Disclaimer: Don't own anything.
Tavington tries his hand at espionage. Plans are laid to defend New Atlantis.
Episode 12: Tavington's Atlantis, part 6
A Mighty Fleet: August, 150 A.D.
"The Emperor has given us a house," Tavington told Diana about a week after their initial audience. They were back on the Enterprise, passing the week's notes and written impressions through the gate. "By us, of course, I mean the Atlantean embassy. In fact, even though he has been told of our departure, he told us the house was still ours. He would like us to establish a permanent diplomatic and trading presence here."
"Well, that's good, isn't it?" asked his wife, a little doubtfully.
"Yes, naturally. However, we cannot spare anyone on a permanent basis as of yet. I really thought he was going to demand that Gretchen stay. The Romans may not be great theorists, but they are pragmatic about anything of proven worth."
"And Gretchen is very concerned about it. She wouldn't want to stay alone, of course, but she's been making noises about starting a medical school back on Atlantis. Merianis is only her first student. I can understand why she feels so strongly about it. The Romans are due for the first major European outbreak of plague in about twenty-five or thirty years. The affects, in our own history, were devastating, and contributed to the Empire's weak response to outside attacks."
"We will have to discuss the issue at length. If we allow students on Atlantis, our situation, if not our precise location, will soon be known. And yet—Ferguson is for it. He thinks its time to start breaking the news of their future to the Romans. Antoninus and Marcus Aurelius are well-disposed to us."
Lesley Urquhart entered at that moment. "Well-disposed or not, we really should be moving along. I have two summer midshipmen who need to get back to class at the beginning of September, and we still haven't made our scheduled stops at Massilia and Gades."
She paused, and looked out the little window of the cabin at the deck, where Serapion and Alan were talking about the rarity of trade goods from the Far East. Serapion was wondering if the Enterprise had even sailed to India. She cocked her hear, listening. "India! Everyone's full of suggestions. Yes, I'd love to sail to India, and China, and Japan! Maybe we really could send Todd Aherne east with the Stargazer. The Romans aren't the only people in the world, after all."
"Actually," said Tavington, clearing his throat, "I have been thinking about sending another mission out. But not so far as China. Aherne might go to Ireland. It would do no harm to establish some sort of relations with the locals not under the jurisdiction of Rome."
Diana laughed, "And Michael would love it. He'll want to go along. But do the Irish have anything to trade with us that we would want?"
"Oh—yes indeed. Flax, grain, swine. None of our people seemed to want to devote themselves to pig-farming." Both women laughed. He added, "And Michael himself urged it, because he says they have some minerals we need—lead and zinc in particular. To be sure, I think what he really wants is to introduce them to the potato."
"Anyway," Lesley shrugged. "It's all to the good. The more I see of ships and shipping in this time, the more confident I feel. The chances of any ship actually appearing in New Atlantis Harbor are really slim to none."
-----
Before they left, Tavington had the engineers have a good look at the generous-sized house that had been allotted for Atlantean use. A gate was opened, and Doug brought a team to set up rigorous security features. The house might lie empty most of the time, but no trespasser would be able to enter successfully. There were alarms, there were cameras, there were invisible electrical fences that would deliver shocks to anyone foolish enough to try to meddle with Atlantean property. The design of Roman houses, with no windows facing the street, worked to their advantage. Their people would be able to gate in and out of Rome, and none would be the wiser.
A final safety provision Tavington insisted upon. On their last visit to the Flavian Palace, an engineer quickly noted the coordinates of a side-hall. Access to the Imperial family in case of emergency was a handy thing to have.
Ferguson was bringing back a number of topics for discussion: a permanent embassy, some release of medical knowledge in exchange for raw materials and trading rights throughout the Empire. To implement some of the Romans' requests, changes would have to be made in the Atlanteans' current way of life. Would such changes be worth it?
They were bade a formal and gracious farewell. Their next stop was Massilia. That Greek-founded trading city had already been informed of their arrival, and their last days in Rome were partly spent receiving the aggressively friendly overtures of a delegation of Massiliote merchants. Ferguson was informed of the harbor's superiority to that of Gades—of the experience and reliability of the trade network in southern Gaul—even of the superior honesty of the mercantile interests of the city. It was all evidence of the keen interest they had incurred.
No one had been more interested, however, than Marcus Aurelius Caesar. He has studied the strangers carefully, watching to see their reactions when presented with demands or offers. He could not help but notice how often Verguso and Bordo looked at the other officer, Oilion, before speaking. Obfuscation was all part of diplomacy, but he felt strongly that there was more to the tall, blue-eyed Atlantean than had been revealed in the initial introductions. He held his peace for the time being. Future contact would reveal more. He had broached to his adoptive father the idea of traveling with the Atlanteans as far as their stop at Gades, but Antoninus, though still thinking the Atlanteans no enemies, would not hear of risking his heir by entrusting him to a foreign ship. Especially a ship about which there gathered such mystery.
