Time Raiders: The Seeker Read online

  Nodding, she took in a ragged breath. Her lips tingled wildly. Looking up at Jake, Delia whispered, “Come on, we’ve got to get to the lab.”

  “Are you ready?” Athena called. She picked up the headband and gently settled it in place. Twenty feet away, encased in a glass cylinder, the two people she would send back to 44 B.C. sat relaxed in their chairs. They wore civilian clothes, but that would change once the process began.

  “Ready,” Delia called. Shaken by Jake’s unexpected kiss, she could barely think.

  “Ready,” Jake echoed. He reached out and grasped Delia’s hand. The love he held for this courageous woman was still there.

  “Good,” Athena murmured. She checked and made sure that the door to the small enclosure was locked. Outside, a bright red sign above the door said Do Not Enter.

  She settled herself in the comfortable leather chair and put her feet up on the stool.

  Athena had made sure that both of them had their armband on. As she sent them back, their clothes would automatically change to match that of the time period.

  Glancing to the left, she noted General Ashton and her assistant standing at a console outside the area, both of them on alert. It was imperative that Athena not be jolted or her attention broken once she put on the headband. In order for the time jump to be successful, she could not be distracted. If that happened, the subject could end up in the wrong time or die in transit.

  “Close your eyes,” she told the team as she readjusted the headband. She could already feel the warmth of the stones and the powerful energy contained in them flowing into her brain like warm, comforting water. She closed her own eyes, confident that Ashton would be videotaping the entire jump session, the sensitive instruments on the console recording every brain wave and fluctuation. When the time travel process was complete, they would all know it. Athena always felt a tiny, painless jolt, heard a “ping” sound that alerted her that a successful jump had been accomplished. If the “ping” didn’t occur, that meant her thoughts hadn’t been totally focused. It was a fear that Athena lived with.

  Leaning back in the chair, Athena drew several deep breaths, beginning to relax into a deep state of meditation. And then she felt herself opening up and connecting with the crystals. They were alive, it seemed to her—powerful, throbbing, sending tingling waves throughout her body.

  Within seconds, she’d lost all sense of self and instead focused on seeing Delia and Jake moving back in time to 44 B.C., to meet Servilia, Julius Caesar’s mistress. The more Athena honed in on that moment, mentally and emotionally, the more strongly the energy swirled through her. It was an organic process, a joining of her physical form and emotional intent with the laserlike power of the crystals, which now throbbed in unison with her brain waves.

  Delia sat with her eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of warmth wrapping around her like a soft blanket. She knew it was due to the energy sent through Athena from the crystals. Since she’d made so many time jumps, Delia knew to relax fully into the building energy and surrender to it. Instantly, she felt a shift deep within her core. A sense of movement started, as if she were being physically sent through a tunnel, spiraling slowly. Logically, she knew that her physical body was changing state, becoming less dense, until she was nothing more than a cloud of energy particles. She felt neither hot nor cold, simply cocooned in warm energy as the transit continued.

  Knowing she had to keep her mind blank and clear, so that no disturbing thoughts interfered with Athena’s intense efforts to place them at the chosen time and place, Delia tried not to wonder about how they would appear in 44 B.C. Jake had a number of time jumps under his belt, so she felt confident he wouldn’t interfere with this process, either. But it was always a possibility….

  The spiraling was slowing down. Delia could feel a different kind of heaviness taking over, pouring through her, as she began to reassemble into a physical state in the targeted time frame. She gripped Jake’s hand. It was an odd feeling. Odd, too, was the sensation of her mind expanding, as if her skull were too small for the amount of information downloading into it. She kept her eyes closed and tried to be receptive.

  Next came the awareness of different clothing, a heaviness across her shoulders that had not been there before, and finally movement beneath her. It felt as if she was riding a horse, that was plodding along at a slow pace.

  Sounds began to emerge from the depths of the silence. Horses hooves on cobblestones. The snort of one of the animals. And then the temperature changed—it was chilly. A cold gust of wind brushed Delia’s face. She almost opened her eyes, but it wasn’t time yet.

