Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagination.
Life in Atlantis ten weeks after the Roman defeat.
Episode 12: Tavington's Atlantis, part 9
The Dust Settles: November, 150 A.D.
"She's put in a claim for her five hundred acres."
"That's all very well," observed Tavington, "but she never cared about them before."
"He put her up to it, of course."
Diana laughed. "Well—Agricola does mean 'farmer.' He must be rediscovering his roots."
This regular morning meeting of the Committee was remarkably well-attended. The assimilation of their new citizens had cost some time and patience, but some of the new Atlanteans were proving their worth. The former Roman captain had accepted his new lot in life, and had even persuaded the rough-edged Janie to accept him as a husband. Tavington smiled cynically. No doubt discovering that Janie could claim such a holding had played a part.
Agricola had acknowledged his debt to her from the first, and perhaps for that reason jealously demanded that his savior be given every consideration and reward that could be hers. It was he who had wanted to know the legal ownership of the new little cabin at Weathertop—and then, how much land about it was hers. He had plans for it, had Agricola. He was working hard, fishing, tilling the little garden, caring for the sheep, and raising what money he could. On the next trading voyage of the Enterprise, he wanted to give a commission to buy certain Italian vinestock, and some young olive trees of the best sort.
Tavington wished him well. The Roman was not so different from himself, and was the kind of man Tavington thought a particularly useful member of society. It was reported that Agricola had spoken to the other survivors, urging them to find and marry, if at all possible, similarly-dowered Atlantean women. One of them had demurred, smirking a little as he discounted Janie's plain looks, but Agricola had called him a fool. Looks did not last forever, but land did. And his wife was a strong, healthy, and hard-working woman—a real wife—not some flighty young girl, good for only one thing. She had property, and she had been entrusted with a serious civic responsibility. He considered himself a fortunate man, and did not care what fools thought.
All in all, the Romans had adjusted surprisingly well. The former galley-slaves, of course, were only too happy to live without chains, to have the simple dignity of clothing, to be paid wages. Tavington had secured the services of the brawny Belbo, the fellow who had swum to safety after the wreck of the Siren. At first he had watched him carefully, knowing that men who had lived in such dreadful conditions might be savage brutes, but Belbo was a gentle giant, he soon realized; condemned to the galleys because he had proved himself of no use at all as a gladiator. His one desire, he shyly confided in his new employer, was never to go to sea again. An easy enough wish to grant. Belbo was immensely useful about the town, and the children loved him. He would be even more useful in the next few months, when Tavington laid the foundations of his country villa.
Odd, thought Tavington, that I should call it that. Perhaps the cultural influence is not all one-sided. Of the other two survivors of the Siren, one, Dromion, was a plucky fellow with a weakness for strong drink. Aside from that fault, he had found work among the fishing boats, and supplied some useful expertise with the nets.
The other, Publius Vibius, hardly more than a boy, was the son of a minor government clerk who had thought life at sea would be a romantic adventure. He had discovered that adventure was not as much to his taste as he had imagined. He was literate, and had taken to hanging about the Museum and Library until Marianne, who did not suffer idlers in her domain, found work for him. He was making good progress with his English, and was a source of interesting information about domestic Roman life. His only defect, in Tavington's opinion, was his excessively pretty, boyish face. The Atlantean schoolgirls had made something of a pet of him—including his own Emily. Diana laughed at his complaints, but she would not laugh if a penniless Roman waif were to take advantage of her cherished foster-daughter. The boy had actually turned up at the most recent ball, clad in his shabby castoffs, and Emily had taught him to waltz. Tavington had given him a good glare, when the women were not watching, just to let the little interloper know where he stood.
Rather surprisingly, two of the Roman wounded, the most seriously hurt of all the attackers at the Pillars of Hercules, had pleaded to remain. After some consultation, they were permitted to do so. The others had been allowed to leave, as Tavington had agreed with Marcus Aurelius, but Tavington had not promised to force the men to return against their will. Perhaps it was their long stay that had convinced them—one, in fact, was still not perfectly well. They certainly would have died under the care of Roman physicians. Perhaps, also, it was the charms of the female medical staff. The healthier of the two had taken to performing light duties as a medical aide, and the staff were satisfied with his conduct. They always needed more help.
The other, Nikeratos, was an educated slave--Ulpius' secretary in fact--and was highly conversant with Roman administrative procedures. Ulpius had been shocked when told his secretary had asked to stay, but had not dared protest. Nikeratos was learning English, and would probably continue his career as a secretary, but in the service of Atlantis, not Rome. And as a free man.
Both had been too ill, of course, to be present at the Enterprise's triumphant return to its home port. Lesley, Pattie, Hugh, and all the rest of the ship's complement were given the heroes' welcome they deserved. As far as trade was concerned, the voyage had been a roaring success: everyone would share in the increased wealth of the community.
