Disclaimer: Oh, for Heaven's sake. Tavington and Bordon not mine.
In which the Atlanteans give the Roman world another chance.
Episode 12: Tavington's Atlantis, part 3
A Mediterranean Cruise: April-June, 150 A.D.
"It's unfair to judge the entire Roman world on the basis of a week in a provincial Spanish—uh—Iberian town." Lyudmilla Nesterenko faced down the rest of the Executive Committee, playing Devil's Advocate, as she often did.
"She's right, you know," agreed Herb Schultz, head of archaeology. "There should be major cultural differences in the Eastern Med. You'll find chariot racing and athletic contests, but many cities, notably Athens and Alexandria, never really embraced Roman-style Games."
Tavington felt a headache coming on. "What are you suggesting, then?"
"A full-scale survey of the Mediterranean," answered Herb happily, rolling out an annotated map. "A three-month cruise, hitting the high points."
Everyone leaned in, watching Herb's moving finger trace the route. "Start with Tingis on the African side and then on to Utica, where we can have a look at the rebuilding of Carthage. On to Leptis Magna, then Cyrene, and then spend at least a week in Alexandria: that will give us time to have a look at the local monuments and make a much better map of the city than we have from Cassius—"
"—Dion Philippides is from Alexandria originally, " Diana pointed out. "Well, Pelusium, anyway. I'm sure he'd do a splendid job as guide."
"That's what I'm counting on," continued Herb, very excited. "Come on, people! This is our chance to see the Lighthouse and Pyramids in nearly pristine shape. We can be tourists at the Tomb of Alexander! We may even be allowed to visit the Library!"
It was impossible not to catch his enthusiasm. This was the sort of adventure that Tavington had longed for. He must go himself. But could the settlement spare him for the months of the tour?
Herb hadn't finished. "Then over to some of the most amazing sites. I think a lot of us want to see what's left of ancient Jerusalem—it's only a short trek from the coast. And then there's Caesarea and Antioch up north. Antioch's nearing its height, and it's a great opportunity." He turned back to the map, smiling to himself. "We may not have time to see Cyprus, so we could go northwest underneath Asia Minor to the island of Rhodes, and then up to Halicarnassus. The Mausoleum should still be intact. I know we can't hit all the Ionian cities, but what about Ephesus and Pergamum, at least? I'd really like to visit the Temple of Diana myself!" Tavington head spun with the glorious, ancient names. He caught Ferguson's eye, and the two men smiled, understanding one another.
Other people smiled at the archaeologist's enthusiasm, and some simply looked thoughtful. Tavington wanted Michael Flynn's opinion, but the geologist was in southern Africa with his "graduate student," Elyssa, and a small team of prospectors, mining the Witwatersrand, the huge ridge that would contain forty percent of all the gold ever mined by the 21st century. In this era, the place was nearly uninhabited, and Michael was keeping contact with any locals to a benign minimum. They had struck a rich vein of gold immediately, and were sending back huge amounts in nuggets and dust. New Atlantis was minting money in Carlos Alvarado's smithy at the Laboratory: copper pennies, silver dimes, and gold dollars.
The 18's had submitted to the logic of decimal money. The entire community had voted on the designs for the coins, and many citizens had submitted their own drawings. The results were magnificent. Even the humble pennies were works of art; showing on the obverse a leaping dolphin, and on the reverse, the legend, NEW ATLANTIS, YEAR 4, ONE CENT. The silver dime showed an image of the goddess Aurora (a tribute to the Aurora Project), rolling back the night sky. And the gold dollar, though not large, was stunning: the Spirit of the Waters of their own city fountain. The coins were similar in size and weight to Roman issue, to facilitate their use in trade with the Empire.
