leash,” he warned. Suddenly, in the foreground, a strange black-and-white animal, low to the ground, came trundling across the turf.
“Badger!” said Nan.
“Gormly, no!” cried Jamie, struggling with the leash.
And before Will could react, could even blink to shut the window, the big creamy dog leaped through, barking, dragging Jamie with her.
9
BATTLE OF THE BLOODY HANDS
“YOU—GORMLESS!” NAN HOWLED AND jumped headfirst after Jamie. Will followed resignedly. There was really no choice.
He landed, rolling, on the dry turf and breathed in a rich scent of earth and leaves mixed with a trace of wood smoke.
The forest was different again. The trees were taller, with thicker trunks. There were leaves underfoot, golden and russet, and the air had a bite to it that spoke of fall. Will shivered in his T-shirt and looked around. At least the path was familiar, winding up in a crooked brown slash—and there, flat on his stomach a few yards ahead, was Jamie. In his hand was a broken leash.
Nan was crawling toward the little boy, keeping low. The badger had prudently disappeared into its burrow. And Gormlaith was bounding down the hill toward the Roman camp, barking joyously. Already the Romans were looking up, and one had started toward the dog.
Will groaned. “Stupid animal.”
“Too right,” Nan said. “Just call her Gormless, it means the same thing.”
“She’s not stupid!” Jamie took in a breath. “G—”
Nan’s hand clapped over his mouth before he could call out the first syllable. “Are you daft? Look at the size of those Romans! Don’t let them know we’re here—they might be worse than Stewarts!”
Jamie gulped. “But we can’t leave Gormly.”
“We won’t.” Will crouched behind a wide-trunked tree and peered around it. “Look, she’s just making friends, okay? In a little while she’ll get bored and come find us again. She’s got a good nose, she’ll be able to sniff us out.”
“We could make friends with the Romans, too,” Jamie said, but his tone lacked conviction.
Will gazed through the trees at the camp below. The Romans looked much more real than when viewed through the time window. Their voices were rough-edged and loud, and every instinct urged him to get the others back to safety. Maybe he should open a window now—he could come back later for the dog—
“They’re speaking Latin,” Nan whispered. “It sounds awfully forceful, doesn’t it?”
Will was silent. Something felt wrong. The small hairs at the nape of his neck lifted, and he turned slowly around.
Three men stood watching him.
Their cloaks were pinned with iron brooches, their bodies were tattooed with spiraling blue patterns, and each man held a spear. One had what looked to be a wolfskin knotted around his neck, and the paws dangled against his bare chest.
Will’s heart kicked into a hammering beat.
The man with the wolfskin spoke. The words were in a language that seemed oddly familiar, yet they made no sense.
Will stared at the strange, stern face and remembered a line from a movie he had seen once. He
lifted his hand, palm out. “We come in peace.”
The men talked among themselves in a low jumble of sound. Will listened intently. The meaning of the words seemed to hang in the air like fruit ready for picking, but he could not seem to understand, not yet.…
Nan slid a step closer to Will. “I don’t think my Time Hearing is working. Let’s run and grab Gormlaith, and get out of here.”
“I thought you were afraid of the Romans,” Will said out of the corner of his mouth.
Nan slid her eyes sideways. “I’m more afraid of them.”
“They’re Scots, though, right?”
“Well, probably Picts.…” Nan twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “I think Scots came later. I forget. Anyway, they might be our ancestors and everything, but they look wild.”
Will knew what she meant. The three men looked fierce; clearly they were fighters. One was missing two fingers and an ear. Another held his spear crookedly, cradled in a twisted arm. And the man in the wolfskin had slashes across his bare chest that had healed unevenly, in ridges, like a plowed field.
Nan was plaiting her hair now, nervously winding the strands together. “I mean, the Romans were more civilized, right? They built roads and aqueducts and things.…”
Will chewed the inside of his cheek. The Romans probably had better weapons and armor; maybe the wild men were afraid of them. That might help. He slapped himself on the chest, and the Picts snapped their heads around at the sound. “WE,” Will announced, “are with THEM.” He pointed through the trees to the camp at the bottom of the hill.
The tattooed Picts muttered angrily. The man in the wolfskin flung out a guttural word. He shifted his spear in his hand and took a step forward.
The blood pounded in Will’s ears. He had to get to Gormlaith. He had to open a time window. He had to get everyone out of here.
Jamie pressed close to Will’s side. “Make them go away!”
Will forced himself to speak calmly. “Okay, let’s go get Gormlaith,” he murmured. “You two start down the hill, kind of wandering, like you’re looking for something. But when I yell, run hard for the Romans. Got it?”
Jamie nodded, edging backward. Nan picked up a bright pebble, pretended to admire it, and turned around. She took two steps after Jamie.
The man in the wolfskin gave a signal that set his armband flashing. The others leaped forward like wildcats.
“Run!” gasped Will, a moment too late.
Callused hands clamped over the children’s mouths. Powerful arms gripped them around the waists. Will, struggling, was squeezed sharply under his jaw and went limp. In a moment he was bundled through the woods and up onto a horse’s back. Someone leaped on behind, clamped him tight with a tattooed arm, and snapped the reins.
They were riding. The animal smell of horse mingled with the odor of human sweat, and the black neck of the mare glistened beneath Will as it pumped up and down in a labored canter. Then they crested the hill and headed down through dark pine woods.
Will clutched the horse’s mane to keep from sliding forward and twisted to look behind him. He caught a glimpse of Jamie’s pale face and Nan’s flying hair before his captor jerked him around and growled something low in his ear. Ridged chest scars pressed against Will’s back, and wolfskin paws made a hard knot between his shoulder blades.
