A Midsummer Night's Romp (14 page)

“What we have here are tesserae,” Gunner began, gesturing toward some of the stones that had been dislodged from the rest of the mosaic. “The Romans used thousands of tesserae to create a mosaic, which decorated their floors. They were stuck down by a type of mortar which, amazingly, still binds the tesserae together in some places. If you look at this one, you can see the pattern forms waves, which indicates that the tile has a nautical theme, and might have been used in a bathhouse. Until we uncover more of the mosaic, and the surrounding room, we won't know why the owners chose to have this pattern laid down, but one thing we can be sure of—only the wealthy had painted mosaics, which means that this structure must have been something other than a common building to house soldiers.”

“How interesting,” Lorina murmured. He caught her casting a covert glance at the stone she held in one hand, and wondered just what it was about it that so absorbed her.

“Recently, enormous floors of mosaics in courtyards and baths were discovered in a port near Rome.” He went on for a few more minutes, ostensibly lecturing to Lorina on everything he knew about mosaics, ending with a hope that much more of the Ainslie mosaic had survived the centuries.

“That was excellent, Gunner. Very well done. So insightful, and yet, brought down to the level of the common viewer,” Sue gushed, bustling over to the edge of the trench. She was about to jump down into the trench, now about a yard deep, but stopped when Paul Thompson cleared his throat meaningfully. “Oh, of course. Forgive me.”

“Hmm?” Lorina looked up, clearly distracted by the stone she held.

“What is it you have?” Gunner asked, despite his intention not to give in to her obvious attempt to intrigue him.

“A stone mouse.” She gave him a curious look, and handed him the stone.

“Shall we film my in-depth discussion of the mosaic now that Ainslie's general explanation is done?” Paul asked.

Sue looked disgruntled, and waved a vague hand toward the setting sun. “This late light isn't very good—”

“All the more reason to do it before any more time passes,” Paul said, brushing past Gunner in a way that sent him staggering forward. “Pardon.”

Gunner shot him a look, but hobbled forward to the edge of the trench and hoisted himself onto the grass, Lorina following with much more grace. Tabby and Matt
moved into position and began filming Paul when he went into a lengthy explanation about other famous mosaics discovered in England, and how this related to them.

“Mitto tibi navem prora puppique carentem,”
Gunner murmured, reading the inscription on the stone.

“Do you know Latin?” Lorina asked, moving in close and speaking in a low tone that wouldn't be picked up by the microphone.

He was distracted by her nearness for a few seconds. A floral scent that seemed to accompany her teased his nose, making him want to breathe in deeply. Wildflowers—that's what it reminded him of. The wildflowers encountered on a Greek hillside in summer. “I do, as a matter of fact. Do you?”

“No, I'm a French . . . er . . . I'm afraid not. French, yes, but not Latin. What does it mean? Is it something about the mouse?”

“No. It says ‘I send you a ship lacking a stern and bow.' Which, in case you didn't know, is a riddle by Cicero.”

Her frown grew as she took the stone from him. “Really? It's a riddle? What does it mean?”

“
Navem
is Latin for ‘ship.' If you remove the
n
and the
m
—the fore and aft letters—then you are left with
ave
, which is a common greeting. So in effect, the stone says hello.”

“How bizarre,” she said, rubbing her thumb along the edges, careful not to touch the painted surface. “Why the mouse?”

He shrugged. “No clue. Perhaps it's supposed to represent whoever painted the greeting. Why are you so interested in it? It's likely just a bit of a student's lesson. It's interesting, yes, but the subject matter isn't earth-shattering. The riddle is an old one, and well-known.”

She gave him another of those looks through her eyelashes, the one that did a good deal to melt the ice of his reserve toward her. “Because there are two other mouses. Mouse stones. Mice. Whatever, there are two more of them. And it's just kind of odd seeing a third one. I thought maybe it was—oh, I don't know—like a storybook or something. Did the Romans have such things?”

