Disclaimer: Don't own the rights to The Patriot, Tavington, or Bordon. Not making money off this. Really.

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..

Episode 12: Tavington's Atlantis, part 5

The Imperial City: July, 150 A.D.

Matching their speed to that of their escort, the Enterprise slowly made its way across the Adriatic, and then through the Straits of Messina. Their progress was majestic: crowds were seen gathering along the coast of Italy to watch their passage. Herb mourned their lost chance to see southern Italy.

Ferguson, in the meantime, contacted Tavington by radio and told him what had transpired.

"It was certain to happen, soon or later," Tavington said calmly. "It is to be a formal audience, apparently. Once you reach the port of Ostia, you must inquire as to the proper protocol. Leave a strong force on the Enterprise, and I think—" he paused, and then said more decidedly, "—I think it would be wise to gate home all the tourists until we are more certain of our reception."

"Aye. And such a move will remove some distractions. I'll have enough to fret over without worrying about a panic amongst the civilians."

They anchored briefly in Neapolis to allow the trireme to take on water. The distant mass of Vesuvius dominated the harbor. A gate was opened in the wardroom, and the tourists hustled back home, some protesting their willingness to stay and do what they could to help. Safe Atlantean well water was gated back, along with fresh provisions. There was no time for sight-seeing, and they were soon underway.

Their old-timer passengers had all noticed, by this time, the strange comings and goings of the exotic Atlanteans. Since Alexandria, Serapion, who was no fool and inclined to curiosity anyway, had noticed that his new friend, the Atlantean officer Oilion, seemed to disappear at times, only to reappear at points of interest. He was too practiced a courtier to ask outright questions, and simply set himself to observe.

Claudius Ptolemy, engrossed with the Enterprise's marvelous star charts, was ever more aware that these were people with unheard-of knowledge. The charts themselves, the books he saw—the new concept of printing—the quality of the paper, and the prodigal use of it by his new acquaintances, led him to conclusions that were extraordinary, but logically inescapable. Sometimes it was necessary to begin with first principles. He wanted to see the Atlantean library. He wanted to see a printing press. Despite all the dangers and inconveniences of sea travel, he was determined to voyage all the way to Atlantis—or perhaps—disappear to it as it seemed that others did.

Merianis knew even more. Assisting Gretchen and learning from her, she had witnessed Gretchen gating out the sick during the Antioch stay, and gating back in medicines and personnel. A nurse—which she understood to mean a trained physician's assistant—named Jessica, arrived and was introduced to Merianis, who took a deep breath, and then accepted it as yet another wonder of these wonderful people. It was a great marvel indeed. The Atlanteans had power over light. They could make it come and go at will in their cabins; and then there was the blue light, the divine force that transported people and things. The Atlanteans took these powers for granted, but Merianis could see that they realized how amazing it was to her. Gretchen trusted her with this knowledge, and Merianis would prove faithful to her trust.

She had learned more in the past few weeks than she had learned in years of study with her uncle. The importance of clean water---and how to determine what clean water was, and how to boil it to make it safe. The importance of careful sanitation, the use of alcohol in cleaning wounds. Gretchen had found a picture of a still and obligingly showed it to her, explaining the process of distillation and the amazing uses that such a process could be put to. It was glorious. Merianis already knew things that would make her the best physician in Alexandria—the best physician in Egypt.

And then, there was the attitude of the Atlanteans. No one condescended to her because she was a woman. None of the Atlanteans refused to allow Gretchen to treat them, but instead showed her confidence and respect. It was a new world, and one that Merianis found she liked very much.

It was also strange, but wonderful, that Gretchen did not ask for money as the price of her studies. Merianis was embarrassed to ask, but wondered if she was considered a servant, or legally bound to serve her teacher for a set period of years. If only her situation would be made plain to her. She was glad to serve, and would like very much to learn more among the Atlanteans themselves; but at the end of her studies, it would be a fine thing to return to Alexandria. She could train students of her own: a group of excellent physicians who could do wonders for the health of her beloved city. Gretchen's only dictum to her so far was that medical knowledge should be shared: it should not be a secret kept by greedy practitioners, doling out their knowledge only for the benefit of the rich.

