Time Raiders: The Seeker

by Lindsay McKenna

  Jake saw the two Roman guards at the main entrance come to attention. To his surprise, the scribe Kapaneus, along with Tullia, the prostitute, walked through the partially opened gates. The long, lean man was dressed in a tan tunic that almost grazed his sandaled feet. His dark hair was loose and flowed across the blue cloak wrapped around his thin form. Was he really a Centaurian who’d possessed a human body? Jake halted, his hands on his belt. Damned if he could see anything to make Kapaneus stand out from any other Roman.

  Tullia charmed the two guards, giving them warm smiles and batting her thick black lashes. Jake admired her grace. Her black hair was elegantly piled on her head and captured with a gold circlet, just as it had been this morning. Her gown was a pale pink, with a wool cloak of white drawn about her body to ward off the February chill and dampness. He glanced at her small, dainty hands and admired how well kept they were. Clearly, Tullia did no physical work—unlike the slaves at this villa, whose hands were callused and chapped.

  Torbar sensed his quarry as he led Tullia up the redbrick walk toward the entry. Even before he saw Philip of Delos, he felt his presence. With his hand on her elbow, Torbar guided the young woman into the atrium. To his left, the Greek mercenary was watching them with a distrustful scowl.

  “Ah,” Torbar said, giving him a smile, “there you are.” He pulled Tullia along with him. Laughing inwardly, Torbar quickly marshaled his mental energy. Centaurian Navigators had many weapons at their disposal, having been trained from babyhood to utilize their full paranormal capabilities. One such skill was referred to as a mind blast, where a victim’s mind was infiltrated and his desires controlled. As Torbar gathered energy for the onslaught, he injected the intention that Philip would be filled with lust for Tullia.

  Jake started to open his mouth to speak when he saw the scribe’s eyes narrow to slits. In the next second, he felt as if he’d been physically struck. Reeling from the wave of energy that slammed into him, he couldn’t speak.

  As the Greek mercenary staggered back a step, Torbar snickered softly. Leaning over, he whispered to Tullia, “You know where his apartment is. Take him by the hand and lead him to it. Get that band off his right arm. Once you have it, get out of there and bring it to me. Understood?”

  She nodded. “Of course I understand.” She wrested her arm from his grasp.

  Torbar straightened. He sensed and saw the lust suddenly burning in the Greek’s eyes. Good. The mind blast had worked. Watching Tullia sway her hips in a provocative manner as she approached the mercenary, Torbar noted how Philip had eyes only for the prostitute. He would be putty in her expert hands….

  Tullia smiled up into Philip’s blue eyes. “I bid you good afternoon, my lord. I am a gift from Kapaneus to you.” She eased her scented, soft hand into his battle-hardened one. “I am to please you in all ways that you desire, Philip of Delos.

  General Brutus also sends his regards to you for protecting his mother, Servilia. He thanks you for saving her life last night. Come, let me take you to your apartment….”

  Chapter 15

  T ullia laughed throatily as Philip ran his large, roughened palm across her waist to capture her hip. She fell into his arms and slid her hands around his neck. Pushing the door to his apartment closed, she stretched up and slid her tongue across her lower lip. With a growl, he took her mouth with savage intensity. After moving her hands across his broad shoulders, she trailed them down his upper arms. Her fingertips felt a ridge of metal. Beneath the sleeve of his tunic was the armband Kapaneus wanted so badly.

  Pulling away, she laughed gaily and led Philip to the couch. “Come, my dear Greek soldier, let us tarry over a bit of wine first?”

  She dodged his groping hand, twirled out of his grasp and walked over to the table. Earlier, Kapaneus had had a slave bring wine laced with herbs designed to knock a horse unconscious.

  “I don’t want wine,” Jake protested, beginning to unlace his boots after sitting down.

  Giving him a teasing look, Tullia turned with two silver goblets in hand. “Ah, but when I explore your mouth, Philip of Delos, the taste of wine does nothing but increase my longing for you. Here…” She handed him a goblet. Lifting hers, she said, “To us…”

  Jake held her sloe-eyed gaze, his body hardening almost to the point of pain. Gulping down the wine, he noted she didn’t touch hers.

