Disclaimer: See all preceding chapters.
A fateful meeting at the Pillars of Hercules, and Tavington returns to Rome.
Episode 12: Tavington's Atlantis, part 7
The Inevitable Clash: August, 150 A.D.
"He says there's no such fleet."
"Indeed?" Tavington grimaced. "You have spoken to him?"
Ferguson's voice, thin but clear from the radio, confirmed his speculation: Governor Vinicius was the fly in their ointment, the man who might ruin all their prospects of productive coexistence with Rome.
"We received a letter. The governor says to wait, and he'll be along directly. Meanwhile, 'we are misinformed.' He insists that there is an epidemic in Gades, that there is no fleet, and that he wouldna dream of showing hostility to his friends the Atlanti. All with a great many rhetorical flourishes and professions of regard. He must think we're fools."
Markham was in the radio room with Tavington, and snorted. "No chocolate for him!"
Tavington smiled despite his worry. Then he thought more seriously. There's many a true word spoken in jest. He seconded Markham's observation. "No chocolate for him, indeed. When Marcus Vinicius arrives, make clear to him how very unwise it would be for—anyone—to attempt an attack on New Atlantis. Be on your guard."
"I'll do what I can. I think the man is deaf to reason."
Markham interposed softly, "Maybe Vinicius just wants the Major and the Enterprise out of the way, and he's hoping they'll stay in Cartago Nova while he—" He did not finish the sentence.
The thought had occurred to Tavington earlier. Now it suddenly seemed horribly likely.
"Come home. Forget Vinicius. He knew you were coming. If he wanted to be there, he'd be there. Is Captain Urquhart nearby?"
"Here, Colonel."
"Come home immediately. Make the best speed you can. Swing close to Gades and see if the fleet is under sail. If you sight them, try not to engage them, but notify us, and show them your heels."
The captain's voice was cool and urgent. "You know, Colonel, if it came to it, the Enterprise could take that entire fleet. A piece of cake, really. Right there in the harbor."
And I thought she was peaceful by nature. The quiet ones always surprise you.
"I am certain that you could, but do not engage the fleet unless your own safety is in question. I am hoping to resolve this rationally. Good luck to you all."
Ferguson signed off, and Tavington was left to ponder the situation. An attack from that quarter could lead to a number of outcomes—all unpleasant. The worst, obviously, would be New Atlantis overrun by conquering Romans, but that was also the most unlikely. Their defenses were sound.
Another possibility would be that the Romans would attack and would be repulsed with heavy casualties. Part of him longed for such a fight. A good, stand-and-deliver battle that would make clear to all who the great military power in this backward age now was. It was an exciting, seductive prospect, and he groaned inwardly as he repressed the impulse. He was no longer a simple cavalry officer, but the leader of a fledgling nation, and the father of children. He must think carefully, and in the long term. A crushing defeat would lead to the Romans regarding them as enemies and rejecting their overtures. It was just bad all around.
Worse was to follow. They were in the middle of training exercises the following morning, out at the airport, climbing in and out of the helicopter. Target practice was planned at the tiny waterless islet they called Rock Island, when they saw the boy from the radio room come out and wave frantically at them. His mouth was moving—he appeared to be shouting—but no sound was audible with the roar of the chopper. Tavington climbed down and went to meet him.
"Dad patched Major Ferguson through to me, sir! They're under attack!"
"What!" He strode toward the little shack that housed the radio and the other electronic equipment.
"It's true, Colonel! They were on their way home, and these ships were waiting for them at Gibraltar—or the Pillars of Hercules! Whatever!"
-----
Ferguson had never seen Gibraltar before, but there was no mistaking that distant shape. The Rock was ancient, and unique. Bordon came up on deck and stood beside him, admiring it in his turn.
"What's that up ahead?"
Lesley Urquhart was on her quarterdeck with a telescope. Before Ferguson could retrieve his own, she turned and informed them grimly, "A reception committee."
As they drew nearer they saw them more clearly: five sleek triremes, in formation at the narrowest point of the Straits. Their spacing made it difficult to pass without a very close approach to one or another of them.
A deep voice hailed them from the leader. "Enterprise! We have a message for you! Allow us to put alongside, that we may deliver it!"
Lesley Urquhart called back, "What message? And from whom?"
"The Governor! Marcus Vinicius has news for you!"