She understood now why the Atlanteans drank their strange hot drinks, like tea. Gretchen liked tea, and served it to Merianis, with a fragrant squeeze of precious lemon, and sweetened with even more precious saccharum. Merianis knew now that this was a very healthy drink: boiling the water destroyed the tiny animals that brought sickness, the odd, oddly-beautiful ones Gretchen had shown her in the microscope. The caffeine and sugar gave energy. The lemon was good because it contained an important vitamin that prevented the foul disease of scurvy. She was learning all about vitamins now. They were substances in food and drink that gave strength and prevented disease. She believed Gretchen, because what she told her worked. The Pythagoreans had known long ago that some foods were healthier than others. Gretchen could explain why. In return, she was telling Gretchen everything she knew about healing herbs: how to find them, and how to prepare them.

She was learning many words in English. There were no Greek words for some of the things Gretchen needed to tell her. It was a very difficult language, but she was determined to learn it. Gretchen had books about medicine—not books that she had experience with—not thin scrolls, but huge thick codices (to use the Roman word) full of words and pictures. Once could learn vast wisdom from such books---but only if one learned to read English. Jessica had brought a thin book for Merianis, with shining paper covers—and was going over the pictures with her. Jessica's Greek was not good, and Merianis' English was worse, but between them, and with Gretchen's help, Merianis was learning about "First Aid." Some of the procedures she had known already, or known about a little, or learned differently. It was a good way to approach the medical theory of Atlantis.

Claudius Ptolemy, the haughty philosopher, wanted to learn English as well, in order to read the books that the esteemed captain possessed relating to astronomy and geography. One of the Atlantean philosophers, named Alan, was teaching him, and on Gretchen's request he agreed to teach Merianis as well. Ptolemy ignored her presence, for she was a woman physician, and not fully conversant with medical philosophy. It was true. Her uncle had not given her Hippocrates to read. Instead, she had, in his words, "learned as a dog learns," and had nonetheless become a valued assistant; and then, after his death, a woman with a skill that could earn her bread. But the Atlanteans did not care that she was a woman, not even the long-nosed Alan, who might have been expected to. The great ship traveled through smooth seas with the creak of ropes and sails, and the gentle rocking of the waves. It was a journey of discovery for Merianis, as she sat in a cabin at the stern at a plain table, while the scholar taught them the elements of English.

-----

"Don't stare at her. You're going to make her embarrassed."

Tavington muttered, "Fair is fair. I'm exceedingly embarrassed myself."

It was nearly time for the Executive Committee to meet, and Tavington dreaded conversation with Jennifer. I suppose I ought to be flattered that a woman wants me to father her child. Flattered, but confused as well. Diana was not the least bit jealous, which rather piqued him.

She explained again, "Jennifer is not trying to gain you as a lover. She just wants you to help her have a child. There's nothing to it, for you."

"My dear," Tavington began, trying to rein in his temper. "Having a child with a woman is hardly 'nothing.' What would be the child's status? Would my paternity be known? Would I be expected to be a father to it? The child itself might be harmed, or made unhappy. These are serious considerations. And I might also point out that making myself agreeable to Jennifer is hardly 'nothing.' She is a good friend, but so timid that it might be difficult to render my services without either causing her hurt or ruining our friendship—or both."

"But, Will, darling," his wife expostulated, "no one's asking you to do anything of the sort. Of course it would be impossible: Jennifer is just too bashful to manage normal sex with anyone—even a man she admires from afar, like you. She's discussed this with Carolyn, and it will all be done by artificial insemination."

"I beg your pardon?"

Diana explained, concisely. Tavington felt his temper flare.

"You want me to do what?"

"But darling, given the circumstances, it's really the best way. It keeps your role strictly to that of a friend conferring a favor—without all the emotional and physical stress of doing something that I don't think Jennifer's up to doing with anybody. It's a simple procedure that can be performed in Carolyn's office—you don't even have to be there at the same time. It reduces the embarrassment factor to a minimum."

He growled, unconvinced, "Not for me."

"Oh, don't be difficult." She gave Tavington a naughty smile. "And don't pretend you don't have plenty to spare of what Jennifer needs."

Tavington snorted. Unbelievable. Involuntarily, he smiled.