Michael could be gated back tomorrow to go over this new idea of Herb's. The archaeologist was still beaming with joy, calling out the list of great research sites like a child listing his Christmas presents. "—No time for Byzantium or the Euxine, but we can certainly pay a call in Athens. What an opportunity! The Acropolis undamaged, and the Academy! We should see if there's time for a visit to Delphi. In decline in this period, of course, but still—"
Well, thought Tavington. It's not as if I would have to gone the entire time. Once the ship is docked in various ports, I and some of the specialists can gate in discreetly, and look about. Perhaps it would be safe enough for Diana, at least in Alexandria and Athens…
"—Possibly a look-in at Syracuse, but definitely a stop in Naples and the villa country around Puteoli and Baiae." Herb paused to take a breath. "Then, of course, to Rome."
The room seemed to move. Every single committee member had shifted in his or her seat. Rome. All sorts of things could happen. And a Rome of a very distinctive period, before the construction of the Baths of Caracalla and Septimus Severus. The great forum of Trajan would be nearly new. The vast palace of Palace of Domitian would lie north of the Circus Maximus and south west of the Flavian Amphitheatre, known to them all as the Colosseum. After their experiences in a town like Gades, the thought of Rome was less inviting than ominous.
Herb sensed the unspoken words in the air, and hurried through his itinerary. "OK. We'll probably need a week in Rome at the least. Maybe then a brief stop in Massilia or Cartago Nova, and then a courtesy call on the governor at Gades before returning home."
Ferguson snorted.
"I know, I know, Patrick," Herb waved his hands. "I know you don't like the guy, but it looks like he liked you."
Lyudmilla added her own thoughts. "And it would be valuable to make a follow-up visit. We need to get some idea how the town was affected by the earlier contact."
"And if the governor asks us to give Clytie Bordon back," remarked Paul Seevers, "we'll say we never heard of her!"
There was general laughter, and the meeting broke up, with the consensus being that Herb should work up his plan, talk it over with Michael Flynn, Lesley Urquhart, and Alan Swinburne, and present it for further refinement next week. Tavington was fairly convinced by Herb's arguments already. It was, in fact, a very good scheme. It was important to meet this world openly: to show the flag, so to speak. Better that the real citizens of New Atlantis should present themselves than to rely on rumor and gossip to portray them justly. Herb did have a point: they might find more congenial spirits in the eastern parts of the Empire.
Certainly their Greek freedmen were settling in fairly well—especially young Dion, who had adapted to the point that he would soon be teaching Greek at the school. Amyntor was ceaselessly absorbed in his mathematics, enchanted with the manipulations made easy by Arabic numerals.
The third, Lysis, a man of Tavington's own age, who had spent his whole life as a tutor to one rich family after another, was a different matter: a quiet, self-effacing man who had suffered severe culture shock for several months. While he had not learned English as rapidly as Dion, Tavington thought it likely that he was simply taking it all in without showing how much he comprehended. He was a tall, slender man, with long, fine-boned hands, and a humble, stooped posture. At first he had hardly left his room at the Laboratory, except when Alan or Herb came by to escort him to his study, or to the library and the school on the Square.
Surprisingly, Lysis showed some aptitude in teaching adult women Greek. That had been one of his duties in the past: helping wealthy matrons attain a gloss of Greek culture to impress their neighbors. Diana, Marianne, Lyudmilla, and Gretchen met with him two afternoons a week for language immersion. Tavington laughed softly to himself. That was what they called it: he would describe it as a genteel gathering in the Tavington living quarters of learned ladies intent on henpecking to death a mild-mannered scholar over tea, cucumber sandwiches, and chocolate biscuits. Other women took part from time to time, but the four of them were the core. Even Emily would occasionally join them after school, showing off her new-found maturity, conversing primly in her brand-new Greek. Tavington felt for Lysis, correcting their declensions and warily accepting refreshments, meek as a beaten dog.
It had probably been a mistake to house the Greeks in the Laboratory. Tavington remembered how little he had liked the unfamiliar stainless steel halls himself. However, Alan had kept his rooms at the Laboratory, and as he had the most dealings with the Greeks, they needed to be close at hand. At least Lysis would now go on walks about the city, up into the hills; and then would go down to the docks, staring out to sea. When asked, he did not appear to be homesick. He made it quite clear that he was glad to be free, and glad to be in New Atlantis. It was all so strange, though; and while none of the Atlanteans had told the Greeks outright that they were time-travelers, it was evident that the Greeks understood that there was something extremely unusual about the inhabitants of this island. The electric lights and the flying machines were only the most vivid manifestations.