I'll just bet he does.
The drumbeat of the galleys was quickening—a dull, heavy boom that traveled above the waves. The triremes were closing in about Enterprise, like wolves around a stag. The simile crossed the captain's mind, and she grinned. They don't know the world of hurt they're in for.
Ferguson climbed up beside her. "Your ship, Captain. Do we let the fellow board us, or blow him out of the water now?"
She answered in a perfectly calm voice. "Major, I want all hands on deck. Have your men prepare to receive boarders. Ready the gun crews. Arwen," she called over her shoulder to her cousin. "Tell Greta to be ready to kick the engines in the guts. We may need to run this blockade, and if they attack we're going to give each and every one of these ships something to remember us by."
She turned back to Ferguson, "We're not starting this war. We're going to let them make their move first." Something else occurred to her. "But we should do something about our guests."
Last night, they had announced to their old-timer friends that the Enterprise was going home, and not waiting for Vinicius. Serapion, Ptolemy, and Merianis were all given the opportunity to disembark and stay in Cartago Nova. They were even offered money to pay their passages home to Alexandria. But each, for different reasons, elected to remain on the Enterprise. Each wanted to see New Atlantis, and would dare the journey on the Encircling Ocean.
And each now, when told they could avoid the threatened battle with a trip direct to New Atlantis, elected to remain on the Enterprise. All their reasons varied, but they seemed good to them. Serapion would have died rather than appear a coward in Lesley Urquhart's eyes; Merianis felt it her duty to assist Gretchen with possible casualties; and Claudius Ptolemy, gazing dreamily at the fabled Pillars of Hercules, was unwilling to miss a moment of his observations. He might be of no use in a fight, he admitted to himself, but he was a witness to history, and must see and record everything.
The leader's ship drew up alongside, shorter and lower than the Enterprise, but swarming with soldiers. They had the unmistakable air of men preparing for battle. A pair of hooks were thrown from the Roman, and the two ships eased together.
"Roll out the red carpet," Captain Urquhart said with a smile. At her command, a rope ladder was dropped to the lower deck of the Roman vessel. There was a moment of silence, broken by the beat of the waves against the sides of the ships, and the low murmur from both crews. She looked down at the Roman who had hailed her. He looked back up, admiring and predatory. His gaze shifted to the men in red lining the rails, holding strange objects. They were not swords, or spears, or bows. They were like nothing he had seen before, but they could not be weapons.He paused, and licked his lips.
She decided to help him along. "Wasn't there something you wanted to give me?"
"Yes," said the Roman, climbing up the ladder. He reached the top, and pulled his sword at the same moment. "Now!" he screamed to his men.
Instantly, the Romans threw their own rope ladders over the rail. A few leaped up on the ropes to climb to the Enterprise's deck.
"Fire!" roared Ferguson, and an answering roar of gunfire blazed out. The weapons swept the low deck of the Roman ship like scythes in a wheat field. The shock from the noise was so great that some Romans stopped in their tracks, making them even easier targets.
Another ship was pulling up on the port side. Bordon, with the mortar crew, was ready. With the characteristic thunder, a shell was lobbed at the enemy. It was not perfectly sighted, and exploded at the bow, shearing off the long, iron-shod ram. The Romans screamed, and below-decks, the chained galley slaves screamed even louder. The second shell, fired seconds later, landed amidships. The trireme splintered, and sank with appalling dispatch.
The commander of the flotilla, Gaius Ulpius Naso by name, had headed straight to Lesley Urquhart. Not to kill her, but to capture her if at all possible. Vinicius coveted the Enterprise, as he coveted orichalcum. A surprise attack, with no town to witness—a brief struggle with the great, unarmed ship, and the sailing power of the Atlanti would be his. Ulpius, in fact, was ordered to capture as many of the Atlanti as he could, and had been promised vast rewards. Vinicius had told him he had secret orders from the Emperor himself, and Ulpius was honored to be part of the attempt.
So Ulpius, stumbling at the first shock of a noise like thunder, had run at the beautiful, serene woman in her strange, magnificent coat of dark blue and gold, exquisite lace at the wrists and throat. She saw him coming, and extended her arm in a swift, graceful motion. Ulpius did not see the device in her hand.
But he felt it, briefly, a bolt of lightning like fire from heaven, as the stun gun lifted him from his feet. He saw her face, still calm and lovely, looking away from him toward the battle, as he lost consciousness.