"The reports from Manlius' agent raise more questions than they settle. Very strange goings-on are taking place on that ship. People come and go, seemingly out of nowhere. We must know more before venturing aboard. I cannot have you disappearing, you understand! They have promised to send a permanent diplomatic party in the future, dear boy," the Emperor offered in consolation. "And we will have further reports from the agent. The Atlanti have undertaken to consider taking visitors to their island for study. We will simply have to be patient. Surely," he said, turning a smile on his adoptive son, "patience is not so difficult for a philosopher?"
-----
"I'm gey tired of wonders," Ferguson confided to Tavington, in his radio report from Massilia. "The lot of them here are all very nice and friendly, and taking on about chocolate until I wish I'd ne'er heard of the stuff! I think we're all ready to come home."
"There's only one more stop. Lyudmilla really wants to find out how the last trip might have influenced the city of Gades. You needn't stay long."
"And that's just it. We've received a message from the Governor, Marcus Vinicius. He wants us to put in at Cartago Nova, on the Mediterranean coast. He says there's sickness in Gades, and the port is closed."
"Closed?" Tavington took this in. Rubbish! What sickness?
"Aye," Ferguson replied grimly, understanding his friend's unspoken thought. "It sounds suspect to me, too. Maybe there's something going on there the man doesn't want us to see."
"Well, too bad," Tavington snapped. "Go on to Cartago Nova and see the fellow. Make what you can of him, and put out some feelers for any gossip. In the meantime, we'll have a look at Gades for ourselves."
He signed off, and then slumped in his chair. This could not have been more inconvenient. He would have to undertake this secret reconnaissance of Gades himself. Even if Ferguson and Bordon were not engaged in diplomacy on the Enterprise, they were too recognizable in the town. Besides, Tavington had been in Gades briefly himself, during that first expedition. No one would know him there; his Latin was accented but passable; and he could take care of himself. He would dress simply, as an artisan or tradesman, and no one would take notice of him. Of course, he could not carry a sword, but under a cloak he could carry a long knife and a pistol. It would be an amusing escapade.
He had another good thought. Lysis was here in town, busy with his Greek and Latin tutoring. He would have the freedman vet any disguise. Lysis would be able to tell him if he looked the part sufficiently. More cheerful at the thought, he left the radio room, and headed to the costume shop; wanting to look through their collection of Roman garments.
He passed through the grey metal halls, and entered the vast work room. The usual pleasant odors of fabric, dye, lavender sachets, and bleach struck him at once. He saw Polly first, where she stood at a large cutting table. Caitlin and Sally were engaged in hand sewing, and Kathleen was running something up on a sewing machine. It was a pleasantly busy, domestic scene, and the ladies present saw him and smiled. Baby Mary was in a basket near Sally's feet. None of the other little ones were in sight.
"Where are the children?" he asked.
Sally's mouth was full of pins. She nodded toward Polly, who took a moment from her cutting to answer him. "Diana and Clytie have them today. We're behindhand, and needed some uninterrupted time to finish these school clothes for the older children."
Tavington nodded, and went to the storage cupboards, rummaging about for something that would do.
Polly called after him, "What are you looking for?"
"Oh, just something unobtrusive and Roman."
The women were silent a moment, and then came the avalanche. They were out of their seats, and bearing down on him.
Sally hastily removed her pins so she could quiz him. "A disguise? Is it for you? Does Diana know?"
So much for my career as a secret agent. Everyone in New Atlantis will know by dinnertime.
Patiently, he answered. "I have only just heard from Pattie. There seems to be something going on in Gades that the governor does not want us to see. He sent a message that there is sickness in Gades and the port there is closed. The Enterprise has been diverted to Cartago Nova. It would be wise to look into the matter."
Caitlin was horrified. "What if there really is an epidemic? It might not be safe for you!"
And so on and so on. The concern of these dear women for his safety was touching and gratifying, but a little irritating all the same. Tavington assured them that he would do nothing without the consent of the Committee, and they subsided a little, distracted by finding him a nice linen tunic, a stout leather belt for his weapons, sturdy traveling boots, and a hooded cloak of grey wool. He would be decently dressed and quite inconspicuous, other than being unusually tall for a citizen of Gades. If questioned, he could claim to be a Gaul or a Briton.
He smiled at the irony. And I am a Briton, so it would not be a lie. His hair was too long for a Roman, but he could keep his hood over his head. If worse came to worse, he would just be thought a barbarian. He must wear it unbound. A queue would shout "Atlantis!" even to a casual observer.
Of course, Polly went running to Diana before dinner, and his wife was equally horrified. Tavington patiently explained why he believed that he was the only man for the mission, and finally forbade further talk about the matter until after the Committee's meeting the next morning. Since it was a serious matter indeed, he sent word for Markham, as the only other officer on Atlantis, to attend. He also notified Michael and Mark in Africa. He would not mind if either of them accompanied him. If there was truly a plague of some sort, Mark would be able to identify it. Michael was always good company. And he certainly should be kept apprised of events.
-----
"I should be the one going, Colonel," Markham persisted.
And once again, Tavington said no. "You cannot be spared, Lieutenant. You are the only officer left on Atlantis. You must stay. And it would be good idea if you remained on duty at the retrieval center throughout the mission. I may have to make a quick exit."