-----
The Mediterranean Survey was scheduled to sail on June fifth. Once again, Ferguson would lead the landing party, accompanied by a mixed force of Dragoons and Volunteers—all called Marines for the purposes of the voyage. Captain Urquhart, her first officer Arwen, and the five women sailors and the military force would remain permanently aboard ship. With them would travel Herb Schultz, who was head of research for the voyage, Alan Swinburne, and small party of engineers and scientists. Dion (who had acclimated to the extent of using his patronymic Philippides as a last name in the style of the Atlanteans) would be their local guide, especially in his home province of Egypt, and in Syria and Asia as well, where his travels had taken him previously.
Amyntor would also go, and would prove useful in the Western Empire. He was Massiliote by birth, and had once traveled to Rome with a former master. The party would also look about for other talented individuals who could be recruited or bought. Lysis proved so frightened and horrified when it was suggested that he sail on the Enterprise that the Committee concluded that it would be better not to force the matter, but to let him stay in Atlantis and continue (and expand) his tutoring duties throughout the summer.
Gretchen Randalls requested that Ferguson see if he could find a reputable woman physician. It appeared that there was a gender division of labor in certain medical conditions, and Gretchen was very interested in the pharmacology of the ancient Mediterranean. After some discussion, she persuaded Tavington and the committee to let her join the expedition as its physician. Barring a unexpected disaster on New Atlantis or Numenor, the three other doctors were more than enough to provide medical care, even with Mark spending much of his time in Africa or Oklahoma with Michael's miners.
Tavington thought it important to let all the citizens of New Atlantis have a look at their new world. Gates would be opened whenever the ship was docked, and tourists from the islands could have a peep at the various ports. To his surprise, some were not interested in all, and were too happy and busy building up their new society (in their words) "to waste time gawking at a bunch of primitives." He himself would check in periodically, and would actually join the voyage between Cyrene and Alexandria, and then from Ephesus to Athens.
Beyond that, he was not yet certain. The Roman issue had them all concerned. If the ship were impounded by a hostile government, there was a recall procedure that would gate it back to its berth in Atlantis harbor, but that would tip their hand in an irrevocably public way.
A few days before departure, Tavington was surprised to see the lanky figure of Lieutenant Drew Markham at the door of his office, asking for a word with him. Tavington had been wary of Markham for quite a long time after their narrow escape from the forces of twenty-first century law. Markham, in turn, had been wary of the motley crew of 18th century soldiers he had been thrust among. He had gradually established his authority as an officer, aided by the implicit support of the local command structure, and by his own obvious education and physical prowess. There had been something of a dust-up when his relationship with his former partner, Doctor Carolyn Kelly, had dissolved amidst mutual recriminations and an unfortunately public shouting match.
Observing it at one of their regular monthly balls, Tavington had been secretly smug. It was exactly what he had hoped. Diana and he had felt some concern about Kelly and Markham's personal loyalty to one another, and had wondered if they would become the core of any disaffected elements in their society. But separating them had worked. Pretty and irremediably serious, Carolyn Kelly was thriving in her new environment, and had found a new set of friends and associates in the Atlantis Hospital, the one section of the Laboratory that could be accessed by the public at large (for obvious reasons). Last year, her wedding with her colleague, Mark Magliore, had been a great social event. Their first child, a girl, had been born only two months ago.