The fight raged on. Sergeant McKenzie, in charge of the grenade launcher, waited for the next ship to starboard to edge closer before taking a shot at them. Watching them through his sights, he called out cheerfully, "Have a taste of this, you buggers!" And fired.
That ship had heard the noise, but could not make out what was happening on the deck of their neighbor. A few saw men falling, but it was unclear why. They pulled up, trying to look more closely, when they heard a rushing noise. Whirling about to find the source of the sound, they saw nothing, but there was a thump, and a roar, and then a sheet of white flame. It consumed the forward crew and licked toward the mast. Bewildered, the rest of the crew rushed to put out the fire. Fruitlessly. This fire was fierce and unquenchable. There was another whoosh and thump, and yet another fire was blazing. The captain, trying to contain the hysteria, ordered the attack broken off, and the rowers were lashed to highest speed, as the ship struggled to reach the Iberian shore. The fire spread, and the captain, pushed to the edge of the stern, finally leaped into the water, joining the crew who could escape. The ship drifted, burning to the waterline, and then disappeared beneath the surface.
Ferguson led a boarding party onto the first ship. The deck crew and the soldiers were dead or injured. Below was the non-com in charge of the rowers, and he rushed them when Ferguson and two Marines came below. He was shot down instantly. The naked rowers, chained to their oars, could only cry for mercy.
"Silence!" Ferguson bellowed in Latin. "No one's going to kill you if you'll only be quiet!"
He climbed the ladder back to the fighting deck. The trireme was theirs, if they wanted it, or could think of anything they could use it for. First they had to settle the rest of the attackers. He could see the next ship over in flames. They're no danger to us now. Briefly, he spoke to the Marine behind him. "Stay on board here, and secure the ship. Disarm the wounded." He climbed back to the deck of the Enterprise. He saw McKenzie, and nodded. "Well done, Sergeant!" McKenzie grinned back, and slapped his weapon affectionately.
The closest attacker on the portside was only splinters floating on the water now. The mortar crew was taking aim at the ship beyond it, and had missed the first shot by a good ten yards. Bordon's voice was full of rebuke, which changed to cool praise with the next round. The ship was crippled by a hole that ripped through the deck, straight down into the ship to the hull. It was limping, taking on water rapidly, and was abandoned within minutes.
The only ship remaining was the one farthest to starboard. It had seen the fiery fate of its neighbor, and had broken off the attack. Oars rising and falling with incredible speed, it was running away, and was already out of range for the grenade launcher.
Should I let them get away? The Captain considered the situation. No. The folly of attacking the Enterprise must be perfectly clear. "Missile crew!" she commanded. A crash, a trail of smoke, and an answering explosion. The distant ship was veiled in yet more smoke. Another missile was launched in the tracks of the first. The trireme appeared to disintegrate, pieces flying through the air, and a split-second later, they heard the explosion that had caused it.
"So—" she drawled.. "I think we're done here."
Ferguson snorted a grim laugh. It was a scene of devastation. The first trireme, still lashed to the side of the Enterprise, was awash with blood. Gretchen and her trembling assistant were climbing down there, ready to treat the wounded. He wondered briefly if he should prevent it, and decided that would be wrong. The Romans might toss enemy wounded over the side, but his own people were better than that. But the Romans might not understand it. "You there!" he shouted to Danny Dalton. "Get down there and stay with the doctor! Make sure none of the enemy try to knife her while she's saving their worthless hides!" He turned to Lesley Urquhart, who was making her own assessment. "It seems we have a prize ship, Captain."
"Yes," she frowned. "I'm not sure what to do about that. We could just run it over to shore, unchain the slaves, and then sink it." She tried not to think about the galley slaves on the other ships. It was ugly, but unavoidable. They were the human engines of the enemy ships, and had been destroyed with them. At least these few on the captured ship would survive.
Ferguson was in good spirits. "I'll go through the captain's cabin and rout out any papers first. And --we could bring it back to New Atlantis. It would cause quite a stir!"