Pattie was full of ideas about developing their connections. There were not a great many Atlanteans: why not, then, form partnerships with Roman businesses to produce some of the things that they needed, and that the Romans might soon find they desired? Ceramics, for one thing. There were superb potters in Alexandria, in Massilia, in Rome, of course—and with a little technical improvement, they could produce tableware, roof tiles, storage jars, and even sanitary fixtures! Iron, too would be more practical if they could buy it in neat ingots, rather than mining it themselves. Ideas flowed from Pattie like water over a dam, and it would take months to digest all the exciting notions.
Diana and Lyudmilla, on hearing some the possibilities, remarked that partnerships should be made with businesses not using slave labor. It would be a useful way to express their own views, and an effective means of social engineering. Ferguson, in his turn, quietly told Tavington that sometimes the 21's were a little too particular, but there was no use debating with them on the subject. On consideration, he thought that condition might be met—and might result in a better product anyway.
These were pleasant musings, and diverted him from the anxieties that preyed on his mind. For no sooner had Enterprise returned to Atlantis for needed refitting, and even more necessary rest and recreation for the crew, than the Stargazer, captained by Todd Aherne, had set out for Ireland. It was a little late in the year, but the calculated risk was agreed upon. It would be harvest time, and the best possible time to trade for foodstuffs.
However, a week into the journey, the Stargazer had ceased communications. The entire settlement worried. The Committee members reiterated comforting opinions that there had simply been some sort of electrical systems failure. Had the Stargazer been sunk, there would have been time to send a message. The voyage was only supposed to have lasted around six weeks. The ship was overdue, but no one wanted to give it up for lost until winter.
At night, Tavington would lie awake, and think about it endlessly. The loss of one of their ships would be a serious loss indeed. More dreadful would be the loss of the ship's crew: Aherne, one of their few trained navigators, of course; Kathleen Mackie, one of their clothiers, who had gone to handle the trading for flax and linen; his dear friend Michael Flynn, who was simply irreplaceable.
And Drew Markham, as well. He had allowed Markham to go, partly as a reward for his stalwart and thankless service during the past crisis. Other than the brief visit to Rome, Markham had been assigned the dreariest, least dashing duties. He had wanted so much to prove himself in a "first contact" situation. And besides, Ferguson and Bordon really wished to spend time with their families. Tavington had considered going himself, but was simply too busy. And so Markham had gone—perhaps forever.
In addition, each of the small crew was either one of their rare and precious sailors, or one his own soldiers—and the ship's company had included a doctor as well!
He forced the worry from his mind. If the Stargazer was indeed lost, there was nothing to be done about it.
At the meeting, there were endless reports: from the health inspector, keeping an eye on the various brewers and distillers; from the principal of the school, Miss Crockett, who needed more schoolbooks, and was putting in place an adult evening curriculum for some of their new immigrants. Tavington was all for it: their new people needed to know some English, but also needed to understand the laws and customs of Atlantis.
The latest film offering had been a repeat of The Hobbit, the wonderful six-hour adventure that Diana showed in three parts. It had been explained to the old-timers that this was a story, a myth, and a kind of play. Some were clearly unsettled by the pictures, and at first had trouble understanding the scene changes. Amyntor, Dion, and Lysis had prepared their fellows somewhat, but they still were all overwhelmed. Ptolemy had wanted to have every detail of the mechanics explained to him; Merianis asked where the music was coming from; Serapion wanted to understand the religious and philosophical underpinnings of Middle Earth (and Tavington wondered if he thought that was the origin of the Atlanteans). Only Belbo was unalarmed: watching the adventures with delight, listening with stolid happiness as Diana, or Emily, or Gretchen whispered translations in his ear, and cheering the fall of Smaug along everyone else.
As strange as the films were, they were a way of explaining themselves to their old-timer friends, and Diana had suggested that she go over to Numenor once a month, and show a film at the hangar: the only building large enough. She was taking over the 2019 version of The Adventures of Hercules. Tavington wondered if it was a special effort on behalf of Agricola.
He was startled from these thoughts by a loud pounding on the conference room door.
"Colonel!" shouted the voice of Sergeant McKenzie.
"Come in, McKenzie," Tavington called back. "What is it?"
"A radio message from Aurora Point! The Stargazer's been sighted!"
There was a bit more to the message: the Stargazer appeared unhurt and would be in port in another hour. This effectively broke up the meeting, since everyone wanted to see the ship arrive. Tavington and Diana gave each other a radiant look of relief, and hurried down to the sea themselves.
Half the town turned out, even the schoolchildren, crowding toward the harbor and speculating excitedly about the voyage. There was a considerable wait, but at last their patience was rewarded. Unquestionably, it was their lost lamb. Low to the water, graceful and swift, the Stargazer was a tiny shape in the distance.
