Wayne lay on the ground in the German village in the drizzle. The previous night, he had been grabbed by the villagers amid a great deal of shouting and arguing and roughly dragged back to the middle of the village. In the midst of all the yelling, he had only made out two words. One tall, hulking young man was named “Arminius” and seemed to be in charge. He called out to a slender, wiry young man named “Julius” and then walked away from the crowd of villagers around Wayne, uninterested.

When they had realized that Wayne could not understand any of what they were saying, Julius yanked his arms around a tree trunk, then lashed his wrists together with rawhide thongs. Leaving him out in the rain and cold, the villagers had gone to bed in their huts.

The village dogs barked at Wayne and sniffed around him at first, but soon lost interest. He had not slept, exactly, but he had dozed from exhaustion even as he shivered. The next morning, in the early dawn light, he discovered that he had been lashed to a tree trunk next to the village refuse heap. Only the cold kept down the smell of rotting waste.

Most of the villagers had ignored him as they went about their morning routine. Julius and a few of the other warriors had given him a curious glance, but no more. Some of the children had poked him with sticks to see what he would do, but they, too, had lost interest when he had just stared at them.

Afterward Wayne had spent most of the day quietly straining at the leather thongs. He had quickly noticed that the untanned leather binding his wrists was absorbing the steady drizzle that was falling. When he pulled, no matter how much it hurt his wrists, the thongs stretched slightly. The more they stretched, the thinner they became, and he gently rubbed them against the rough tree trunk in a sawing motion. The rawhide thongs were much weaker than finished leather.

He had given up any hope of escaping the village by running away. All he wanted to do was reach the control unit on his belt. To survive, he would have to risk going back to Room F-12 in his own time.

As the gray, overcast day slowly darkened into evening, Jane sat primly on a rough wooden bench in the governor’s tent. With an amused smirk, Steve was standing attentively behind her against the wall of the tent. Demetrius, the governor’s elderly personal Greek slave, who had served dinner, stood behind the governor and Steve had decided to imitate him.

Governor Publius Quinctilius Varus was hosting her as the guest of Marcus, his aide. The other Roman officers were eating in a separate tent. Steve, as Jane’s personal slave, was expected to remain in her company.

“You were very fortunate to find us,” said Governor Varus. He was in his early thirties, with short brown hair. His heavy woolen tunic looked very warm and comfortable. “These barbarians would not know how to behave with a lost lady from Gaul.”

Jane smiled politely and picked daintily at the piece of roasted fowl in front of her. It smelled very good, and lay on an engraved gold plate, but she was so tense that her appetite was gone. She was anxious not to say anything that would ruin their masquerade.

“Oh, you need not be too fearful,” said Governor Varus. “They know their place. The power of my great-uncle has been made clear to them often enough.” He smiled confidently and raised his engraved golden goblet of wine.

“Your great-uncle?”

“The governor is married to the grandniece of Caesar Augustus,” said Marcus.

“Oh. Um, congratulations.” Jane felt her face grow hot, wondering if she should have known that already.

“He is a fine man,” said Governor Varus. “His confidence in appointing me was a great honor.” He frowned at Jane’s plate. “Is the dinner not to your liking?”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I’m, uh, just talking too much.” She picked up a piece of meat and bit into it.

“Tomorrow I shall see that you are reunited with your party,” said Governor Varus. “After all, I cannot have you wandering about unescorted in these rugged mountains.”

“Thank you,” said Jane. She wished that Steve would join the conversation, but she did not know exactly what the etiquette was concerning slaves. Earlier in the afternoon, Marcus had made small talk with her over mulled wine and she had been comfortable with him. Still, she remembered how their historian on the Jamaican mission, Rita, had caused a great deal of trouble by befriending a young buccaneer.

“She is also searching for a lost friend,” said Marcus. “I told her that I knew of no one of his description.”

“Oh? And who is your friend?” Governor Varus gestured slightly with one hand, and Demetrius stepped forward with a pitcher to refill his goblet.

“Well, he, um…”

“May I?” Steve asked quietly over her shoulder. “Oh, yes. Please explain.”

“He is called MC 3,” said Steve, with more courtesy in his voice than Jane had ever heard before.

“Eh?” Governor Varus laughed and looked up at Steve. “What kind of a name is that?”

“We don’t know. He is a slave from a far land, touched by the gods.”

“Ah! I see.” Governor Varus sipped his wine. “So he is not likely to find his way in the forest on his own.”

“No, probably not,” said Steve. “But he is very cooperative. And no threat to anyone.”