Mark, looking very brown from his African gold mining, agreed that he himself should go. "And before we go, we all need to be immunized against whatever might be lurking there."
Tavington groaned. It would delay him by a few days. The more he thought about the Governor's subterfuge, the more anxious he became. Mark was right, though. He did not want to catch some foul sickness in a pesthole like Gades—and then bring it back to his home and family. Mark, too, was not known to the inhabitants of Gades, but Michael was. As much as he would have liked to go, it was decided that it would make the mission too risky.
The meeting dragged on for some time. About mid-morning, there was a knock, and Trinity poked her head in. "Sorry to bother you, but I have someone out here who really wants to talk to you." She stepped back, and Tavington saw Lysis standing behind her, his shoulders hunched defensively.
Diana smiled encouragement at the man, and Tavington motioned him to enter. "Come in, Lysis. What did you wish to tell us?"
The man walked into the room a few steps, and bowed. Plainly nervous and uncomfortable, he swallowed, and then blurted out in halting English, "If you must go secretly into Gades, Lord, I would go with you."
Secret mission! A laughable notion! Probably all the schoolchildren are discussing it as we speak!
Surprised at the man's willingness to join him, Tavington pointed out, "You did not wish to accompany the expedition. What has caused you to change your mind?"
"I have not changed my mind, Lord. This is a different matter. If you wish to find out what is afoot in Gades, I can be of help. I lived long in the city, and know it well. You have no one else here who can say as much. It is my duty."
"You may be recognized."
"No, Lord!" the man said excitedly, and then grew embarrassed at his boldness, "As you see, I have become a true Atlantean! I have allowed my hair to grow long, and have shaved my beard. I have been gone a long time. No one would easily penetrate my new appearance, and I can lead you and the worthy physician through all the secret ways of the city, with none the wiser. We shall travel by means of the blue light, shall we not?"
Some at the committee table were grinning. Tavington ignored them. "Yes," he replied. "We shall." A touch grimly, he added. "The doctor must prepare us both, in case there truly is sickness in Gades. Are you not afraid?"
"Yes, Lord," the man assented frankly. "I am afraid. But only I know Gades."
"So be it."
-----
Before he left, Tavington found himself with two days at his disposal, and a wife who kept looking at him expectantly. It was a ridiculous situation. Evidently, he was to have no peace until he dealt with Jennifer.
It would be simply too bizarre to communicate with her through Diana. He must gird himself for a curious conversation, and get it over with. Thus, early the following day, he set off for the Conservatory.
When the Project had moved, Jennifer's extensive greenhouses and their adjoining offices had been detached from the main Laboratory. They were set, instead, in a pleasant green space of their own, a little apart from the town proper. Before reaching the Conservatory, there were the garden plots, where individual citizens tried their hand at cultivation. Tavington walked down the path cutting through them, enjoying the sight as he always did, and once again promising himself that he would have a garden of his own sometime when his life permitted it. A number of people had shown a real talent for growing things, and earned a little income for themselves, and helped vary the diet on Atlantis. There were melon patches, and rows of sunflowers (Markham was mad about sunflower seeds); others grew sweet corn, and still others pumpkins, and squash of all kinds. There were hot peppers, and sweet peppers, and dozens of tomato varieties. There were all sorts of cooking and medicinal herbs, though the settlement's official medical garden was elsewhere, north of the Laboratory, and lovingly tended by Tracy, with some assistance from her new soldier husband and her little boy.
Some simply wished to potter about, growing something of beauty. Rogelio Moreno, one of Jennifer's assistants, had suggested that flowers could be a marketable crop someday, if the Atlanteans would simply gate him and his roses, lilies, and carnations directly into Rome. It might be a possibility. The flowers, at the very least, could be gated onto the ship prior to its arrival in harbor. Let the Romans sort out how they kept fresh on the voyage. There was indeed a great demand for flowers, though Rogelio would have to sell in bulk to earn much for his labors.
He entered the main green house, and breathed in the familiar, earthy scents. He made his way through the maze of growing tables, and saw the woman he sought through the glass door to one of the smaller houses further down, the one she used for her most delicate tropicals. He stepped inside and was immediately uncomfortable in the blast of heat and humidity. Jennifer was dressed for the place, in tan shorts and a sleeveless white top. She was still too thin, and looked like a tall, gawky child.
She looked up and noticed him. Giving him a nervous, excessively bright smile, she waved, and then pretended to be very busy with a plant, leaning over it, letting her hair sweep down and hide her face. Tavington sympathized with her embarrassment, though she had brought it on herself. He walked directly to her. Dithering over the matter would only prolong the agony.
"Good day to you, Jennifer," he said gently. "I hope you are well."
She did not look up, and responded with a whispered, "Hello," of her own. She fussed over the plant, picking away at some brown-edged leaves. When the silence lasted too long, Tavington put his hand over hers.
It was meant as a friendly gesture, but Jennifer was horribly startled. With a squeak and a jump, she jerked away, and bruised her hip against the work table behind her. "Ow!"