  Remaining relaxed, she focused on the swaying movement of the horse between her legs, felt its thick winter fur against her calves. Finally, she heard the pinging sound that always happened when a transit was complete.

  Instantly, Delia opened her eyes. It was important to orient immediately to her surroundings. Looking left, she saw Jake riding a black horse next to her. She was astride a bay gelding. They were no longer holding hands. A part of her cried out for the loss of contact.

  The world opened up around them. They were on a thirteen-foot-wide road made of smooth black basalt cobblestones. The Via Appia, Delia realized, one of the main Roman roads that led southward from Rome, to the strategic port of Brundisium, on the “heel” of the boot of Italy. A massive stone aqueduct paralleled the road, transporting fresh water to Rome for the citizens’ baths, gardens and fountains.

  Looking at Jake, she saw he was dressed in a leather helmet with a crest of horsehair, dyed blue, atop it like a brush. He wore, as she did, a hardened leather breastplate held in place with straps across the shoulders.

  “Okay?” he asked as they guided their horses along the empty road. The Latin came easily to him, another sign that the jump had been completely successful. Delia silently blessed Athena and her laserlike ability to focus.

  “Okay,” she murmured in Latin. Looking at herself, Delia saw she wore a rough brown woolen tunic that fell to her knees. The long-sleeved garment kept her warm this cloudy, wintry day in southern Italy. Knee-high leather boots kept her lower legs and feet cozy. Glancing back, she saw a round shield of beaten bronze hanging at the rear of her saddle. It was important to know she was armed, and she reached to her waist in search of weapons. A sword and scabbard hung at the side, swinging with the gait of her horse. Good, she had protection.

  Further investigation revealed a dagger in a small sheath tucked into her thin leather belt. Delia longed for a handgun, but knew it wasn’t possible to bring one back in time without raising suspicions. Touching her head, she felt the clipped horse’s mane on top of her own helmet, standard headgear for a Roman soldier.

  “We’re Greek mercenaries!” Jake stated, unable to keep a note of wonder from his voice. He looked around at the landscape—brown, desolate hills with naked trees standing starkly against a gray sky. The Via Appia curved ahead, disappearing around a bend. Looking behind, he saw no one coming. “We’re thirty miles south of Rome,” he noted, pointing to a small stone marker at the side of the road telling travelers how far they were from the city.

  Delia nodded, continuing to take in her surroundings. It was midday, nearly noon. Her stomach grumbled and she felt hungry. In a cloth bag by her right knee was some food. “But where’s Servilia? Why are we out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Yeah, good question,” Jake muttered, again searching the hills that rose on both sides of the highway. “Via Appia is a busy route. Why is this stretch empty? That doesn’t make sense….” He knew the Appian Way was the oldest of many Roman roads. Appius Claudius had begun work on the famous highway in 312 B.C. “Hell, there should be foot traffic, chariots, wagons, Roman soldiers coming and going.” Frowning, he halted his horse and studied the landscape. “Is it possible Athena screwed up in the transport? Wrong place and time to intercept Servilia?”

  Shrugging, Delia halted her animal. It sawed against the reins, trying to reach some sparse brown gra
ss on the side of the road. “I heard the ‘ping.’ Did you?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said, adjusting his helmet. There was a strap to keep it in place. He wanted to remove the damn thing, but something cautioned him not to. “Pretty barren-looking, isn’t it?”

  “Not the Italy I know,” Delia murmured, more in jest than anything else. “But it is winter. And Italy does get snow.” She shivered and pulled her wool cloak tighter about her. The heaviness she’d felt on her shoulders was the weight of the cloak, she realized. It had been dyed marine-blue, the same color as the horsehair in their helmets. Jake had a shield that was similar to hers, almost a duplicate. Each one was hand beaten, obviously created by a smithy who knew weaponry.

  A crow cawed in the distance. Jake looked toward a bunch of scraggly trees on a low hill to his left. “Well, we aren’t in la-la land. There’s another living beast,” he said, gesturing to the noisy bird. It cawed again from its perch atop the hill, then flapped its wings.

  “My gut tells me we’re at the right place and time,” Delia told him. She urged her horse to a faster walk. “Let’s just keep going. Maybe we’ll intercept Servilia on this road.”

