I ordered our party to re-board the Argo and remain there. What is more, keeping a distance from these people was also part of the Ambassador's advice.
Diseases. It had been a primary concern of his...and of ours, since his education of Galen, the greatest of our physicians, in the true nature of most illnesses. Yet I had myself seen the tiny forms of life by looking into the "microscope" at their round and long shapes, taken from my own mouth! So many foolish superstitions regarding sickness erased at a stroke.
Indeed, knowledge was often as great a weapon as the sword. The "vaccination" program to halt the outbreak of plague he named "smallpox" had almost certainly saved millions of lives, both in the Empire and beyond. And no new case had been reported for over two years. This had served to aid greatly in furthering the peaceful consolidation of Rome's borders. Who would wage war against those who had saved their very lives...and offered further miracles?
While that would work as well here, probably, there were many diseases that would be new–to both these Americans and to us Romans! Close contact had to be controlled tightly to prevent an outbreak disaster. Of course, all in the fleet had been vaccinated long ago, and we had brought several physicians who could begin such a program here too, in case this scourge existed in America, although He had said it did not. Moreover, the long voyage across the Atlantic Ocean had allowed enough time for any active contagious illness to run its course among the crews. Why we had shuffled members between ships constantly during the trip. All had arrived here healthy. But there were other diseases, unknown to us and to the natives, which might appear with any prolonged contact. Probably inevitable. But by proceeding slowly at first, the effects might be lessened, allowing some local immunities to grow and spread among the populace, and among us.
If any mass killing was to be done here, it would be with my sword, not some invisible scourge! That was the way of the coward. Part of our Mission was to impart the knowledge of our culture, as well as the facts which Science and rational thinking had revealed. Not easily done, and still continuing even within Rome's boundaries.
Ignorance and prejudice were tightly held by most people–since this made them more comfortable and less fearful, said Bal. Another reason he and I had "discussed" long and at times loudly his intention to bring Christianity here. His copy of his Bible, etched into a book of steel plates, as were the Encyclopedias of general knowledge give us by the Ambassador, were stored in trunks in our holds. From Him we had learned there were many beliefs held among these natives, some similar to those of Europeans, and some quite dark and violent.
As my tutor and trainer, Bal had for many years (ignoring the gap of two years after he chose to halt, then to return, which I still did not understand) familiarized me with this offshoot of Judaism. I remained open but unconvinced about this set of tenants, of "Commandments," especially the parts about "loving your enemy" and "turning the other cheek" (quite novel!) and the resurrection of the dead (nothing new to the Egyptians). Science and this religion–all of them, actually–seemed at odds. The one a verifiable structure of logic, the other being taken totally on faith!
For me, it was enough to honor Rome's religion, by actions at least, then to bear the struggle of Life simply as a warrior, with clear goals and the means to them clearly known. My father, as Pontifex Maximus, head of the Roman church, had found the idea of total separation of this from the government difficult to accept...at first. Yet, when our expedition had left Rome, this fundamental change was well underway. Emperors would be elected by the Senate, who were elected by the people, as in the former Republic, and the Pontifex would be chosen from/by church leaders, and not from the military.
I could also accept the need of others to have directions toward a "higher better" Life. Their choice. Never would I forbid Bal to follow his own goal here, but I had asked him to at least delay until after a firm ground between these peoples and Rome was established. Reluctantly he had agreed.
Came the twilight. Even at mid-river, the ships anchored against its strong current, we could smell fascinating odors of foods coming from shore. I looked through the "telescope" (yet another gift from Him) at twilight to see Morenus standing with several torch-bearing natives on the dock, waving to us. The same original party climbed into the dingy again and rowed ashore in the dusk. Again we were led into the arch building, then through an exit at left and into a wide courtyard surrounded by low huts of wood, wattle, and thatch.
But the largest lay straight ahead, with the Chief on his mobile throne behind a feast laid onto a table fifteen paces long. Morenus stood just behind it. Without ceremony he stood and waved us to the stools around the table, and we gladly took our seats and ate hungrily, Bal pausing only briefly in silent prayer.
Such foods! Not one was familiar, except for some grilled fish and roasted birds (chickens not seen). I grew tired to asking what each was named and just enjoyed. The "beans" were of several types and all tasty, eaten alone or mixed with other foods. I must confess to some digestive issues with these; later that night every one of us Romans experienced flatulence on an epic scale! It was even necessary to warn the lesser educated crew to keep a safe distance from any open flames. Yet the natives seemed to have no such difficulties.
