Fireball by John Christopher Page A

spoke to her in Latin too fast for Simon to follow, and she answered him, smiling. She was black-haired, grey-eyed, and when she smiled, Simon realized how pretty she was. He also understood why Brad had been so quick to respond to the sound of her footsteps and why he seemed so content about being here. Brad turned to him.
    â€œSimon, this is Lavinia—Quintus Cornelius’s granddaughter.”

6
    T HE MORE SIMON SAW OF Quintus Cornelius, the more he liked him. He was a Christian but also, Simon learned, a proud Roman. His family, the Cornelians, was very ancient, with a pedigree going back two thousand years to the days of the Republic; he showed Simon ornaments, in a glass case, that had been worn by one of his early ancestors in a Roman triumph. He was proud, too, of the family’s long history in the province of Britannia; they had lived here for nearly a thousand years, since another ancestor had come as governor. It was he who had been converted toChristianity and had to resign from office and give up senatorial rank. His descendants had stayed on in Britain after him, quietly and comfortably farming their lands. Nine hundred years seemed more like ninety, the way he spoke of it.
    His pride was simple and impersonal, centred on the past rather than the present. But there was one exception to that—his granddaughter, Lavinia. He had had one son, who had died of plague three years after Lavinia’s mother died in childbirth. Lavinia had been more his child than his grandchild. Every look he gave her showed how besotted with her he was.
    Simon could understand why. Pretty was an altogether inadequate term to describe her. The attractiveness of her features—the small, straight nose and big grey eyes, the thick black hair which always seemed to carry lights in it, the pale skin blooming to rose—was much less important than their animation. She smiled easily and devastatingly. And yet in repose her face had a distant look, as though she had sight of something far-off and wonderful, a dream landscape known only to her.
    The boys intrigued her, but Simon was not sure she believed the account of their world and thecrossing through into this one. She was continuously thinking up questions about the place they had come from and greeted the answers with incredulous laughter. A carriage, which moved along without a horse, on wheels filled with air, at six times the speed of a four-horse chariot? Pictures which travelled invisibly through the air, for thousands of miles, and then came to life again on the wall? But it was nice hearing her laugh.
    Less nice, though, to have to sit in silence while Brad rattled on in what seemed like perfect Latin. Most of the time Simon could get only the drift of what was being said. But he had a bright idea about that. He explained how frustrating it was, and she agreed to give him lessons in the language. It was Brad’s turn to look fed up. He attempted to join in but Lavinia would have none of it; one teacher was better than two. Simon fervently agreed.
    The other direction in which he scored was riding. Lavinia, as a Roman lady, did not ride herself, but she came out to the paddock at the far end of the garden to watch the boys. Brad had been learning with the help of a groom and was coming on well for a beginner. Simon, though, had the advantage ofseveral years at a riding school, and even the unpleasant discovery that the stirrup was something this world had not got round to developing did not hold him back for long. He was soon exercising a fairly spirited horse while Brad plodded round on a placid hack. Lavinia was impressed and said so.
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    Simon had been at the villa for ten days when the Bishop visited them. He arrived on a blustery morning, with grey clouds trailing occasional stinging showers along the valley, without prior notice. The boys were told by the chief steward, Mandarus, to attend Quintus Cornelius and Bishop