Disclaimer: No, Tavington and Bordon are not mine.
The New Atlanteans continue their exploration of the Roman world. Tavington receives a startling communication from his wife.
Episode 12: Tavington's Atlantis, part 4
In the Harbors of the Middle Sea: July, 150 A.D.
A planned city, Tavington and Diana agreed, was a marvelous thing. Their own little New Atlantis had been made with loving care, and was delightful enough. Certainly vast and opulent Alexandria, laid out as it was, showing its beauties to best advantage, like one of the great courtesans for which the city was famed, was altogether splendid.
Pattie Ferguson, as leader of the embassy, was lodged in the old Ptolemaic palace. Tavington and Diana were discreetly part of his entourage. They were given their own gorgeous quarters, with a view of the harbor, and settled in to enjoy palace life. The baby, little as he was, was proving a hardy little fellow, and fussed only infrequently.
The palace was surprisingly full of children. Some were slaves, of course, but some were the children of free servants, and some the children of members of the governor's staff. The governor's own children, it appeared, were already grown, and safely home in Rome pursuing careers and raising families of their own. It was still a lively group. Emily had been warned to guard her tongue. Tavington was not worried about her: she was, if anything, too prudent for her years. It was as well she was with them. She would watch the little ones, and keep baby Jason quiet for the few hours that Diana could slip away for sight-seeing or entertainments. The children had their own pleasant entertainments, and even their own welcoming party, a rather spontaneous and carefree affair, in one of the sheltered courtyard gardens.
The governor of Egypt was a genial and cultivated man. Manlius had earned his plum assignment by his evident keen wits and remarkable tact. They were feasted lavishly, but not vulgarly, in more a Greek than Roman style. The governor's wife, Lollia Merula, was curious about Lesley Urquhart, but a little afraid of her; and instead cultivated Diana.
The entertainment was more erotic than Tavington was quite prepared for, especially in company with his wife; but it was also very beautiful: a pair of dancers miming the tale of Cupid and Psyche. Even the musicians were perfectly groomed and equipped with instruments that were inlaid with precious woods and metals, tortoiseshell and amber. Drums beat, little silver cymbals clashed sweetly. The thrumming of the harps supported the flutes in an irresistible symphony. Half clad or less, their hands shimmering expressively, the young man and woman created a vision of longing and love, unrequited and then fulfilled, exquisite and arousing. Reclining beside him on an sumptuous dining couch, Diana smiled teasingly at him, and he was unable to conceal his own desire: he would have to think of something interesting to do that would not inconvenience his wife, who was not yet healed enough for what he most wanted. He sat back to enjoy the dance, and then managed to return the smile. He had thought of something that would do very well indeed.
In the following days, Tavington was back and forth between the palace compound and the ship. Going down to the docks one day accompanied by their liaison Serapion, he saw a little crowd of Alexandrians—craftsmen and laborers from their dress-- leaning out from the wharf, straining to touch the cold steel of the Enterprise's hull. They grinned and drew back, talking excitedly together.
Serapion, impeccable in his white tunic and red bordered himation, grinned himself, and told Tavington, "They feel they're touching a divine thing. It has great power. You do not realize the stir that you Atlanteans have created."
Tavington raised his brows inquisitively. "And do they imagine the divine ship to be crewed by divine beings?" he asked, laughing.
Serapion regarded him thoughtfully. "It is clear to any rational being that you are something new under the sun." His teeth flashed white, contrasting with his dark skin. "The gods are everywhere: one never know when one might be entertaining them unawares. And, of course, there are new ones all the time. Indeed, for example, one may name our revered Emperors in Rome."
"Do you truly consider them gods?"
"They have the power of life and death over all: and thus, yes—they are godlike enough in that sense." He laughed. "At least the Emperors of late have been benevolent gods—a great improvement from the days of Nero and Caius Caesar Caligula!"
"But does an act of the Senate—a body composed of mortal men--confer true divinity?"