Markham, meanwhile, was odd-man-out. He had thrown himself into his duties as an officer, and frequently led patrols into the interior, mapping the island in detail; a very useful endeavor when needing to present soldiers with their personal land grants. Being a stickler for the rule of law, he had been indefatigable in tracking down the runners who had hidden away when the settlement had broken its ties with the dystopia of the 21st century. Now, seeing the man, dressed in his red coat, hair neatly queued as became a proper officer, Tavington hid his own complacency, and wondered if Markham was going to request assignment to the expedition. Tavington wanted him here in Atlantis. He was better at being a lawman than anyone else, and neither his Latin nor his Greek was up to Ferguson's or Bordon's standard.
"Come in, Markham. Sit down."
Markham obediently sat, and said nothing for a moment. Tavington was on the brink of telling the man to spit it out, when Markham spoke up. "Colonel, you're taking those Greeks along with you."
"Yes." Tavington's tone was slightly inquisitive.
"Are you going to have people keeping an eye on them?"
"You do not think they can be trusted?"
"It's not that—" Markham paused, and then contradicted himself. "No. I don't trust them not to talk. Dion can't stop talking. It's impossible for him not to spill everything he knows to everybody. I don't think they know what might and might not harm us. I can see why they'd be useful, but I don't think they should be allowed to go off alone, or talk uncensored. Do you want everybody to know our capabilities?"
"I see your point." And Tavington did. Some such concerns had been addressed already. Ferguson had briefed his own soldiers about the need to keep their mouths shut and not brag to tavern acquaintances and whores. The science team had met and discussed parameters. Gretchen felt strongly that medical knowledge could not morally be kept secret. Granted that exception, the Atlanteans had decided to be discreet about their own technology. The ship itself was enough of an innovation. It would be interesting to see if any other lateen sails were now unfurling in the Mediterranean.
He unbent enough to ask Markham, "What would you suggest?"
"The Greeks should be told not to describe what's on the island—though I guess it would be OK for them to say how great it all is—good propaganda. But they each should have an assigned minder to watch them. Well, someone like Sergeant McKenzie. He's a good guy, but he won't let them get away with anything."
Tavington agreed. He was quite fond of McKenzie himself, and very glad that his sergeant's broken heart had been healed with the aid a charming nurse. Marisol McKenzie had continued her hospital work part-time, leaving her little boys at the nursery school.
Markham hadn't finished. "I won't lie to you. I'm worried about this whole expedition. We're only a few hundred people a couple hundred miles from the world's greatest empire. It has millions of people, a good infrastructure, and an attitude of "If you're not part of the Empire, you soon will be."
Tavington laughed. "Well put, Lieutenant. There a great deal of sense in what you say. Dion and Amyntor will have their 'minders,' and shore leave will be carefully restricted. Our people who visit will not be allowed to wander off alone."
He decided to tell Markham something that had been a secret among only a few on the Council. "McKenzie and that electrical engineer Marlowe have a special mission of their own. They will locate and map possible gate sites at all our ports of call—places enough out of the way to be used if anyone needs to slip into these cities and conduct intelligence work. These will give also us another way to bring in additional visitors. You yourself may find time for a look-in."
"Maybe. I don't deny that it's exciting, Colonel. But people act like this is a movie, or a vacation. It isn't. Those Romans aren't our friends, and it's not beyond the realm of possibility that some of our people might be kidnapped and everything they know screwed out of them."
Tavington smiled grimly. "Believe me, Markham, you are not the only one to have such an unpleasant notion. Care will be taken, and our people provided with emergency homing beacons. Any attempt at kidnapping will likely result in the victim abruptly disappearing, and possibly taking some of the kidnappers along."
"Then you should designate one place here in Atlantis as the emergency rescue gate, and have security there whenever the team is in contact with the locals."
"An excellent suggestion. You will write up a duty roster. We can use the enclosed biology lab."
Markham saw the irony of it. "If it could hold me, it can hold a Roman. I'll get on it right away, sir."
-----
The expedition was seen off with so many kisses, that Captain Urquhart swore they would miss the tide. Ferguson was sorry to leave his newborn daughter Mary. His devoted wives, Sally and Polly, shed tears and elicited promises to be careful, to be safe, not to forget them. Neither of them had much interest in seeing the sights of the ancient Mediterranean, other than the city of Rome itself. Of his children, only Annie was old enough to understand that her Papa was going away, and she bawled lustily, infecting all the other children present with her distress.