One such bean, oily, white and soft, was roasted till firm and brown, reminding me of pine nuts but with a unique flavor and crunch. The "squash" was green and/or yellow and slightly cooked to remain crunchy...and wonderful. "Tomatoes" resembled soft red apples, yet had their own tart flavor and were used in several sauces. No fishy garum types here, yet more flavorful and quite spicy with what I would call "peppery"–enough to make the mouth burn and eyes water! And there were "potatoes," an oblong palm-sized brown root of a vine that when baked burst open and had a white pulpy interior; rather bland, but fine when topped with other diced foods.
Very filling. All these had originated from lands to the south, but were now grown here.The oddest, most surprising, and best of all was "maize." This also came in a variety of sizes and colors of yellows, reds, and browns. It came both on the "ears" and with the "kernels" removed and cooked into other dishes. Some was even ground into a meal and fried like wheat bread (also not seen) but thin and flat, which could then be rolled into a cone and other diced foods be stuffed into it for a fast food. However, when a handful of one kind of dried maize kernel was placed into a lidded ceramic pot with a bit of animal fat and heated, it..."popped!" That is, the yellow kernel literally exploded with a loud crack and puffed up into a white soft bud like a mushroom, expanding to push the pot lit off. Delicious! Made me smile...might need a little butter melted over it, 'though.
Although the several leafy greens looked different, they tasted the same as back home: unappetizing. (Real warriors do not eat them.) Most shocking was the total lack of intoxicating beverages, only water and fruit juices. The Ambassador had assured me that fermentation was practiced here, but none such were offered to us. Perhaps this was reserved for the elite social classes...when strangers were not present. Or this might encompass some religious rite, which we were told also rarely included a costly bitter drink called "chocolatl" that also came from the far south, reserved only for the highest classes and only during supreme religious rites.
Wonder how they would find our new coffee, brought in from Africa at His suggestion; now immensely popular in Rome and also quite addictive. And much like Roman meals, a dessert of honey infused cakes, of corn meal in place of wheat, were presented by obvious slaves.
Again we felt a light sprinkle of rain, which stopped quickly. We had been fortunate so far in regard to weather. The sextant told us we were at about the same latitude as southern Italy. Now in early Summer here, it should begin to rain more for at least two months as well. Also we were having to swat away the damned mosquitoes more. We had not noticed them when out on the river in the ships, but on land they came in thick clouds at times–just as they had once in Rome this time of year.
However, thanks yet again to His advice, we had learned about their link to disease, "malaria" prime among them. And the restructuring of the city's sewer systems and the draining of the Pontine Marshes had soon ended a whole set of problems, including the pests. (As the improvements in garbage collection and removal had greatly reduced the rodent-disease problem.) And this had provided a flammable gas to light the streets at night far better than simple torches. But here there would be no draining of the marshes just south of this village! Far too large and nowhere to shunt the river water to.
But Morenus quickly noticed our displeasure and pointed out the clay bottles scattered around the tables. The thick liquid smelled of lemons. He told us to rub a small portion on our skin and clothes every half hour or so to keep them away. We did, and it worked quite well! Too bad there was no remedy for the oppressive humidity that stifled whenever the breeze stopped. However, when that breeze came from inland, the odor of the village pit toilets came as an unwelcome flavoring too. Yes, much to offer these people.
The elites sat around other tables at the edges of the courtyard, staring at us between bites. Observing our manners? No reclining couches here, but also no dining tools; fingers only. At last we were offered long hollow tubes of baked clay with a little open chamber at one end filled with some dried dark vegetable set afire. The warning clicked. Sir de la Mancha had told me about "smoking tobacco." Much as with some drugs like opium, cannabis, and certain mushrooms in common use back home, this would also create the feeling of too much wine...and quickly become a consuming addiction even stronger. Breaking free from it was next to impossible for many and often destroyed the health of the lungs. I motioned, to the slaves and my men, that we declined this "treat."
From the Chief's reaction I gathered that this was perhaps also an act of religious significance, and to disdain it was an insult. I ignored this, deciding it was time to start saying "no" to him. Even the odor from the other's "pipes" made me nauseated! I will take wine, or even the new "brandy" made from it, anytime. Then I turned toward Balshazar, who had consumed twice the amount of anyone else here, and smiled my approval at the entire evening so far. Big toothy grin in return.
Again as with any Roman feast, the entertainment began without notice. A group of musicians strolled out from a hut with instruments in hand and started playing. I saw only drums, rattles, sticks banged together, and flute-like wind instruments. Of course! We had been told none of these peoples had the technology to smelt and form metals...with the exception of native copper, easily cold-hammered into shape, as had been the rare bits of gold ornaments we saw. Indeed, I had seen a few trinkets and some jewelry of the red metal, even an axe. But with no bronze or brass, let alone iron or steel, there could be no tunable stringed guitars or horns. Everything here was handmade from living materials: plants, bone, sinew, hide, stone.
