’’
‘‘Ah, you are a grammaticus . Are you testing me? That is easy; it’s the opening of Julius Caesar’s commentaries on the Gallic Wars. ‘All Gaul is divided into three parts.’ ’’ His voice became annoyed. ‘‘I am an educated man. Did you assume I was born a plebeian or a slave?’’ His chin lifted, his pride evident. ‘‘My father was a Roman citizen.’’
‘‘I really need to get off the floor,’’ Hildy murmured to herself. Aloud she asked, ‘‘What did you say your name was?’’
‘‘Antonius Eugenius. You can call me Tony G. Should I call you master?’’
Hildy moved abruptly into a sitting position. Her head swam but she remained upright. She put her fingertips to her forehead. ‘‘Master is the wrong gender and quite inappropriate.’’
‘‘Mistress, then?’’
‘‘Absolutely not.’’ She adopted the voice she used for dealing with wiseacre teenage boys. ‘‘You shall call me Ms. Caldwell.’’
‘‘As you wish, Ms. Caldwell.’’ A pained expression crossed Tony’s face. As a Roman centurion, he led a cohort, nearly one hundred and sixty Roman soldiers. Now he had to obey this slip of a girl. But he accepted the cards dealt by fate. He had no choice. Some battles are best left unfought.
‘‘Now, Tony, if you will offer me your hand, I want to stand.’’ He did, and she did, swaying slightly. As soon as she felt steady on her feet, she dropped his hand. She tipped her head back and looked up at him. Her eyes narrowed. ‘‘You look familiar. Are you sure you don’t work for the casino?’’
‘‘I am positive that I do not,’’ he said.
Hildy remained skeptical. She suddenly knew who this man resembled: Tony Curtis in Spartacus. His name in the movie was Antonius too. Her suspicions grew that she was the target of a scam, although she couldn’t imagine for what purpose someone who worked at Caesar’s would pretend to be a genie in a bottle. She decided on another test for this Tony G.
‘‘ ‘Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris Italiam fato profugus Lavinaque venit litora,’ ’’ she recited.
The Roman’s face lit up with delight. ‘‘You do know Latin! Shall we speak it then? It has been centuries since I’ve conversed in my native tongue.’’
‘‘No, we shall not speak Latin. To paraphrase your own words, ‘I am an educated person.’ I had four years of Latin study, but I’m far from fluent. And if you really are an ancient Roman, as you say you are, I would like you to identify the line and give me a translation.’’ Hildy’s voice was arch.
‘‘You really should choose a more obscure quotation,’’ Tony commented. ‘‘Every boy at the gymnasium must memorize the first line of Virgil’s Aeneid. In English, the line would be something like, ‘I sing of war and the man’—he meant the hero Aeneas, you know—‘who, exiled by fate, first came from the coasts of Troy to the shores of Italy and Lavinia.’ ’’
But as Tony finished his answer, his voice caught in his throat. The light in the room dimmed. And the Roman who had stood so solidly in front of Hildy began to fade away, his outline softening and his body first becoming insubstantial, then transparent, until only a wisp of smoke remained where the large man had been.
‘‘What’s happening? Where are you?’’ Something must have gone terribly wrong, she thought.
Only a moment passed, although it seemed much longer, before the brightness returned. Tony G. changed again from smoke to flesh and blood. His eyes held a great sorrow, his mouth turned down at the corners, his shoulders sagged. He sat down heavily on the step stool.
‘‘I must ask your forbearance, mis— I mean Ms. Caldwell. I am a stoic man, but hearing you speak in Latin touched my heart, awakening such memories. Then the import of Virgil’s words suddenly struck me, reminding me that I too am in exile, wandering farther from home than Aeneas ever did.’’
He shook his
‘‘Ah, you are a grammaticus . Are you testing me? That is easy; it’s the opening of Julius Caesar’s commentaries on the Gallic Wars. ‘All Gaul is divided into three parts.’ ’’ His voice became annoyed. ‘‘I am an educated man. Did you assume I was born a plebeian or a slave?’’ His chin lifted, his pride evident. ‘‘My father was a Roman citizen.’’
‘‘I really need to get off the floor,’’ Hildy murmured to herself. Aloud she asked, ‘‘What did you say your name was?’’
‘‘Antonius Eugenius. You can call me Tony G. Should I call you master?’’
Hildy moved abruptly into a sitting position. Her head swam but she remained upright. She put her fingertips to her forehead. ‘‘Master is the wrong gender and quite inappropriate.’’
‘‘Mistress, then?’’
‘‘Absolutely not.’’ She adopted the voice she used for dealing with wiseacre teenage boys. ‘‘You shall call me Ms. Caldwell.’’
‘‘As you wish, Ms. Caldwell.’’ A pained expression crossed Tony’s face. As a Roman centurion, he led a cohort, nearly one hundred and sixty Roman soldiers. Now he had to obey this slip of a girl. But he accepted the cards dealt by fate. He had no choice. Some battles are best left unfought.
‘‘Now, Tony, if you will offer me your hand, I want to stand.’’ He did, and she did, swaying slightly. As soon as she felt steady on her feet, she dropped his hand. She tipped her head back and looked up at him. Her eyes narrowed. ‘‘You look familiar. Are you sure you don’t work for the casino?’’
‘‘I am positive that I do not,’’ he said.
Hildy remained skeptical. She suddenly knew who this man resembled: Tony Curtis in Spartacus. His name in the movie was Antonius too. Her suspicions grew that she was the target of a scam, although she couldn’t imagine for what purpose someone who worked at Caesar’s would pretend to be a genie in a bottle. She decided on another test for this Tony G.
‘‘ ‘Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris Italiam fato profugus Lavinaque venit litora,’ ’’ she recited.
The Roman’s face lit up with delight. ‘‘You do know Latin! Shall we speak it then? It has been centuries since I’ve conversed in my native tongue.’’
‘‘No, we shall not speak Latin. To paraphrase your own words, ‘I am an educated person.’ I had four years of Latin study, but I’m far from fluent. And if you really are an ancient Roman, as you say you are, I would like you to identify the line and give me a translation.’’ Hildy’s voice was arch.
‘‘You really should choose a more obscure quotation,’’ Tony commented. ‘‘Every boy at the gymnasium must memorize the first line of Virgil’s Aeneid. In English, the line would be something like, ‘I sing of war and the man’—he meant the hero Aeneas, you know—‘who, exiled by fate, first came from the coasts of Troy to the shores of Italy and Lavinia.’ ’’
But as Tony finished his answer, his voice caught in his throat. The light in the room dimmed. And the Roman who had stood so solidly in front of Hildy began to fade away, his outline softening and his body first becoming insubstantial, then transparent, until only a wisp of smoke remained where the large man had been.
‘‘What’s happening? Where are you?’’ Something must have gone terribly wrong, she thought.
Only a moment passed, although it seemed much longer, before the brightness returned. Tony G. changed again from smoke to flesh and blood. His eyes held a great sorrow, his mouth turned down at the corners, his shoulders sagged. He sat down heavily on the step stool.
‘‘I must ask your forbearance, mis— I mean Ms. Caldwell. I am a stoic man, but hearing you speak in Latin touched my heart, awakening such memories. Then the import of Virgil’s words suddenly struck me, reminding me that I too am in exile, wandering farther from home than Aeneas ever did.’’
He shook his
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