"If you wish to consider the philosophic aspects of such matters, Oilion," he said, using Tavington's alias—the closest the Greeks could get to his given name, "you must engage in debate with the scholars of the Library,after the fashion ofyour countryman Alan! I am only a court functionary, a facilitator of cordial relations, and no sophist. It is true that the Jews here in Alexandria follow their own ways—as well as all the Jewish cults, like the Christians."
"Are there Christians in Alexandria?"
"Yes, very many. Some of them are even respectable and intelligent individuals. But god-mad, like the Jews. One wishes to live at peace with gods, like the good Serapis, for whom I am named. Would you care to visit his temple? It is one of the finest in Alexandria. He is a good god, and a giver of gifts, and not a furious deity who threatens his followers with death and fire! Or condemns his own son to crucifixion! All of your party should come! It is a beautiful place, and your great pilot, the Lady Uccarte," here Serapion's eyes slid slyly to Tavington and his voice softened, "has expressed a desire to see more of the Canopic Way. The Governor wishes to show you every courtesy, and we could make a little expedition of it, down the Argeus to the Tomb of Alexander, and then turn onto Canopic Way and see all the sights there. It leads right to the Temple of Serapis."
"I'll mention it to Ferguson."
At that moment Lesley Urquhart appeared on deck. Her thick hair, dark blond and sunstreaked, blew gently in the light breeze, and surrounded her head in a golden nimbus. The attention of the crowd of loungers was riveted. The captain cast a sardonic eye at the men on the quay and then ignored them. They, nearly to a man, bowed shyly, touching a hand to their foreheads in respect.
Tavington turned to make an ironic remark to Serapion, but found him staring as raptly as the common folk, though in a more gentleman-like manner. He sighed, and let the Alexandrian admire her unhindered.
-----
It would be a wrench to leave Alexandria. The extraordinary hospitality, the magnificence of the city, the sights to be seen further up the Nile caused the week to stretch to two. The tour of Alexandria could not be refused. All the regular tourists were barred for the day, and the Atlanteans were ushered into the dark solemnity of Alexander's Tomb.
Behind his wall of rippled glass, miraculously preserved by the funerary arts of the Egyptians, Alexander the Great was enthroned in ineffable glory. Tavington felt his head spin a little as they stepped over the threshold, and was so embarrassed at the idea of swooning like a woman that he took refuge in making light of the experience.
"I can only hope," he remarked rather airily to Diana, "that after five hundred years I still look as eligible."
"He is in splendid shape. I really can't tell where Augustus damaged the nose placing the gold crown on his head."
"I daresay the embalmers made him a new nose of wax," said Ferguson, thoroughly enjoying the somewhat macabre spectacle. "The whole thing could be a wax effigy, even. Augustus might have tried to see if he were real by giving the nose a wee tweak." The two officers shared a mordant laugh, much to the scandal of the curator, who was gearing up for his presentation. Diana glared at her husband and his friend, and turned politely to the Alexandrian, who waxed eloquent in his description of the tomb's history.
Alan Swinburne, overhearing them, snorted, and whispered to Diana, "With any encouragement, those two will play the Mark Twain gambit, and ask the curator, 'Is he dead?'"
"Stop it," hissed Diana. "You're every bit as bad!" She nudged her husband, "I thought you admired Alexander!"
"I do, most heartily," Tavington assured her. "But this is all rather grotesque. I can't believe Alexander would have liked the rabble staring at his corpse. Perhaps I shall ask him someday." Despite his words, he was absorbing it all avidly. One could see beyond the stark bones and the parchment-like skin to something of the youth and beauty that had once inhabited that fragile shell. The dim light added to the atmosphere. This one sight made his entire adventure in both future and distant past worthwhile. And he would see the living Alexander: somehow, someday, he would manage it.
The rest of the day was equally successful: so successful that Manlius arranged a river cruise up the Nile to Memphis to see the Pyramids. The city came out to see them head south out of the Gate of the Sun to the waiting boats on Lake Mareotis. It would be a two day journey: first through the canal to Canopus, and then up the Nile to the ancient monuments. The boatmen sang; the wind caught the sails, and carried them past the palms and crocodiles into a magical world. Herb Schultz was transfixed, and exclaimed eagerly that it was nearly the same song, the same experience as he had had two thousand years later when working on the University of Chicago Epigraphic Project.