A limitation that would work to our advantage–and one I would now use. This small group played well and slowly. Again I suspected that music was also usually employed just for religious purposes, and this performance was solely to impress us. Laughable to me, compared to the latest creations being inspired by the newest instruments and the "sheet music" yet again given to Rome by the Ambassador. I was particularly fond of the new valved trumpet.
Why this was unknown to these people, even this far from the East Coast of America from where it had supposedly come, was another mystery to be solved. With a nod at Morenus, I addressed the Chief. The band lowered its volume accordingly. "A magnificent feast, your Honor! And so you must sample some of our own foods on another occasion. In appreciation I present you with this gift."
I drew out the short collapsed spyglass from my pocket and stood to walk around the table and beneath his throne-chair. The brace of guards stiffened, then relaxed when they saw what I held, obviously not a weapon. I had already determined to give no arms to these people, until and unless needed.
"With this device it is possible to see great distances, to see an enemy before they are even aware of you." That got his intense interest. I demonstrated by extending the three segments of the collapsed tube and held it up to my right eye to swing it around, then held it out to him.
Slowly he bent to take it from me and imitate. I had to stifle my laugh at his own stifled amazement when he looked at the courtyard in the dim torch lights. He lowered it and for the first time actually smiled at me. His avarice redoubled, no doubt. But this made him more malleable to my plans as well.
"Please permit me to also present this, a sample of our music...and to honor the god of this magnificent river." I knew these peoples also found gods in many things and places.
My wave brought Bal to his feet as the crewman to his right reached down to extract a three-valved trumpet from his kit bag. This was the son of "Doc" Severus, as named by Him, for unknown reason. Severus was far too old, nearly the age of my own father, to come on this voyage, but his son had been very enthusiastic about it. And his skill with the shiny brass would also provide the impression I sought. Bal's loud bass voice would do the rest. I recalled his fine performance of the play "South Mediterranean" at the home of the Ambassador, now several years in the past when I was but a child.
The tune we had agreed on was another one, among many, provided in "sheet music notation" by the memory of Sir Mancha, called "Old Man River," which he had assured us had been composed to honor these same Mississippi waters. When Marcellus put the muted trumpet to his mouth, and Bal started, many in the audience popped up like hot maize! Could not really blame them. It was impressive.
"Old Man River, that old Man River, He must know something, but do not say nothing, He just keeps rolling, he keeps on rolling along....You and me, we sweat and strain, body all aching and racked with pain. 'Tote that barge!' 'Lift that bale,' get a little drunk and you land in jail...I am tired of living and scared of dying, but Old Man River, he just keep rolling along."
When they halted, only our crewmen applauded. The natives were silent with awe (?), perhaps applause not being the custom here. At least they did not point thumbs inward, as at the Coliseum, to signal death! And they were, to a person, Chief and slave alike, looking at the trumpet, maybe thinking it was of gold. Good time to address this potential difficulty.
I stepped toward the Chief again, beckoning one of the crew to my side and Morenus to the other. "This is called a 'trumpet.' It resembles gold, but it is not, rather a combining of copper, such as you have, with tin, another metal we can show you how to find. We from Rome no longer value gold, nor seek it at any cost."
I motioned for the crewman to open his mouth, revealing three glowing spots in his upper teeth, just visible in the torch light. "These are called 'fillings' and are a mix of gold with lead powders, pounded into the cavities that develop in teeth from poor care of them. So, we do not find gold a treasure, but merely a useful tool in 'dentistry.' Why we have brought very little gold or silver with us and now use a more common cheaper metal called 'steel' as our medium of exchange. We offer to you these techniques, as well as how to prevent their need through adequate tooth care. This is but one of many things Rome sent with me to help create and maintain our bond of friendship for the future."
The expression on the Chief's wide face flitted through surprise, amazement, interest, then resignation. A fine chance that this man at least saw little benefit to him or his little pocket of power to fail to cooperate with us–for the near future? Sufficient impression for tonight.
Then, surprisingly, Morenus also waved at the back of the crowd on his left. From the rear stepped out a young woman...one of true beauty! I could see both the Roman and the native in her: taller and more slender than any other female here; a more rectangular face with high narrow cheekbones, heavy eyebrows, and full lips; skin dusky yet not as dark as a native; jet hair straight and shiny as silk down over her shoulders. But her black eyes held a quality not seen by me since I had met, admired, and grown to love Sir Miguel's own wife, Nayara...old as my own mother, but she who had taught me to dance with spirit on her wedding night!