  “Why do you not drink?” he demanded, handing her back the empty goblet.

  Smiling softly, Tullia leaned over and ran her mouth across his. “Because, my heroic soldier, I want to taste my wine from your lips….”

  Hers were pliant and luxurious, and Jake reached up to pull her down on the couch beside him.

  Tullia gracefully spun away once more, laughing and swaying her hips as she walked over to the table. She set the goblets down next to the pitcher. Turning, she watched Philip as he shoved off his boots. Already she could see a dazed look in his eyes. His hands moved with a little less precision as he removed the metal brooch that held his cloak around his body. His dark brows drifted down as the pin dropped to the floor with a clatter.

  “What’s this?” he growled. The room began to spin. Tullia’s beautiful features began to dissolve. Gripping the couch for support, Jake felt as if he was going to pitch forward.

  Moving around the back of the couch, Tullia caressed his shoulders and slid the cloak off. “Ah, it is nothing,” she whispered, teething the lobe of his ear. He groaned with pleasure. Keeping her hands on him, Tullia guided him down on the couch. Already his ability to coordinate his limbs was rapidly diminishing. The herbs had worked astonishingly fast, she thought. “Lie back, Philip, and allow me to slowly undress you…”

  With a groan, Jake stretched out. Every time he opened his eyes, the room whirled wildly around him. Tullia’s expert hands slid from his ankles upward. She placed warm, slow kisses on each area in turn, inching higher and higher. Feeling weak, Jake tried to speak, but the words remained stuck in his throat.

  Laughing huskily, Tullia watched the Greek’s eyes close. His hands lifted, but then fell helplessly to his sides. His face relaxed, sweat popped out across his brow and his body suddenly sagged into the couch. Within the next minute or so, the herbal drug would take full effect and he would be rendered safe enough to approach. All she had to do was wait.

  The sleeve of his tunic reached to his elbow. Tullia moved to his right side, stepping lightly. Philip was snoring now, limp as a sack of wheat, and smiling triumphantly, she tested his reflexes. She did not want to get caught stealing his armband. Being patient was an attribute she knew would keep her safe.

  Convinced the warrior was indeed unconscious, Tullia made her move. She slid her fingernails provocatively from Philip’s wrist up to his elbow. Not a twitch. Nor did he make a sound except for the heavy, slow breathing indicative of a deep sleep.

  Coming around the couch, Tullia slid his right sleeve up.

  There, above his bulging biceps, was the silver armband with the clear quartz stone.

  Studying the piece, she admired the smooth, silvery metal as she opened it and gently removed it from his arm. Once she had it in her possession, she tucked Philip’s arm back across his belly and slipped the bracelet into a fabric pouch at her waist. Turning, Tullia scanned the room to make sure she’d left no evidence. She pinned on her cloak, gathered up the pitcher of wine and goblets, and quietly departed.

  Tullia knew the layout of Servilia’s domus from many banquets she had attended in the past. Hurrying down the empty hall, she went to the kitchen. Slaves were rushing around, preparing food for the next meal, and savory scents of rosemary and thyme filled the air. The slaves looked up but did not speak to her. They knew she was freeborn, and they would never question any of her actions.

  Dipping into a side hall, glad to escape the overheated kitchen, Tullia pushed another door open with the toe of her sandal. Outside, she poured the wine into the bushes, then brought the goblets and pitcher back to the kitchen and handed them to a slave. “Wash th
ese well,” she ordered.

  “Yes, mistress,” the young girl replied, keeping her eyes downcast.

  Leaving the kitchen, Tullia made her way to the atrium. Sun was glinting through the wintry clouds. The guards at the entrance knew her on sight and quickly opened the gates to the street. As Tullia stepped onto the cobblestones, a Roman cavalry unit trotted by. She flattened herself against the wall to avoid being hit by them. Shoppers of all kinds, riding donkeys or on foot, were carrying bags of provisions home from the markets.

  Breathing deeply, Tullia slid her arms beneath her warm woolen cloak and hurried up the street. She could feel the metal bracelet bumping lightly against her hip as she skipped toward the temple of Diana high atop Aventine Hill.