“Not painted on stones. They had graffiti, some of which were rude comments; others were signs and notices. But not stories, at least, not that I know of.” He thought for a moment. “Where were the other two stones found? If they were part of a wall, then it would definitely be graffiti.”

“One was in trench five, at the outer edge of the castle, one was in the trench at the temple in the grove where they found all the skeletons, and this one was in Daria's trench.”

“So scattered all over. Interesting,” Gunner said, getting to his feet. “Let's go see the stones.”

Lorina waited until he was settled on the scooter before asking, “Are you really interested in the mouse stones, or are you setting me up solely in order to be snotty to me?”

He stopped the scooter and stared at her. “Snotty! I am not snotty. I have never been snotty. I don't even know how to be snotty. Snarky, yes—snarky, I know—but snotty?” He gave a loud sniff. “I do not snot.”

“Oh, you know how to be snotty. Snotty is exactly how you've behaved to me during the last five days. Snotty is having your nose out of joint because a woman doesn't inflate your ego with comments about how nice your chest is, and how pretty your eyes are, and how your little bit of stubble is sexy as hell without looking like it would scratch like a hairbrush, as some men's beards do. So don't tell me you don't know snotty, because I've
been on the receiving end of it for the last five days, and frankly, I'm sick and tired of it. Just get over yourself already!”

He looked down at himself. “You like my chest?”

“No, of course I don't,” she said, striding ahead of him. She stopped and contradicted herself. “Just because you have all sorts of nice swoopy bits without looking like a bodybuilder, and your shoulders are broad without being obscene, and you have biceps and that little line of muscle on the back of your arms that says you work out, does not mean that I like your chest.” She jerked her chin in the air in a gesture of defiance.

He smiled. He couldn't help himself—she was just so damned adorable. Yes, she had lied to him, but perhaps she had a reason for it, something along the lines of an aged parent dying if she didn't play up to Thompson, or perhaps he held the mortgage to her grandmother's house, or maybe she was doing an undercover documentary on self-centered men? She could be keeping any one of those as a secret, but he would have to be dead not to realize that she was intrigued by him and not Thompson. And with that thought, the last of his resistance fizzled away. He upped the wattage in his smile, and added, “You should have stopped at the shoulders.”

She kept her nose pointed upward for the count of five, then sighed, and slumped dejectedly. “I know. It was too far, wasn't it?”

“The triceps muscle pushed it over the line,” he agreed.

“My mouth,” she said, shaking her head, and strolled forward toward a disused tack room that was serving as finds storage. “I just can't take it anywhere.”

“There are many responses I could make to that provocative statement, but I won't make any of them. I don't suppose you feel inclined to tell me why you pretend that you're not as interested in me as I am in you?”
he asked with a casualness that he didn't in the least bit feel.

“Interested in me? You hate me after what I did!” Lorina protested, her eyes wide with surprise and concern and something that melted him entirely.

“Far from it, I assure you, although I will admit that I was sufficiently annoyed to display a little coolness toward you.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but swallowed it back. “To be honest, I deserved your snottiness.”

“That is debatable, but lest we fall into a self-blaming circle, shall we release the bygones and focus on the here and now?”

“That would be nice.” Her smile seemed to warm him a good ten degrees.

“Since we are at a state of congeniality, perhaps you'd tell me why you insist on chasing Thompson when he clearly
doesn't
interest you at all?”

“Oh, he interests me,” she said grimly, pulling open the door to the tack room.

The air inside was thick and musty, heavy with the ghostly scent of generations of saddles that had been stored within, touched slightly by the odor of hay, mildew, and rodent droppings.

“He doesn't interest you in a romantic way. Nor a sexual way.” Gunner got off the scooter to enter the room with her. One naked bulb hung crookedly from the ceiling, its light both sickly and dim, casting down obnoxious yellow rays on the stacks of trays holding plastic bags of finds. Each bag had been carefully labeled with all pertinent information, as well as an identifying number. “Not in a way that makes your pupils dilate, like they do when you're talking about my chest and biceps. Can you reach that tray to the left? I don't suppose I should attempt a stepladder with one foot in a cast.”

