Meanwhile, Kivrin arrives and decides she's at the correct time of year but that there's nothing to definitively say she's in 1320 and realizes she has arrived a short distance from the road onto which she'd expected to be dropped. When a second case is reported, the entire city is locked down in quarantine status and the team released with orders to return the following day. There, it's determined that Badri has a virus and the entire team is quarantined for a period of time. Mary, a physician, calls for medical transport and Dunworthy travels to the hospital with Badri. At the lab, Badri says that he has a fix on Kivrin's location but says again that there's a problem, then faints over the console. While Mary is reassuring him, Badri rushes in, mutters about a problem and rushes back out with Dunworthy and Mary in pursuit. Dunworthy admits to being very worried because drops to such distant times have not been attempted. Gilchrist has overridden the policy to allow Kivrin to go.Īs soon as she is through the net, Dunworthy and Mary go to a nearby pub to wait for Badri, the tech in charge of the drop, to get a definite fix on Kivrin's location so she can be picked up in two weeks. Basingame, is out of town and has left a faculty member named Gilchrist in charge. The policy has been not to send historians to the medieval period because of the danger to the historian, but the head of the department, Mr.

Even if it cost you your freedom, your life, your youth.James Dunworthy, a faculty member of the Oxford History Department, enters a viewing chamber where his friend, Mary Ahrens, is watching the preparations for sending a historian named Kivrin to 1320. To do something for someone or something you loved - England or Shakespeare or a dog or the Hodbins or history - wasn't a sacrifice at all. Like I must have looked there in the rubble with Sir Godfrey, my hand pressed against his heart. Like Mike must have looked in Kent, composing engagement announcements and letters to the editor. Like Eileen had looked, telling Polly she'd decided to stay. As if he was where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted to do. Like Colin helping Mr Dunworthy across the wreckage. Like Ernest Shackleton, setting out in that tiny boat across icy seas.

He looked like Captain Faulknor must have looked, lashing the ships together.

He looked instead like Marjorie had looked telling Polly she'd joined the Nursing Service, like Mr Humphreys had looked filling buckets with water and sand to save Saint Paul's, like Miss Laburnum had looked that day she came to Townsend Brothers with the coats. Or even like someone determined to 'do his bit'. He didn't look - in spite of the crown of thorns - like someone making a sacrifice. “She had been wrong in thinking Christ had been called up against his will to fight in a war.

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