Isle of Broken Years

by Jane Fletcher

“Why?”

  Alonzo ran a hand through his thinning hair. His agitation was unmistakable. “When I was on their ship, trying to pass as one of them, I got to see how they are, how they act. My lady, I’ve witnessed crimes I wouldn’t assault your ears by describing. That Jezebel was among the worst, although I didn’t know she was a woman then. She pulled a knife on me, threatened me with mutilation.”

  “Why did she do that?”

  “You wouldn’t waste time seeking a reason, if you’d seen what I have. They don’t need a reason to take a life. Bad enough for men, but for a woman to forsake the natural modesty and gentleness of her sex—it’s beyond understanding. Her heart is soaked in villainy. She will lie to you and distort all that’s good and true. You mustn’t listen to her, my lady. You mustn’t listen to her.”

  “Alonzo?” Catalina had never seen him so fervent.

  “She’ll lie about everything. She’ll lie about me.”

  “And I will not believe her.”

  He pressed his hands over his face.

  “Alonzo? You need to calm down.”

  He drew a shaky breath and let his hands drop. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, my lady. Of course.” He would not meet her eyes, but his expression cleared. He held out his arm. “Please. It’s time for our evening meal. Let me escort you to dinner.”

  Alonzo’s loyalty was beyond question. It would be more than foolish to ignore his warning. She was a descendant of El Cid. It was beneath her to play the part of a moth, circling a flame. Yet, sometimes, it was so tempting to play with fire, and Sam was burning in her thoughts.

  Catalina tried to clear her mind. She placed her hand on Alonzo’s forearm, and they strolled through the alien garden.

  * * *

  Giddy sheep we were to dance in wine when he poured honey in our ears.

  Catalina frowned at the line of text. Maybe a literal translation was not the best. Most likely it meant something along the lines of, He flattered us into making fools of ourselves by drinking to excess. Or the sentence might need the even looser translation of, We were too quick to celebrate when he gave us the good news. But what was the news, or the flattery? The writer gave no clue. Catalina picked up the next sheet of paper.

  The sound of footsteps made her look up. Catalina hoped Jorge was not coming to offer more flattery of his own. Not that she had anything to fear, with Alonzo dozing at the end of the table. However, Jorge was an unwanted distraction. In the right conditions, he could be amusing company, but currently she was far more interested in the Greek texts.

  The new arrival turned out to be Liz. “Hi there, dear. I’ve come to see how you’re getting on.”

  “Slow progress.”

  “Have you been able to make head or tail of anything?”

  “Bits.”

  Liz pulled a stool over and sat down. The normal-sized furniture confirmed other humans had made the Barn their workshop. But was it before or after the aliens left?

  “Anything you feel ready to share?”

  What could she offer Liz to show her husband’s life had not been thrown away on a fool’s quest? “Mostly it’s trivial notes. Requests for supplies, lists of people, even some gossip.”

  “Have you looked at the books yet?”

  “I started, but they’re difficult to follow. I thought I’d begin with the notes until I’ve developed more feel for the language.”

  “But this is all in Greek, the books included?”

  “Oh yes. It’s not the classical style of Plato or Homer, but it’s all written in an archaic version of the language.”

  “I guess it’s something. We couldn’t even be sure of that much, before. Anything else?”

  Catalina cast her eyes over the papers. “To my mind, it points to the Greeks not being slaves or prisoners here. Not all of them, anyway. They were educated and free to exchange letters with each other, which means they were privileged and trusted. I’ve known slaves who can read and write, of course. The Moors even have their own Arabic alphabet, the same as the Greeks do here. However, nobody makes books just for slaves to read.”

  “Really. Well, you’ve got the advantage on me there, dear. I’ve never met a slave.” The tone was the harshest Catalina had heard from her. Had she just said something to upset Liz?

  “Never?”

  “Slavery is completely illegal, speaking from the standpoint of 1980. It was banned centuries ago in the British Empire, which New Zealand was part of at the time. The rest of the world followed suit, except for a few countries who took a while longer to come on board.”

  “But how can the world function without slaves?”