More and more people joined them: wives and husbands and children of the travelers. It seemed forever before the ship would dock, but at last Tavington could make out the powerful form of Michael, standing in the bow and waving to them.
He's all right, at least. Thank God. The intensity of the emotion surprised Tavington. I'm really very fond of him. I can hardly spare any friends—I have few enough of them. Diana glanced up at him, and then put her hand in the crook of his arm and squeezed, seeming to understand him.
At last the ship was safely bestowed, and Tavington walked down the quay to greet them all. Aherne gave him a smile and a respectful nod, and returned Tavington's handshake with great good humor.
"Welcome home, Captain."
"Thank you, Colonel. It's good to be back. Sorry about keeping you all in the dark. Our electrical systems need to be overhauled, but otherwise it went very well."
"I look forward to your report."
Michael jumped lightly over the rail, for such a big man, and clapped Tavington on the shoulder. From any other man, Tavington would have thought it a liberty, but he accepted that he really was very, very glad that Michael was home and unharmed. So was Elyssa, Michael's assistant, who rushed forward and threw her arms about him. His friend looked at Tavington with a hint of apology, and then gave Elyssa a passionate kiss.
Well, thought Tavington, I wasn't sure about them, but now I am.
"Is Lieutenant Markham—" he asked Aherne, feeling the beginnings of dread.
"Oh, he's fine, Colonel. Everybody's fine. He's just getting the ladies from below."
Before Tavington could ask what Aherne meant, Markham appeared, leading a comely young woman by the hand. Red-haired, stone-pale of skin, and wearing a straight linen dress of saffron color, she could be nothing but Irish. Following her were three other women. They each carried a small wooden chest, and varied in age from their teens to their thirties. A plank was laid for them to cross to the quay upon, and on seeing the first woman more closely, Tavington realized that she was older than he had at first thought: perhaps in her mid-twenties.
Markham was quite solicitous as he guided her to his waiting Colonel. Unaccountably, he blushed at Tavington's questioning look.
"Colonel Tavington—Mrs. Tavington. Let me present to you Princess Ceindrych, sister of the King of the Erainn."
"Princess Ceindrych?"
"Well—yes," replied Markham looking both pleased and little sheepish. "My wife."
Without missing a beat, Diana immediately took charge of the courtesies, "How wonderful! Congratulations to you both!" She smiled at the younger woman, and repeated her words in Latin. The princess showed no sign of comprehension, and looked wary, but relieved, at Diana's friendly tones.
Michael came up for air long enough to translate after a fashion. He explained, "I don't speak much of the language—it's not much like modern Irish at all. I communicate like a five-year old, but she understood me. She doesn't know any Latin, of course, but luckily the King had a few wisefolk about him who understood us, and he himself knew a few words. You should have been there! We sailed right into Cork Harbor, and there was nothing much more than a few stone huts. It's one of the finest harbors in the British Isles, so it was a surprise to see how uninhabited it was. We met the King a few days later, though, and hit it off with him pretty well."
"So it would seem," Tavington remarked dryly.
"Oh, Drew was quite the hero—saved the King from a big boar-pig, and then the King's flock from some raiders sent by the neighboring 'realm.'" He laughed, with a touch of irony. "Oh, indeed; they're all Kings there in Ireland! And the King was so overwhelmed with our gifts that I think he was anxious to return the favor with something of great value—and so he gave us the big island in the harbor for our use, and the mighty warrior married the princess!"
Tavington gave Markham's bride a polite bow, and they made way for the ship to be unloaded. Pigs squealed below, much to the satisfaction of his own men, who were happily anticipating a pork barbecue.
The Fergusons arrived, and there were more courtesies exchanged. Polly glanced around, puzzled.
"Where's Kathleen?"
Captain Aherne and Michael looked at each other. "She's still in Ireland. She decided to winter there."
Diana was shocked. "Why on earth would she do that?"
Sally looked at Polly, sharing some secret understanding. "It was the spinning wheel, wasn't it?"
Michael understood her. "Yes. She brought a spinning wheel to demonstrate it. You can't imagine how the women all over the country took on about her. If you think the Romans thought we were gods—"
Tavington was a little disdainful. "All for a spinning wheel?"
Polly rolled her eyes. "Spoken like a man, of course. You could have no idea what a spinning wheel, a machine that makes ten times the thread in half the time, would mean to women."
"True," said Diana, beginning to grasp it. "With drop spindles, women used to spend every free moment trying to make a foot or so of thread. It's the main reason clothing was so expensive and difficult to make. It's why an unmarried woman is called a spinster."
Sally concluded, speaking to the men as if they were dolts. "Weaving is fast. Spinning is slow."
"But she's all right, isn't she?" asked Diana, rather anxiously.
