sandals, metal armour around their bodies, and helmets gleaming in the sun.
Each man carried a heavy six-foot spear and an oblong shield, and the officer's helmet was crowned with a short plume of horsehair.
Karen dropped to the ground among the furze bushes and tried to figure out what they could be. She could have sworn that they were Romans, exactly like the ones pictured in 'Roman Britain' which she read in school last term, but the idea was so impossible that she tried to dismiss it. How could there be Romans in this day and age? Unless... unless the mirror had taken her back-about two thousand years. But that was preposterous. Perhaps the men were just part of some sort of advertising gimmick. Still, that didn't explain the disappearance of the castle. Maybe the men would explain that to her. She'd ask them.
She stood up and faced them resolutely, waiting for them to come level with her.
The officer saw her first.
'Halt!' he bellowed, and beckoned imperiously to Karen. 'Come here!'
Karen stood before him, feeling rather foolish in her shorts and striped T-shirt. What if they really were Romans? And if they were, how on earth had she been able to understand what he said?
'Who are you and what are you doing here?' asked the officer, in a tone which implied that he wanted a prompt and businesslike answer.
'N-nothing,' said Karen, trying to think what to say. 'Only taking a walk.’
Golly! she thought. I think they must be real Romans. She wondered with a growing sense of panic how she could explain that she was from the twentieth century. The man stared at her suspiciously from under thick black brows. 'Only taking a walk, are you? Where are you from?'
Karen shut her mouth defiantly. 'I won't tell you!' This was the easiest way of getting out of it.
'Oh? And why not? You wouldn't be a runaway slave, would you? If you were, you'd not tell me, naturally. But there are ways and means.'
Karen's eyes widened. 'I'm not, really! I swear it!’
'Then you'll be a sensible girl and tell me where you live!' he snapped. 'And if you can't, you'll be coming back to the fort with me.'
Karen still said nothing; she could think of nothing. The silence became more and more unbearable, until mercifully one of the soldiers spoke.
'Excuse me, sir-there was a trading-ship called in not half an hour ago. She's probably given them the slip and walked off, if you ask me- the cheeky little-'
'That's enough, Calvus' The officer turned to Karen. 'Well? Is he right or isn't he? I'm inclined to believe him myself. You know what happens to runaway slaves? You could be crucified.'
She stared in horror, eyes beginning to swim with tears of desperation. 'But I'm not a slave!'
'Now don't start that again; I'm not a fool. However, I'm a kind man- when I want to be. Officially you're the property of the state, but I can soon fix that with the commander. You'll come and live with me in the fort!'
Karen, almost struck dumb, opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it and turned to run. She had only gone a few steps when something hurled her to the ground with an agonizing thud. One of the soldiers had thrown his spear, shaft first, in such a way as to knock her down but cause her no injury, beyond a bruise. The officer ran after her and jerked her roughly to her feet.
'You ought to be grateful,' he shouted. 'I could hand you over to the authorities. You'd not get off lightly then, you know. Now, come on with you. Quick march, men!'
Karen tried to hang back, and nearly asked if she could look for the mirror, but then decided not to. She probably wouldn't be allowed, and anyway, she thought bitterly, what was the use? She was in a big enough mess as it was, without looking into the rotten thing again and landing somewhere in the Ice Age!
In the fort the decurion, Duillius Rufus, had a very comfortable couple of rooms which he shared with another man of the same rank, Veturius Grassus. Veturius had an old male slave to serve him, but Duillius's servant had died recently so he was glad of Karen. When they arrived at the fort he left her in the charge of the old slave, and told him to get her what he called 'some proper clothes.'
The man eyed her disapprovingly. 'You are dressed oddly,' he said, pursing his lips, 'Who are you, anyway?'
Karen sighed 'You wouldn't believe me if I told you. But my name's Karen; what’s yours?'
The man said he was called Davus, if it meant anything to her, and then stumped off in the direction of the buildings, telling her to follow.
He went around the back of the barracks-house, and Karen looked about with interest. So this was a real Roman fort! She had once gone round the ruins of one, on a dreary school-organized tour, but the real thing was far more interesting.