And Spirit was what sprang out like the attack of the lion. Just to return her look took some courage! All seemed to defer to her very presence, even the Chief, and surely I felt this. Yet I refused to look away for a second, did not want to.
"My daughter," said Morenus, "Hocapontus." He added to me, "She was born here a few years after I was brought to this New World."
As she got closer, it was obvious she was no older than 15 or 16, a few years younger than myself, meaning Morenus had been here at least that long. It was time to speak with him about his history and gain valuable insight to these cultures for our Mission. Daring to meet her challenge, I stepped toward her and reached out my right arm with a slight smile and nod of respect. She paused but a second, then gripped my forearm with strength in traditional Roman greeting, showing her father had educated her well despite their situation as slaves here.
"Tell, do not ask, Wump-mug that both of you are going back to my ship, just for tonight, and will return tomorrow morning."
This time the Chief did not hesitate but nodded slowly, still gripping the spyglass.
Chapter 3. Trading Places
His was a tale of sorrow...maybe mixed with some woe. After getting back aboard the Argo, and waiting for Morenus to sample food and the wine he had not enjoyed for many years, and his daughter to exclaim delight at the same, we sat at ease through a long night while he recounted his history in excruciating detail.
I was patient, since it meant I could stare at Hocapontus's lovely face, expressionless as it was. Of course, my flagship was a bit bigger than all but the animal and crop vessels in the fleet, as was my cabin. Generously, I had permitted the entry to remain open for the crew to overhear this rather well-told story.
To summarize: Morenus had been with the Legion stationed in Britain under the Emperor Antoninus Pius–as a cook of all things! Well, the army does travel on its stomach, so said the Divine Caesar in his "Commentaries" original version, and even the lowest can contribute to triumphs. But as such he at times traveled with detachments, and was doing so with one still working on finishing the Emperor's new Wall, north of Hadrian's old Wall in Britannia Superior...which would have been about 17 years ago.
Yet, as all have learned in such matters, WALLS DO NOT WORK! The enemy always find ways to penetrate, attack, then retreat quickly before a response can be mounted, leaving retaliation impossible without advancing beyond the same wall. Another self-defeating result. Constant vigilance. Why random patrols are a necessity...or at least they were back then before the Ambassador's new Welcome Wagon approach had lessened such aggressions on Rome's borders, including Britain.
One night, while they were working along the western end of the Wall near the sea, a night attack had raged for several hours, finally breaching moat and stockade to decimate our brave troops and leave many dead and dying by dawn. Much to the commander's shock, the many dead barbarians were not the despised blue-painted Celts but huge blond men, and a few women, with horned helms. For many years rumors had told of these Northmen, sailing down from the frigid lands far away, where no Roman had gone before, in ships disguised as floating dragons, raiding Britain for whatever treasures they could gather and taking away both men and women, adult and child, as slaves.
Sadly, this time Morenus had become one of those slaves. His own theory was that, as he was obviously not a warrior, short, fat, and dressed without armor, the invaders had been too curious to just chop him apart with their short axes as they had others. Returning to their homeland, a collection of villages poor in resources but rich in bravura and religious spirit–which explained part of the reason for their raids south–he had provided these rough clansmen with new tastes and new tales of war and battles they seemed to love so much. (I confess to feeling some empathy with them.)
Fortunate, since his end would have come quickly otherwise. But this humble man happened to be one of those who could weave together action and detail into a fascinating recounting, whether fact or fiction or a mix of both, such as Homer must have been. He had become a favorite of the top warrior and remained under his protection, even when this man decided to venture West the following Summer. In an ironic gesture of Roman tradition, Morenus had adopted the warrior's name as part of his own. Thus the "Ericus" added.
This ill-fated expedition at first had followed the route taken by prior such, along coastlines north then west, and actually spending some days in open waters navigating by dead reckoning. These Northmen were quite good at this, and managed to go farther than any known previous group. After arriving at, re-supplying from, then bypassing three large frozen land masses, they had continued southwest along what appeared to be several good-sized islands till they reached another warmer greener coast that gave promise. No people or civilizations had been encountered this entire time.
However, this land could give the Northmen the opportunity they sought to establish a colony! Morenus's command of their language had by this time got broad enough to understand this had been the goal all along, not to simply raid and rape and return home. They started with a half dozen open longboats with 50 people each, including some animals and even a few children, and women, who were equal to some of the men in fighting skills. But all proved also to be capable carpenters, masons, and farmers. In only a month they had constructed several stone huts and begun planting crops they hoped would sustain them and their goats and pigs through the coming Winter.