"Oh, she's the Witch Queen of All Ireland," Michael assured her. "Part of the reason we came back later than we planned was because we were helping the Irish make copies of her spinning wheel. She got some sort of bee in her bonnet, when she saw how the women lived, and how hard they worked… She has a book about first aid and midwifery with her, too. She's going to do what she can for them, and we're to come for her in the spring. Maybe a few immigrants will be coming with her."
Diana had grown very quiet, and Tavington was beginning to wonder if her head ached from the excitement, when she whispered to him. "I feel so ashamed. When I joined the Project, it was to make a better future for the whole world, not just for myself. Kathleen's a hero, and she's doing what I should be doing."
Alarmed, and not wishing his wife to rush off into the blue to save humanity, he whispered back, "You have nothing to apologize for. We can hardly improve the world if our own settlement is unfit to live in. And you were a tremendous help with the Romans."
"I should be doing more." She said nothing else, and made an effort to seem herself, greeting all the crew and asking about their adventures. Tavington decided everyone would benefit from a proper party, and sent off messengers to Lisa and Summer. Numenor would be radioed, so that anyone there who wished could join them. The weather promised fair, and they would simply set up trestles and benches in the square for a general festival.
Traveling back to the Town Hall, they met Bordon with Clytie, who was now too far gone with child to walk quickly. She was looking exceedingly pretty in her pregnancy, and still favored the bright yellow garments that Diana had first dressed her in. There were more merry meetings. Tavington spared a glance to the young Irishwomen, who were gaping with wonder at the town. Markham appeared quite smitten with his young wife. The fact that she was red-haired, like his former sweetheart and partner Carolyn Kelly, was not lost on Tavington.
But I wonder how the girl and her attendants will deal with civilization. They're not like Romans, after all, familiar with city life and sanitation.
As if reading his mind, Michael fell into step with them. "Before we do any socializing, we'll need to get cleaned up." He dropped his voice, "as you can imagine, lice were a problem. The doctor's gotten the girls used to the idea of washing, but we'll all need go through the microsonics at the Laboratory as soon as possible, just to get rid of spare animal life. Our clothes and the girls' possessions in their boxes, too. The Princess has a splendid wolf-fur coverlet, but you can picture…" He grimaced in distaste.
Tavington grunted agreement. He remembered all too well how hard it was to keep clean on campaign. Some of his fellow officers in the Carolinas had shaved their heads and worn wigs to avoid head lice. He hated wigs, and had had to spend hours with a fine-toothed comb to keep the nits out. He felt not the slightest desire to return to those days. Let the Irishwomen fancy it a sacred rite of purification if they liked, but clean they would be.
------
It was all very delightful late that evening, sitting at the head table, and admiring the festive lights decorating the wide square. Ron and Karen Stark and some of their music students kept up a riotous accompaniment for the dancing and eating. Three pigs, two beeves, and three sheep had been cooking since noon. Pork was a long-forgotten treat, and with the excellent food, the wine, the cider, the beer, he was feeling his mellowest. Diana had not fully recovered her spirits, but was gracious to everyone. At a table to his right, he saw Jennifer, who caught his glance and smiled happily. Startled, he smiled back. I've never seen her so happy. Perhaps---?
Diana had seen the look exchanged. She touched her husband's arm, and murmured, "Jennifer's had some very good news. She asked me to tell you, but somehow I was distracted." She smiled: the proper, diplomatic smile he had seen her use in Rome. "Her baby is due inJuly of next year. She's so excited. It's quite brought her out of her shell."
He wondered if she was regretting her open-minded generosity to her friend, but was too proud and honorable to admit it. He must tread carefully, and not wound her. He replied, rather non-committally, "I am very glad to hear it. I'm sure she will be an excellent mother, and perhaps now she will mix more."
The Starks took a break, and sat down to their share of the barbecue. Berenike spelled them; tuning her tall harp and playing a sweet and gentle tune. The crowd quieted a little, trying to hear her. A few men stood near her, listening and admiring. Tavington called to Belbo, and told him to keep a discreet watch, and make sure no one troubled her.
Pattie had a certain look in his eye. Tavington knew it well, and knew it presaged Pattie telling him a new idea of his, and trying to talk him round. Sure enough, his friend came over, pulled up a short stool and began his exposition.
"It's far too late in the year to sail north, but it seems to me that there are parts south that could be of interest—"
"Pattie, the Stargazer needs an overhaul, and the Enterprise---"
"Now, now," his friend soothed him. "There's no need to raise your hackles. Our Captain Barbara on the Reliant is feeling a bit behindhand when the glory is being shared out, and she told me that she hoped she'd have her own chance soon."
Tavington sighed deeply. "Well, what it is?"
Pattie eyes shone with excitement. "The Cape Verde Islands!"
Tavington tried to picture a map, but the excellent wine, the cider, and the beer made it all a blur.
"Where?" he asked.