"I'm not sure it could manage the journey, and I'd hate to risk any of my own people on it. Still—retrofitted with an engine and better sails, it might do for a ferry around the big island—" She looked down, and noticed the unconscious Roman. "Someone—you!" she said to an overawed Serapion, who was dazed at the carnage wreaked in only a few minutes. Seeing his shock, her voice softened. "Take this man below! Bind him, guard him, and see that he doesn't escape and doesn't die! We'll want a long talk with him." The Alexandrian, glad to be entrusted with something that was not beyond his understanding, hurried to obey.
"And about the slaves," Ferguson suggested, "why don't offer them a chance of coming with us? We could use more laborers." He had been concerned about the comparative lack of unskilled labor on New Atlantis for some time. Their soldiers had been given land, but had no time to work it. Ploughmen, fruitpickers: all sorts of help was needed.
"All right. Go below and make the offer. But it has to be voluntary. And some of them might be very undesirable."
In the end, most of the sixty-odd slaves wanted to take their chances in the hills around Gibraltar. Some eleven men, however, perhaps wiser or more resigned to servitude than their fellows, expressed a desire to leave with the Atlanti. As one whispered persuasively to a younger oar-mate, "We would be rounded up within a week, and back to the oars in two. At least the Atlanti do not use galleys! And they are gods, after all. Perhaps they will be good ones."
-----
Shortly thereafter, Tavington received the report of the battle from his officers. Michael Flynn, Drew Markham, and the rest of the helicopter task force crowded into the airless little radio hut to listen to the tale. No Atlantean casualties, other than some bruises from careless use of weapons, and one shallow slash from a wounded Roman temporarily playing dead.
On the other side, four Roman triremes sunk, one captured. They had captured the commander, and fifty-odd Roman soldiers and sailors. Eighteen of them were severely wounded. Eleven galley slaves had volunteered to serve them.
He would gate a reinforcement party to the Enterprise. Gretchen needed help, first of all, and the prisoners needed to be interrogated. For the most part, the prisoners, other than their commander, could then be set ashore. They were no threat to them, and Tavington wanted Vinicius to know how outclassed he was. It might prevent future wasteful assaults. But Vinicius might send a high-colored report of the affair to Rome, and besides, he might not have learned the right lessons from it.
He thought aloud. "So Vinicius wouldn't talk to Pattie. Who would he have to talk to?"
Inspiration struck. "This calls for my dress uniform."
"Sir?" Markham said in alarm.
"I shall leave you in charge once more, Lieutenant. I'm off to Rome."
It all seemed clear to Tavington. He would gate to the Atlantean residence in Rome, emerge, and present himself for an audience with the Emperor. The other men murmured their concern. Markham stood between him and the door.
"Colonel. Stop. You have no proof, sir. Why would they believe you?"
Tavington very nearly struck him. Then he considered slapping his own forehead. Why indeed? He and Mark had not taken cameras, which now struck him as a mistake. They had not been necessary for their own reconnaissance, but such pictures would have been—well—interesting to the Romans. Not necessarily convincing, as the Roman understanding of photography was nonexistent. They would simply have been pictures of ships in a harbor.
Markham was still in his way, damn his impudence. Tavington scowled, recognizing the problem, and then said, "They'll believe their own eyes. I'll offer to take them there. It's worth breaching our security. If the Romans lose a legion, they won't be particularly forgiving, even if we are only defending ourselves."
Michael interposed calmly, "You need to bring it before the Committee, Will. And if you go to Rome you can't go alone."
Tavington took a breath, and then stopped, thinking it through. Markham continued earnestly. "It needs to be a proper delegation. I know the Committee will agree."
The Committee did agree. An emergency meeting gave Tavington their accord, and he headed for the Laboratory, accompanied by Mark, and the anxious Lysis. They were witnesses to the fleet buildup as much as he. In addition, Alan was called back from the Enterprise, as one who had seen the governor's letter of denial and the subsequent battle. After more of Markham's pleas, Tavington relented and decided to take him as well. His only concern was the abiding dislike between his officer and the doctor. Markham, however, assured him that that would not be an issue. A gate technician and a radio operator were included to get the devices in the house in operation. Markham picked five of their best remaining men to accompany them, and they all gated through to the comfortable house on the Esquiline Hill set aside for their use.
-----
"Not here?"
"No, Lord Oilion," the palace functionary repeated patiently. "The Emperor has gone to his villa for the month. It is his custom at this time of the year."
"Is there anyone we can see about a matter of urgency?"