The reins flicked again, and the black mare stretched out her canter, putting on speed as the riders emerged from the trees and racketed down the last bit of hill. Above their heads, dark pine branches changed to windblown clouds, and ahead was a wide, grassy valley. A river shone in the distance, curving and silken in the shifting light, and the horses headed straight for it, fanning out as they raced one another across the flats.
Something else was moving across the wide valley—horses, drawing behind them a two-wheeled open cart that looked like … Will narrowed his eyes. Yes, it was a chariot, and the driver was a girl! Her long dark hair flew in the wind, her vivid blue cloak streamed out behind her, and she was laughing. She shouted something at the approaching riders, flicked a whip with a sharp crack, and her chariot surged forward.
Will’s captor chuckled and kicked his horse in the flank. The black mare flattened out into a full gallop and Will hung on to the mane for his life, his T-shirt rippling in the rush of wind. The other horses joined in, their paths converging as they thundered toward the bridge that spanned the river.
The drumming hooves echoed in Will’s ears as if there were fifty horses instead of five. In spite of the danger and worry, his heart lifted in elation at the surging speed. It was like flying!
The girl clattered across the river bridge a full length ahead of the others. She pulled up, grinning wickedly as she let the three horses pass. As they neared her, Will could see she was a little taller than he was, with pale gray eyes and a gap between her front teeth that looked familiar. Then they were all trotting up a wide path, tossing comments that sounded like teasing as they zigzagged up another rocky slope.
It was a steeper hill than the one they had come down, but nearly treeless. Here and there, curly-haired sheep grazed with a clanking of bells. Will tipped his head back to look up. The sky was so full of movement and clouds that for a moment he was dizzy, and then he lowered his gaze to the crown of the hill, where stone walls rose grimly and wooden timbers reared up like a row of pencils set on edge. Cone-shaped roofs, thatched with dark gold straw, rose above the walls, and someone, watching from a high wooden platform, gave a shout and a wave.
The first raindrops hit then, making darker patches on the mare’s neck and spotting Will’s forearms. The Picts urged their horses to a canter, and clods of turf flew up from hooves as they pounded up the long track and past terraced walls of gray stone. Long before they got to the big barred gates, Will was soaked through and shivering in his thin shirt.
The wolfskin man slid off the black mare and pulled Will down with him. Someone opened the wooden gates with a vast creaking, and the children were marched through.
The huts crowding the hilltop were tall and round, with gray stone walls curving beneath thatched roofs, and the place was full of smells and noise. People stared from doorways as rain puddled on the paths the children walked. One child with reddish ringlets pointed her finger and laughed, and Jamie stuck his tongue out at her.
Will swatted away a goat that tried to nibble his shorts. “Do you know where we are?” he asked Nan quietly.
“I think this is a hill fort. There used to be one on Drummond Hill. My dad took me to see it once, but there was only a bit of rubble left.” She rubbed her arms in an attempt to warm herself, and sneezed. “Wherever they’re taking us, I hope there’s a fire.”
“We have to get Gormlaith,” said Jamie, shivering violently.
“We’ll get her later,” Will promised. “One thing at a time.” He glanced at Nan. “Any luck with Time Hearing yet?”
Nan shook her head. “Last time, it only took a few minutes to kick in. But we’ve been here a lot longer than that, and it’s not happening.”
The children were pushed toward the largest hut and through an opening in the thick stone wall. Inside, it was dark except for small glowing lights here and there like weak candles, and a larger, brighter glow of a central fire. Above their heads, long poles rose to a peak like the ribs of a gigantic teepee, holding up the thatched roof.
Nan sneezed again, and Will glanced up at his captor. The tattoos did not look quite so frightening in the dim light. Will pointed first to his own chest, then to Nan and Jamie, and finally to the central fire. He raised his eyebrows in a clear question. Surely the man would understand that they had to get warm? The men were wearing woolen cloaks that shed the wet like ducks’ backs, but the children were in thin cotton T-shirts and soaked to the skin.
His captor jerked his thumb at a furry-looking pile a few steps away.
“Sheepskins!” Jamie darted forward. The children each grabbed a pelt and draped it over their shoulders. The man with the chest
scars gave them a push toward the fire and turned to join the others, who were talking earnestly to someone sitting in the shadows.
Will was too thankful to get to the fire to care. He crouched under the sheepskin and warmed his hands at the blaze. Something bubbled in the cauldron over the fire, sending forth a savory smell so good that his stomach flipped. It seemed like an age since they’d eaten lunch on the cup-marked rock.
“I’m hungry.” Jamie’s voice was muffled.
Nan turned her head on her arms. “Don’t stick your tongue out at any more little girls, then, and they might give you something.”
Will curled his arms around his knees. Voices rose in a babble of sound. The fire crackled, dogs barked, and wood clicked on wood as, nearby, an old woman wove a length of cloth on a loom. A distant clang clang sounded at uneven intervals. Someone was probably making horseshoes—or more weapons.
Will shut his eyes wearily. Everybody had weapons, it seemed. Stewarts had them, Romans had them, Picts had them, people in his own time had them. Did the people who were keeping his mother from going home have them? Probably.
He felt anger like a slow burning in his chest. Maybe his mother should have brought a weapon along herself. But who would have expected that a doctor would have to fight the people she was trying to help?
Nan gasped softly. “Listen,” she whispered, taking hold of Will’s arm.
Suddenly words came clearly out of the dark. “And they can help us defeat the Romans!”
Will jerked his head around. The words were thicker and oddly accented; still, he could understand them.
“They’re only children,” came another voice, scornfully.
“But children with magic,” said the first voice. “I saw them appear, I tell you, out of the air!”
“Like they stepped out of the hollow hills,” said another.
Will took in a careful breath and glanced at Nan and Jamie. Both of them were staring at the speakers.
“Time Hearing, at last,” Nan breathed. “I wonder why it took so long, though.”