They failed. By late Fall, when snows had become frequent and food was all but gone, the animals eaten, they had been forced to leave their boats behind and march inland, west and south, seeking to survive. Throughout this entire "adventure," Morenus had played his role, helping with food supplies and preparation, as well as continuing to help pass the dark lonely nights with campfire stories of heroism.
Here I interrupted. "Such as those from the Iliad and the Odyssey?" Every educated Roman child knew these by heart early in life.
He nodded. "And, of course, those of Heracles's labors. I see you have a lion headdress on your cabin wall. Yours?"
I glanced at Hocapontus to gauge her reaction. None. "Yes. Taken in the games at the Coliseum." True, although I had not killed it by myself, I had skinned it and made the headdress. And excusable half-truth. "As you know, many Romans believe themselves to be descended from not only Trojans but also from the great demigod's lineage. I count myself among them...and hope someday to prove this with further deeds." There was a silent pause that became uncomfortable...even to me. "Please continue."
Morenus had barely been able to remain alive as these people became increasingly desperate. First the children began to sicken and die, burned on pyres of deadwood in the forest that finally appeared. Then some of the women and weaker men followed, despite the game they were able to kill. In the fourth week of this trek, they had met the first natives, red-skinned and beardless. Equally strange and unable to understand each other, caution had soon given way to mistrust.
Naturally, since Morenus's appearance was completely different from the Northmen's, the natives had singled him out and asked to trade for him. He had been worth a large freshly-slain deer and some rotted vegetables! He was taken to the south and never saw or heard of his first captors again. He doubted their survival. This history continued to repeat. As his presence and reputation became familiar to each new tribe, he was used as a trading piece, passed along for a variety of goods or services, or simply for tribe pride.
However, one of the larger and more "civilized" groups had permitted, even required, him to marry, perhaps to absorb his powers, real or imagined due to his uniqueness, into the tribe–a frequent theme in the native behavior. So he had remained with them, the "Gumigechee," in one of their villages that sat on the shore of one of the five great lakes to the north until his native wife ("Elisawarn Bethan") had given birth to twins. Both she and one twin had died almost at once; the other was Hocapontus.
Then came the good news. Once each year all the larger tribes had a tradition of meeting in a Council of Nations at the juncture where the Great River (The "Mississippi" was oddly not what they called it.) met two others. From the maps I later determined this was only about a two-day boat trip north of where we had turned back south on our first trip, up to the Ohio River. At this place, the most powerful Chief, know as the "Paramount Chief," ruled over the trade and religious network of the biggest collection of tribes and villages, stretching from there a little west and east all the way to the Atlantic Ocean and even to much of the southeast, to the Gulf of Mexico we had sailed.
This was the pivot point I sought! A wedge could be driven here into this New World that would spread and grow, bringing the choices to these people that was the Mission. When the chief of the Gumigechee had brought Morenus and his newborn to this Council, the Paramount Chief, "Wathahia," had instantly coveted them both. After some trading and threats, he finally gained custody of the two.
Since then the Roman refugee and his daughter had lived among these people, his influence growing along with his child. Now he had become second only to Wathahia in power and privilege...at least when in or near this capital city of over 50,000 people. Upon news of our arrival and excursion up the Great River, the P. Chief had sent Morenus south to meet us, since it was obvious to him who we were, the Argo's bow Roman Eagle unmistakable and a sign of great joy to him.
With tear-sheen glistening in his black eyes, his gasping for air not entirely due to his pause, he murmured, "Never had I even hoped that the gods would grant my prayers to see Romans once again. Please tell me who you truly are, the state of the Empire these days, and what plans you have here and when you hope to return. Not too soon for me again to see the seven hills of Rome."
All eyes turned to me. I had been composing my reply even before he had ended his tale. I had some questions of my own, but would have to proceed with caution to be sure I got the information I needed with his cooperation. This man, by fortune and no doubt great difficulty, had been elevated far above his original station in life. He should be treated as a kind of lower echelon Patrician perhaps. Therefore, I briefly outlined the vast changes in the Empire since the coming of Miguel de la Mancha, the new order of operation and goals of our Legions, the formation of this expedition at the request of my father as a Mission here to do as we were doing in Europe with moderate to great success.
As I spoke, his face betrayed ever more astonishment and confusion. At last he actually dared to interrupt me! "But...my Lord Commodus...I have never even heard of this person, this 'American,' nor ever heard this land called such in any of the many tongues here. True, I was a slave for much of my sojourn across the northeast part of it, so my knowledge of it was severely restricted. Yet surely if such wonders of Science and Technology existed here, then they would be operating within these cultures, varied as they are. Trade networks are far flung, even to the great ocean to the west. And nowhere do such things exist that I have heard of or seen!"