  Jake nodded, and they rode side by side, their legs occasionally brushing. “Nice horses, huh?”

  “Yeah. Well kept. Well fed. We must have some money.”

  “If we’re mercenaries, we’ve been paid well,” he said, pointing to a large leather bag of coins tied to his belt and hidden by his cloak. “At least we won’t want for food and starve. That’s a good thing.” He grinned.

  Laughing shortly, Delia muttered, “Always thinking of your stomach, Tyler.” She was still thinking of that unexpected kiss Jake had initiated back at the lab. So was he, by the burning look he gave her each time their gazes met.

  “Philip to you, dear Delia, my sister.”

  He was right, she had to get out of her twenty-first century way of thinking. “Okay, Philip. Funny, you don’t remind me of a Philip.”

  Jake grinned. “Why, thank you, dear sister of mine.”

  “Oh, cut the crap, will you?”

  He chortled quietly, then saw the ears on his gelding suddenly prick up. Both horses came to a halt, as if sensing something that was blocked from sight by the curve in the road. “Hey…” he called softly to Delia in warning.

  “They’re picking up on something,” she whispered. And then she heard sounds of a battle, the scream of a woman. Automatically, Delia reached for her sword and drew it expertly out of the scabbard. Another benefit to this type of time travel was that Delia would already know how to wield a sword and fight with precision and skill.

  “Servilia?” Jake asked as he gripped his own sword in his hand.

  “I don’t know!” Delia clapped the heels of her boots to the flanks of her gelding. “Let’s find out!” The wind tore past her as the animal charged around the bend of the Appian Way.

  Chapter 4

  “H elp me! Help me!” a gray-haired woman shrieked in Latin as she ran down the Via Appia away from a horse-drawn cart. Two men on foot chased after her.

  Intuitively, Jake knew it was Servilia. The dark green muslin tunic she wore was nearly hidden by a cream-colored stola. The orange palla she had draped over her fashionable ensemble to ward off the winter chill flapped like wings around her as she tried to escape her pursuers.

  “It’s Servilia!” he shouted to Delia.

  They rode side by side, the hooves of their horses clattering sharply on the smooth stone road. A battle ensued around the rectangular wooden wagon drawn by two panicked gray horses. The driver was wounded and trying to keep the wild-eyed animals from running away. Jake counted six men attacking the wagon—well-outfitted robbers with plenty of weapons. All were on foot, but he suspected somewhere over the hill they had horses tied.

  The patrician woman’s small contingent of attendants were either dead, wounded or valiantly trying to fight in the melee. And now Servilia, who had escaped her fabric-draped cubicle in the wagon, was running for her life, the men closing in on her, swords raised.

  Jake shouted to Delia, “Let’s go! You get these guys, and I’ll go after the woman.”

  “Right!” she replied.

  Jake swerved his thundering gelding to the left. The tall, thin woman screamed again, her once-plaited hair streaming wildly around her face like Medusa herself as she fled. Abruptly, she stumbled, losing one jewel-encrusted leather sandal, but she kept on running.

  The wind whipped by Jake as he raised his sword, heading toward the nearest robber, a thickset man with long, shiny black hair and an unkempt beard. His eyes narrowed, he was swinging his sword at Servilia, just as Jake reached him.

  Leaning down, he engaged the robber, who stared up at him with a shocked expression on his face. Obviously, he hadn’t expected Servilia’s little band to have reinforcements.

  Bringing down his arm with savagery, Jake struck at his opponent. The blade caught the man in the right shoulder, slicing through the thick black wolfskin cloak he wore. Jake heard him grunt. The weapon he carried clattered on the cobblestones, skidding away from his opened hand. He died where he fell.

  One down and one to go. Jake yanked his gelding around, the horse skidding on the slippery surface of the road. Sparks flew from its iron shoes. The animal snorted, dug in with his hind legs and finally rebounded. Jake focused on the other robber, who had stopped, eyes bulging with surprise. Up ahead, Servilia continued to run, disappearing around the curve in the road and out of sight.