Bordon's lovely Clytie was equally grieved. If he had not commanded to desist, she would have scratched her cheeks, and torn her clothes to display her misery; but Bordon expressly forbade her to make such a spectacle of herself. She glowered when Diana leaned in to kiss both officers' cheeks, and responded by possessively kissing Bordon until he had to gently remove her clinging hands.
The entire town seemed to have come down to the docks to see them off. Many individuals made last minute additions to the trade goods, which were noted down in the manifest. Beside the items sent by the Committee, nearly everyone had contributed something made or saved: costume jewelry, clothing, pottery and china, plastic toys—all sorts of crafts or treasures that had been kept back, even from the first expedition. In the hold was Jennifer's latest crop of cocoa, carefully processed and even more carefully packaged. It had been their most popular export. It was impossible to grow a great deal of it, and some had to be kept for their own use: but perhaps in the future they could make arrangements in West Africa or in South America to grow it in larger amounts. On this trip, it would not be sold, but given as gifts to the local authorities, "to keep them sweet," as Jennifer had said, shyly venturing a joke.
Otherwise, the brilliantly colored glass, the bags of sugar, coffee, tea, the pineapples, the mangoes, the superior citrus fruits, some of their stock of luxury fabric, a selection of vivid chemical dyes were packed and ready. And packed too was much of their second vintage of Atlantean wine, made from the old Madeira recipe. It had been a prime favorite in Tavington's time: strong and sweet, and popular too because it traveled well. A bottle of Madeira could be uncorked and remain drinkable and delicious for months, aside from collecting a bit of dust. The celebrations held after finding it to have been a success had been memorable.
There was time only for a last handshake between Tavington and his officers. Once again, he noted that Captain Urquhart's grip was as firm as any man's, though she was as distractingly beautiful as ever.
-----
"She's expecting a child: that's why she was so distraught."
"She? Who?" Tavington was nearly asleep, and did not at first follow his wife's observation. Poor Diana was very close to her delivery date herself, terribly uncomfortable and restless, and they were both sorry that Gretchen would not be with her for the birth.
"Clytie. She's expecting. I thought I told you."
"Forgive me, my love, I do not recall. Well, what is the trouble? I should think she would be pleased."
"Oh, indeed she is. She kept it a secret as long as possible. When Carolyn Kelly confronted her with it, she burst into tears, and it took some time to get her calmed down. And then, when Carolyn tried to give her some vitamins, she thought---well--she is happy, now that she understands that she'll be allowed to carry it to term."
Tavington simply felt bewildered, and did not pretend to be anything else.
"It's not her first pregnancy, you see: not by a long shot," Diana informed him. "With all she's gone through since she was a child, it's hardly surprising. Whenever she was found to be pregnant, she was given an herbal tea made from silphium. It's a wild grass that makes a very safe and reliable abortifacient in these ancient times. Gretchen is interested in finding and analyzing some. It was extinct by the end of the Classical period."
Tavington prompted her gently, "And so, Clytie—"
"She told us, 'a dancer is of no use when she is carrying.' I gather this happened three or four times. She can hardly believe she's going to be allowed to keep this one."
Tavington grunted, hiding his queasiness. "Well, good for her. It will do her good to have something else to think about. And just as well that it's over a year since she and Bordon… At least, he won't have to wonder…" His voice trailed off.
"Will?"
To her great disgust, her husband was fast asleep.
-----
"I wanted a sister!" Iris pouted. "Little boys are mostly bad."
"Hush, Iris," said Emily, very firmly. "We have a nice little brother, and Mom doesn't need to hear complaints right now."
"But why can't I have a sister? Annie got a sister!"
It was almost an old-fashioned levee, the day after Tavington's new son's birth. A mob of women and children, shrill as starlings, had invaded the sanctity of the bedchamber he shared with Diana. She was looking much better than she had last night, propped up on a mountain of pillows and holding court.