Time stopped, or rather, rolled back further into the past. Blindingly white, the Pyramids, still clad in their sheaths of polished limestone, anchored them to the spot. The Sphinx, nearly pristine, and much like an elegant predator at rest, looked down at them with an air of bemused detachment.
They wandered through the funerary temples. The real Egyptians—not Romans like Manlius, or Greeks like his secretary, or even Greco-Egyptians like Serapion---were a different people entirely. Ever busy busy with the work of centuries, they seemed indifferent to yet another passing group of travelers.
The day came when the Atlanteans had to explain what their cameras were, and what they did, and Manlius wanted to see the pictures; and then he wanted them to take a picture of him, and then of his wife Lollia, and then both of them with Ferguson, and then a picture of Lollia and Diana together. After some consultation, they showed him how an old-fashioned camera worked, and how the pictures were developed in a chemical bath. Manlius was delighted with the images, and Swinburne showed him how to use the camera himself. The pictures would have to be developed and given to him before they left, for there was really no time to explain the technology in detail, nor could the Romans have reproduced it easily if they had. One of the engineers did give some of the scholars at the library written information about the process used in the earliest days of photography. Possibly they could recreate the art on their own.
Back in Alexandria, they attended a play by Menander that none of them had heard of before. They were all eager to see theatrical masks in use: historians had wondered if the presentations were clumsy. But at a distance, the masks looked human and expressive. They were really too far, in the great bowl of the theater, under the morning sun, to have seen the actors' facial expressions anyway. The comedy was performed with a great deal of wit and color, and it was another wonderful day in Alexandria.
Herb Schultz had had something of a disappointment: his projected trip to Jerusalem had been cancelled. It was going to take too much time to travel inland. Furthermore, Governor Manlius, Serapion, and their other sources all assured them that the city was not worth seeing: it was a wreck, destroyed by the twin blows of its sack a century before under Vespasian, and the violence only fifteen years before during the Bar Kokhba revolt. In fact, Jerusalem had been razed and replaced with a new Roman city named Aelia Capitolina. Jews were forbidden to live there, and many had migrated south, swelling the already huge Jewish quarter of Alexandria.
At any rate, they would have to leave soon. Questions would soon be raised about the Atlanteans who visited the ship and were not seen again, and about Atlanteans who had not been noticed disembarking on the day of the arrival. It added much to their aura of mystery.
Besides, Diana was exhausted, and she and the children needed the comforts of home. She and most of the current tourists would be gated back to Atlantis as soon as they boarded the Enterprise. Another group would head north with them. Tavington himself needed to get back to Atlantis and his own work. He would rejoin the ship at Athens, but that would give him a good two weeks. There was no time to see everything; though, perhaps, he might manage a day at Ephesus.
To their surprise, they found that they had some applicants eager to join them. Serapion had been given leave by Manlius to travel with the Atlanteans, rather to their discomfiture. Quick discussion ensued, and it was decided that he could; and if he had questions about where people had disappeared to, he could just wonder about it.
Their fame had spread: Gretchen had found another Greco-Egyptian—a woman physician who wanted to learn all she had to teach. Merianis was not beautiful, but she had a proud, hawk-like nose, observant dark eyes, and boundless curiosity. She had sought Gretchen out, and was now very much a devoted apprentice.
And Diana had found her musician, a gift from Lollia. Diana quizzed the young woman about her true willingness to leave Alexandria, but got nothing but humble acquiescence from Berenike. She was a splendid harpist, a mistress of both lyre and kithara, and a notable flute-player as well. She had, it seemed, begun her career as a flute-girl, and had considered herself risen in the world by her harp skills. Another gift was delivered with her: a large andmagnificently inlaid coffer. Diana had been taken aback at the sight: it had looked like an Egyptian coffin—and perhaps it had been, originally. Now it contained a collection of musical instruments, and a few musical scrolls.