Tavington knew better than to laugh at her. "Here," he said, firmly grasping her wrist and helping her right herself, "I am sorry to frighten you, but we must talk. Why don't we go into your office? It's hellish in here."
She looked up then, and he could see she was red with blushes, and grateful to him for letting her pass it off as the heat. Wordlessly, she led the way out of the room, out into the main greenhouse, and then down the long aisle to the offices and living quarters.
The office was spartan, and the little sitting room of hers behind it no less so. She waved him to a very modern-looking chair, and sat down in one herself, facing him at an awkward distance. All right, he decided, I am the man and the soldier, and she is a shy young woman. I must try to make this easy for her. No beating about the bush.
Directly, he said, "Diana tells me you very much want to have a child."
"Oh, yes! More than anything!"
"Are you sure you would not rather find yourself a husband before undertaking such a role? It will not be easy for you."
She studied the floor. "Colonel--I can't. It's never going to happen. I'm not like so many of the other women. I've never dreamed of a wedding day or of a perfect romance. But lately, I've been thinking about babies. I see them everywhere, and then I feel this ache in my stomach," she said, pressing her hand to her middle. "I want a baby. I can't think about anything else. I want a baby all the time. I don't want to adopt a child. I want a baby, my own little baby."
"Forgive me for asking, but it is my duty. Are you quite well enough? Have you discussed this thoroughly with a doctor? I cannot be party to anything that would compromise your health."
She managed a brief grimace of a smile. "Carolyn checked me out and said I'm good to go, if I watch my diet and take vitamin supplements. I'll do whatever I have to. I just have to have this one baby."
Tavington sighed. "Why me? I must ask. There are hundreds of men on this island."
She fidgeted in her chair. "Lots of reasons. I guess the main one is that you're good genetic material." She saw his blank expression and smiled shyly. "That means you're strong and smart and healthy. You've already helped make three very nice babies, so I think you're the stuff of good fathers."
He cleared his throat. "I would indeed be this child's father. It would be unkind and unfair not to acknowledge the child and spend time with it."
"That's great!" she looked up, with the first truly happy expression he had seen so far. "You're so good with your own children. That's another thing. Everybody knows how you and Diana feel about each other. No one would think you'd been unfaithful to her, and she's so nice I know she won't be mad about this. She's even willing to tell her children about my baby."
"Of course," Tavington said gently. "They will be brothers and sisters. But you work hard, and I am concerned that you might not have the time to care for a child by yourself. Have you even thought about where the child would live?"
She jumped up, crying "Come see!" Grabbing his hand, she pulled him down a little hall, past her own nun-like cell, into a little room facing the garden plots.
It was a fully furnished nursery, bright with yellow and white. It was not complete, for there were cans of paint and a dropcloth in a corner. She had been making a very successful attempt to paint the ceiling to resemble a blue sky with puffy white clouds. With the sunny yellow walls, and the pristine white furnishings, it was a charming room. Tavington felt an acute pang of pity, and knew then he would not be capable of refusing her.
She was watching him, waiting nervously for his opinion. "Do you like it?" she faltered. "It's not done yet--"
He put a soothing hand on her shoulder. "It is a beautiful nursery, Jennifer. The baby who lives here will be very, very, lucky."
There was no help for it. He would see Mark tomorrow, and perform whatever absurdity was required of him. He gave Jennifer another smile, and she became quite radiant, showing a glimpse of the young woman she should have been, with a happier past.
I hope I'm doing the right thing. Perhaps this will indeed give her a happier future, at least. And Diana will be pleased.
-----
A flash of blue, a sensation of utter darkness and extreme cold, and the Tavington, with Mark and Lysis, found himself in an alley behind the Temple of Venus Victrix in Gades. It was late afternoon. Gating into a city at night had proved too risky: the last time Markham had done it, the bright blue light lit up the black skies like a great sign saying, "something unusual going on here." It seemed wiser to go in during daylight hours when the light would be masked by sunshine.
It was a particularly malodorous alley. Tavington found himself standing in a puddle and cursed, quietly and feelingly.
Mark was briefly sympathetic, and then turned to the business at hand. "Where to, Colonel?"
"The forum. We can lounge about there and try to pick up some local gossip. Let's get out of here, first of all."
With some encouragement, Lysis took the lead, taking them out of the alley and down a twisting byway toward the heart of the town. They found themselves in a street near a market. Merchants hawked olives and olive oil, pots and baskets, fruits and chickens. Tavington pushed past an old woman selling jars of garum, the fermented sauce made from fish-guts with which the Romans apparently doused all of their food. Mark winced at the appalling stink. Tavington snorted a laugh. It had been hard enough to persuade the 21's to make fish part of their diet—even the fresh, delicious tuna and swordfish that were plentiful around their islands. This horrible condiment, on the other hand, was enough to make Tavington himself eschew seafood permanently. Lysis, for his part, looked back wistfully at the jars.
Oh, well. I can tell Diana what to get the poor fellow for a Christmas present. But he'll have to use it sparingly—and at the far end of the dining table!