  The second robber shouted a curse and ran in the opposite direction, leaping up a dirt slope covered with yellowed grass. He obviously wanted nothing to do with Jake and his charging horse.

  Bringing his gelding to a sliding stop, he jerked his attention back toward the wagon. Delia had killed two of the ruffians, he noted, and the others were fleeing, scattering like startled crows up and over the hill. She was now riding swiftly to aid him.

  Grinning triumphantly, Delia swung her mount around and galloped up the Via Appia after Servilia. She soon found the woman collapsed alongside the highway, her frizzled locks blowing in the wind like writhing snakes. Her face was chalk-white and her dark eyes huge and frightened after the trauma she’d just experienced.

  Servilia was easily in her fifties, Delia guessed as she rode up and pulled her horse to a halt. Julius Caesar was probably around fifty-five, she recalled, though no one in modern times knew his exact birth date.

  Delia sheathed her sword, slid off her panting horse and stretched her hand toward the woman, who was shaking badly. Jake dismounted and together they approached her. Servilia’s head snapped up and she gripped the edges of her orange palla to her slim body. She had a beautiful gold-and-carnelian brooch pinned to the fabric to keep it around her shoulders.

  “Domina, I am Delia of Delos in Greece. My brother, Philip, and I were riding together when we heard your screams. You are safe now. The robbers are either dead or fleeing. Are you all right?”

  Delia removed her helmet, allowing the woman to see that she was a female wearing a man’s dress and armor.

  “By the goddess Diana,” Servilia cried, looking up at her, “you are a woman! This is extraordinary! Apollo, who was born on the island of Delos, must have sent you two to rescue me! This is truly a miracle from Diana. Thank you, Delia and Philip of Delos. You have saved my life.” Servilia stood and then drew herself up, her chin at an imperious angle. “You do not know who I am?”

  “No, domina,” Jake lied, “I do not. Whom do I address?”

  “I am the mistress of Julius Caesar. I am Servilia Caepionis.”

  Her tone was haughty. Jake could see that even though she’d narrowly escaped being hacked to death by robbers, she was quickly gathering her nobility around her once more. He admired the heavy golden necklace Servilia wore, studded with deep orange carnelian cabochons.

  Playing along, he bowed deeply. “My sister and I are honored by this chance meeting, my lady. We are mercenaries looking for work as guards
in Rome.”

  Wrapping the palla tightly around her, Servilia studied them. “If you seek work, you are hired, Delia and Philip of Delos. You have just saved my life. Julius Caesar, Dictator of the Roman Republic, will be greatly indebted to you and your brother for doing so.”

  Jake nodded and stepped aside. He drew the reins over the head of his horse. “Shall we walk you back to your cart, my lady? Some of your men are wounded and we must tend to them.”

  “Yes, yes of course.” Servilia quickly took the lead and walked rapidly around the bend of the Via Appia. “There is a rest station less than four miles back, only twenty miles from Rome. I was going to Pompeii, to my villa, but I won’t now. I will return to my domus in Rome. We must get my personal physician alerted and bring my loyal slaves the medical help they deserve.”

  “As you wish, my lady.”

  Servilia glanced at them speculatively. “I am hiring both of you to guard me from now on. You will be well paid, I promise.”

  With a deep bow, Delia murmured, “We are indeed blessed by your bounty, domina. Thank you.” As she straightened, she saw Jake’s sword dripping with blood from the robbers, and with his features taut, his eyes narrowed, he looked every inch a warrior.

  If only Servilia knew who they really were! How amazed she would be! Of course, that couldn’t happen.

  Servilia seemed to take a long time assessing Jake, but he was a damned handsome man no matter what era he was in or what costume he wore. Delia tried not to smile. Jake Tyler had charisma to burn, and the fact wasn’t lost on the Roman matron.

  Servilia walked to her wagon. Her Thracian driver had a sword wound on his thigh, but claimed he was capable of driving her back to Rome. In his forties, the man had wisely torn a strip from his dark brown tunic and wrapped the wound to stop the bleeding. Servilia slipped back into her imperious ways and ordered Philip to help her other two male slaves, who had more serious wounds, into her wagon.