They suspect an ambush.
‘Well, I’m not going to ambush them, unless they get nasty,’ Polly replied out loud.
The men gazed at her in puzzlement as she finished the last piece of pie crust.
‘Quis’s, pro Ditem?’ asked the legionary now closest to her—a brutal-looking man whose clean-shaven skin only revealed more clearly an ugly scar across his face.
‘I haven’t the slightest idea what you said just then,’ said Polly, standing up and sliding her hand into her pocket to grip the comforting weight of the automatic.
He said, ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘You can understand what they’re saying?’
Just about. In here Muse has dictionaries for about a hundred languages. By simultaneously accessing all European languages, I can get a rough translation, as many of them have Latin as their root.
‘Fugite,’ said the mounted officer, urging his horse forward. The men parted to let him through. He dismounted and tossed the reins to scarface. ‘Qua loqueris? Certe nil horum barbarorum.’
‘Sorry, I’m just an ignorant savage and don’t understand what you’re saying.’
I think he just said you don’t sound like an ignorant savage.
‘What’s he saying now?’ Polly asked. The officer had turned to scarface.
He’s pointing out that you are talking in your strange tongue to someone apparently unseen, so you are either fifty men short of a cohort or touched by the gods. I suggest you continue talking to me out loud, so that they may retain that opinion of you and not think to satisfy their curiosity by means of the numerous sharp objects they seem to favour.
‘A cohort is one tenth of a legion, and usually consists of between three and six hundred men,’ said Polly, shivering.
Yes. So what?
‘That’s something I never knew before. So how do I know it now?’
You haven’t figured that out?
‘Apparently not.’
When I put Muse 184 onto you, it immediately established a nanonic linkage through to your spine and up into your head, where it has since been making numerous connections—an example of this being that you no longer really need the inducer in your earlobe to hear me. Its library — and something of me too — have been bleeding over into your mind ever since. You didn’t notice it at first because the heroin abuse kept you on the edge of moronic most of the time. Then the scale cleaned out your system and ever since you’ve been growing continually more knowledgeable. Besides that, Muse has also been upgrading your linguistic ability in English, so that you would become more able to communicate with it coherently.
The Roman commander turned and gestured towards the encampment. Scarface reached out to take hold of Polly’s arm, but desisted when the commander spat another order at him. Looking round, Polly saw awe in the faces of the soldiers, and something like fear.
‘But I’m talking like I’ve always talked,’ argued Polly.
Another soldier now moved in beside her, while the commander remounted. Scarface gestured towards her food bag. She handed it over and he peered inside, wrinkled his nose at its contents, then tossed it to the other man to carry. Whatever happened now, Polly was determined not to hand over any of her weapons. But Scarface baulked at the prospect of searching her further, after nervously eyeing her clothing. Perhaps he thought she might put a curse on him, or perhaps he thought she had fleas. After a moment he ushered her on ahead of him.
Polly returned to her exchange with Nandru. ‘Can you control my upgrading? Can you… teach me things?’
Not at present. The Muse element of myself follows a program originally designed to supply necessary information during battle. It operates mainly when you are under stress, and opens sections of its library to certain connections in your brain only when specific types and quantities of neurochemicals are present. Believe me, it’s complicated enough in here—I don’t want to interfere recklessly and end up lobotomizing you.
The smell of burning pine wood and burning flesh became stronger now. Perversely, the aromas caused her further pangs of hunger. The pyres were burning low and the legionaries beginning to march back to their tented city beyond. But a grey-haired old man wearing elaborately chased armour awaited Polly and her escort. This personage was obviously someone most important, for a gilded litter with bearers in attendance awaited his pleasure, and a cohort of men in splendid armour stood by. As they drew closer, the mounted commander hissed warningly to Scarface.
Well, you certainly seem to be receiving the grand tour.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
The old fellow waiting there is the Emperor Claudius no less. I’d advise you to take your cue from others in showing due signs of respect. The Romans weren’t exactly distinguished for their record on human rights.
Finally they reached the Emperor’s presence and, though bows and salutes were exchanged, she noticed there was no outright grovelling. Polly remained standing meekly where she was while the commander dismounted and explained the situation with numerous gestures and puzzled frowns. At an imperial signal, two of the Emperor’s personal guard approached her. Both possessed a polished Teutonic look: one of them as slim as a whippet, while the other appeared capable of crushing walnuts with his eyelids. They had no reservations about laying hands on her and half carried her before their master to thrust her down on her knees before him.
‘All right, no need to get tetchy!’ she protested.
Walnut eyes seemed about to strike her, but desisted when Claudius raised a finger. He then crooked the same finger at her.
‘Surge.’
‘What did he say?’
I think you can stand up now without getting thumped.
Polly stood and waited in silence. The guards stepped back a little way as the Emperor folded his hands behind his back and limped one circuit around her. Stopping in front of her again, he reached out and felt the fabric of her greatcoat, touched each of its brass buttons in turn, then stared at her boots. After a moment he gave voice to some drawn-out utterance, stammering his words, and smearing his chin with spittle.
‘What was that?’
I’m not entirely sure. Translation is difficult enough for me with clearly spoken Latin. I think he wants you to take off your coat, but maybe it would be better if you pretended not to understand too much.
She addressed the Emperor, ‘Sorry, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. You see, I’m a time traveller, and your language died out quite some time before I was born. I’d like to oblige you, but no way are you getting your mits on my gun.’
The Emperor tilted his head, listening to her closely and frowning in puzzlement as he wiped the spittle from his chin. In a circular gesture he indicated her coat, then putting his hands together, parted them and moved them each to one side, clearly indicating that she should remove it. Polly considered pretending further that she didn’t understand, but walnut crusher was staring at her with alarming hostility. She slowly undid the buttons then opened wide her coat. The Emperor’s puzzlement increased when he saw what she wore underneath. He again made that removing gesture. When she did nothing, he flashed irritation and pointed at her hip bag.
‘I guess I’m going to have to act now before they strip me of everything. You said they might be thinking I’m touched by the gods?’
Be very careful, Polly. I would hate to lose you now—what with all you mean to me.
Polly grinned at the Emperor, pointed up to the sky, then held out her hands in some strange gesture of welcome. She then reached into her hip bag, removed the taser, turned quickly to one side and fired at the walnut crusher. The result couldn’t have been any more spectacular. He went up on his toes, with small lightning flashes zipping around his inlaid breastplate, then down flat on his back like a falling log. Weapons were drawn all around, the soldiers shouting and moving in. The whippet had his sword poised to stab her, and looked terrified. Calmly putting the taser back in her bag, Polly surveyed them all in her most queenly manner, then returned her attention to Claudius, going down on one knee before him and bowing her head.