“And he ran away?”

“No,” said Steve quickly.

“No? Then what happened? You were all on horseback, weren’t you?”

“Well…we lost our mounts.”

“You what?” Governor Varus raised his eyebrows mockingly, and caught Marcus’s eye.

“I needed a private moment,” said Jane. “In the woods. That’s why I dismounted.”

“That’s right,” Steve said quickly. “I dismounted, too, and MC 3 was to hold the horses. He lost them and ran to get them. We never did catch him.”

Governor Varus just shook his head, still smiling. “The poor fool.”

“How did he lose them?” Marcus asked. “Thunder startled them,” said Steve.

“I don’t recall any thunder or lightning today,” said Marcus thoughtfully.

“It was a long way off,” said Steve. “This dreary land, with its foul cold rains.” Governor Varus shook his head. “Not like autumn in Rome, is it, Marcus?”

“No, certainly not, sir. When we crossed the Alps, we left behind the world we knew.”

Jane suppressed a smile. These Romans, unquestioned masters of their world, had no idea just how big the entire planet was. She wished she could tell them, just to take their arrogance down a little.

“You must be careful in searching for your lost slave,” said Marcus.

“The Germans are a simple barbaric people, from what I have seen,” said Governor Varus. “And Drusus, the younger stepson of Caesar, conquered them many years ago. So please do not misunderstand. The danger here is no greater than it would be in your native Gaul.”

“We have only held this province for eighteen years,” said Marcus. “Julius Caesar conquered Gaul a couple of generations before that.”

The governor laughed gently. “Ah, Marcus. These people are barbarians. You expect too much from them.”

“I’m only suggesting caution,” said Marcus stiffly.

“Fair enough, my young friend. Perhaps you should be the one, then, to accompany our guest tomorrow.” Governor Varus turned to Jane. “As my personal aide, his duties are at my whim. He will see to your needs tomorrow.”

“That is very kind of you,” said Jane.

“I fear we are not prepared to provide accommodations for a lady,” said Governor Varus. “Marcus, what do you suggest?”

“She may have my tent,” said Marcus. “My tentmates and I will join the troops.”

“Very well,” said Governor Varus. “Send your tentmates to the troops; they are regular officers anyway. But you will move your cot to my tent. My aide should not be bunking with common troops.” He looked at Jane again. “I am sorry we have nothing better.”

“Thank you, Governor,” said Jane. “That is more than generous.” She thought the conversation had ended when she felt Steve surreptitiously kick the back of her stool. Quickly, she tried to remember what she had left out.

When Marcus and Governor Varus turned their attention back to their meals, Steve poked her in the back with a stiff finger. She flinched, and reviewed the conversation she had just had. They had accommodations for the night, plans for tomorrow, and the friendship of the Roman command.

He jabbed her again.

They had food, clothing, shelter…It was food. Suppressing an embarrassed smile, she looked up at Marcus.

“Is something wrong?” He was puzzled.

“Uh, Steve, my slave, must be very hungry, as well.”

“Demetrius will see to him after he is finished with us,” said Marcus.

Steve let out a barely audible sigh of relief.

At last Wayne saw that the rawhide binding his wrists had worn thin. All day, he had sat at the base of the tree and either pulled on the rawhide or sawed it against the tree trunk. He was weak from hunger and his wrists had been scraped raw by the effort.

Though he was in plain sight of the center of the village, no one seemed to take more than passing notice of him. Certainly no one had bothered to bring him any food. All day, young men had arrived from the woods, and the man called Arminius had spent all his time talking to them.

When Wayne knew that one more hard pull would snap the thongs, he paused to organize his thoughts. He was sure Hunter would have a robot waiting back in the Bohung Institute to apprehend him, but that was better than waiting where he was to freeze or starve. At least a robot could not let any actual harm come to him. Besides, Wayne was very experienced in handling robot logic.

With one more hard yank, he broke the rawhide. The momentum caused him to fall backward on the ground, and he heard a couple of children call out in surprise. Before they could attract anyone else’s attention, however, he fumbled with stiff, cold, half-numb fingers for his belt unit. As small, light footsteps ran toward him, he triggered it.

Hunter tracked MC 3 with Vicinius and Gene through most of the afternoon. He considered attempting radio contact, but that had never accomplished anything with MC 1 or MC 2. If the component robots shut down their receiving ability, such an attempt was worthless, and if they heard him, they were merely warned of his pursuit. This time he decided not to give MC 3 advance notice that he was being followed.