Laughing Wolf (21 page)

After walking for a couple of hours, they stumbled on Paestum; one moment they were climbing a hill, the next they were advancing on the town's central gate. Towering over the
vicus
were three handsome temples — dedicated to Neptune, Hera, and Ceres. Felix was too distracted to give them more than a glance: deployed outside the walls were crowds of Roman troops. At their centre was a figure in a blood-red cloak.

“Is that who I think it is?” Felix asked.

“It is,” Carolyn answered, using her retinal enhancements.

“Maybe he won't see us. Just keep walking and don't look his way.”

“Here we are, Paestum,” the lead soldier cried, conducting them to the start of a gate whose arch was about to swallow them whole — and so deliver them from Pompey's notice. “Where do your friends live?”

“They're near the temple compound. In fact …”

Felix was nervous and not watching his step. He tripped against a flagstone and knocked into Carolyn, who in turn struck a soldier whose spear tripped his neighbour and caused him to fall with an ear-splitting clatter. Laughing heartily, the soldiers helped their mate to his feet. They were just about to continue forward, when a thunderous voice brought them to a halt.

“Well, well,” Pompey cried, approaching on his charger. “So the gods do indeed bring villains to justice. That's why they tripped you and brought you to my notice.”

“
Imperator
,” the lead soldier spoke, “we are conducting these citizens into Paestum for their safety.…”

“At ease, centurion.” Pompey laughed. “How could you have known these two ‘Romans' are spies when they duped even me and my senator friends? But their lies have ensnared them. They will join Spartacus in hell and send him my fond greetings. Execute them instantly. That will teach them to challenge the authority of Rome, and to betray a host who showed them only kindness.”

Pompey's words transformed the soldiers. A moment before they'd been the pair's protectors; suddenly they were rough-handling Felix and pinning his arms and drawing their swords. They were gripping Carolyn, too, who'd been caught off guard and was utterly helpless. The flashing sun against their swords was blinding Felix. Within seconds these men would slit his throat and with that gesture the human race would end.

Unless …

“
Imperator
,” he yelled, as Pompey was wheeling about on his horse. A blade was poised two inches from his throat. “How is your wife Julia?”

“What's this?” Pompey asked, stopping abruptly. “I have no wife Julia. You are mistaken, boy.”

“I'm not speaking of the present,” Felix gasped. “I'm referring to your future bride, the daughter of Gaius Julius Caesar.”

“Are you mad?” Pompey cried, riding back to him and staying the lead soldier's hand. “What's this rubbish you're spouting?”

“I suppose it is rubbish,” Felix continued. “As is the fact that you'll be chosen consul next year, together with Marcus Licinius Crassus. And then there's your fight against Mithridates.…”

“This is insanity! Lucullus leads our armies against him.…”

“But you will end the war in the east, just as you will personally defeat the pirates, when the
lex Gabinia
grants you
imperium
.”

“I … this is preposterous … let them go!” he yelled at his men. They were only too glad to obey — they didn't like the idea of killing a Druid. As Felix caught his breath and straightened his clothes, Pompey eyed him with loathing and … fear.

“Who are you that you dare tell my future? Speak quickly boy, before I have you crucified.”

“I'm tired of this talk of death,” Felix growled, in a voice that matched Pompey's bullying tone. “As I told you, we are Druids. The gods readily grant us a vision of the future.”

“Boy, you try my patience!”

“Mind how you address a
vates
,
imperator
!”

“You! A prophet?” Pompey sneered. “Why should I believe you?”

“We can prove it.” Felix shrugged. “Lead us to a temple and the gods will manifest their love for us. If they refuse, your soldiers may do as you command. But be warned,
imperator
: any man who harms a priest forfeits blessings from above.”

He and Pompey exchanged stares with each other. Normally there wasn't a man alive who could endure the glance of Rome's leading general; Felix returned his gaze, however, and even caused Pompey to lower his eyes.

“We go to Neptune's precinct,” he announced. “But if your claim proves false.…”

This threat was left hanging as Pompey dismounted his horse. Without speaking further, he strode through the gate, motioning to his troops to follow. Immediately past the arch was an open space with twin temples standing side by side. Crossing an expanse of polished marble, the troops kept a gap between themselves and Felix, not wanting to jostle him if he was a true prophet.

The pair reached the temple steps and climbed to the top. When Pompey wished to follow suit, Felix warned him in a sombre tone that no mortal could follow where they were going. He also offered the general a piece of advice.

“Your future, as well as Rome's, is both difficult and glorious. But nothing lasts forever and the power that will end your empire will not be swords or spears or catapults or fire, but the Roman appetite for blood and wrongdoing. Where kindness is forgotten, decay soon sets in. And now for that proof that we are agents of heaven.
Vale, dux,
and may you know only blessings.”

He crossed the stylobate, with Carolyn in tow. Walking past a single row of columns, they drew near the
cella
and opened its door. As Pompey's men cried the
cella
was off limits, they passed into the darkened space where a statue of the god Neptune beckoned. Before approaching this statue and entering the portal, Felix hurried to a distant corner, took out Spartacus's ring and crouched down on his hands and knees. Feeling out a crack between two pavement stones, he shoved the ring inside it and pushed it down several inches. He filled this crack with dirt and pebbles then hurried back to Carolyn's side. Without exchanging a word, they stepped forward together.

There was the slightest breath of wind as time received them in its embrace.

The usual tunnel of light opened up and again their limbs were impossibly distorted. Although his eyeballs were like two strings of putty, he could just make several details out. The first was a patch of shadow in the distance where the gleaming console from the TPM was visible. Carolyn was moving toward this goal and about to regain her place in the future. But even as this opening pulled him, a second “patch” revealed itself and disclosed a scene that was even more familiar.