Sally was herself enthroned in a deeply cushioned chair with her three-week-old Mary. All the women and children who lived in the Town Hall had come to pay their compliments, other friends were arriving; and Tavington, forced to play host, slunk around the edges of the gathering, smirking as required.
There were Lisa and the orphans she had adopted; Polly with little Jamie, fussing over everyone; Emily in her glory, laying down the law to the younger children; timid Jennifer bringing a pretty potted orchid as a gift; Summer with a plate of little honey cakes; Clytie admiring all the babies, and proudly announcing her condition to anyone who might not have heard.
Tavington understood that bearing more children and increasing the size of their settlement was important work; but he was feeling overwhelmed at the moment, as dozens of little hands reached for his, and dozens of little voices demanded his attention. Now Iris was on the verge of tears, expecting someone to produce a baby sister for her at demand.
It did not help that Will was gloating, stroking his baby brother's pink cheek. "Thank you, Mommy."
"Yes, very nice, Will," said his father, not wanting to further upset Iris. "Let's let the ladies talk now, and you and I shall go for a walk. Ruffian has that new colt."
"We have to take Jamie," Will demanded. "He's a man, too."
"I like baby horses," Iris said, her small face growing red.
Diana held little Jason closer, and rolled her eyes meaningfully at Polly. "And what did Jamie think of Mary?"
"Oh," laughed Polly. "Jamie is too young to know the difference. He thinks she's a new plaything. It's all I can do to keep him from poking her eyes out!"
In the end, Tavington went for the proposed walk with his twins, a hand to each, and without Jamie, who Polly explained to Will could not walk so far, man or not. Actually, it was a pleasant time for all three of them. Emily was of an age to be more interested in the women's conversation, and she was a little afraid of horses. Away from the noise, Tavington had time to converse with his twins, and distract them with the charms of Rascal, who, after all, "was better than an old baby, because he could walk!"
The colt was an endearing little fellow, well-shaped and bright-eyed; and Tavington planned to train him as a Dragoon mount. Ruffian, luckily, was a good-tempered mare, and not alarmed at the children's interest. Still, Tavington thought it wise to explain why they should not pet the colt just yet. Instead, very carefully, the children were encouraged to stroke Ruffian, and allowed to use the currycomb for a few minutes.It was so engrossing that Tavington did not hear himself being addressed at first.
"Colonel?"
"Yes: what is it, my boy?"
It was David Enesco, the teen-aged son of the radio engineer. He was spending his summer away from school working with his father, learning the art of radio communications. Summer was a time for the older children to busy themselves with apprenticeships of a sort; helping with the agricultural work, learning from the artisans, studying with the scholars or scientists, or getting a taste of military life. Two of the youngsters, in fact, were sailing with the Enterprise this summer. It was tremendously important that knowledge not be lost; and these summer adventures gave young people a better idea about their future careers. David was plainly very excited and happy to be a part of an important project.
"It's the Enterprise, Colonel. They've weighed anchor in Tingis, and they're ready to make their report to you."
"Very good. Let me take the children home, and I'll walk to the Laboratory with you." There were the inevitable complaints, but Tavington knew when to be firm. Picking up Iris, and then giving a hand to Will, he hurried back to the Town Hall, and caught the end of the gathering as the women were dispersing. The twins saw Emily and ran to tell her about Rascal. Diana noticed Tavington's preoccupied frown.
"Is everything all right, Will?" Behind him, she saw the young boy hanging back, and called out, "Hello, David! Have a cake."
The boy, embarrassed at being in the same room with a woman lying in her bed, blushed and slouched over to the platter on the table.
Tavington smiled indulgently and said to his wife, "Yes, entirely. David here tells me that the Enterprise has arrived in Tingis. I am just going to the Laboratory to hear their report." In an aside to the teenager, looking longingly at the remaining treats, he said, "Take some along. Otherwise the twins will make themselves sick with them." He almost laughed at the boy's heartfelt sigh of relief as they left and descended the stairs.