The town was bustling with activity—voices called out on all sides—people were going about their business. Tavington traded a knowing look with the doctor. There certainly was no indication of a city in the throes of an epidemic. Lysis led them down a stone ramp at the end of the street, and they found themselves in the compact, picturesque forum of the city.
Tavington looked around and found that he remembered some it from his earlier visit. There was the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus that he had admired previously. The three of them could linger there without attracting undue notice.
They climbed the short flight of steps that took them to the temple portico. From there, they had a good vantage point to survey the forum as a whole.
Mark muttered low, "No sign of sickness at all, that I can see."
Lysis agreed. "Yes, Lord. If there were plague, we would see the smoke from the pyres. But the city is very busy."
It was busy, and full of—"Soldiers," remarked Tavington. "Is there always such a military presence?" Legionaries strolled to the streets, in groups of two or three or more, the very picture of martial men enjoying a town furlough.
Lysis stared in wonder. "No, Lord. Not so many, ever. The 31st Legion is based in Italica, a little further north. I have never seen so many soldiers in Gades all at once."
At that moment a little troop came through the forum at the double, trotting blithely through the townspeople who scurried to avoid being trampled. Unintelligible as to words, but perfectly understandable by tone of voice, their—sergeant—it must be—because no one else on earth sounded like that—bellowed a command, and they turned into the broader avenue that led south from the forum.
"Where are they going?" Tavington asked Lysis in an undertone.
"That way is the harbor, Lord."
"Let's follow them." It gave him some comfort to have a goal. Eagerly, he made his way through the crowd at the intersection, intent on seeing where the troop had gone. There was a touch at his shoulder. Lysis was looking at him in dismay, and Tavington realized that he had forgotten the freedman's counsel about being humble and unobtrusive. It was bad enough that he and Mark were nearly a head taller that most of the crowd. They were getting some curious looks. And not just from the townspeople. Some soldiers—non-coms, at least, not rankers—were eyeing them appraisingly.
Oh, well done, Will, he though in irritation. We certainly don't need to attract the attention of some second century press-gang.
Following the freedman's example, he ducked his head, forced his erect posture to droop, and slunk into the shadows of a wine shop, away from the stares. He passed Lysis a few Roman coins, and sent the freedman to fetch drinks for the three of them. They leaned against the wall, sipping the raw red liquor, until those who had seen them had passed by.
More carefully, now, the three of them shuffled along the sides of the street: a trio of peasant farmers, or slaves, or unemployed louts living on the fringes of town life. The air changed, and Tavington caught the salt scent, and heard the cries of the seabirds at the water's edge. Another turn, and a steep ramp, and the harbor lay before them.
Mark took a deep breath. Lysis stared open-mouthed. Tavington grimaced, partly from the harsh taste of the cheap wine he had just drunk, and partly because he was facing an unpleasant reality.
"No wonder Vinicius didn't want us to see this."
Mark shook his head in disbelief, "What the hell are they up to?"
"Planning an invasion, I would imagine."
The harbor was full of warships: a number of sleek triremes, several wide-bodies transports, and higher than the rest, a huge quinquireme, undoubtedly the flagship. With five banks of oars, a small catapult at the stern, an upper deck for archers, and room for a boarding crew, it was impressive, and bigger than the Enterprise.
But not nearly as formidable, not really, Tavington thought with some scorn. Vinicius is a fool if he tries to take these ships out on the open ocean.
Of course," he told Mark, "the governor doesn't know about the Enterprise's weaponry, nor about its auxiliary engines. With a complement of sailors and marines of only fifteen, he may think it incapable of defending itself. He's in for something of a shock. I hope I'm there to see it."
Mark looked grim. "Do you suppose the Romans have been planning this all along? All of that hospitality Gretchen told me about was just a trick?"
"I don't know. I hope not. It's possible that this is entirely Vinicius' idea. The Emperor did not strike me as the sort to leap rashly into ill-advised schemes."
Lysis nudged him again. "Lord," he murmured. Then more anxiously, "Lord!"
Tavington felt his scalp prickle as he sensed men crowding up behind them. He turned. A group of soldiers, more or less in uniform, were looking them over judiciously. Their leader, a burly fellow with a single dark brow joined over a broken nose, addressed Tavington without ceremony. "Slave or free?"
"Free," Tavington answered automatically. He fought his natural impulse to sneer at the man, satisfied that he could simply look down upon him.
The soldier ignored Tavington's attitude and looked the three of them over like so much livestock.
"They look fit enough," he remarked to a companion.
That individual grinned, showing gaps from missing teeth. It caused him to lisp a little. "Big and strong, decurion. And no rich owners to complain."
Tavington said quietly, "I think we'll be on our way now."
"You'll be coming with us, you lot. Don't you know we're at war? The Governor needs rowers for the galleys, and you've just enlisted."
There were four of them. Tavington thought he could deal with the squat decurion and two of his friends handily enough, if Mark and Lysis could keep the fourth occupied. He needed to get back to Atlantis with his information. And he needed to take his companions with him. Mark could cope with the situation, but he was worried about Lysis. The man might simply fall apart, panic, and forget about his homing beacon until it was too late. Already his face reflected the horror of being sent to the galleys. A short life, and a thoroughly unpleasant one.