“Stop noticing my eyes dilating; it's none of your business what they do around you, and for the record, I'm not responsible for their reaction to you. Your chest is nothing to me, nothing at all. Would you hold the ladder steady? It's a bit wobbly. Where was I? Oh, yes—my eyes lie. Ignore them. Can you take this tray? I'm not sure if the other two stones are in this one or the other one.”

He took the heavy plastic tray that she handed down, careful to keep one hand on the ladder so that she wouldn't fall. He couldn't help but admire the shapely derriere that waggled directly in front of him. “Eyes never lie. Would you drop something heavy on my head if I told you that you have a very nice bum?”

She looked down from where she was easing a second rack from the top of a tall metal shelving unit that had been set up to hold all the artifacts. “No, but only because the heavy objects here are priceless. But your comment is way over the politically correct line. Men aren't supposed to comment on women's behinds unless they are in a relationship, and then only in a positive fashion. Anything else is sexual harassment.”

“Do you feel sexually harassed?” he asked, releasing the ladder in order to set down the first tray. He accepted the second one she carefully slid toward him.

“Well . . . no. But that's beside the point.” She hopped down from the stepladder and knelt at one of the trays.

“I don't see how. I paid you a compliment. Yes, it was for your ass, but that is as much deserving of a compliment as any other part of your body. Would you tell me I was sexually harassing you if I told you that you have lovely eyes, or nice hair, or that your scent is distracting in the extreme?”

She reared back, her eyes almost shooting sparks of ire at him. “My scent?
My scent!
I do not stink! The
showers in the stable may not be very sophisticated, but I take one every day, and—”

“And now you're jumping to a conclusion,” he interrupted, taking a potsherd from her hand, since she seemed about ready to crush it in her fury. “I meant that in a positive manner as well. You have a very nice scent. Unusually nice. It reminds me of a summer I spent in Greece. It's very floral and seductive, but not overpowering like a perfume.”

She blinked a couple of times, then relaxed and actually gave him a shy little smile. “Oh. That's probably the botanical soap I use. A friend of mine is a Buddhist nun, and she makes soap and sells them to fund her causes. I had no idea anyone could smell it, though. I guess I'm used to it.”

“I approve of your choice of soap,” he said gravely, and plucked a plastic bag holding a small triangular piece of gray stone from the finds tray. “I believe this is one of the stones you are looking for. It appears to have part of a mouse in the corner.”

“Oh, is that the half-a-mouse stone? Let me see.”

He offered it to her.

“That's it. I looked, but I couldn't find the rest of the stone. Can you decipher the writing?”

He leaned over the stone, very aware of the warmth of the woman pressed against his arm. “It's not all here, but let me see what I can make out.
De terra nascor, sedes est semper
 . . . hmm.”

“Hmm?” She leaned down, blocking his view of the stone. Her hair brushed his cheek, causing him to breathe deeply of that wonderful flowery scent. “What hmm? What does it say? Does it mention who the mouse is?”

“I don't know. I can't see the rest because your head is in the way.”

“Oh, sorry.” She jerked back and gave him another little smile, but this one he felt down to the tips of his toenails. “Translate away.”

“Well, this part says more or less, ‘born of earth, my place is still . . . something . . .” He frowned at the faded paint. Part of it had been chipped away, and the rest of the inscription had not fared as well as the previous stone. “This part says something about ‘being covered with dew,' but ‘am soon dry.'” He winced, and stood upright, flexing his leg as he did so.

“Are you hurting?” Lorina watched him with obvious sympathy. “You shouldn't be on your feet.”

“It's fine if I stand, but crouching like that hurts. Let's take the trays outside. We can sit more comfortably, and the light is better.”

“We don't need to take the trays—we can just find the other stone.”

“But then we wouldn't know for certain that there weren't other puzzle pieces. I'd like to search through the finds from those trenches for myself.” He hefted one of the trays and, with a cane in the other hand, thumped his way out of the tack room to the dining area, now occupied by only a few diggers who were loitering over their beers.