After the last expedition, Tavington considered himself an expert with the radio. The tinny voices, traveling hundreds of miles, were recognizably Pattie Ferguson and Lesley Urquhart. They had arrived at the first stop of their Grand Tour of the Mediterranean. Tingis, Ferguson said, was even grimier than Gades, and the Governor even more ingratiating. They would have to stay a few days or seem churlish.
"But I told him I've no taste for Roman Games. He didna seem too surprised. It appears that our reputation preceded us."
More faintly, Tavington heard Captain Urquhart in the background commenting, "So much the better!"
----
The trip was going well. Small amounts of powdered cocoa, or theobroma (since the scientific name was more pronounceable for the locals) were duly doled out as gifts to the delighted local officials. It seemed that chocolate's word-of-mouth reputation was high. The seas were smooth, the skies clear, and the citizens of the Empire reasonably welcoming, and not unreasonably curious. Their reputation had indeed preceded them. Ferguson reported that they were being received very hospitably, but that the entertainment was not gladiatorial combats, but less gory entertainments. In Tingis, they had attended a very interesting private concert by a small orchestra of flutes (well, called flutes, but really reed instruments that sounded more like oboes), lyres and kitharae.
"Actually, quite beautiful," Ferguson opined. "A great pity your lady was not there."
"If you can, see about purchasing some musical instruments. I know she'd be interested."
"Ha! 'Twould not be hard to purchase a kithara and a kitharist to boot! Human flesh is cheap here in North Africa—cheaper than even in the Caribbean when I lived in Barbados!"
"Well, why not?" Tavington shrugged, and then felt rather foolish, since Ferguson was not there to see the gesture. "Your party it there to study the culture as well as trade. If you come upon an accomplished musician—preferably free—see if he can be persuaded."
"Just as likely to be a woman. Have you any objections?"
"No—none at all. In fact, it might be even better. A woman might find with the Learned Ladies less terrifying. I'll be joining you on Wednesday. That will give you a day to show me Cyrene before we sail to Alexandria."
"There's much to see."
-----
Cyrene was very different than Gades. Just as crowded and smelly, perhaps: but the smells were different. The city was older, more Greek; the temples handsomer, the gods rather more exotic, the agora less sordid than the forum of Gades. Tavington wondered if it was really better than Gades, or if he was simply more prepared.
It was pleasant, at least, to be incognito, to be traveling as another of Ferguson's officers. They understood enough of the culture to accept that Mediterranean peoples would consider it unseemly and undignified for a head of state to cruise in a single ship, without the pomp that traditionally accompanied such individuals. The last thing they wanted was for Rome to learn Atlantis' actual size, or their population's small numbers.
Their hosts were friendly, considered them a novelty, and were sufficiently impressed by the ship itself and by their trade goods. It would do for a start. Alexandria, Tavington realized would be a greater challenge: a huge metropolis, sophisticated, multi-ethnic, and proud of its achievements.
As they embarked once again, and left Cyrene behind, Tavington brooded on the matter, leaning on the rail. The city itself lay low against the water, alive with the sharp cries of fishermen and the calls of sea birds. The coast was a brown haze; the water they slid through the wine-dark sea of Homer. Well, perhaps not wine, Tavington thought whimsically, and certainly not the deep red-brown of good Madeira. Here near the Nile Delta it's more like a dark ale with a good head of foam in our wake.
The voyage to Alexandria was interesting, but happily uneventful. The craft they passed were mainly fishing boats. Dark men gawked at the huge iron ship, its unfamiliar sails flaming in the brilliant sun. Once they encountered a trireme, its triple decks of oars cutting through the water like razors. Tavington stood near the prow and his eyes met the soldiers on the trireme's upper deck. The gaze lingered, not hostile, but not friendly, either; warriors recognizing one another for what they were.