The man answered, "Marcus Aurelius Caesar has not yet left to join the Imperial family, but he is extremely busy settling affairs before his departure."
Tavington glared at him. Sharply, he said, "Then inform Caesar that it is vital that we speak to him as soon as possible. We will wait."
Markham caught his eye. Tavington shrugged, and reached into his pocket for a heavy gold ring, set with a large and sparkling synthetic ruby. It was always useful to have a handful of such trinkets. The Roman's eyes were drawn by the jewel, watching Tavington as he played with it, tossing it carelessly from hand to hand.
Tavington smiled. "Take it," he said, pressing into the man's hand. "Take it as a token of the seriousness of our mission. We need to see Marcus Aurelius as soon as possible. And I think you will find he is interested in seeing us."
The man nodded and bustled off, slipping the treasure inside his tunic. Tavington's contemptuous expression brought a grin to Mark's face.
"People are the same all over."
"Unfortunately."
They did not have long to wait. Within less than an hour, Tavington, Mark, Alan, Markham, and Lysis were ushered into—not a grand reception room—but a plainly furnished study. This time Marcus Aurelius had really done them honor. He had admitted them into his sanctuary.
He greeted them with obvious interest and pleasure, asking them about their journey, and making a point of being introduced to those of the party he did not know. Mark Magliore, as an Atlantean physician, particularly interested him, and he expressed hope that his stay in Rome would be long.
Mark thanked him, but deferred to Tavington, who said plainly, "Unhappily, Caesar, it is not possible. We are here because of alarming intelligence that concerns Governor Vinicius in Iberia."
Surprised, Marcus Aurelius frowned. He said, "What intelligence?"
"He is gathering a fleet to attack New Atlantis." There seemed no point in softening it.
There was a keen look, which Tavington met unflinchingly. "You have proof of this?"
"Caesar, we have seen it. Doctor Magliore, Lysis, and I were in Gades—two days ago."
A silence. "That is not possible."
"It is possible for us. We were in Gades, we saw the great fleet assembled, saw the 31st legion preparing to leave with it, and captured two Romans who told us about the Governor's plans. He is obsessed with obtaining orichalcum, despite that fact that it does not exist, and despite the fact that his plan has no hope of success."
The Roman was still struggling with the sequence of events. "You were in Gades, and arrived here within two days. Where is your ship?"
"The Enterprise was in Cartago Nova, where Major Ferguson was told to wait for Vinicius. The Governor did not meet them but denied by letter that the fleet exists, and insisted that the port of Gades is closed due to sickness. We received word of this, and went to Gades ourselves where we found no sickness, but an invasion force."
He looked steadily into Marcus Aurelius skeptical grey eyes. "This morning, Ferguson notified us that the Enterprise was attacked by a squadron of five triremes at the Pillars of Hercules. The Enterprise repulsed its attackers, and is headed home to New Atlantis as we speak. Alan here was present during the battle and can give you a full account. We could destroy the rest of Vinicius' fleet—and must, if he attempts to invade New Atlantis. But we have no desire to do this. We wish to live in peace with Rome. Vinicius threatens war. We believe that he may be acting alone, but we must know if he had the Emperor's leave to attack us."
"Sit," said Marcus Aurelius, who went to the chair behind the writing desk and sat down himself. Tavington admired his poise. This was a man who had trained himself to show little emotion in public, but he was being sorely tested now. The Roman spoke quietly to the secretary, who was hovering in bewilderment behind him. "Have Kratistos fetch us some wine and bread. Say nothing to anyone else of this." His servant hurried to the door, and Marcus Aurelius sat in thought. After a little longer, he said calmly, "Tell me everything, from the beginning."
Tavington paused, looked briefly at Alan, at Mark, and at Markham, and paused amusedly at Lysis' state of near terminal awe, and took the plunge. He had thought before of what to say, and what not to say, and decided to keep it as simple as possible for now. As he spoke, he was irresistibly reminded of the fictional John Carter of Mars.
"We come from a different world. As it must be clear to you, we have abilities unknown to your own. We can travel instantly from place to place, we can send and receive message great distances, and have machines and weapons of tremendous power. We settled in New Atlantis only a few years ago, and have been seeking to establish ourselves in a new land. We feel we have much to offer Rome--- if it will accept our gifts."
"By gifts," said Aurelius, now more philosopher than Caesar, "I take it you do not mean trifles such as theobroma and reticulata."