His wife continued, brisk and business-like. "Now as to the child—that is a serious issue, and one that needs to be resolved. Of course no one wants the little one to be made unhappy. That's why it's important to be open and honest about the whole situation. The child should certainly know that you are the father, and you should spend some time with him—or her. And our own children should understand that you were helping our friend Jennifer, who was so sad about not having a baby. They don't have to know all the gory details, but I believe more harm than good would come from treating the issue as a guilty secret. There's nothing shameful about it: Jennifer wants a child, and she would be a very loving mother."

"Diana, I must still think the matter over," he protested. More committee members were arriving, and he did not wish to be overheard.

"Fine. Just think clearly."

-----

"They have arrived in Ostia, Lord."

"Very well. They will want to rest and prepare themselves, of course, but escort them into the city the day after tomorrow. Encourage as many of the embassy as possible to appear at the audience—in the late afternoon, I think."

He turned to his secretary. "Have I any other commitments?"

"Of course, Lord. You are to receive the Salian college earlier in the day, and then there is—"

"No matter." The Emperor, Antoninus called Pius, for his reverence for Roman custom, mildly interrupted. "Please rearrange my appointments. I wish to see these new people. And it would please the Empress, as well. See to it."

The grizzled aide departed with a bow, pondering the complex demands on the Emperor's time. Certainly, the Father of his Country deserved an occasional novel amusement.

"Honored Father," the bearded young man on the other side of the desk remarked, "I have rarely seen you so inclined to indulge a fancy." Laughing, he admitted, "And I too, am most curious to see these strangers. Atlantis! Can it be possible? Lucius, of course, is quite wild to taste theobroma."

The Emperor was silent a moment. Not a chatty man in any case, he had spent considerable time in reflection, considering what these Atlanti might mean to his world. Antoninus had read the communications from the Iberian governor with more excitement than he generally allowed himself. He was a quiet and dignified man, devoted to the Empire, his subjects, his family, and the ancient customs of Rome. He was highly educated, but did not consider himself a philosopher, only a gentleman and a servant of Roman people. Let dear Marcus engage in speculation and metaphysics: Antoninus was already fully occupied with what was probably the hardest job in the world. An empire to rule; a law code to amend; borders to protect. He had also a family of daughters to raise (the eldest was married to Marcus), and his adoptive sons to train to succeed him. His wife Faustina had numerous religious functions to perform, and her charitable works, above all for orphan girls, to oversee. At last, he replied, slowly, as was his custom.

"Of course, I have heard of Atlantis. What literate man has not? The descriptions of the strange clothing, the unique trade goods, the outlandish customs, the equality of the sexes—all of it seems more like a fictional society created for a philosopher's treatise on The Good Life. Faustina—well, both of our Faustinas--are quite curious to see the women—the captain of the Iron Ship, the female philosophers. These people have given me a great deal to think about. It is reported that they practice universal childhood education at state expense."

Antoninus shook his head. "It must be prodigiously expensive. Theories are all very well, but a responsible administrator cannot squeeze his subjects' lifeblood with taxation to support grand schemes. For that matter, what is their tax rate? Apparently, they do not practice slavery. Very well: how do they grow crops, build roads, clean their streets? However minutely he now analyzes the capabilities, the riches, the motives—even the location of the Atlanti--Vinicius' first reports were full of theobroma and moonshine—they were not the practical, informative, and detailed intelligence that would help me understand this new power on our doorstep. And understand it I must."

Marcus Aurelius, a young man of twenty-nine, already an experienced general and ruler-in-training, nodded. "Forgive me. I know that you do nothing without a purpose, and that receiving this embassy immediately was not simply a whim. We indeed have much to learn from this polity: they sail against the wind in an iron ship, to give the most obvious example. The kind of engineering implicit in such a vessel beggars the imagination and make everything in our navy look like a child's toy raft. The universally high quality of their clothing—the reports of new fabrics, of improved dyes, of extraordinary technical skill in general speaks of a level of understanding about the nature of matter that transcends ours."

"Please do not wander into the metaphysical, dear boy," his adoptive father reproved.