Tavington was about to go for his pistol, witnessing crowds or no, when Mark suddenly spoke up. "All right, but I'm not leaving our things back at that inn for the landlord to steal. There's the winejars and the rest of the money—"
Tavington stared at him, nonplussed. The soldiers interpreted this as a look of anger at Mark for revealing too much, and they guffawed. The decurion gave Mark's shoulder a half-friendly clout. "Show us these winejars of yours, galley-hand. We help you get them stored on the ship—no fear."
Mark muttered peevishly, "I don't know. There's a lot of them."
"All the better," bawled out one of the soldiers, now in a jovial mood.
Tavington was full of admiration at Mark's stratagem. Now to lead their unwanted companions through some deserted alleys—and get rid of them. One of the soldiers gave Tavington a push. He shoved the man off in his turn, and while there was a brief scuffle, Mark had time to whisper the idea to Lysis.
Sulkily, Tavington snarled, "We're coming—just keep your hands off me!"
One of the soldiers grinned. "For now, anyway."
Lysis mumbled fearfully, "Through here."
They ducked into a maze of narrow streets, heading away from the forum, and into a poorer neighborhood. Crumbling stone-and-daub houses fronted the streets. A few half-naked children were torturing a puppy by an open doorway. The soldiers gawked at them, laughing, while Tavington gave Lysis a meaning look. The freedman appeared to be considering the matter, and then led them towards an archway at a narrow intersection.
He murmured low to Tavington, "Once inside, Lord, turn to your right…"
Mark was just behind them. Tavington slowed a little, enough to bump into him and pass on the message. The doorway loomed up, sound old brickwork with a little shrine to the Lares of the crossroads. They passed through, and Tavington pushed Lysis forward and out of the way. "Use your beacon!" he hissed.
He grabbed the nearest soldier, and slammed him against the wall. He was stunned, and fell to the ground, his face smeared with blood. There was a shout, and two of the men reached out to snatch at him. Mark punched one of them accurately in the solar plexus and he went down. Tavington could see Lysis standing there frozen with terror. He shouted this time. "Go now, you idiot!" The man fumbled with the cord around his neck and there was the blessed cool blue of a gating.
The other two Romans were distracted and startled by the light, and Tavington took the opportunity to reach for his own beacon. The decurion launched himself at Tavington, teeth bared, and they both fell to the ground, on top of the soldier Tavington had knocked unconscious. The other soldier drew his sword, fumbling in the melee, and Mark pulled him past him, using the man's own momentum to throw him off balance.
Tavington, sandwiched between the two Romans, had at last found his own beacon. Reaching for it left his throat bare, and decurion had grabbed him in a chokehold. He kneed the man savagely. The decurion grunted and released his grip enough for Tavington to shout at Mark. "I've got it! Go!"
The doctor instantly obeyed, disappearing with a quick blue flash. As soon as he was gone, Tavington pressed his own button. Strong, dirty hands scrabbled at his throat again. There was a nerve-wracking pause of a split-second, and then the blue light flared, brighter and almost sparking. He felt nothing but cold for a moment, and then found himself in the retrieval post of the Laboratory, with Mark only feet away; and Markham, tranquilizer pistol in hand, bearing down on him with a murderous expression.
Startled, he realized that the Roman decurion had gated along with him, and was still doggedly trying to strangle him. Markham shot the man in the back and threw him off of his colonel. Tavington coughed and tripped as he got up.
The Roman he had stunned in the alley was lying on the floor underneath him. He, too, had gated along with Tavington. Mark turned this man over more gently, looking at his broken nose and teeth, and remarked, "It's a miracle the two of them came through intact. I'll need to treat this one."
"As you wish, Mark," Tavington shrugged. "But they will remain under guard. I'm very interested in finding out from this decurion," he said, giving the man an unfriendly nudge with a booted foot, "what he means by 'at war.'"
-----
News of Tavington's narrow escape, and of the huge fleet gathered at Gades spread quickly throughout New Atlantis. Tavington called a meeting of all citizens, who crowded into the auditorium. It was better to tell them the facts than to allow rumor to create a panic.
Besides, there were the prisoners. The decurion, whose name they learned was Proculo, and the injured legionary, Galbinus, were locked up in an underground room in the lowest level of the Laboratory. And not simply locked up. Markham and Doug Horn had thought ahead, and devised an impressive security system. The door to the room was electrified on the inside. Not enough power to kill, but enough to shock and render insensible. Even if the Romans had escaped the first room, the rest of the hallways used retinal scans to identify anyone at the doors.
But there was no attempt at escape those first few days. The Romans were utterly demoralized: bewildered by the brilliant electrical lighting, the mysterious "speakers" in the walls, the gleaming steel and incomprehensible "fiberglass." Every word they spoke was being monitored, and revealed more about the Roman's plans than any formal questioning could have.