Tavington smiled wryly. "They are trifles, as you say. But they are symbols of our knowledge and of our resources. The Enterprise you have seen. Could any shipbuilder known to you have created it?"
"Are you," the Roman hazarded, "claiming to be gods?"
A little surprised, Tavington heard Markham's faint snort. He ignored it, maintaining his own poise, and replied firmly. "No. While we are aware that your world and ours defines divinity somewhat differently, we do not claim to be anything but other human beings. But we are human beings with great power. If your fleet attacks us, it will be destroyed, but that in turn would destroy our chances of productive exchange with your Empire."
"How do you propose to prove your accusations against Vinicius?"
Tavington's lips curved in a smile of repressed excitement. "Come with us, and we will show you."
Marcus Aurelius felt an answering thrill. He was a young man, after all, and here was a chance at an extraordinary adventure. "You will take me to Atlantis?" Then disappointing reality obtruded. "I cannot leave. I must head south to meet my family in two days."
"You would be back in time." Tavington felt the excitement growing. "You can spend a few hours with us, and return to Rome."
"That is possible?"
A slave at the doorway had appeared with a tray of goblets and a chased gold pitcher of wine. Another slaves carried a tray with a basket of many kinds of bread. At their Caesar's nod, the two began quietly serving their master and his guests. Discreetly, conversation stopped while they remained in the room.
At their host's urging, Tavington and his party tasted the Falernian offered. It was excellent. Not Atlantean-style wine, but a solid, warming red wine with a heady fragrance. The men drank in silent appreciation, before their conversation resumed.
"Yes, Caesar. It is possible. You may bring companions if you like, and if you feel it necessary. But come with us to the house that the Emperor gave us, and you can go with us through the gate directly to Atlantis."
About the location in the Palace that was on record as an alternate gate, Tavington said nothing. There were some resources that must remain secret.
He watched the various emotions crossing the young Caesar's face. He was tempted. He was thinking of his duty, about whether he could trust these strangers, about whether he was being played for a fool.
Finally, he said, "If what you tell me is true, then you must wish it to remain secret. Yet you are confiding in me."
"We believe you to be a man of honor. And it was always our wish to let you know this at the right time. That time has come earlier than we had planned."
"You must admit that I must consider the idea that you mean to take me hostage." Mark and Alan looked appalled. Markham simply looked interested.
Tavington pointed out, "While that might have been an option, it would be a foolish one. It might give us a momentary advantage, but would ultimately poison our relations with the Empire. No, Caesar. You need fear nothing from us, as long as you accompany us in good faith."
Marcus Aurelius set down his goblet, and got to his feet with an air of decision. Addressing the secretary, said, "Summon Appius Lucretius—and Demochares." He turned to Tavington with a slight smile. "A captain of the Praetorian Guard of proven loyalty; and my former tutor, an excellent and learned man. Do I need any else for this journey?"
"No, Caesar," Alan told him. "It is a simple matter. Our weather is warm and pleasant and it is not raining today. However, be aware that it will be earlier in the morning when we arrive in New Atlantis."
"Why?"
Alan gave him a brief discourse on time zones and the consequences of traveling a great distance east to west in a short period of time. The Roman was intrigued, but followed the mathematics of it easily enough.
"In fact," he remarked thoughtfully, "it would be an additional proof of the truth of your words. The sun would appear to be lower in the sky."
"That is so, Caesar."
Within minutes, Demochares, a scholarly looking Greek of middle-age appeared. The Atlanti had met him before, and he and Alan exchanged courtesies. With him was a hard-bitten looking soldierly man about Tavington's age, with a broken nose and keen black eyes. He and Tavington examined one another warily, and his eyes then shifted to Markham's tall and muscular figure, considering the odds.
"My friends," Marcus Aurelius announced mildly, "I must ask you to accompany me on an unusual venture. These Atlanti propose to take me to their island by means of their strange powers. I am told we can be there in a short time. Is that not so?"
Tavington explained, "At our house, you will see a blue light. We will all step into it, and will almost immediately be in New Atlantis."
Appius Lucretius drew incredulous breath and objections poured forth. His commander silenced him.
"I will do this, Appius. I do not order you to accompany me, but I ask it of you as a friend."
"You know I would die for you, Caesar."