Lollia had liked Diana, and had liked sharing cups of cocoa with her as well. Diana reciprocated her splendid gifts with an Atlantean style dress in rayon, dyed a rich peach, and draped with a lace overdress of ecru. Polly and Sally were a little scornful of machine-made lace, but the Romans were staggered by the idea of lace in dress-lengths. Lollia was awestruck, and only feared that the Empress herself might be jealous.
Most profoundly startling was an application by a rising young Alexandrian scholar. When they heard the name, there had been a gasp of recognition, and Ferguson had looked wide-eyed at Tavington; and Tavington at Diana; and Diana at Alan; and Alan at Bordon; and Bordon at Herb Schultz, who grinned delightedly, and cried, "Holy cats!"
So Claudius Ptolemy, who already had been on his way to fame as an astronomer and geographer, took ship with the Atlanteans. He was eager to learn from the strangers—eager to expand the boundaries of the map of the world he was constructing—eager to coopt any new data they might have on celestial motions. Lesley Urquhart, an expert navigator and no mean astronomer herself, welcomed Ptolemy aboard the Enterprise, where he would, like the rest, discover strange new worlds.
-----
Ferguson's radio reports for next weeks continued positive: things were going well, except in Antioch, where a number of the party had come down with dysentery from the local food. They were rushed home for treatment, and replacements sent for the two Marines who had fallen ill. Otherwise it was a continual triumph: they had attended the chariot races in Antioch in the fabulous racecourse that seated fifty thousand. Traveling up the coast, they stopped at all the remaining Wonders of the World.
At Ephesus, Tavington joined the expedition for a day in order to visit the famed Temple of Diana, the largest temple in the world.
"It's not quite what I was expecting," he admitted to Bordon.
"Nor I, Colonel. At least, not quite so many breasts."
The immense statue was not the typical Greek beauty. Instead, this rather Oriental creation was a fertility goddess: well-worthy of the application "Lady of the Beasts." Crowned and with row upon row of dugs, the goddess was surrounded by a tangle of wild creatures. The temple was crowded and smelly; the great altar still bloody with the day's sacrifice.
Tavington swept the vast precinct with a troubled eye. This sight had attracted a lot of interest from his Atlanteans: the Reverend Mr. Boulton (complete with clerical collar) and his family were visiting, intrigued with a site mentioned by Paul. Tavington liked Boulton, whose own classical education made him a valuable asset; but he did not want the complication of religious controversy, and had not encouraged his people to get in contact with the local Christians. The current emperor, Antoninus Pius, was a benevolent ruler, and shown toleration towards the Christians, as he did toward all faiths; but the religion was not in good odor in the Roman Empire as the present time. Christians tended to come from the lower classes, and were suspected, as many small cults throughout history had been, of murdering children in their blood rituals.
Closer to the statue, he could see Dion, Ptolemy, and Serapion in a group of other old-timers: talking and gesticulating with great spirit. To his relief, McKenzie and Alan Swinburne were in the same group, and would restrain Dion from revealing secrets of Atlantis. The young freedman was enjoying himself so much that Tavington knew he would hate to send him home: but he had been warned about the consequences of indiscretion. When so warned, the young man would protest his loyalty and acquiescence, eager to please; but he would grow so excited about the wonders of Atlantis that he sometimes lost all prudence. Tavington had himself witnessed McKenzie having to physically silence Dion when the fellow started in about electric lighting. If he mentioned flying machines, he would find his wonderful Grand Tour cut short.
Tavington returned to the ship that afternoon and gated back to New Atlantis, after telling Ferguson that he would visit again at Athens. There was a minor crisis before he could make his departure: one of his Atlanteans tourists—Boulton's daughter-in-law, in fact, wandered away, was robbed, and had lost her emergency beacon. She was given another and checked out by Gretchen and Merianis for possible injuries. The Boultons wanted to remain with the ship at least until they had had a chance to see Athens: and Tavington gave Rachel Boulton a brief lecture on the importance of staying close to her party in the future. At least they would be living in their cabin on the ship, not trying to acclimate to life in Ephesus itself: so Tavington could go home without further worry.