It was neatly and geometrically divided into square blocks, and the larger buildings were made of the local grey stone. The roofs were tiled in the Roman manner, looking like corrugated brick. The biggest building was the granary; it was made without windows, but Davus said that the floor was supported on stone piles, to let air in to ventilate the corn. Apparently this was also the place where the soldiers arranged to meet their girls.
Suddenly a thought struck Karen. If these people really were Romans, then they must be speaking Latin, yet she understood them perfectly, and the odd thing was that she heard them as though they were speaking English. She felt that she couldn't very well ask Davus outright about this; she didn't want to be thought insane. The Romans used to send mad slaves to the salt-mines, or so she'd heard. She silently worked out how to phrase her question.
'When did you learn to speak Latin, Davus? You're not a Roman, are you?'
Davus shook his head. 'I'm a Greek,' he said, and the words were slightly blurred. 'Don't ask me where I learned this accursed language. Everyone learns it now- it's the language of the conqueror.'
Karen realized that she had reminded him of his slavery, and tried to undo it. 'I'm sorry, Davus. I didn't mean to make you remember.' He looked round and smiled vaguely. 'It doesn't matter now. I'm an old man- fifty, sixty, I don't really know. In here.'
He dived into a low doorway and hurried along a passage thick with the smell of cooking. The air hung heavy, and Karen was glad when they came out in a spacious kitchen lighted by a row of windows near the ceiling.
A huge fire was roaring in the hearth, and a whole ox's body rotated slowly on a spit, turned by a sweating slave-boy. A small, thin woman with iron-grey hair was chopping vegetables and when she saw Davus she smiled and stopped her work.
"Well, now,' she said in a bright, chirpy voice, 'What can I do for you, eh?' She cocked her head on one side; she was like a little bird with bright eyes.
'This young lady wants some clothes, Cordella,' explained Davus.
'This is a girl?' Cordella inspected Karen more closely. 'I took you for a boy!' My dear, where did you get those extraordinary garments?' She gave Karen no time to explain, but went on. 'They're indecent! Come with me.' She led off down another passageway- the whole building was a maze of passages, Karen soon noticed- and into a square room with a bed in the corner and a few smaller articles of furniture. Opening a large brass-bound chest, she rummaged around inside, and extracted a dress of brownish woollen material.
'Try this for size,' she ordered, and Karen removed her shorts and shirt, and dropped the dress over her head. Cordella shook hers. 'Extraordinary underclothes!' she muttered. 'You're an odd child altogether, I swear.' Karen reddened slightly and tied the belt; at last something pleased Cordella, for she smiled and nodded.
Karen asked whether there was a mirror anywhere. Cordella produced one and held it up at the far end of the room so that Karen could see most of herself in it. She had to admit that she looked very nice. The rather dullish brown set off her dark brown hair, and the simple lines of the dress suited her. The length was right too: just down to the knee.
'By the way,' remarked Cordella on the way back to the kitchens, 'I suppose you are a slave?'
Karen decided that she might as well say ye
s and not start an explanation that would only make matters worse. 'I'm the new slave of the decurion.'
'Which one, dear?'
'Er ... Duillius Rufus.'
'Oh yes? He's not a bad man, but if I were you, dearie, I'd do my work well. He's very particular. That's a piece of good advice for you.'
Karen thanked her.
'Oh, and there's another thing,' Cordella went on. 'You needn't worry about anything else; that man's got no use for girls except as house-cleaners. With most of the legionaries it's another matter- lawless disreputable thugs with no respect for anyone but their officers, let alone a girl. So I've warned you, if you needed it.'
Karen nodded dumbly. It's all real, she thought. They're real Romans in a real fort, really speaking Latin, and I've gone and got myself back amongst them as a slave, and who knows what'll happen to me? I wish it were all a dream. I wonder why it sounds like English when they speak. Still, it's as well it does, because I was never much good at Latin. What year can it be? I must find out if Rome's an empire now.'
'Who's emperor now?' she asked Davus when they were walking back along the main street. She'd look a fool if it was still a Republic, but when she thought back Britain hadn't been Romanized till after the last dictator, Julius Caesar, so they were bound to have an emperor.
Davus stared, his grey brows raised incredulously. 'Where have you been, not to know that?' he said, and Karen felt a country bumpkin.