"Indeed I do not wander. The issue is central to the existence of these people. Their mastery of the material world makes possible a different way of life. You speak of slaves, for example. The Atlanteans appear to need no slaves to row their ship, because of its innovative sails. The crew for such a large ship is tiny. Therefore, while they may speak disapprovingly of slavery, they speak from lack of necessity, not perhaps from true philosophic conviction. Perhaps they have ways of cleaning streets and growing crops that do not require great numbers of human beings." He rose from the simple chair of polished wood. "I agree with you that Vinicius is distracted by luxury goods like this theobroma and the strong wine and 'liquid thunderbolts.' More to the point are the marvels that permitted them to sail here." Considering the issue further, he added, "And they must be marvelous navigators, if they live on an island in the Outer Ocean that has never been previously recorded." He saw his adoptive father's expression, and pointed out, "I speak of practical reports. Plato's descriptions, I believe everyone agrees, are not those of an existing island, but of a philosophical construct, created to make a rhetorical point."

"Your point about their ship is well taken. I have sent a commission of naval engineers to examine the Atlantean ship, to the extent our guests permit it." The Emperor grimaced faintly, "Indeed, I could simply order it boarded, but that is pointlessly crude and uncivilized. It would foolish to make enemies of these strangers at our first meeting. They might have much to offer the Empire."

"Vinicius was quite puzzled by their disapproval of gladiatorial combats." Marcus Aurelius said. "If they disapprove of the wanton bloodshed of such entertainments, that might simply be a sign of good taste. My own is often offended by the crassness of popular culture."

He regarded the broad, green marble desk. On it, aside from the familiar litter of documents and seals, was the neatly laid-out contents of the parcel that had been sent on a swift trireme by the governor of Asia. The Atlanti had visited Ephesus, had been made welcome, and had spent quite of bit of time at the Temple of Diana and at the Library there. According to the governor, some days after the departure of the Atlanti, a man had come to him, claiming to have found some possessions belonging to one of their women.

The governor, no fool, had grasped immediately that the man was a thief. Under questioning, the thief had made some extraordinary claims. A smooth metal box with no clasp, part of which glowed with a red light. This portion of the story had arrested everyone's attention, and had caused a discreet but intense flurry of research and speculation. The thief had subsequently described a different, blue light, a strange room, and awakening in an alley of Ephesus. He had been frightened, and had brought the rest of the articles to the attention of the authorities.

Whatever had actually happened to the man, these objects could not have come from anywhere in the Empire. Certainly they were the property of a woman: in a leather purse there was a comb, a mirror, a cloth for cleaning the face, some coins, a little copy of the image of Diana of the Ephesians, no doubt bought as a souvenir trinket, a key, a bound book of paper for writing notes, and a writing instrument. Such an inventory sounded ordinary enough, even trite. When the items were examined in detail, however, their alien nature became manifest.

The comb was strong and flexible, an intense and beautiful violet color all the way through, and of no substance known to man. The mirror was glass, and gave an image that was perfect beyond compare. The little cloth was of delicate fabric, and edged as it was with the famed reticulata of the Atlanti, was worth a small fortune in itself.

Most of the coins were evidently Atlanti, for the word "ATLANTIS" could be read upon them: but they were stamped with incomparable uniformity. They had attracted great attention. The dolphin on their equivalent of a copper sestertius was appropriate for an island people, but the goddesses on the other coins seemed to reveal much about this culture: the goddess Aurora was on their silver—denarius?—which suggested that the religion of the Atlanti might be similar to their own. But why was the goddess of the dawn of special significance? This merited further study. On the gold piece, of estimable purity, was another goddess—or more properly an image of a goddess's statue. Some substance was flowing from the deity's hands. Could it be liquid gold, or wine, or water (if this was a manifestation of a sea goddess such as Amphitrite, or Dione, or even of Venus, as exemplified by her birth from the sea)? Very interesting. If so, perhaps the Atlanti claimed some kin from afar with the Romans themselves.

Setting aside the souvenir, the rest was of additional interest. The key was also finely made of brass, and both smaller and different in shape than any key Marcus Aurelius had ever seen. The lock that such a key fit must be equally unusual.

Most staggering was the little book of paper pages and the accompanying writing instrument. It had been used, for a number of pages had been written upon, in a tongue that no one could decipher, a strange script that connected the letters. This was curious, considering that the Atlanti used the same letters as the Romans themselves on their coins. The paper was of good quality and the pages bound with a spiral metal wire. Ingenious. From some scraps of paper, it appeared that it was designed to allow the owner to tear pages out.