A day out of Alexandria, they anchored. Tavington did not want Diana to miss their first sight of Alexandria. Besides, there was work to be done, entering this particular city. They had known, if Dion had not told them, that they would have a welcoming party to deal with. All ships entering the harbor of Alexandria were boarded, and any book found was borrowed, to make a copy for the Great Library. Everyone went carefully over the ship, searching for all books and other items that would raise awkward questions. Captain Urquhart decided to get rid of all of her charts temporarily—they might be seized under cover of looking for books. Two of the manuscripts they had obtained in Gades were kept on board—to give the officials something to satisfy them, and to deflect interest in other things they might notice. A gate was opened to send the classified material temporarily out of sight, and to admit the group of tourists that would be seeing Alexandria.
It was quite a large group, over fifty. His entire family came: Diana with the new baby; Emily, taking charge of the twins. After kissing her husband, Diana greeted Alan, who was less snarky than usual. The man was genuinely excited—even happy. Cameras were readied, and the ship was underway once more, on its way to the great metropolis of the eastern Mediterranean.
And it did not disappoint. The Lighthouse on the Pharos was brilliantly white: a vision of splendor and an engineering marvel. Cameras were snapping, and Herb Schultz was making a recording of their passage. Dion was already at work, pointing out the sights to the Atlanteans.
"The Royal Quarter," he declared. "And that is the head of the Argeus. A little further down that way is the Tomb of Alexander."There was a murmur of excitement, and the young Greek swelled with pride.
A boat from the harbor came out to meet them, and the search for books was curiously perfunctory. They had expected to be met by a harbormaster's clerk; but Serapion, a Greco-Egyptian with meticulously curled hair and a white, wide smile, was on the governor's staff. The Atlanteans had been awaited with great anticipation: the governor in Cyrenaica had sent a message by ship immediately after hearing their next destination. Of course they were welcome. Serapion gestured at the crowds at the wharf, eager to see the Great Iron Ship. They were to be the governor's guests, and would be welcome throughout the city.
Ferguson, as the head of the expedition, was naturally offered the most florid courtesies. The red coats of all the soldiers made them stand out in the crowd of Alexandrians, who were for the most part dressed in shades of white and tan. However, it was Lesley Urquhart who was the crowd's favorite. There was loud and fervent praise of her beauty, and some speculation from the working class about her possible divine origins. A beautiful woman—piloting a ship—mysterious powers—a ship like none other—rare and precious goods—food of the gods—could it be---?
A detail of marines and sailors was left on board, and promised shore leave when others could take their place. Chariots and litters were provided, and the large party was escorted in a kind of parade to the Royal Quarter, for a reception and banquet with the governor; through the broad streets of the wealthy, past the Great Library and the Museum. The bright sun reflected off white marble, making it almost painful to gaze on these glorious sights. Crowds gathered, waiting to see them. Tavington, standing just behind Ferguson in a ceremonial chariot with gilded wreaths, was feeling rather dazzled by the grandeur of it all. The Atlanteans were the toast of Alexandria. He remembered a line of Marlowe:
"Is it not passing brave to be a king,
And ride in triumph through Persepolis?"
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Note: Silphium was a real plant—and the reason that abortion was a common practice in ancient Greece and Rome. Male physicians were never involved with this (re: Hippocratic oath), but there were plenty of female healers and—yes—physicians who were. No one ever succeeded in domesticating the plant, and it seems to have been completed gone by the end of the Roman Empire. In some of the ancient Mediterranean cultures, women (except slaves, of course) had a degree of control of their bodies during pregnancy, but at birth the child was the sole property of the father, who could choose to have it "exposed." Leaving a baby to die of exposure (especially if it was female or otherwise "deficient") was the practice: this did not incur ritual blood-guilt by outright killing your own flesh and blood. You were simply leaving the child in the lap of the gods—and for all you knew, some kind stranger would take it in. Myths are full of such stories, but whether this kind of adoption was an actual practice, or just wishful thinking, is unclear.
A kithara was a multi-stringed Greek harp—a much more demanding instrument than a lyre, which tended to have only from five to eight strings.