"Linda Evans - Time Scout 2 - Wages of Sin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Linda)

games will begin after midday, once the racing is completed..."
Skeeter wasn't really listening. He was planning his scheme and trying to
recall Marcus' instructions. He had a pouch half full of copper coins, mostly
unciae, or one-twelfth of an as, the as being a pound of copper divided into
twelve "ounces" (the first coins Romans had minted, according to Agnes). They
were- mixed with a few silver denarii and sestercii, plus a few gold aurii on
top just to make it look good. Agnes had loaned him the silver and gold coins
so he could-as he'd explained it impress local merchants that he really did
have money. That way, they'd be less likely to gyp him. "Agnes, I don't want
them to think I'm some provincial rube not worth wasting their time on."
And like the sweet girl she was, she'd believed every word.
He wondered how long she'd be able to stomach watching what Romans did to
non-Romans. Two weeks was more than enough for him, even without watching the
games, and he'd spent five years in the yurts of the Yakka clan.
"Skeeter?"
He glanced up and found Agnes smiling at him. "Yeah"
"Ready?"
"Am I ever!"
Her smile was so enchanting, he kissed her, earning hoots and whistles from
half the crowd. She blushed to the roots of her mouse-brown hair.
"All right, people, let's go!"
Skeeter followed eagerly as Agnes led the first group away from the inn
Time Tours owned on the Aventine Hill and ushered her charges into the narrow,
winding streets of an already crowded, noisy Rome. Games day, Skeeter
identified the electric difference from the tours' previous mornings. Skeeter
hung back, letting Agnes gain distance. Tourists eager for their first and for
many of them, only-look at genuine Roman games surged ahead. Skeeter grinned,
then slipped quietly away from the group and headed for the Circus Maximus by
the route Marcus had given him two weeks previously.
He knew the entrance he wanted was near the starting gates of the mile-long
structure. Shops selling food, wine, commemorative mugs with scenes of chariot
racing molded into them, even shops selling baskets and seat cushions did
brisk business despite the early hour. The morning air was clear and golden as
dawn brightened the hot, Latin sky. The scents of frying peas and sausages
mingled with the smell of wine, the stink of caged animals, and the sweat of
several thousand men and women pushing their way toward the entrances. A few
betting stalls did even brisker business, a sight that made Skeeter all but
salivate.
Yesukai, your wandering bogda has done found himself in paradise/
The streets were confusing, though, and so were the entrances. There were
more archways into the great Circus than he'd expected. And crowds jammed each
one. Which entrance, exactly, had Marcus meant? He walked all the way to the
squared-off end of the Circus, down by the stinking Tiber, which flowed past
the starting gates just beyond a couple of little temples he recognized from
photos. The scream of caged cats and the bleating of zebras assaulted
Skeeter's ears. Down here, too, were men stripped to the waist, hauling the
great cages into place from barges tied up at the river. Teams of high-strung
racing horses fought their handlers, while collared slaves rolled tiny, tea-
cup chariots of wicker and wood-into place for the first races. Men and boys
who must be charioteers, given the colors of their tunics, stood around in