They had attempted to analyze the writing instrument without destroying it, for it was a thing of beauty. Shaped like a stylus, it was a long cylinder of gold. One could click a little device that made the nib appear from the cylinder. Then a tiny metal ball rotated, carrying blue ink from another cylinder inside. The Atlanti must have some way of refilling this tool, for it was obviously too valuable to throw away after one use.

All of these items were kept inside a purse of red leather, lined with rare silk. The top folded neatly over the bottom and it was held together by a clasp that fit down into a base with a clicking sound. It had a strap made to rest over the shoulder, also of red leather. The woman who had owned these items (did own, for they would of course be returned to her), must be quite wealthy. Idly, he picked up the purse and sniffed at the inside. There was a lingering perfume.

"I wonder," he remarked to the Emperor, "if this was the property of the Atlantean woman befriended by Lollia Merula in Alexandria."

Antoninus smiled slightly. "Yes. I am curious myself. The Empress was intrigued by Lollia's letter. She has always considered her a good friend and a sensible woman. Lollia was quite taken with the foreign lady. Diana—interesting name, under the circumstances. They had much in common, being interested in music and literature, and they spent enough time together in informal moments to talk as one woman will to another. Lollia considered her thoroughly civilized and quite acceptable as a friend: a cultivated woman, a virtuous wife, and a devoted mother. All very propitious, if there is to be intercourse between Rome and Atlantis. The Empress wishes the lady to be presented to her."

He added, "Perhaps Lollia liked her because this lady was not so different as to be incomprehensible. It could be that the woman captain of the Enterprise is more typical of her sex. But she, too, was well-bred and well-spoken, in addition to her reported great beauty."

Aurelius agreed. "Manlius liked them, too. Now his reports have been worth reading. It was well done to put a man of his on board the Enterprise. Another interesting name— to what "enterprise," what "undertaking" does it refer?"

"They cannot be so foolish not to understand that he is an agent of Rome," said Antoninus, very thoughtfully, "and yet they raised no objection. It would indicate to me that they have no fear of us at all. Understandable, if they are at a great distance in the Ocean. Our ships do not penetrate into that dangerous place—at least of their own free will. Perhaps they truly see us as no threat to them. What confidence! It troubles me not a little. For if they do not fear us, ought we then to fear them?"

"Not for any of the usual reasons, I believe," Aurelius replied. "They do not require slaves; they are already wealthy; and we have no reason to believe that they desire more land. Such are the usual reasons for war. What have they asked of us? Books of literature and philosophy, some metals and minerals, a few individuals to increase their understanding. Hardly anything that could pose a threat to our security—and yet---"

"And yet? Marcus, that 'yet' worries me."

"It worries me, as well. When I said that the Atlanti do not appear to pose a threat in any usual way, I did not misspeak myself. And yet—I am not so simple to imagine that threats may not appear in benign forms—even wearing the appearance of friendship. The Atlanti may indeed mean us no harm, but they could represent a challenge to our entire way of life."

"You mean their rejection of slavery."

"Yes, that: but also their power through philosophic understanding, which is a rebuke to power through military might. Their equality of the sexes, their education for all. If they can live in such a way, might not our own society question itself?"

Antoninus sighed. "I have never wished to preserve the Roman way of life like a fly in amber. Law codes change with the times, customs evolve and learning advances. Manlius writes that their woman physician treated a child successfully for marsh fever and saved a women's life in childbed, after the Egyptians had judged her case hopeless. The Atlanti offer us great gifts—things that I know will benefit the Empire. Better that I accept these gifts of clear value than reject them because they might be the source of strife in the future."

"So we shall receive the embassy with full honors."

"Oh, yes: most certainly."

-----

In the worlds they had known, the citizens of New Atlantis would have found themselves wrapped in politics, protocol, and red tape before being admitted to the presence of a head of state. Ferguson expected to have to cool his heels for at least a week before being granted an audience before the Emperor.

The Imperial Court of Antoninus Pius, however, was a model of efficiency. The Emperor, mild of manner and diligent in his duties, had been duly advised of the arrival of the Atlantean embassy. He and his council, and his two adopted sons and heirs, Lucius Verus and Marcus Aurelius, all expressed interest in seeing the remarkable people who bore the name of a ancient land enshrined in a philosophic classic.