  Kapaneus would be very happy with her.

  Torbar waited impatiently. Why wasn’t Tullia back? The afternoon sun was hidden behind rain clouds as he stood tensely at the window overlooking the busy street. General Marcus Brutus had a large walled house off the main avenue. Tullia should be coming up the way by now. Where was the bitch?

  Turning, Torbar strode back and forth in Kapaneus’s small apartment. Outside he could hear the coming and goings of men who were seeking the general’s favor at this hour of the day.

  With a curse, Torbar sent out a telepathic search for Tullia. She was an empty-headed female at best and it would be easy to find her. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on picturing her face. He had done this before, ruthlessly searching her mind to make sure she was trustworthy enough to take on such an important project. Satisfied that Tullia could carry out the mission, Torbar was more than happy to give her a gold aureus for her services. The money would provide her the best of food and rich fabrics to wear for some time to come.

  Torbar snorted. His eyes flew open. Where was Tullia? He couldn’t find her! That was odd. Feeling uncomfortable, Torbar made a decision: he’d find the prostitute himself. Striding to the door, he jerked it open. Maybe she was still at Servilia’s house, which was less than two streets away from where her son, the general, lived. Perhaps Tullia was still sexually engaged with the Greek?

  Impossible! Torbar had carefully orchestrated the wine being laced with a drug. He’d lied and told Tullia it was a powerful herb, but it was really a medication from his own world. He’d assured her it worked fast and she would be able to remove the armband easily, and that was true.

  Where was she? The guards at Brutus’s gates opened them for Torbar as he threw on his dark cloak to ward off the chill. Outside, he turned left and hurried down the busy cobblestone street. The wind was sharp and cutting, the odors of frying meat and cooking onions filled his nostrils as he strode along.

  At the first corner, he turned right. Frowning, he saw a huge crowd gathered midway along the street. Two chariots with fractious horses were surrounded by a growing multitude.

  Torbar heard arguments, loud and heated. Women standing at the edge of the restless throng had horrified expressions on their faces. At least fifty men surrounded the Roman chariots; some of them soldiers. The drivers of each chariot, no doubt slaves, looked distraught as they tried to contain their two-horse teams, which were tossing their heads and snorting nervously. As a Centaurian descended from horse ancestors, Torbar could feel the animals’ agitation and terror.

  Why terror? He pushed through the gawkers, but as he broke through the throng, shock bolted him to the spot. Tullia was lying dead on the street between the chariots. Blood purled from her lips, and her eyes were open in death, her body limp and broken.

  “What happened?” Torbar snarled to a farrier standing next to him.

  “The chariots were coming from opposite directions,” the heavily muscled man told him. “The woman didn’t see them. She must have been blind! The chariots tried to avoid her, but they had nowhere to go. The walls of the houses on either side prevented them from swerving to save her life.” The man shook his head. “It was dreadful. I was at my livery over there. When she was struck and run over, a number of urchins dived out of the alley. In seconds, they stripped her of her jewelry. Dreadful…”

  Tullia’s cloak had been torn and ripped by the impact, Torbar saw. She lay at an odd angle. Moving to her side, he knelt down and searched her clothes. There had been a cloth pouch at her waist. She was supposed to place the armband in it….

  It was missing!

  Torbar now understood why he couldn’t connect mentally with Tullia—she was dead.

  Taking charge, he ordered two of the men to carry her body to a funeral shop at the end of the street; he had the air of authority and the money to make it happen. Glaring at the soldiers standing near their chariots, Torbar knew he could not blame them. In Rome, pedestrians quickly moved aside when chariots came thundering down a street. Why hadn’t Tullia heard them? Shaking his head, Torbar gestured for the two men to follow him. They wouldn’t receive payment until they’d completed the task.

  Tullia’s slender frame was obviously broken in many places and hung limply between the men. Torbar took the lead to show them where to transport her. When he got to the mortuary, he gave the owner a gold aureus. Tullia’s body would be wrapped in linen and given a fine burial. Torbar paid the two men and they quickly left, holding their noses. Then he ordered the owner to leave him alone with Tullia in the stinking back room.

