Free Time Enough To Die by Lillian Stewart Carl

chips, and curry, and trooped back again. Gareth brought up the rear, feeling like the whipper-in of hounds at a fox hunt, whilst Sweeney led the charge, scarf flying in the wind.
    Just in front of Gareth walked Ashley and Matilda. “I've seen the class records,” Matilda was saying to the girl. “You should've been one of the team leaders, not Jason."
    "Yeah, well, he's a jock,” Ashley replied, as though that explained anything.
    "You'd be embarrassed if I talked to Howard for you, wouldn't you?"
    "Harassed is more like it."
    "Maybe Howard could designate a fourth team...."
    Ashley looked sharply over at Matilda. “No, please. I appreciate it, but—well, okay, maybe I could use some assertiveness training, but I'd rather do without than attract the wrong sort of attention. Jason's so immature, he's on my case already because I'm kind of shy and I write home every week. So far I've just shrugged it off. I'd like to keep it that way."
    "Never let them smell blood,” agreed Gareth.
    Ashley glanced over her shoulder, her ponytail bobbing. Gareth deflected her look with a cramped smile. Smiling a lopsided smile of her own, she opened the gate.
    Matilda, too, looked round at Gareth, then back at Ashley. “You've assessed the situation very well, I think. Don't worry, I won't interfere."
    "Thanks."
    Through the gate they went, and scattered across the fort, Ashley back to her wall, Matilda to make a circuit of the field. She paused at the far embankment, silhouetted against the cloudy sky. Her own jeans fit a treat, Gareth thought, loose enough to camouflage that she wasn't a willowy young girl, snug enough to show that she was a woman.
    He was about to set down his camera and volunteer to shovel when he heard a nasal voice calling, “March! Hallo, hallo!” Adrian Reynolds sauntered down the near embankment. He wore riding pants and tall boots, and his tweed jacket flapped open round his puffed-out chest.
    "Good afternoon,” Gareth replied. “Have you been out riding, then?"
    "Oh yes, nothing like a gray day for a good canter. How are you getting on?"
    Sweeney was bending over the flat stone Caterina had been cleaning. “Very nice memorial stone,” he said. “Probably set up outside the headquarters building. Let's see— praefectus cohortus — equitatae —yes, we knew there was cavalry here...."
    "... Domitianus," said Caterina. “The emperor Domitian. The stone is very early, yes? ‘In memory of Marcus Cornelius Felix', yes?"
    Sweeney stared at her.
    "Uxor," she went on. “That is sposa. Wife? The stone was set by his wife Claudia Sabina, yes?"
    "You read Latin?” Sweeney demanded.
    Caterina drew herself up, dark eyes flashing. “Signor Doctor, I am not only a student in Roman studies, I am myself a citizen of Rome!"
    "Yes,” said Sweeney, “of course you are. Well done, my dear. Good show."
    Reynolds eyed the Italian girl up and down and whistled between his teeth. “Pretty little spitfire, eh? Those Mediterranean girls, they know a thing or two.” He nudged Gareth in the ribs.
    Gareth was tempted to sort the man out. He restrained himself. “Is your offer of a horse still good, Reynolds?"
    "Oh yes, by all means. Would you like a ride?"
    "Yes I would, rather. And Dr. Gray as well.” No reason for him to ride out to Durslow Edge alone. He might as well take Matilda and get the tour over with.
    "Go down to the farm and tell Jimmy I sent you,” said Reynolds. “Ask him for Bodie for the lady, and Gremlin for yourself. They're two of my best."
    "Thank you. Very kind."
    Matilda walked back through the dig. She stopped at the gouge in the root of the embankment, considered it, then turned to Ashley. “May I borrow your pick, please?"
    "Sure.” The girl handed over the tool and watched curiously.
    Matilda knelt, scraped at the weeds matted into the mud, and held up a coin. “A Roman denarius,” she said. “That's interesting. It wasn't here before lunch."
    "Are there any more?” Reynolds asked.
    "No.