There were some adjustments to be made, as they had realized from the time of their first trip to Gades. However much they themselves regarded wearing a sword as the mark of a gentleman, Roman citizens took a dim view of the outward show of weaponry, especially when worn by foreigners. It was comforting, however, that pistols and stun guns were not identifiable as weapons to their hosts.

Ferguson met briefly with a court functionary, then radioed Tavington immediately.

"They want Diana."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Lollia Merula penned a wee note to the Empress about the charming lady of the Atlanti. Now the Empress wants Diana to be presented to her."

Tavington thought quickly. "I dare say we must all come. She probably told the Empress about the children. Besides, I've been thinking for some time that I want to be present at this meeting."

Early the next morning, he emerged from the wardroom with Diana and the children. Serapion was on deck, and greeted him with a knowing smile.

"It is pleasant to see you once more, Oilion, after your long stay in that small space. It is odd—I have been there myself for many meals, and did not see you. One would not think the cupboards so commodious."

Tavington merely returned the smile and the greeting, with a polite inquiry after Serapion's health and experiences. Let the man think what he would. Plainly the Alexandrian surmised something of the situation, but could not possibly grasp its full implications.

Besides, Tavington had too much to do to concern himself with it: they were all very busy with organizing the presents for the Court. For the Emperor and Empress, and their daughters and adoptive sons, Tavington had thought it politic to sacrifice some of Sam Walford's huge collection of fine writing instruments. There were some fountain pens, of gold or silver (of platinum and aluminum even, which would be unknown to the Romans), inlaid with a variety of precious minerals. They would be useable by the Romans, and would be far superior to any writing tools they used at present.

There was velvet and lace, there was wine and chocolate. There were faceted jewels, which the Romans would never before have seen. There was a splendid round mirror, handsomely framed in gilt. There was a magnifying glass, with a silver handle. A porcelain chocolate set, with a green background and a design of tender violets. A decanter and accompanying wine glasses, of brilliant-cut glass.

More they would not contribute. No doubt they would have to give gifts again; but more importantly, they had decided not to give things that were irreplaceable or that would be incomprehensible to the Romans. Tavington and the Committee had discussed the gift of a small telescope, but decided that the Romans were not yet ready for such an item. Perhaps if they saw something of the sort being used, and expressed an interest…

And they were not giving them weapons. About that there was no debate. There were some fine ceremonial swords in the armory, but it did not seem a wise or well-omened gift at the current time. The gifts of peace could not be misconstrued as a fine blade could be.

And so they entered, in solemn procession, into a city that they had heard of since their earliest schooldays. The city, however, was not at all like those lessons of old. For one thing, it was by far the largest city that the Englishmen had ever seen. Diana and her cohorts of the 21st century had known larger cities, but Tavington had only glimpsed one of them, and Ferguson and Bordon had never had the opportunity.

It was crowded—more crowded than Tavington found comfortable. The mobs of onlookers were noisy: tumultuous, even. The stench was only to be expected, sophisticated sewage system or no. But it was also impressive: indeed, it was overwhelming. The size and grandeur of the buildings, some of which they had never heard, and the excitement of spotting monuments they knew of, made the journey from the outskirts to the Capitol a constant thrill. The walk up the great marble stairs, the bright sun beating down, the dazzling awareness that they were in ancient Rome made them all fight to suppress ridiculous grins. Tavington inwardly admitted that this place made his own London of the 18th century seem provincial.

Their reception was cordial, but dignified. Tavington, standing behind and to the right of Ferguson, took it all in avidly. He recognized a young Marcus Aurelius at once, standing by the Emperors' side, from pictures of his statues. The Emperor, graying but robust, had a noble presence, as did his Empress, Faustina the Elder. A younger, quite pretty woman with a family resemblance, he deduced was the younger Faustina, the wife of Marcus Aurelius. Another, younger man with the Imperial party he took to be Lucius Verus, the other Caesar, and joint heir to the Empire.

Tavington considered the two young men. An interesting situation. Antoninus Pius must truly intend them to rule jointly. I wonder how that actually would have played out, had Verus not died young.

The embassy was presented, and the Romans gazed upon the imperturbable Lesley Urquhart, in her blue and gold dress uniform, with pleasure and amazement. The gifts were given, and received with a stir of interest, and graceful thanks.