On his return, Tavington notified Markham and the engineers on retrieval duty about the loss of the beacon. It had been in the young woman's purse and might very well attract notice. The beacons were small devices: smaller than communicators, and the smooth metal was featureless save for the glowing red button under its protective cap.
"She shouldn't carry it in her purse, sir," Markham responded angrily, hearing Tavington's news. "She knows she shouldn't. It should be in a pocket--or better yet, right on the person."
"Yes. Obviously I agree with you, Lieutenant, and all persons going ashore from the Enterprise will henceforth be checked for compliance. Nonetheless, it has happened, and you should be prepared for a visit at any time. Get rid of any intruders. We certainly don't want a pickpocket on Atlantis."
The dragoon who knocked on Tavington's door three hours later was the first indication given that the beacon had been used. Locke reported, with a hint of a grin, "Poor bugger didn't know what hit him, sir. The lieutenant shot him with a tranquilizer gun and he fell to the floor. Then we got the beacon off him, and sent him right back through the Ephesus gate. The lieutenant went with him and carried him a little ways away, so the fellow wouldn't be hanging about the gate area. Then he came back. No one saw him, and the lieutenant sends his compliments, and adds that 'All's well that ends well.'"
Tavington snorted. "I certainly hope so."
-----
The expedition was important, but not the only matter of business for Tavington to attend to. There were some disputes that required his attention. And then Michael was back in town, and the two of them shared a bottle of the new vintage, while Michael showed Tavington his latest finds, among which were a nugget of gold the size of his (large) fist, and a wonderfully complete fossil skeleton of Stegosaurus, as well as two of the little meat-eater, Ornitholestes.
When he had more time, Michael was planning to have the older schoolchildren assist him and Elyssa in mounting the specimens. It would be educational for them, and fun, as well. Tavington planned to hang about and help. There was something so delightful about filling their little museum. Many of Sam Walford's treasures had gone into it: paintings and baubles; statues and Chinese jade. Marianne was the chief curator, but Michael had charge of the geology area, and was contributing treasures at a prodigious rate.
Some of their Roman acquisitions were alreadydisplayed there: an encaustic portrait of Patrick Ferguson,painted during the stay at Gades, and a wonderful mosaic in the floor of the main hall. The portrait always made Tavington laugh: the artist had not quite known what to make of the exotic Atlantean, and Ferguson's expression in the painting was positively hilarious.
And of course, there was his family. The twins were eager for his attention, Emily wanted to tell him about her summer internship and her aspirations, and the new baby was—quite adorable for a baby. Diana was continuing to recover, and was entertained by her new musical instruments and musician.
Berenike had moved into Clytie's old room, and was teaching Diana the basics of the lyre and kithara. In the splendid chest of instruments had been a floor harp of Egyptian design. At the top of the instrument was the head of a lion in gold, adorned with the rich blue of lapis lazuli and the orange-red of carnelian. It was painted with lotuses and papyrus stalks, and inscribed with hieroglyphs. Berenike did not know what they said, but Diana did, and smiled mysteriously on seeing them. Tavington particularly enjoyed hearing it, deep-toned and equivocal. It suited their rooms—it suited the Town Hall. He had liked harp music long ago in the 18th century, and now enjoyed hearing it again, even in this unfamiliar style.
The soft, mellow tones echoed through the high-ceilinged rooms of the Town Hall, drifting down from upstairs, filling every corner of the offices and splendid reception rooms below. They wafted across the terrace on the upper floor to the door of Bordon's quarters, and filled the air like perfume. Clytie would leave the door open, and come out, leaning back against the wall, eyes shut in rapture. She was missing Bordon badly, and beginning to suffer the ill-affects of pregnancy. Discomfort made her cling to Diana, who understood her and bore the lack of privacy uncomplainingly.
It was quite good of his wife, for it seemed every woman on Atlantis with complaints beat a path to their door, pouring their grievances into Diana's compassionate ears. Women of the 21st century did not always see eye to eye with men of 18th; and romantic and marital quarrels could turn stormy.