Exasperatingly, Pattie produced notes from his coat. Then, to Tavington's dismay, he actually started reading from them: latitude, longitude, area, climate. "—and they're rich in all sorts of things we need: building stone, clay—some first class kaolin for the potters—salt—"
"Salt, you say?" That was a consideration. If they could easily mine salt deposits, process them, and gate the products home, it would save room on their trading ships. And they went through salt so fast—
"Aye," Ferguson assured him. "A thousand miles south of us, past the Canaries, and about two hundred miles west of Africa, just like us. It's no colony I'm proposing there, d'ye ken--for it seems it's a bit dry---but no one lives there, and we could surely make use of what no one else seems to want! A lot of little islands, spread out over a hundred miles or so. We could send an surveying expedition."
It was not a bad idea, and Tavington promised to think it over. His attention was caught by Ron and Karen, now back at their instruments, and striking up a reel. Right now, he wanted to dance with his wife, and give her a little needed attention.
But even in the midst of the dance, people were wanting to talk to both of them: Reinhardt, DeJong, and their friends about an idea for yet another flying machine—an "ultralight." It sounded interesting, and they were told he would talk to them about it in the morning. He caught up with Diana, as they threaded through the other couples.
Markham was standing on the fringes, looking nervous. Tavington was about to make his apologies to his wife, when it became plain that the lieutenant wanted to speak to Diana, and not himself. She said a few words in an undertone to Markham, and he nodded, withdrawing.
"What was that about?" She smiled up at him. "He wants to talk to me about his bachelor quarters. He's very worried about whether his new wife will like living there."
Tavington gave an incredulous snort. "She'll probably think she's has been transported to Fairyland. She's never seen anything so good in her life!" He looked back at the end of the head table. The young woman was sitting quietly, sipping from a wineglass, looking wide-eyed about her.
"Be nice."
"I am. I suppose her maidservants will be living with them. Perhaps a bit of a squeeze."
Markham's quarters were in the basement level of the Town Hall, a floor below the Fergusons. The windows were large, and the place was bright enough, but he had only two rooms there: a small sitting room and a smaller bedroom. Tavington could not remember the last time he had been in them, but recalled that they were decently, if sparsely furnished, and that Markham kept them rather like most junior officers kept their quarters, when there was no woman to maintain order. Was there a bathroom on that floor?--yes—one had been put in. The rest of that floor was being used for storage. Perhaps some of the space could be rearranged. He smirked briefly, imagining Markham teaching a gaggle of young Irishwomen how to use modern plumbing. How much Irish had he learned? Probably not nearly enough for that.
Both Greek and English were being spoken at the table they passed now. The Kolbs and their children were sitting across from Amyntor and Ptolemy. The Greeks' hands were wildly gesticulating; Dion was listening in fascination; and Lysis was quietly agreeing with all points of view. Nikeratos, still getting about with the aid of a cane, sat with them, but was insisting on speaking English with Alan and Herb. Herb's wife, young son, and elderly mother were at the table too, and seemed to follow most of the conversations fairly well. Herb's young female graduate students joined in the talk enthusiastically: to the scandal of some of the men, and the delight of others. Merianis was not there, but at the next table with other medics, her English accented but understandable.
Further on sat some of the Numenoreans who had sailed over for the night. Aulus Meridius Agricola was there with Janie. His English was improving by leaps and bounds; probably because he was living with a woman who spoke not a word of Latin. He was conversing seriously with Haley. Well on his way to becoming one of their foremost citizens, it seems.
He wondered where Serapion was. Their Alexandrian friend was making himself useful, in his smooth way. He had never known anyone so good at fitting in. And now— There he was: dancing, of all things. He had been bemused last month at his first sight of men and women dancing together. At length, he had quoted Herodotus. "Custom," he said, "is king." He must have persuaded someone to give him dancing lessons, for he was partnering Lesley Urquhart, and very creditably, too. The man's loyalties were ambiguous, but he could be of great use in their new embassy in Rome, and even more in the one they soon hoped to establish in Alexandria.
The dance over, Diana went to advise Markham, and Tavington returned to the head table. Polly was talking with Pattie about the embassy.
"Now that there's a house in Rome, I wouldn't mind going there myself. I've never fancied sea voyages."
Tavington sat down and agreed. "I think you'd enjoy it, properly protected. You don't have to see any Games, and you'd have all the comforts of home. At any rate, the Emperor would like us to have a physician visit the embassy on the Kalends and Ides of every month, and it would be a good time for the ambassador to be available. Perhaps the embassy could throw a party someday."
"Someday," Pattie agreed skeptically. "But it might not be the kind of party they fancy—no vomitoria (Polly made a face)—and no fights to the death."
"And no naked dancing girls!" Sally added over Polly's shoulder.
Pattie grumbled low to Tavington, "'Tis a sad life I lead."