It had worked, Felix thought in triumph to himself. When he'd punched a second set of numbers into the flight log, mere minutes before their second trip to the past, he hadn't been sure this time and setting would appear, but there it was in front of him. With an ease that came as a pleasant surprise, he was able to steer his limbs to the “patch” and gaze into the scene it disclosed.

It was even better than he'd hoped.

He was staring into the garden at home. Nothing had changed since he had seen it last, the vegetation, the statues, the projection of tranquility. And over there — Felix experienced a thrill — his father was dozing beneath an apple tree and a crow was calling to him. On the staircase at the far side of the garden, he could see himself standing and watching his father, his face twisted with fury at the crow's mocking laughter. It was all as he remembered it to be, that afternoon before his father fell ill. How strange the universe was, that time could be looped on itself like a length of common string!

But he had to hurry if he was going to set things right. Concentrating hard, he fumbled with his toga and worked a flower from inside its woollen folds. He then thrust his arm forward into this realm, even as he called to his father.

“Dad! You have to listen! Dad! Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” his father answered in a dream-like tone. “What is it?”

“I know this sounds strange but it's very important. When you awaken, you'll find a flower at your feet.…”

“What's that raucous sound?”

“It's a crow, that's all. When you see the flower, you must hide it in your pocket.”

“Hide the flower,” his father murmured.

“That's right. But don't touch it until you end up in a Medevac. At that stage you must eat it, stalk and all. Do you understand?”

“Is this a joke?”

“No. Please. I know it's crazy, but do as I say. And you can't discuss this when you go inside. I mean, you can't say a word to me. Not a word. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

“Otherwise … we'll lose you.”

“You have my word.”

Felix was going to add something further, but the tunnel he was in was starting to shimmer and he didn't want to press his luck. Retracting his arm, he steered himself down the glowing tunnel and headed toward the TPM. Carolyn could be seen and her limbs were normal, an indication that she was safe. But what the …? The patch was contracting. Like a match whose flame is sputtering out, the door to the future was growing dimmer and dimmer.

He focused hard and pushed himself. Would he make it? He wouldn't make it. The patch was shrinking faster and flashing at its edges. It was four metres wide, three, two, one … it was fading, it was shadowy, it was the barest of outlines.

An arm appeared — it looked like a spaghetti noodle — and grabbed his toga and pulled with frantic strength. With a thousand eras shrieking all around him, he felt himself fly an inestimable distance until he crashed against some tiles like a sack of potatoes.…

Four pairs of eyes stared down at him.

“I was wrong,” General Manes spoke. “That toga doesn't suit you.”

Chapter Nineteen

T
he shuttle was drifting over downtown Toronto; its buildings looked spectacular in the early morning light. Although they were tiny at that distance, pedestrians were visible in the city's streets and were strolling about in sizeable numbers. Lake Ontario was sparkling in the distance and everything looked fresh and filled with potential, as if the world had been created that very dawn.

Only yesterday President Gupta had announced, from the Assembly Hall in the World Federation Center, that the virus had been comprehensively defeated. After praising the globe's population for its courage in adversity, he had added, to tumultuous applause, that citizens could circulate and travel at will. Dispersion Portals had been opened and shuttle service had resumed.

These changes hadn't happened overnight. The delivery of the
lupus ridens
had been the first of many steps. Biologists had studied its genetic structure and gradually determined its chemical “ingredients.” A sample vaccine had been mixed together and tested on a group of simulated patients. When these had proven one hundred percent successful, the cure had been tested on genuine humans, and, given the positive results, had triggered the synthesis of vaccine on a massive scale. Within three weeks of receiving a dose of
lupus ridens
, patients had experienced a reversal of their symptoms and been fit enough to leave the Wellness Centres. Although the world wasn't back to normal yet, the streets were full of people, vehicles were running, shops were open, and, all in all, civilization had been saved.

“You're in a good mood,” Stephen Gowan observed, from a pod across the aisle from Felix. He was thinner, his eyes were sunken, and his skin was faintly pock-marked; his swagger was intact, however, as was his condescension.

“Who isn't feeling cheerful? We survived the virus.”

“I knew we would find a cure,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “It was touch and go for a while, but science saved us as it always does. What book is that?” His tone was openly rude and dismissive.

“I'm reading the
Aeneid
still. I almost have it memorized.”

“Despite the crisis you're still continuing with your studies?”

“Of course. Why wouldn't I?”

“I would have thought the threat of death would make you want to be useful. I myself will take chemistry more seriously in future. But I suppose people like you are stuck in a rut.”

Felix considered Stephen. He was tempted to tell this arrogant buffoon exactly what he'd accomplished with his language skills. His words would have been a waste of breath, however, and at the same time landed him in serious trouble. After expressing heartfelt thanks, General Manes had reminded him to keep the facts to himself, to the extent that he couldn't even tell his parents. “No one can know about the TPM,” he'd insisted. “And I mean no one.” Still, his silence was a small price to pay for the plague's disappearance.

His thoughts were interrupted when a call came through on his Teledata screen. It had been a week since his father's release, and three days since his mother's return from off-world, but he still couldn't believe his family was together. To see his parents on the screen like that, grinning and energetic and full of life, filled him with indescribable joy. He remembered the sight of his dad on the lawn, and his mother's message that her supplies had failed. How strange to think that their salvation, as well as the well-being of every human on the planet, had depended on an ungainly flower.

“You're off early!” his mother said. “You left before breakfast.”

“I have something to do.”

“Will you be in time for your lesson?” his father asked.

“Are you up to it? You're supposed to take it easy.”

“I'll take it easy by reading the historian Tacitus with you.”

“Leave time for me,” his mother broke in. “I'm hoping we can spend a week by the sea. It will help us recover from the recent ordeal.”