"He doesn't understand me!" wailed one young woman, overworked and overwrought. "He never lifts a finger around the house! He expects to be waited on! He won't change the baby!"
Tavington could hear the girl's complaints all the way downstairs in his office, and quietly got up and shut the door, vowing to stay hard at work until Diana's visitor took the proffered sympathy and counsel and was on her way. Luckily, his men were in too much awe of him to try to confide similarly in him; though he knew that they sometimes sought out Bordon. Not Markham, though: Tavington had once overheard him responding to such a complaint by telling the soldier, "to get off his dead, lazy, military ass and pull his own weight at home!" Hearing that, Tavington gave thanks to Providence that Carolyn Kelly had not left Markham for an "18." It would have made his attitude ten times worse.
At length, hearing light footsteps coming down the stairs and then heading out the front door of the Town Hall, Tavington emerged from his office, and paused tolet Lisa and Trinity know he was leaving. At least these two women in his life were happily settled: Lisa with her "ex-ex" and their two adopted children (admirably disciplined children, too, he reflected approvingly); and Trinity with the easy-going Locke, who had taken the path of least resistance and learned to cook and clean, refusing to be embarrassed about it. Tavington sighed. If only all the citizens of Atlantis could be so agreeably adaptable.
He mounted the stairs, two at a time, feeling rather eager to spend some time with the family. To his disappointment, Diana and the children were gone. She must have left with her visitor.
Like any other Atlantean, Diana had work to do: during most of the year she spent quite a bit of time at the school, teaching the older pupils literature and history and "fine arts." She gave lessons on the pianoforte to some of the children, and was planning some theatrical production for next year, too. The little Tavingtons were cared for by a good-hearted rota of friends when their mother needed time for her work. Besides her teaching, she was still engaged in historical research, analyzing the information gathered on the last trip and the current one, trying to hammer out strategies for altering the future for the better.
Let's see: it's Wednesday, so Emily is at the Library, shelving books and reading stories to small children; the twins are probably at the Laboratory clothing workroom with Polly and Sally, playing with the little Fergusons while the women perpetrate new clothing innovations.
Atlantis was processing its own cotton now and would soon have enough wool to work with as well, and an engineer had devised a power spinner and a power loom—small, but efficient. Their store of clothing from the 21st century would not last forever: the ladies of the "costume shop" seemed to get tremendous pleasure from designing and creating clothes—shirts, breeches, pretty dresses, uniform jackets. The chemical dyes available inspired them to wild and flamboyant uses of color. Hats were a different issue: it was hard to persuade 21's to wear headgear unless they needed it for protection from the sun. Even his soldiers were getting out of the habit, except when they were on the occasional parade.
Perhaps she took Jason to her own office. Diana still had a little cubbyhole in the Laboratory: a place all to herself where she could think in quiet. Or somewhat quietly, if the baby is with her.
Restlessly, he moved around their sitting room, pausing at her pianoforte. He sat down, idly pecking out a tune. There was a movement to his right; from the corner of his eye he saw Berenike's pale face peering out of her room. She saw him and started to draw back, but then realized that he had noticed her, and she stood silently by, while he finished searching out the notes of "Shenandoah." A pretty song. I had never heard it, until Diana's friend Karen taught it to her choir for the end-of-school concert.
The song ended. "Good day to you, Berenike," Tavington said politely. "Do you know where my wife has gone?"
"She has gone to the glass house, Lord," was the girl's deferential reply. "Her friend, the Lady Jennifer, wished to speak with her."
"Call me 'Colonel,'" Tavington corrected her gently, it seemed for the thousandth time.
"Colonel," she repeated dutifully. "I beg pardon, Lor—Colonel."
Tavington rolled his eyes. It would be so much easier just to treat the girl like any servant he would have had at home in his youth, but Diana disliked the idea, feeling that it would be a slippery slope from there to slavery. "I am certain," he said patiently, "that she did not order you to remain in your room."
"No, --Colonel. The Lady Diana gave me leave to do as I pleased until the evening meal. I was spending some time at my music. My room is very comfortable. I did not mean to disturb you. I thought that the Lady had returned."