  “Very easily. The same way it can function without kings and emperors.”

  “You said New Zealand was part of the British Empire.”

  “The word is was.” Liz emphasized the last word. “The British Empire has gone, along with all the other European empires. Some kings and queens might have managed to keep their arses on a throne, but they lost all real power. Most countries were republics, in practice, if not in name.”

  “Like the Dutch?”

  “The Americans were a better model. You’ve got some catching up to do. History from my point of view. I guess you could call it futury.” Liz leaned back and sighed. “Sorry, dear. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Different times. Different ideas of right and wrong, good and evil.”

  “Surely good and evil don’t change?”

  “Ideas about them do. For me, and anyone from my time, slavery is as evil as you can get. It’s right up there with eating babies for breakfast. We believe everyone is created equal.”

  “But some races of men are—”

  “Whoa. Stop right there.” Liz held out her hand. “Everyone is equal. No ifs, no buts. I know it’s the world you come from, but you need to drop any ideas about some people being innately better than others, or you’re going to end up in a shitload of trouble with folk here. Everyone is equal and has the same rights. Male or female, black or white, rich or poor, and as Madison would add, gay or straight.”

  “Commoner or noble?”

  “You can put that on the list too.”

  Catalina mulled over Liz’s words. It sounded like the sort of ideal Jesus might have championed, yet in her estimation, priests would be among the people most resistant to accepting it. Could the human race really be weaned from hypocrisy?

  “It would be nice if people could be taught to act that way. But you say in your time it was true. Everyone was treated with the same respect?”

  Liz’s mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “Well, I admit we haven’t been able to knock the idea into some people’s thick heads. But we’re working on it. A lot of appalling things were done by sick bastards with ideas about who does or doesn’t deserve to live, because of the color of their skin, or the shape of their nose. We don’t want to make the same mistakes again. And when it comes to Atlantis, there aren’t enough folk here to start counting some as less than fully human.”

  “So Kali and Yaraha…”

  “Are exactly the same as you and me. Doesn’t matter if your dad was Lord Whatsisface.”

  “Some people are more able than others.”

  “True. And some are braver than others, or kinder, or more honest. But each of us has only one life to live. Everyone deserves a fair crack to make something of it.”

  How did she feel about that? Her heritage was a source of pride to Catalina, something she could draw on for strength. Yet, whatever the name de Valasco might mean to her, in truth, her position in Spain relied purely on money and her father’s influence at court. Neither of these existed in Atlantis. So what was she now? Catalina smiled as the answer came to her—someone who could read Greek.

  Catalina glanced up the table. Alonzo was still asleep at the far end. “I think he might be unhappy. He’s been in service to my family since he was a child, and his father and grandfather before him. Honor and duty are
everything to him, and he can be a little rigid.”

  “Then he’s going to have to learn to bend. But we’ll give him time to find his feet first.”

  “Thank you. I wouldn’t want him to have trouble on account of his loyalty to me.”

  “No probs.”

  Catalina thought she knew what the expression meant, more from Liz’s tone than the words themselves. It was a shame she could not have similar audible clues when translating the texts.

  Liz added. “Religion is something else you might have trouble with.”

  “I know. The Protestants have been rejecting the Pope’s authority for over a century. I don’t expect everyone here to be true Catholics.”

  “That is just the start of it, dear. Some of us aren’t even true Christians.”

  “The Pope decreed those who follow Luther aren’t—” Catalina broke off at the sight of Liz’s expression. “That isn’t what you mean, is it? Yaraha and Piracola are still heathens. Before Columbus there were no missionaries so—” This time it was Liz’s laughter that stopped her.

  “To be honest, I don’t have the faintest idea which gods those two follow, if any. They haven’t shared that side of their culture. Torvold might still worship Thor and Odin for all I know. Babs’s family were Jewish, but she’s happy to admit she’s lapsed. And I stopped putting any faith in the whole thing before I left kindergarten.”

  “You’re not a Christian?” Catalina could not keep the shock from her voice. At the end of the table, Alonzo stirred.