Of course, I was taken aback. This also had begun to cross my mind and to worry me. Yet, if the societies of advanced cultures, at which the Ambassador had hinted existed on the east coast of America, were truly there, then it remained to go there to confirm this. I saw his daughter's dour look out the corner of my vision. Strangely, I suddenly did not want to broach this matter much deeper, to perhaps disappoint either of these lost people. For now I must defer to the Mission.
"It may be that this is a mystery which will have to await another time. I do accept that neither of us is lying. For now it is most important that I do attend this Council of Nations you say will next meet in...two months? I must have audience with your Paramount Chief, to open discussion and negotiations for constructing at this city's site the type of open center for free information and culture-sharing we now have throughout the Empire. We call such 'Atlantismart.' Your aid will be invaluable...yours and your daughter's as well."
Now her face broke open in surprise as she looked at me for the first time. She was a young women of mixed bloods; I was certain her role here had been both limited and sheltered by her father. This too would have to change drastically. There was much planning and preparation to do.
"Will you both pledge to help me? Our Mission's road ahead is long and filled with obstacles, no doubt. But if it is possible, eventually I will see you reunited with Rome." He stared at her a moment, then both nodded at me. "Stay tonight. In the morning, we must return to Wump-mug and also gain his help."
And somehow make him realize that his social standing was about to alter as well. Generously, I surrendered my cabin to them and for once spent the rest of the night with the sailors in crews' quarters. After a light breakfast, I signaled to my steward, who placed three of Alantismart's standard personal hygiene kits on the counter before me.
"Here are parting gifts for you both. These are what we sell, and sometimes give away, to introduce Rome to the barbarians, and to aid the health of all citizens. Please see that the Chief gets one. You will find them useful...especially if you wish to remove your beard, Ericus."
He nodded thanks. "At first I wanted to, among these people who have none. But then I found it an advantage to display my uniqueness. No longer am I a stranger in a strange land."
Chapter 4. A Declaration of Independence?
The sun was bright, as was our reception in the village that morning. Other villagers than the elites were present when we again went before Wump-mug. With the same personnel group, we came into the courtyard, greeting all with wide smiles and nods. Our new status as potential allies, and sources of gain, was plainly marked by the Chief's rejoining smile and half-bow from atop his chair...a throne of games he seemed sure of.
Morenus had told me that over the years he had managed to teach basic Latin to a few of the upper level leaders of some of the larger and more influential tribes. In this way, they had gained the tremendous power of being able to write and read this alien tongue too. None of the peoples in this continent, per Morenus, had yet devised any form of written language, all communication and history being totally oral, or recorded on belts composed of seashells woven onto strings of fabric called "wampum." This new literate advantage had made these chiefs ascendant, of course, in each of their individual nations, as well as in coordination with the others--and this would also be something I would use to my own advantage.
Wump-mug was not among this elite. Indeed, Morenus had never even been this far south before. So again I had him explain my request. "Your Honor, my countryman has told me of the Council of Nations that will meet in two months. I urgently ask that we accompany you, as your guests. By addressing all these peoples at one time, I can best proceed with my Mission as your Ambassador from Rome, explain my goals and what we offer to you all."
He listened, paused in thought briefly, then replied, "This is agreeable. However, I do also ask something of you in return. Let me accompany you on one of your wondrous boats."
Naturally. That way his arrival would be as impressive to the other/higher Chiefs as ours was to him. Nice ploy to boost his standing. Yet I had other surprises planned for them all.
"Your Honor, exactly how many Nations do you expect to be in attendance at this Council?"
"Seventeen, with a few minor sub-groups attached to some of them."
"Seventeen, huh? Ok, you fellows got yourselves a ship...a fast ship. What is the cargo?"
"Only passengers: myself, my attendees, your two countrymen...and no questions asked."
"Expecting some kind of trouble?"
"Let us just say, I wish to avoid any entanglements with the Paramount Chief."
"Fine." I returned his big sly smile. "We will depart for this Council in about six or seven weeks' time. There is much preparation yet to be done."
By messenger pigeon again I sent instruction to the fleet still anchored at the river's delta to move two of them to meet us with no delay. They did arrive during that night, and I spent the rest designing out the performance we would present to this Council so the work could begin. If it were realized without failure, I was sure no one would object to my next Step in the Mission–at least openly.