She remained standing quietly, almost passively. Tavington realized that she was waiting for him to give her a command. Naturally, he realized, she has been a slave all her life. Who knows how she has been treated?
"Well, Berenike, you still have some time. You could go for a walk—" she remained standing obediently. Too pale, he decided. She needs air. "Yes, that would do well."
"The Colonel wishes me to go for a walk?" she asked timidly.
"Yes," he replied, trying not to be rudely sarcastic. "Yes, The Colonel does wish you to go for a walk. Go down to the garden and look at the flowers, and then walk all the way around the Square. You need to get some exercise. Have a pleasant walk, and be back for dinner."
She looked out the window, and then paused, her eyes returning to the floor in front of him.
"Go now."
Quickly, she darted out of sight. Tavington rolled his eyes again. He returned his attention to the keyboard, wandering slowly through "The Water is Wide."
Emily arrived first, in her usual air of bustle, telling Tavington about the Library, and how the other assistant did not appear to know the alphabet and constantly shelved everything "bass-ackwards."
"Please," he remonstrated.
"Sorry, but she is so stupid. I can't imagine why Mrs. Horn chose her."
She went on at length about Nadia's shortcomings. Tavington closed his ears. He had heard it all before. Emily simply did not like Nadia Nagy, and the feeling was evidently mutual. Well, she would have to deal with it. They would be living on the same island for the rest of their lives.
His twins came home next: heard first, with their squeals of glee echoing up the stairs. They ran to Tavington and climbed on him with affectionate carelessness. Berenike was a few paces behind them, slipping along the walls, trying not to be seen.
Diana, lugging Jason, arrived last, giving Tavington a distracted kiss. "We need to talk later," she told him briefly, before becoming involved with the mechanics of getting the children ready for dinner. Downstairs in the dining room, the inhabitants of the Town Hall would be gathering for their communal evening meal. They had started with one large table, but as families had grown, the table had grown as well, now forming a U shape. It hardly mattered: the room was huge and would hold many more diners—and did, often enough.
Clytie entered through the terrace door, disconsolate as usual, but unfailingly good about helping with the mob of children. Tavington still found it odd to share a dinner table with infants in high chairs and little children in booster seats, but with the lack of real servants, it was the way things were.
It was not until late that night, when the children were in bed, and he and Diana were moving in that direction themselves, that he remembered to ask her what she wanted to talk about.
"Oh!" she recollected with an odd laugh. She took a deep breath, and seemed at a loss. "Another time. I'm really too tired now to get into it." She slipped out of her dress, and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her ankles.
Tavington sat beside her, stooped to deftly gather up his wife's charming feet, and deposited them in his lap. She laughed again, and relaxed. Diana loved having her feet massaged, and it had been one of the best ways to comfort her during her pregnancies. He lifted her right foot first, squeezing firmly, and rubbing his thumb into the arch.
Diana groaned with pleasure, and said, "You are absolutely the world's best husband."
He moved up the ankle, finding all the sore places. Diana relaxed further, sprawled sideways on the bed, and Tavington took advantage of her vulnerable state to ask again, "What did you want to talk about?"
"I don't want to talk. I want you to rub my feet forever."
Jason stirred in his cradle, and mewed. Diana rolled partly over to see if this was serious. It was not, and she rolled back, smiling blissfully.
Tavington pointed out, "My dear, I think we had better talk now, while the children are out of the way for the moment. Who knows how long that will last? Do you imagine we will have more time tomorrow morning?"
She sighed. "You're right, of course. You may find what I'm going to say—I don't know." She took another breath, and blurted out, "Jennifer would really like to have a baby."
Tavington was so baffled that he momentarily stopped rubbing. Diana poked him with a protesting toe, and he resumed. "And that's it? Jennifer wants to have a child?"
"Yes, very much. She's been very depressed, and last week she dropped by my office and saw Jason and just went to pieces. She's very unhappy."