Tavington smiled in mock sympathy, and glanced at the dancers, now slowed to a lilting waltz. His eye was arrested by a flushed, happy, familiar face: Emily, dancing with that Publius Vibius boy again. Diana should have a talk with her. And where had the boy gotten new clothes? He looked almost respectable, in boots, breeches, and a long brown coat of 18th century style. Yes, a serious conversation was definitely in order.
-----
Dawn lightened the eastern sky just too early the next morning. Tavington fumbled for a pillow and covered his face. The place next to him in bed was empty. He listened, and heard Diana's gentle voice crooning to the baby. After awhile, the infant's little noises quieted, and he felt his wife slip back into bed.
Immediately, he tossed the pillow aside, and turned on his side to wrap an arm around her. It was a cool morning, and he nestled close to the comfortable warmth of his wife's soft back.
"Good morning," she murmured, and he heard the smile in her voice.
"And to you, Princess of Atlantis."
"How is your head?"
"Manageable. I didn't drink that much." He pressed closer, and she sighed with pleasure."But I wouldn't mind a restful morning in our bed."
It was not particularly restful, but quite agreeable, as they hit on an easy position that would tax neither of them. Her leg draped over his, partly on their sides, making her open and available to his touch. She retrieved his discarded pillow and used it to muffle her cries. Little people had keen ears, and he did not want another round of questioning from his children, wondering, "Is Mommy hurt?"
And they were just in time, for they were tidying themselves when they heard the sound of small feet out of bed and running about. Tavington growled, "It's still too early," and dived back under the covers.
Diana patted his shoulder, got up, and found her robe. She left the room to track the children down, considerately closing the door behind her. Tavington promptly fell asleep once more.
It was full sunlight before he awakened again. A pleasantly slow day followed: a bit of late breakfast scrounged from their commissary downstairs; a look-in at his office; a ride out to the airfield with Bordon (Pattie was still asleep), and a talk with the pilots, who had slept late themselves, what with the party and then staying up all night talking. Lt. DeJong and her hangar chief, Higgins, had stopped for the night with Reinhardt and his family. They called in some more friends—a machinist and a pair of engineers, and laid their design before Tavington.
An "ultralight, " it seemed, was a very small airplane, which could be used to hop about the island, carrying small amounts of cargo: parcels, messages. It did not require a long runway, and would be a means of connecting their lookout posts without having to build a network of roads around their mountainous island. They also had plans for an ultralight helicopter, which Tavington thought even more practical, since it could land nearly anywhere.
Once started on their favorite subject, the aviators talked about other craft that could be built: parasails, gliders, dirigibles. Tavington did not understand the last term at all, and was treated to pictures of a long, gas-filled craft that could be made very big indeed, and that could carry large numbers of people. Unfamiliar names and terms were thrown at him: Graf Zeppelin, Hindenburg, blimp, helium vs. hydrogen.
He stayed longer than he planned: Bordon wanted to hear more about the history of lighter-than-air craft, and they were taken all the way back to their own 18th century and the Montgolfier brothers.
Hearing some of the accounts of early flight, Bordon remarked, "The problem with such devices is that we are on a small island, surrounded by the ocean. A balloon could easily be blown out to sea, and then you would have a disaster."
Higgins recommended a novel, Mysterious Island, by Jules Verne, which told of the adventures of soldiers who survived just such an adventure, and the talk turned to novels, and the Frenchman Verne and the development of the science-fiction genre, and then to movies based on the novels of Verne. Bordon wondered aloud if Diana had one of the films in the Library.
"I'll bet we've got a copy of Around the World in Eighty Days!" Ashley sounded certain, and then Mrs. Reinhardt thought she had seen the title Journey to the Center of the Earth listed.
It was all very amusing and interesting, and then they had some sandwiches, and then Tavington asked more about hang-gliders; so it was late in the afternoon by the time they dragged themselves away to return home.
Bordon was much in favor of the new aircraft. "I know that we can use time gates for such things, but our medical people keep insisting that there should be a limit to their use for health reasons. And we should have alternative means anyway. I realize that it is an amazing, miraculous invention—but what if the machines were damaged, what if we could not depend upon it? It seems wise to me to diversify."
Tavington agreed. He was still thinking about Ferguson's scheme for the Cape Verde Islands, and told Bordon about it. "It is a risk, of course, whenever we send a ship anywhere. We could let the scientists calculate a drop point, and send in a volunteer, as we did in the initial expedition here, but I'm told it is very dangerous. It would be best to sail to our destination, and then choose a favorable spot for a gate, so one can be sure there are no trees, or boulders, or—natives—in the way. Traveling to an uninhabited island, of course, we would not need to send a large crew. Just the sailors themselves, and some people to set up a base camp and radio the gate coordinates."
"A sound plan. Eventually, of course, we will outgrow this island. I understand the reservations our friends have about dispossessing native peoples—I never thought the Colonists in our own time to be dealing fairly with the Indians—but from my reading it appears that there are many uninhabited places in our world, and we should consider them fair game."
