Ysabel. Guy Gavriel Kay

nodded. “Blood red. And I could taste blood when I swallowed. It made me sick. But only near that battlefield. It was over when we drove away.”

      She was staring at him, brown eyes, lightly freckled face. She had her hair pulled back today, was wearing torn jeans and a blue-and-white striped tank top with a man’s white shirt over it, unbuttoned, sleeves rolled halfway up. She looked pretty good, Ned thought.

      He said, “If you don’t believe me, no one else is going to. I can’t even tell anyone else.”

      Kate shook her head. “Oh, believe me, I believe you.” She met his eyes and then looked away. “After yesterday, I’d believe it if you said you saw the aliens’ mother ship.”

      “That’s next week,” he said. She made a face.

      “You know anything about this Marius?” he asked after a moment. “The battle there?”

      She bit her lip; he was used to that already. Then she looked down at the tabletop.

      Ned laughed aloud. “Aha! Of course you know.”

      “I knew you’d laugh,” she said. “Why is it dumb to be interested in things?”

      Ned looked at her. “It isn’t,” he said. “Tell me. I’m not teasing.”

      “Well…I actually wrote an essay about this.”

      “Oh, God, Kate, you kill me! I have to tease you.” He stopped. Thought quickly. “Wait—maybe I, ah, won’t. Um, do you have it? Here? The essay?”

      She raised her eyebrows, took her time answering. “Ned Marriner, I am shocked…Do you want to plagiarize my paper?”

      “Damn right I want to plagiarize your paper! I have three essays to write in six weeks, or ruin my summer back home.”

      “Well,” she said, leaning back and grinning now, “I’ll have to think hard about that. I’ve been needled a whole lot here, and we just met, you know. You can’t go around handing out ‘A’ papers to just anyone.”

      “I’ll buy your coffees. I’ll buy you a better shirt.”

      “This,” said Kate Wenger, “is my brother’s shirt, and I happen to like it a lot.”

      “It is great. Truly great. You look hot in it. A babe. Tell me about Marius.”

      “Do I really look hot?”

      “Hotter than Marie-Chantal could ever dream of being.”

      “That,” she sniffed, “is no achievement.”

      “Marius? Please?”

      She sipped her coffee. She looked happy, though. Ned felt kind of pleased with himself. He was being funny, making a girl laugh. Around them the place was vibrant with the clatter of dishes and cups and the buzz of talk. One woman had a small dog under her chair; that wouldn’t have been allowed back home. He liked it.

      “Marius was Julius Caesar’s uncle,” Kate said. “Married Caesar’s aunt. A general in North Africa at the time. Apparently a little guy, tough, smart, young when this happened—like maybe twenty-five or something? Well, what it was is these eastern tribes started moving this way. A lot of them, with their women and children, migrating, looking for a place to settle. They scared everyone, huge men, you know?”

      “Blond dudes? Pumped iron, used steroids? Broke the home run record?”

      “Pretty much. The Romans were small, did you know that?”

      “I didn’t know that. Why would I know that?”

      “Well, they were. But really organized. Anyhow, these tribes, the Teutones and Cimbrii, hung around here awhile and beat up a Roman army, then half of them went west to Spain. But they came back again and decided what they really wanted was land around Rome, and they decided they were going to go kick ass there.”

      “Could they have?”

      “Everyone seems to think so. That’s the point of the story. Rome was terrified. This is before their empire, remember? Before Caesar. They hadn’t even conquered here yet, just some Greek and Roman trading colonies on the coast…and Sextius had founded this city, Aix. Their first one.”

      “And so?”

      “And so if the tribes got down into Italy it was probably game over.”

      “Melanie said more than two hundred thousand.”

      “Who’s Melanie again?”

      “My father’s assistant. I told you yesterday. She has notes on everything.”

      “What a geek.” Kate grinned. “Way, way more than two hundred thousand. Some people say half a million, with the women and children. Some say more.”

      Ned whistled softly. It seemed called for. Someone glanced over and he grimaced an apology. He tried to imagine that many people moving across a landscape and gave up. He couldn’t visualize it: just got an image of computer-generated orcs.

      “Anyhow,” Kate said, “Rome ordered Marius here from Africa and he took charge. They’d been creamed by the tribes in that first battle, and all the soldiers were afraid of them.”

      “But he won?”

      “Spoiling the ending, you. Yeah, he won. From what I gather, he steered them into a trap by the mountain. He had a better position, and when the fight started some of his men ambushed the Celts’ camp where their families were. When they turned to defend them, the Romans just pounded on them from behind and it was a massacre. That’s your two hundred thousand dead. Marius saves the day. They built him monuments around here, but they’ve all fallen down.”

      Ned looked at her awhile. “You’re good, you know.”

      She shrugged. “Google is your friend.”

      “Nope. You’re good.” He finished his orange juice. “So, like, if he hadn’t beat them, they’d have taken Rome?”

      “Maybe. No Roman Empire. Celts settle Italy. Really different world. This battle was a huge deal.”

      Ned shook his head. “Why doesn’t anyone know this stuff?”

      “You kidding? People don’t even know World War Two.”

      He looked at her. “I really need that paper of yours.”

      “I’ll bet you do. I’ll think about it.” She hesitated. “I mean, no, of course I’ll give it to you. But doesn’t it seem pretty trivial after what—”

      “Kate, it seems completely trivial! Essays? Are you kidding me? But if I think too much about this afternoon or yesterday I’ll freak.”

      “There’s…nothing now? Inside you?”

      He faked a shrug. “I’m too distracted by that way-cool tank top of yours.”

      “No jokes. Tell me.”

      “I told you. Nothing today since we left the battlefield. Nothing yesterday from the time our guy walked out on us. N-O-thing.”

      “Have you tried to…?” she trailed off.

      “Tried to what?” He knew he was sounding irritated, and knew it was unfair. “Control it? You gonna play Yoda now? ‘Use the Force, Young Ned’?”

      “Stop joking.”

      “I have to joke or I’ll go screwy with this. Be grateful you aren’t dealing with it!”

      She was silent a moment. “I am,” she said. “I am grateful. But I was there too. I’m not trying to hassle you.”

      Ned felt ashamed. “I’m not being cool, am I? Sorry.”

      “Hard to be cool if you’re tasting blood and