And it was the covert resistance that I feared most. Another fear was that these crews would soon mutiny should they any longer be denied leave from the ships...for personal "pursuits." But I certainly knew better than to have brought any woman on this voyage! Bad luck? What else could the jealousy and envy among this healthy young male crew create?
Even I, who do prefer the company of soldiers usually, had been stirred by my natural needs–especially after Hocapontus had appeared. This would be a complex solution to engineer. I asked Morenus's advice on this: permit only small groups of the men ashore at a time, to "mingle" with the natives. No weapons of course...and just be nice! What followed would and must be natural–no forced, uh, congress...or the natives would "take out the trash."
This would lose all trust the natives might soon have with us. So, I sternly instructed each group I allowed to go...and supported my warnings by having Balshazar standing behind me two paces without expression, staring at each face. Message received. This proceeded with no significant difficulties, especially when no intoxicating drink was involved. Amazingly, few of the men engaged in any sexual intercourse, and despite no common language for social intercourse they still returned seemingly satisfied and smiling.
Most rewarding was the passage, per the fleet's physicians, of the two-week period needed for "incubation" of any serious illness exchanged between these peoples with not one emerging! And perhaps some pools of immunity had been formed. All in the crews who wished it had time on shore. Mutiny averted, at least for now.
Six weeks later, after the Chief and his party got aboard Argo early in the morning, the sub-fleet of five ships steamed upriver, again in single-file. At first Wump-mug hesitated to ask about the vibration of the ship, but finally did request to see this wonder that drove all the ships. The local breeze was not sufficient for the sails...and despite that old proverb "ships that sail without oars are on good terms with the winds." This rigging did cause him to stare, but did not seem to surprise him at all. Well, most old proverbs are full of piss and wind anyway.
I led him, along with two guards, Morenus, and his daughter at my smile and wave, below the main deck and to the aft hold. There in the low lamplight the "oscillating steam engine," as the Ambassador had named it, thumped away, rocking back and forth, its camshaft spinning to in turn spin the gears linking it to the main propeller shaft that extended through the hole at the rear of the hull. This did leak a bit past the oiled leather gasket, but the bailing pumps kept well ahead of them so long as the crewmen remained vigilant.
Again I reflected that it was Roman engineering that excelled in the mechanical structure that made this possible...just the source of steam power that made it a new creation. But it was noisy, and made the hold humid with the steam vapors spurting out the rounded steel casing wide as a man is tall. We were all sweating heavily from the wood boiler fire beneath it. Yet I allowed them to remain and look in fascination as long as they wished, the better to impress them, the Chief most of all, who also appeared a little afraid.
Morenus said, "This also was a gift from the Ambassador? A truly great wizard!"
With a stern glance I let him know not to speak of this further. The mystery around Him let open too many questions that might weaken my plans...regardless that He had vowed there was no magic or wizardry involved, just good Science. So I invited all back above deck for an early lunch. We sat on the poop deck for a good view of the shore line, which moved past at a fine rate. And when at least some of the natives there merely waved at us, seeing the Chief's headdress, I felt this was so good so far.
At first he refused the offers of our foods, and said he preferred to snack on what he called "pemmican." At last! A definite partial confirmation of the gifts Sir Mancha had given us. These dried meat-grain-fruit strips had enabled our Legions to travel farther faster than the heavier grain once carried, and without any preparation. A faster food with more energy. Yet another layer to the mystery.
However, once he and the others smelled the hot and cold Roman foods spread before them, and watching Morenus devour them, urging Hocapontus to do likewise, the Chief did taste several with obvious delight...after a little instruction in use of our two-tined fork and knife for getting the food from plate to mouth. Indeed, he sipped the offered black coffee slowly at first, then gulped it and asked for seconds.
"It is much like our chocolatl!" Morenus translated; the Chief's smile dimmed.
Yes, but our lunch was not a religious rite, so his confusion only compounded. Good. This first night of our three-day journey, I again decided to relinquish my cabin to the guests, who seemed to accept sleeping in the same room without hesitation. Still, by midnight the smell of the crew's quarters was starting to nauseate me, so I dropped from my hammock and went up to the bow for fresh air.
Under the starlight on this moonless night I looked aft at the string of dark blobs of the fleet and down at the bow wave below the Roman eagle. It was a white V of spray that smelled of fish and mud, making me feel like the King of the World! A surge of desire swept me unawares...it had been a long dry season without rain...
Then, of course, Morenus's daughter appeared behind me. Brief pulse of guilt. She was alone, still wearing the colorful tunic that extended to her shapely knees, her expression unreadable in the soft light bouncing off the water. She smelled of flowers.
"Greetings, Hocapontus," I said in near whisper, to avoid attention from the watch at mid-deck. "Ship's motion keeping you awake?"