Tavington smiled. Bordon often anticipated his own thoughts. "There is Bermuda, of course. It's small, though, and is hit by hurricanes fairly often. Michael is still opposed to the Azores, though I think knowing that there will be an earthquake in say, three hundred years, should be no bar to settlement. After all, one can prepare somewhat. But we can go farther afield. I have been thinking about the island of Mauritius. It would be an ideal place to grow sugar."
Bordon laughed, "I remember. The one with the Dodo birds that were killed off. Justin Lakiotis uses it as an example of destroying the environment."
"Well," said Tavington. "We would know better than to slaughter all the ridiculous creatures. I still see no reason that we could not inhabit the island. After all, our biologists are quite agog here in New Atlantis, cataloguing all the wildlife. Apparently the Portuguese wiped out all sorts of fauna when they arrived. I flatter myself that we are better stewards."
"Just so," Bordon assented. The horses trotted faster, seeing their stables. His captain was still thinking, and remarked, "Of course, there are the great empty islands of Madagascar and New Zealand. The latter particularly appeal to me: about the size of Britain, and with a temperate climate."
"And since seeing The Lord of the Rings, they seem familiar to us!" added Tavington with a laugh.
"They certainly are magnificent."
At a distance, they could see that there was activity on the back steps of the Town Hall. People were there, carrying large objects. Tavington and Bordon dismounted and turned their horses over to the dragoon on duty. As they walked back home, they could see that the people were carrying boxes and furniture.
"I daresay that our new Princess is making alterations in Markham's quarters," Tavington said wryly.
They discovered though, that it was Diana, not young Ceindrych, who was supervising the changes. She looked rather harried, and gave her husband and his friend a nod as they entered the building.
"No, that goes to the Library. There's no reason to keep any of that here anymore," she was saying.
Two men were edging past, carrying a big chest of drawers downstairs. Tavington and Bordon stepped out of their way, and then went over to Diana.
"I take it this is for Markham's new household?"
"Yes, they definitely need more space. Those three girls can't camp out in his living room forever. I had another room downstairs cleaned out, and Drew's bachelor bedroom furniture moved into it for the maids. I thought he and Ceindrych should have something a little better of their own. There isn't a great deal left of the inventory we brought along, but I still found something quite nice for the happy couple. And they needed all sorts of other things as well."
Sally came running upstairs, face red with mirth. "You won't like this, Diana, but you know those sheets you gave her—"
"What now?"
"She and her maidservants are cutting them up—I think for shifts. You shouldn't have given her the sheets and the sewing basket at the same time!"
"Oh, dear."
Seeing her husband's amused expression, she shrugged. "Well, I'm sure they'll make very nice shifts, and they definitely need more clothing. I'll just take them some more sheets, and make the bed myself."
A crowd of children exploded down the stairs, followed by a weary-looking Ferguson. Iris ran to her father, hugged his legs, and declared, "I want to see the Princess! They won't let me help!"
"Well," said Tavington taking each of his children in hand, "You can come downstairs with me. I'd like to see what your mother has wrought."
Bordon thought it was time for him to go home. "I'll leave you to the domestic arrangements. I've hardly seen Clytie all day," he said, and headed upstairs.
It was just as well that he did not try to join them, for the crush was even greater down in Markham's quarters. All the youth of the Town Hall were there: Emily, trying to communicate with the youngest of the Irish girls: Zachary and Christopher Seevers, cheerfully lending a hand to Markham, as he mounted his weapons on a wall. Some of the soldiery were assembling a big and handsomely carved bed in Markham's bedroom. Two of the Irishwomen were sitting primly on the edge of Markham's small leather sofa, busily pinning together what indeed looked like shifts.
Markham's wife was watching the comings and goings with an excited expression. Clutched in her hands was a large workbasket with an embroidered lid. She saw Diana and went to her, anxious to tell her something.
The children spilled into the room. Annie Ferguson plumped down next to one of the maids, who gave her a sweet smile.
Markham broke off from pounding hooks in the wall, and called out to Diana, "Ceindrych wants to say thank you again for the sewing things. She thinks they're beautiful!"
"Thank you. Thank you," the girl repeated earnestly. She opened the box, and fondly admired the contents. "Beautiful."
Diana took her by the hand, and said clearly, "You're welcome. We are so happy that Drew brought a wife home with him. I hope you'll both be very happy."
Markham translated haltingly, and the girl blushed and smiled.
Fearless little Annie was introducing herself loudly to the Irish girl beside her, and elicited a response in kind. Tavington thought the name sounded like "Gruoch," but was not entirely sure. Annie, with the ease of extreme youth, appeared to repeat it to the girl's satisfaction.