On their side, the Atlanteans were pleased. No silly fuss was being made (at least in their hearing) over Captain Urquhart's sex, nor were there untoward remarks about Gretchen. Indeed, the Emperor himself mentioned the gratitude of the citizens who had been treated by her during the journey of the Atlanti through the Middle Sea. A polite hope was expressed that the physician Gretis would share some of her wisdom during her stay. They were invited to a banquet to be held that night, and ultimately dismissed with every mark of favor.

After their arrival at the immense Flavian Palace, Diana was invited to an intimate audience with the Empress and her daughters. She prepared chocolate for them, which they drank from the pretty green cups. It was a most successful encounter.

The banquet was most pleasant as well: there was music, there were recitations, there was talk. The Emperor himself questioned Captain Urquhart about the dangers of the encircling Ocean, and she told him about some of the creatures she had seen, tactfully deflecting too pointed questions about the exact location of "New Atlantis."

Inevitably, there was discussion of the Kritias, in which Plato famously described Atlantis. Ferguson simply smiled and declared that the description was a fiction, and that New Atlantis had little in common with the philosopher's description.

"But what about the orichalcum?" one guest objected, fully into his cups.

Tavington and Ferguson gave each other quick, curious looks. Ah, thought Tavington, now it comes. There is some real curiosity about the sources of our perceived wealth. He decided to reply openly to such a question.

"There is no such thing as orichalcum," he said firmly. "The metal is a myth."

"Really?" Marcus Aurelius, at his right, asked in his turn. "What a pity. It sounds so beautiful."

In his pleasant, resonant voice he quoted:

"…they dug out of the earth whatever was to be found there--and that which is now only a name, and was then something more than a name: orichalcum---was dug out of the earth in many parts of the island, being more precious in those days than anything except gold… Some of their buildings were simple, but in others they put together different stones, varying the colour to please the eye, and to be a natural source of delight. The entire circuit of the wall, which was round the outermost zone, they covered with a coating of brass, and the circuit of the next wall they coated with tin, and the third, which encompassed the citadel, flashed with the red light of orichalcum…"

He smiled briefly. "A red light. To me, it has always sounded mysterious and splendid."

At that moment, Tavington would have bet any amount of money that Marcus Aurelius had some knowledge of their lost beacon, with its glowing red panic button. His eyes met the Roman's, and they held each other's gaze, as they measured one another. He broke the contact and looked quickly about the room. The Emperor's expression held nothing but benevolent interest. He should have been a card player, Tavington thought wryly. He composed his own face carefully, not knowing that an onlooker was watching the exchange with a malicious agenda of his own.

That observer, unnoticed in the horde of servants, that very night composed a letter that was dispatched with the utmost speed to Marcus Vinicius in Iberia.

"…and thus the Atlanti were formally received by the Emperor and by the Caesars, Marcus and Lucius. Nothing was said openly, but reference was made to the story of the thief of Ephesus, whose fate I detailed above. Marcus Aurelius Caesar recited a part of the work of Plato that I obtained for you last year, Lord. Questions were raised about orichalcum. An Atlantean officer, by name Oilion, denied that the substance existed, though the thief's story of a substance emitting a red light would instead seem to confirm it. Marcus Caesar singled out the phrase that describes orichalcum "flashing with a red light." Marcus Caesar then looked at the Atlantean, as if to challenge him, but the officer did not reply. It would seem their denials to the contrary, this rarest of metals does indeed exist—and perhaps only in the land of the Atlanti. It is not surprising that they do not reveal its existence. The thief's story implies that it has divine properties, and could be the source of the amazing powers of the Atlanti. I shall continue to observe them, Lord, and will send a messenger the moment their departure is known…"

-----

Notes: Enterprise---Inceptum (Latin)

Caesar at this time was a title often given to the heir of the Emperor. Obviously it was no longer a cognomen of the Julian family, which was extinct by then. Antoninus Pius had two heirs, whom it was expected would govern jointly, Lucius Aelius Verus and Marcus Aurelius. Verus, who married Marcus' daughter Lucilla some years later, predeceased Antoninus.

Orichalcum--pronounced orikal'kum --as described above--used, I've noticed in some computer D & D type games. Mythical anyway.

The excerpt from the Kritias is from the translation by Benjamin Jowett.

Next: A Might Fleet. Greed and stupidity make a dangerous combination, and the inhabitants of New Atlantis are confronted with the resultant threat.