THE BOOT

PART TWO:

He'd been there for several minutes beside the portal, recovering from a passing dizziness that had left him wondering if he'd been injured in battle. The last he could remember, he was still mounted, riding down the steep slope, calling out, "Stay with me!" Then suddenly...this. He'd almost felt sucked out of himself in some strange, unexplainable way, that had hurled him, twisting, falling. Had his horse lost its footing? The hill was steep, really too steep for a safe cavalry charge, yet he had ordered it. A surprise attack, coming from behind the barbarians, was the most effective means of ending the battle swiftly. Fewer of his men would die. It was a choice he felt comfortable with.

But if he had been thrown from his horse, he'd managed to land on his feet. That in itself puzzled him greatly. When his head had cleared, he'd seen the great doorway, seen the sea. Nothing made sense. When it became evident that no one else was anywhere near, he'd walked down the slope toward the water, pausing just out of sight of the doorway, his eyes scanning for a ship, for any sign of life at all. The sea was a deep blue of the sort he'd known back when he was a young centurion and had been sent to the garrison of the Antonia Fortress in Jerusalem. He'd not seen such a sea since. But he was a soldier, not a sailor, and after a while turned his attention back to the land, turned his steps back up the hill toward the doorway. Perhaps there he could discover some clue as to what in the name of all the gods was happening.

As he neared the strange stone structure again, he was surprised to see a woman seated on a stone just off to its right. Her face was buried in her hands as though she mourned something or was possibly in pain. He walked to within a few steps of her and spoke, asking if she were injured. She made no move to respond and at his second query began to topple sideways off the block. He sprang quickly forward, barely managing to catch her before her head hit the smaller stone beside her seat.

"My lady?" But her eyes were closed and she lay limp in his arms. He sat on the block, cradling her across his lap, unsure just what to do. His eyes passed down her form, looking for visible wounds, and finding none, studied her attire. She was clothed strangely, indeed, especially in that, though female, she wore pants. He let his palm run lightly down her thigh, curious about the odd blue cloth from which the tightly-fitted pants were made. Her shirt was less strange, made of a thin white cotton, with long, full sleeves gathered at the wrists, and a simple slit down the front with white lacings. But it was her feet that made him narrow his eyes and look a second time. Her right foot was encased in a truly odd white shoe while upon her left she wore a boot remarkably like his own. He held up his left foot, looking back and forth between it and the woman's. His was in much better condition, hers bearing many, many scuffs and with its heel dangerously loose. But it was, nonetheless, a Roman boot she wore and a military one at that.

Her head rested in the crook of his left arm and he began to study her face. She was not of Mediterranean origin. He could tell that from her coloring. She more resembled the women he'd seen in the northern lands. It was very possible, then, that she was not a citizen of Rome. But why the boot? Why was she here? And was she ill? With the back of the fingers of his right hand he touched her forehead, then her cheek. No fever. He wished he had some water to bathe her face and help her to wakefulness, but all he'd found in the area was the sea itself, and that was salt and far down the slope.

He shifted his position, rearranging her in his lap, and then letting his gaze settle again on the sea. She had been by the doorway as he had. Was she somehow connected with it? Would she know how he had come to be there? Perhaps there were some temple just over the next hill and she was a priestess from it? But, no, she surely did not look like any priestess he'd ever seen, especially not dressed as she was. But, then, this place was entirely strange. How could he know how its caretakers might or might not appear? Some sort of magic must have been worked on him. There was no rational explanation for how or why he was here. He was not much of a believer in the magic arts, being a practical man. A soldier had more pressing things to tend to than what might be practiced behind the curtains of temple sanctuaries.

Her left arm hung limply off his lap and he reached with his right hand to bring it more comfortably up and again found his eyes fastened upon something strange. Around her wrist was a gold band with an oval object centered on her arm. There was numbering on it and three
slender pointers attached in its middle. One of them was moving. In little tiny jerks it made its way around and around the oval, passing by each of the numbers in turn, then around again. He watched it for some time, trying to figure out what propelled the slenderest of the pointers,
what its purpose might be.

Finally she stirred in his arms, moving her cheek against his chest. In pure instinct of protectiveness, he pulled his cape around and over her body, cocooning her. Hadn't he left his cape with his aide just before the charge began? No matter. His face was bent low over hers as her lids fluttered open. Blue eyes stared blankly up into his green ones, totally uncomprehending
in their expression. Then something changed in them, recognition flared, the smallest of moans escaped her lips, and she went limp again.

He pressed his lips together. He had frightened her. She had awakened and somehow his presence had frightened her. He realized he still had his helmet on. Perhaps that had made his face seem threatening. He reached up with his right hand and removed it, laying it on the smaller block beside the one where he sat. He had not even gotten to speak with her, to ask what she knew of the doorway. He stood and carried her to a large patch of tall grasses some 20 feet away, setting her carefully down. Straightening, he unclasped his cape, spread it out, then moved her on top it. Surely there must be some pool of water, some spring somewhere about?

He went back, picked up his helmet in case he found some, then set off for a quick search of the area.

Waking, she lay with her eyes closed. She must've slipped on the kitchen tiles, that was it, and

hit her head. She was lying down. That made a lot more sense than thinking she'd fallen yet was still standing. Her fingers curled beside her, touching softness. Bed? Was she in bed? A hospital bed? Her eyes flew open, looking straight up at the arch of blue, blue sky. Oh, no! She was outside. She recognized this sky. It had been the sky over that weird doorway thing she'd imagined. There'd been something else, too...later...something else, someone else. Oh, yeah...him. Well, if you were going to hit your head and imagine things, that was a damn fine thing to imagine!  She chuckled, remembering his face so close to hers. Damn fine! Then the paramedics must've taken her away. Maybe the sky was there because she was on a stretcher being taken to an ambulance? Her head didn't hurt, though. Not like she figured it would if she'd hit it hard enough to knock her out. She lifted her right hand, touching her brow. No, she felt fine. She let her hand fall next to her cheek. What was that? Fur? It felt like fur. She turned her head, her cheek turning into soft greyness. God, it was fur!

She sat quickly up, her eyes wide, scanning all around herself. Deep rusty red wool spread out beneath her with a wide fur drape where her head had been. She recognized it instantly and her eyes flew to her foot.  The boot...his boot.  It was still there.  She not only had his boot but somehow now she'd acquired his cape? No way. The cape would sell for way more than she could ever, ever afford. But she reached out, running her hand through the drape, digging her fingers deep into it.

It was spread on the grass. Who would do such a thing, would leave the cape, his cape, lying in the grass? Her head jerked around and she stared intently back at the doorway, brow knitting.

ON TO PART 3

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