Her teeth were white suddenly. "I was a little sickened at first. Now it is nothing." Her accent was thick and recalled that of Sir Mancha, drawing out some vowels.
"Fine. Some on this trip took weeks to get over the rocking motion, but not I."
The teeth disappeared. "I want to ask questions of you."
"As you wish. Please ask and see them satisfied."
"You have said your...mission here is to change many things. Will this include the religions of the people?"
I nodded and twisted my head. "That is not a primary goal, but this may be one result. Does this concern you?"
"You have promised my father that we will, if possible, be reunited with your homeland of Rome. But, unless much is altered toward religion here, I will not live to see this."
And it became clear in an instant why this young woman had been so...stiff and non-responsive from the beginning: she was terrified!
"Why would this be?"
Despite her probably infrequent use of Latin, the words poured like a cataract. "Because the Paramount Chief, Wathahia, whom you will soon meet, now desires to imitate the sacred rites of those who live far to the south, in the lands that narrow between the oceans. Witnesses have told of the highest priests there who cut out and eat the beating hearts of people whose lives they offer to their gods."
Well, we Romans yet continued to make sacrifices to the gods, usually a pig or bull , and had done so on this voyage here as well, at the crew's insistence. As with many of the more educated, I personally had no great faith in this these days...and certainly we had never offered the life of a human being in ritual sacrifice, and never would.
"Only months ago I learned also of his desire to first marry me, then to offer my life in this same manner. That is why my father brought me on this trip." The sheen of her tears now covered both cheeks. "It is only in the past few years that these people here have at last stopped the practice of eating their defeated enemies...since the Great Peacemaker visited and showed them the error in this."
"Who is this 'Great Peacemaker?'" Another potential wedge for the Mission?
"A member of one of the tribes who live on the shores of the Big Sea waters to the north. My father and I spent several years of my childhood living with another tribe there who were their enemies since the dim past. Yet this man worked at bringing peace between our two tribes, then to three others there. It was there that he and Wathahia first met and became companions and together created the union of the five tribes under a Law of Peace.
"Then the Peacemaker left, traveling south through many of these lands to spread his message of brotherhood and living without shedding blood. Now he has not been seen for many years. But Wathahia at last followed him south, bringing us with him, remaining at the last village where his friend was reported to be, yet never finding him. In his grief, Wathahia has forgot the Law of Peace, the part about shedding blood. He has brought violence and war back among the tribes here, using it to increase his own power. And the stories of the great cities and practices of the peoples in the south continent and the narrow lands between the two have driven him to attempt to imitate them in hopes of gaining ever more power."
She truly had inherited, or been taught, the gift of storytelling from her father. Might it be that this Great Peacemaker was in fact Sir de la Mancha? Did not fit the facts very well.
"Now that I have reached womanhood, Wathahia has decided to create here the rite of the beating heart...and I am to be the first victim. My father says he will try to stop this, but his own power has been lessened by this disagreement. He will always be an outsider here; I fear for his life also."
Again more tears, and I could see her trembling even in shadow. I drew up from the bow railing and took a deep breath. "Hocapontus, by all the gods of Rome–and even by Balshazar's presumed One True God–I swear to you that this shall never happen while I live."
Though shaking, she managed a slim smile. "Gratitude, Lord Commodus."
I held up a finger. "That was in my world. Here in your world, I am simply 'Lucius Aurelius Commodus Antoninus Caesar,' commander of the first Roman expedition to and Ambassador of America who..."
But by now she had placed an open palm over her yawning mouth, then burst out in a childlike giggle and huge grin. Delightful! This was no ordinary woman.
I held the finger up to my own mouth. "Shush! You will awaken the crew!" We shared smiles, and I bowed my head to let her be assured this promise was sealed.
During the next two days, Balshazar had been conversing with our guests, speaking more to them than he had with me over nearly this entire voyage. And I was sure of his topic. So when he joined me on the poop deck this last evening before reaching our final destination, I was not surprised at his serious demeanor.
"Lord...Ambassador...son of Caesar Antoninus, I must discuss my role in this first meeting with Wathahia. From what I have learned of these peoples, he and they badly need my council and at least to hear about the basic message of Christianity."
Gently, I shook my head. "No, Bal, you must continue to delay in this...although I admit that much of your message now seems a wisdom all here could profit from. But I intend on going alone this first time tomorrow to meet him. It is yet several days before the National Council convenes. I have in mind the part you will play in this opening day's activities. And this will start the way for your message to spread. Besides, you are going to love it!"
He did not return my sly grin at first...but, as I outlined the plan, he did later.