The Romans had been curious about the sophisticated plumbing and had mucked it up right away, stopping up the toilet, and scalding themselves in the shower. It had been necessary to haul them out, in chains, while the plumbing was repaired; and Dion Philippides contemptuously explained the proper use of the sanitary facilities to his erstwhile masters.
"And locked up they shall remain," Tavington proclaimed tartly. The anxious Atlanteans shifted restlessly, appearing somewhat reassured by the measures that Tavington was explicating at the meeting. "We have learned a great deal from the prisoners, without their knowledge. They are hardly of high rank, but have picked up enough soldiers' gossip for us to know that Marcus Vinicius is indeed planning an invasion of Atlantis. He is obsessed with the idea of obtaining orichalcum, a mythical precious metal."
This raised a new tumult of questions. He deferred the answers on that particular issue to Alan, who could explain the origins of that legend. It was something of an embarrassment to the classicists, who had never imagined that the Romans would fasten on that particular fantasy, mentioned in only two places in a utopian dialogue by Plato.
"How do they know how to find us?" called out Sonia, the computer systems tech. She was a voluptuous woman and rather flirtatious. Today, she was simply voluptuous—and worried.
"They don't—not really," Tavington assured his audience. "Vinicius is a fairly clever man, however, and has received intelligence about us during the course of our expedition around the Mediterranean. He has learned much about the sailing speed of the Enterprise; and extrapolating from a few dropped remarks about our climate, the amount of water and provisions that were loaded onto the ship when it left Gades on the first visit, and the direction the ship was sailing in when last sighted, has made some estimates about our possible position. He does not, of course, know about Enterprise's auxiliary engine, and the actual speeds it can attain using it. However, I would be remiss if I did not take this threat seriously."
He talked a little longer, mostly to reassure them. He explained the hazards that shallow draft, rowed Roman vessels, designed for coastal waters in the Mediterranean, would face if they attempted to venture into the open Atlantic. Further, he informed them that he would be meeting with a number of military and technical people to create a defense strategy. Patrols would be instituted, and further intelligence would be gathered.
"The question of the collusion of the Empire's highest levels in this expedition remains open. We have reason to believe that the Emperor is unaware of Vinicius' plans. That could work to our advantage."
In listening to the prisoner's talk, it had been revealed that some of the more senior officers, notably two military tribunes with ties to the Senate, had been sent on missions that would take them out of the province for some time. That fact, combined with the closing of the harbor, indicated that Vinicius was attempting to keep his movements somewhat secret. By the time the news of the fleet got back to Rome, he was probably hoping to present the Emperor with a fait accompli--and a successful one at that.
A bold move--but a foolish one. Viniciuis would have Tavington to deal with, and did not yet know what that meant.
-----
The military staff met later in the day. Tavington looked down the table in the elegant meeting room at the Laboratory. Ferguson, Urquhart, and Bordon had gated in from the Enterprise, on its way to Cartago Nova. Markham was there, of course, looking grim and focused.
For this level of planning, Tavington had called in the commanders of their ships and their aircraft. Michael, of course, a trusted friend—but also their most experienced helicopter pilot. The captains of the two sleek sailing yachts, Todd Aherne of the Stargazer, and Barbara Gustafson of the Reliant, were there as well. When the pilots of their two precious airplanes arrived,. Tavington briskly informed them that they were now officers of the armed forces of New Atlantis.
Max Reinhardt, the older of the two, was not too surprised. He had served in an Air Force before, and merely grinned and nodded at his captain's commission. Ashley DeJong, their pilot on Numenor, was somewhat bemused. She was accustomed to the languid pace of life on the smaller island, flying mainly in cases of medical emergencies.
Tavington had reservations about commissioning a woman. It set an undesirable precedent for the future, but he could see no way out of it. After Reinhardt, she was by far the best pilot they had. They had undertaken to train others, but with no other aircraft, Tavington decided to go ahead and call the young woman a Lieutenant.
After all, it is not as if she would be a line officer, attempting to command men. Besides the precedent, for good or ill, exists on shipboard. Lesley Urquhart is irreplaceable.
Reinhardt thought regular patrols should be instituted. "We have sufficient fuel now," he pointed out. "Michael's done wonders. And since all we really need it for are the boats and the aircraft, it should last awhile."
So it was settled that the planes would patrol twice a day, one north and east, and the other south and east, their times and paths overlapping slightly. In addition, A watch would be set on the places that were accessible by sea: Aurora Point, Atlantis' easternmost tongue of land; the hill on the north coast of Numenor that was called Weathertop; and at Markham's insistence, at the uninhabited but jewel-like little bay on the northwest tip of New Atlantis. Cabins would be built in those places, communications devices installed, and lookouts posted. The harbormaster and his wife on Numenor would be charged with keeping an eye on the sea at the settlement, which faced south, and would be the most inviting shore for invading ships. Julie Kolb and her two assistants, up in her observatory above the town of New Atlantis, would have a similar duty. It might be excessive, but Tavington had long felt that they were perhaps too trusting to their isolation. Even in the ordinary course of events, ships could be blown their way.