"Well," he remarked, puzzled, "I still don't see why that's our concern. If she wants a child, she will have to make some sort of effort to find a husband. There are still some unattached men."
He considered the prospects and frowned. Jennifer was so terribly reserved.
Diana's free foot stroked the top of his thigh. "Will, she's not particularly interested in finding a mate. She wants a child."
Tavington reminded himself of the very different customs among his wife's people. Besides, they were creating their own society, and could certainly tolerate fatherless children, especially when the mother was educated, intelligent, and prominent in her own right. The more children, the better, in fact.
"I still don't see the problem," he observed, his massage moving higher up the sleek, feminine leg. "Surely there is some friend who could oblige her."
"Yes, Will," his wife, with long-suffering patience, agreed. "And she broke down and confided to me which friend she would like do the obliging." She gave him a level look.
Tavington froze. "Good God."
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Athens was a sleepy town: a place where things used to happen long ago. Herb thought it was a lot like a number of university towns he had visited, only, of course, with some of the world's greatest art and architecture. It was full of students from all over the Roman world, here to soak up some knowledge by conversation, by sight-seeing, or by more formal study at the Academy or the other famous schools of philosophy.
Full of tourists, too—and not only the Atlanteans. They met Pausanias of Magnesia, hard at work on his great travelogue of the classical sights of Greece. Their host introduced them at dinner, and they found the conversation interesting; but Pausanias, though interested in the Atlanteans, would never leave Greece—the only place he truly cared about.
Tavington, needing a brief diversion from his–romantic?--imbroglio, returned to the Enterprise for a peep at the place, and very much enjoyed going with the rest of their group on a walking tour all the way from the Acropolis down the Sacred Way toward Eleusis. He could spare only two days, and departed regretfully, leaving Ferguson once again in command.
Amidst the good talk, the sightseeing, the theater, the endless rounds of cultivated parties, it was easy to imagine themselves in another world: one not so different from their own life on New Atlantis. It was a great surprise, then, four days after their arrival, when a messenger from the local Roman praetor summoned Ferguson to his office. Accompanied by Bordon he was there within the hour.
Waiting for them was a deputation, led by a young military tribune, one Quintus Memmius. Ferguson dealt with the introductions with unruffled calm, though inwardly his mind was racing.
Memmius, charming enough despite a certain arrogance, saluted them cordially. "I bring you a greeting from Rome," he told them briskly. "The Emperor, hearing of the Atlanti, invites you, Verguso, and your retinue to enter the city and present yourself before him. He would hear of Atlantis from the lips of the Atlanti themselves. I and my men shall escort you."
Invite, indeed. Antoninus Pius was a polite man, but Ferguson knew it was a command all the same. He caught Bordon's eye, and smiled graciously, "The Enterprise can be ready to make sail whenever you like. When do you wish to depart, Quintus Memmius?"
"At daybreak, Verguso. It would not do to keep the Emperor waiting."
Bordon raised his brows. Ferguson nodded his agreement with the Roman. "No, indeed."
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Note: Canopic Way was the main east-west drag in ancient Alexandria. Argeus was the big north-south street. The Tomb of Alexander was at the intersection.
If you have never read The Innocents Abroad, Mark Twain hysterically funny travelogue of Europe and the Middle East, you should. "Is—is—he dead?" was one of Twain's favorite ways to confuse tour guides, whether viewing mummies or sculptures.
The University of Chicago Epigraphic Project, whose goal is to write down every bit of writing on all the ancient Egyptian monuments. began decades ago and is nowhere near done. I can imagine them still hard at it decades hence.
Yes, that Ptolemy.
Though the Hanging Gardens of Babylon were one of the Ancient Wonders, Babylon was a ghost town by the time of this story, and the gardens no longer in existence. The Atlanteans already knew that the Colossus of Rhodes had collapsed in the third century B.C.
Pausanias' Guide to Greece is still in existence, and is an exhaustive travel guide that gives great insight into the ancient myths.
Next: The Imperial City. The Enterprise and its crew arrive at the Roman capital, meet some notable Romans, and discover that for some, hospitality may be a blind for a hostile agenda.