"Not today, I hope." He turned to Tavington. "And now, let us depart for this house, this gate, and this New World of yours."
-----
Tavington sent a pair of his soldiers ahead of them to radio Atlantis. It would hardly do to have the renowned Marcus Aurelius arrive in the cramped quarters of the retrieval room in the Laboratory. Instead, he would be greeted properly, and see their beautiful little town in its most becoming guise.
By the time they had reached the house on the Esquiline, a guard was waiting to present arms, and welcome their guest with due ceremony. The Romans' eyes flicked around the atrium, taking in the unfamiliar machines and their blinking lights. They were shown where the gate would open: in the tablinium—the study off the atrium, which faced into the enclosed peristyle garden.
Tavington spoke into the radio. "We are here. Are you ready to receive us?"
Enesco, the senior radioman, replied. "We're good to go, Colonel. Even the schoolchildren are out in force to sing a song for our guest. Just say the word."
Tavington laughed slightly. "Well then, 'Open, Sesame!'"
A moment later, a radiant blue dot of light blazed into a glowing oblong . Marcus Aurelius could not control a gasp of delight, and looked at it from the front, and then from the back. Demochares rattled a barrage of questions in Greek at Alan, who tried to calm him. The Praetorian simply looked tense. Markham caught his eye and gave him a superior smirk.
Tavington, looking at it from the Romans' point of view, felt the awe he had first experienced when faced with this technology. A paper-thin shape, about seven feet tall and four feet wide, blue as the sky, appearing from nowhere, with nothing behind it to make it comprehensible.
Marcus Aurelius took a deep breath. "Do you mean that if I walk into this blue shape I will be transported across land and sea to your island?"
"Exactly, Caesar. You will experience cold and darkness for a fleeting moment, and then you will be in the central square of our chief town."
It appeared that Appius Lucretius might explode. His objections were overridden by the curiosity of his commander and his commander's tutor.
Finally, Alan proposed, "Look here. Why don't Demochares and I go on through first? He can see how it works, and that there's no danger. We'll come back and he can report to Caesar that it's all right."
Sensible man, approved Tavington. He looked at Marcus Aurelius for his opinion.
"Yes, that sounds like a rational proceeding."
Lucretius objected, "I should go, Caesar! If there is danger---"
Demochares serenely observed, "—If there is danger, you should be at Caesar's side. This adventure calls not for a soldier, but a philosopher." He asked Alan, "We simply walk into the light? It sounds like something proposed by Socrates, long ago. Surely, that cannot be so terrible."
"No," Alan assured him. Unbending a great deal, for him, he linked arms with the Greek. Rather sarcastically, he said in aside to Tavington, "And tell Enesco it's only us, so I don't have to listen twice to those wretched children singing."
They were back in two minutes. The Greek was visibly shaking with joy, as he told his master what he had seen. Meaningfully, he related that he had seen "a great statue of their goddess—a huge fountain, with water pouring from her hands."
The coin! Marcus Aurelius remembered. "I shall go."
Fearlessly, he strode forward, hardly giving the radioman time to announce his arrival. Lucretius hurried to protect him.
The cold and dark were dreadful; like some ancient song of the Underworld. And yet they lasted but a moment, and they were in the sun again, in a pleasant warm breeze, in the midst of a wide, attractively paved, and extraordinarily clean forum, surrounded by large, strange buildings, ringed by statues and great concrete containers of flowers. He saw the immense statue of their sea goddess, her hands outstretched as if giving them power over the waters. A crowd had gathered to welcome him, standing in front of a handsome building in a familiar style, much like any Roman public structure.
A group of well-dressed children burst into song at his appearance, accompanied by a consort of exotic musical instruments. He was grateful for it. The time spent listening to them gave him a chance to compose himself, as a philosopher should. He could hear the others arriving behind him, and was gently urged to move forward to make room for them. The Atlantean officer Oilion was at his side, smiling, and offering to escort him to the waiting party. He recognized some of them, including the attractive Diana, with whom his wife and mother-in-law had been so delighted.
It all became quite clear. He turned to the Atlantean.
"You are Tabitus, are you not?"
The tall Atlantean, humor in his bright blue eyes, assented. "I am Colonel William Tavington. Welcome to New Atlantis."
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The next chapter will be The Voice From the Sky. An accommodation is reached, and Vinicius' plans are challenged.