  With so many dead bodies—most of them bloated and waiting for burial—the place reeked. He made one last search of Tullia’s torn and bloodied tunic and stola. The armband was gone. One of the men, the farrier, had told him some ruffian children had probably stolen it. And if they had, how was he ever going to find it? He didn’t want to think of Kentar and what he’d do to him if Torbar didn’t retrieve the armband. Sweat popped out on his brow as he left. Unable to linger because he was the chief scribe for the general, Torbar headed back to the domus. He would make up some excuse and quickly come back here and search for whoever had the armband.

  Jake awoke with a low, painful groan. He sat up slowly, his head feeling like an overinflated balloon. Hearing a door open, he turned and saw Delia standing there.

  “You look like hell,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “What’s wrong?”

  He rubbed his face. “I don’t know. My brain feels…scrambled.”

  Walking over, Delia saw that his boots were pushed to one side of the couch. “It’s dinnertime. I just woke up. Have you eaten yet?” Jake looked pasty. The stubble of his dark beard made him appear gaunt.

  “No…God, I feel like I was hit by a Mack truck.” He felt how sensitive the skin across his scalp had become. When Delia sat down on the couch beside him, he added, “Something happened, Del. My mind feels raw. I can’t remember anything…. But I keep seeing Kapaneus.”

  Her brows arched. “Here? At Servilia’s home today?”

  Groaning, Jake forced himself to his feet. Unsteadily, he headed to the table, which held a pitcher of water and a large bowl. “I…don’t know. Damn. What the hell happened to me?” Pouring water into the basin, Jake splashed his face several times. A soft towel lay nearby and he grabbed it and dried his face. Straightening, he blinked. His vision was beginning to clear. Looking around, he smelled perfume. And then he remembered seeing Tullia with Kapaneus in the atrium.

  “If I didn’t know better,” Jake muttered, sitting down on the couch, “I’d swear I’ve been drugged.”

  “You don’t look very good,” Delia murmured sympathetically. Worriedly, she searched Jake’s bloodshot eyes. “It’s almost as if you were binge drinking. That’s not like you.”

  The word brought another memory. Jack sucked in a breath. “Son of a bitch!”

  “What?”

  Glaring toward the door, he growled, “Kapaneus was here with Tullia earlier today. I saw the scribe in the atrium and he gave me…a funny look. And then—” Jake rubbed his temple “—something happened to me after that, but I’m damned if I know what.”

  Watching Jake struggle to remember, Delia said, “I was asleep, Jake. I didn’t hear anyt
hing. Do you know why he came here with Tullia?”

  Shaking his head, Jake desperately searched for answers. He couldn’t remember anything. He felt Delia get up. She brought back a wooden cup and held it out to him.

  “Maybe if you drink water, it will help,” she offered gently.

  As his hand curved around the cup, he grazed her fingers. And the contact with her warm flesh brought up more images. Jake slugged down the water, set the cup aside and muttered, “Damn…”

  Delia saw his face twist with frustration. “More memories?”

  Looking around the apartment, Jake stated, “Tullia was in here. That’s why I smelled her perfume just now.”

  Jealousy suddenly ate at Delia. Her voice dropped into a whisper. “What the hell was she doing here again?”

  Hearing the edge in her husky tone, Jake said, “It’s not what you think, Del.” He’d been about to say that he wanted her, but realized that admittance would sound lame as hell right now. As Jake looked up and saw anger flashing in her golden eyes, he realized the extent of her rage. “Delia,” he pleaded, “something happened….”

  “Yeah,” she said sarcastically, “I’m sure it did! Well, I guess I shouldn’t be judging who you take to bed, Jake. There’s nothing between us, after all. You’re free to do what you want.”

  “Damn it, Delia, stop! I did not want Tullia! Kapaneus brought her here for a reason.” Jake rubbed his face savagely and tried to fit the pieces together. Faces and scenes he saw just didn’t make sense.

  Delia moved away from the couch, feeling angry and hurt. But why should she? Jake was single, after all. He could cavort with any woman he wanted. Yet jealousy filled her heart. “He was here to see you?”