Polly appeared, carrying something on a drapery pole. She asked Diana, "Is this the one you meant?"
Diana turned back a bit of the fabric. "Yes, I think that will look very nice in here."
It was a Tree-of-Life patterned tapestry, in the richest hues of blue and red and green. Markham, with his hammer, was pulled over to the other side of the room, and the hanging was soon adorning the wall. Everyone seemed to like it. Markham's desk was moved, and atable with a "barley twist" design and its matching chairs arrived and was placed appropriately.
Sally appeared, another load of linen in her arms, and she went into the bedroom with Diana to make the now-complete bed. Seeing them at work, Ceindrych ran to her wooden coffer, and pulled out the wolfskin coverlet that Michael had told Tavington about. She arranged it on the bed, and stood back admiring. Diana offered her own compliments, which the girl seemed to understand the sense of.
The smallest of the children were running about, looking at everything in the rooms, then running into the maids' new room to stare at their things. Ferguson started herding them to the door. "That's enough, now. Let the poor lasses settle in a wee bit." Tavington followed his lead, and introduced little Iris to Ceindrych before shepherding her out and upstairs. Diana had the situation well in hand.
Another pair of soldiers came downstairs, delivering a big blanket chest with a leather-cushioned top for seating. Tavington and Ferguson got the little ones out of their way, and Tavington proposed they take the children for a walk.
"I'd be glad of one," Ferguson said feelingly. "A bit of air will clear my head."
With Will and Iris, and Annie and Jamie, their progress was slow. They dawdled through the flower beds, and then through the garden plots. Tavington realized that they were heading to the greenhouses, but did not want to be the one to say they should turn back. Besides, they saw Jennifer, and the children ran down the path to her to say hello.
She really was in very good spirits, and took the children to see her plumeria, now in full bloom. It was wonderfully fragrant, a clinging, voluptuous scent that permeated that corner of the building. Jennifer picked two white-and-yellow blossoms, and tucked one each behind a little girl's ear. The children wanted to admire the exotics, the cacao trees and the one precious vanilla. Supervising them from a distance, Tavington remarked that it was a pity they could not grow them outdoors.
Jennifer shook her head. "It's just not the right ecosystem. A shame, really, because chocolate could be a big cash crop for us, if we had a real plantation. It would have to be farther south, though."
"Interesting that you mention going south, my dear," replied Ferguson. "I was just trying to persuade our Colonel here to send the Reliant down to the Cape Verde Islands."
"Really?" Jennifer was struck by this. "Really?" she turned to Tavington, "Do you think you're going to?"
"Well, yes—very likely. I'm told there's salt and clay there. It certainly sounds worth our time—so after some study—"
"Wait here!" Jennifer cried, and ran into her office. Surprised, Tavington and his friend looked at each other, and a moment later Jennifer reappeared, carrying a heavy, green-covered volume. She was pink with excitement, and told them, "If the ship went a little farther, there's a place that would be just right for our cacaos—and for sugar, too!"
Interested, Tavington turned the book so he could see it. It was a mumbo-jumbo of technical terms, so Jennifer interpreted. "I know we've decided not to displace any native peoples, but there is this island that mainly produced chocolate and sugar back in the 21st century. Here—" she pointed to the reference. "—Sao Tome. It's nearly as big as New Atlantis! And there's another smaller island, Principe, nearby. They're a hundred miles from Africa and were discovered by the Portuguese just like our islands here. Nobody lives there now. Nobody even set foot on the islands until the 15th century. And they're perfect for chocolate—a good tropical canopy to filter the light. There are some clear areas to the north for sugar. And I could grow cinnamon and vanilla there too! I could grow pepper and even some rubber! It would be a huge outdoor Conservatory—and all for us!"
She leafed back to the front of the book. There was a world map, and the tiny islands were just visible. Ferguson was asking more questions, and Tavington studied the map thoughtfully. It would make the Reliant's journey twice as long, but it could pay tremendous dividends.
He gave Jennifer a slow smile, and she blushed furiously. Remembering himself, he observed lightly, "A marvelous idea, if we can put it into practice. Sao Tome—an odd name."
Ferguson shrugged, and asked Jennifer's permission to take the volume so he could examine it more closely. "No need to use the names if we dinna like them. Why not name them ourselves—the Chocolate Islands?"
"Chocolate Islands?" smiled Jennifer shyly. "They sound like a fairy tale."
Tavington smiled back. "Sometimes, the most fantastic stories are the truest ones."
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Notes: There is nothing anachronistic about Tavington's 18th century men anticipating a barbecue. The word was known in 18th century America.
Treadle spinning wheels were not invented until around the 14th century A.D. There were hand-driven ones a few hundred years earlier, though, first in India and China.
The Romans didn't use weeks. The Kalends were the first of the month and the Ides the fifteenth.
Next: The concluding chapter of Tavington's Atlantis.