However, these precautions only dealt with a part of their situation. They might have fair warning of an attack, but they must also be prepared to repel one. And so Dieter Held was also there, their Captain-Armourer, and an army in himself. The Enterprise was armed already: weapons that the Romans could not identify as weapons: the missile launchers, the mortar. They debated whether the ship should be recalled home, but both Urquhart and Ferguson were against it.
"I want to look yon Vinicius in the eye, and ask him about the rumours I've heard of a fleet massing at Gades. I want to see his face." Ferguson smiled wolfishly. "It may be that this foolishness can be prevented."
"And what if he simply arrests you and tried to seize the ship?" Tavington demanded, smiling in his turn.
"Well, I can always follow the example of my esteemed Colonel, and push my—orichalcum—button."
Lesley Urquhart added, " It is possible they could find us. Even with their fragile craft, they could get lucky, especially during a spell of good weather and calm seas. But the Enterprise can handle any threat the Romans throw at it, even in harbor. In fact, a good fight there might convince them that they have no chance against us." She thumped a hand flat on the table. "Pattie's diplomacy has been almost too suave. We've never had to fire a shot throughout the voyage. Maybe we should have given them a glimpse of what our weapons can do."
"Well," Michael smirked. "If they manage to get all the way out to us, we can fire a shot over their bows. That will scare the bejeezus out of them." And, he said, more thoughtfully, "We can use the sound system in the helicopter to tell them to clear off."
Tavington looked approvingly at him, remember the terrifying voice blaring out of the helicopters as they had fled 21st century North Dakota. "It would sound like the voice of God."
"Or some god," shrugged Dieter. "A more impressive god than they have known in a long time. And then we can add a nice blast of a flame-thrower so they see we are serious."
Tavington leaned back in his chair, thinking. "Actually, if it comes to an invasion attempt, I am just as glad we did not show them our flying machines. The impact will be much greater."
"But what if that isn't enough?" asked Bordon. "Let us say that we try the flying machines and the voice of a fire-breathing god, and the Romans, who are no cowards, forge ahead anyway. We must engage them, in the most efficient way, and one that will put our own people at the least risk."
"Well said," commended Tavington. "Yes. We must prepare for the worst."
Dieter pulled out a notebook, in which meticulous figures were arranged in columns. "I have prepared some ideas about how to arm the aircraft and ships at our command. There must be additional training for the weapons I am suggesting. In the case of the two yachts, it would be best to man them with four Marines in addition to their regular crew: two with automatic weapons, and two to fire grenade launchers. One of them should be equipped with phosphorus grenades. The Roman ships will be unable to extinguish the fires. All sailors, of course, to be given pistols and edged weapons."
"Christ," Max Reinhardt managed. "The Romans won't know what hit them."
"They may not," the German returned calmly, "but they'll know never to try to fuck with us again."
There was a brief silence. With a cheerful air, Ferguson said, "There's a great deal of sense in what you say."
Satisfied, Dieter continued. "I saw to it that the Enterprise was well-armed before it left for the expedition." He looked for confirmation at Lesley Urquhart, who nodded. He said, "The two largest motorboats should be retrofitted with torpedos."
"We have torpedos?" Markham was in awe.
"Ja," Dieter answered, "of course. Not many—only fifty-two. There should be a crew of three on the motorboats: pilot, torpedo technician, and a Marine properly armed."
He was not finished. "Also the aircraft, naturally, are essential. The helicopter already has a machine gun and missile launchers. Michael knows how to use them. In addition, I suggest a gun crew of five, armed with automatic weapons and grenades. The Romans do not have effective missile weapons to prevent a very close approach. The helicopter is likely to prove tremendously effective against second century armament."
Michael frowned, thinking it through. He nodded.
Dieter turned to the two pilots. "That leaves the two airplanes. The Kleinschafter can carry four, and has a good cargo capacity. However, because of its design, it is only possible for two passengers to use weapons. We will have to remove the passenger window at the right side, and the door on the left. The plane can then be used to strafe any ships below." Looking at Ashley DeJong, he said, "The Cessna is too small to be of use for much more than scouting. However, it can carry an armed passenger. And the pilots, of course, should have sidearms."
Max Reinhardt agreed. Ashley DeJong said nothing, but smiled tightly. She had never carried a pistol or wanted to, but she was not going to say as much to this roomful of testosterone. She was quite sure she would be too busy flying her plane to bother taking ineffectual potshots at old-timers.
Tavington took over. "We shall make individual assignments and schedule necessary training immediately. We shall also establish small units that can be used flexibly on the ground where necessary. It would also be wise to arm a number of our civilians, especially those on lookout duty. But of course, now that we know our material resources more thoroughly, we must get down to the details of our response plan…"
Within another two hours they had a satisfactory scheme, and Captain Urquhart returned to the Enterprise. Ferguson and Bordon remained to finalize assignments, and then delightfully surprise their wives with their unexpected appearance at dinner. Another two hours saw them returned to the Enterprise, which was within sight of Cartago Nova and the anticipated confrontation with Governor Vinicius.
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Notes: decurion—non-commissioned officer, leader of a squad of ten men.
Next: Part 7, A Voice from the Sky. The inevitable clash .