  “I don’t count myself as one, no. But religion’s the issue that’s caused more ructions here than anything else. So the rules are, you’re free to believe whatever you want and pray to whoever you want, however you want, if it makes you feel better. But you give the same courtesy to everyone else, and you don’t try to convert them to your faith.”

  “You care not for the state of your immortal soul?” Alonzo said.

  “I’m happy to take my chances.”

  “The Pope has decreed—”

  Liz held up her hand. “Uh-uh. What did I say? Keep it to yourself.”

  Alonzo was still willing to argue. Catalina could tell from his face. She cut him off with a change of topic. “Just before, you quoted Madison about different groups of people. What did you say, gay or something?”

  “Oh, you can ask her. I’m done lecturing for today.” Liz pointed to the table. “Back to the writing. You think the Greeks were partners with the aliens in whatever they were doing here?”

  Catalina took a moment to regather her thoughts. “Yes. That’s how I see it.”

  “But you’ve had no luck with the books?”

  “No. Some look like instruction manuals, but it’s impossible to make sense of them. I think my translation skills need polishing.”

  “Well, dear, it can’t help if you’re going from archaic Greek into medieval Spanish and from there to twentieth century English.”

  “It’s more than that. Take this for example.” Catalina flipped open the nearest book and read the first line. “Instructions for reviving the distribution of reserve potency in extreme situations.” She looked up. “What can that mean?”

  Liz stared into the air, a frown knotting her face. After a lengthy pause she said, “That bit about reserve potency. Could it be read as emergency backup power supply?”

  “It could, I suppose. Does it make a difference?”

  Liz laughed. “I think we should have someone with recent technical knowledge work with you tomorrow. They might not be up to speed on alien tech, but they could help with the guesswork.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Catalina was going cross-eyed. The Greeks might have been literate, but some had clearly not grasped the importance of letter formation. The strange numerical clock on the wall said there was plenty of time before dinner, but Catalina could not face any more. She pushed back from the table and stretched her arms.

  “Are you all right, my lady?” As ever, Alonzo was not far away.

  “Yes. I’m fine, but I’ve done enough for today.”

  “Please, allow me to escort you to your room.” He offered his arm.

  Catalina hesitated before accepting. Part of her welcomed the display of gentlemanly good manners, reassuring in this strange new world. His arm was both literally and figuratively something to hang on to. Liz’s comments gave her cause to think again, but then she placed her hand on Alonzo’s arm. They could start weaning themselves off the familiar etiquette another day, when she was not feeling so tired.

  The ground outside was damp and puddles dotted the flower beds. It must have rained recently, but for now the sun was shining between puffy white clouds. The air smelled fresh and clean.

  As they approached the Squat, Catalina heard shouts, laughter, and an occasional high-pitched whistle. They turned a corner and saw the entire population of Atlantis gathered on the large purple lawn. Everyone was engaged in some sort of game, except for Liz and Kali, who were spectators, seated on a couple of crates at the side.

  Liz smiled at Catalina and shifted over to make room for her. “Take a pew. It’s good you’ve shown up. I was thinking we ought to send someone to let you know what’s happening.”

  “And what is happening?”

  “Five a side football. Soccer. They’re playing twentieth century against the rest. Charles is referee because he was born in 1888 and has a foot in each camp. Your side’s losing, by the way, two goals to nil. They can do with someone to cheer them on.”

  “Who organized this?”

  “Nobody. Jorge found a ball in a locker, and the rest just happened. I’m sorry you missed the start.”

  The excited shouts reached a new peak. Torvold was running full pelt while kicking a round ball before him. When Floyd moved to cut him off, Torvold chipped the ball across to Sam. Was it any surprise the ex-cabin boy was playing like a man? However, Madison and Babs were also in the game.

  Catalina settled beside Liz. “Is it fair? The twentieth century side has two women, whereas the other only has one. Won’t the team with more women be at a disadvantage?”

  “Depends on the women. Anyway, the twentieth century has Jorge and Ricardo. They’re the only two who’ve played much soccer before. As I said, we’re winning.”

  To underscore the point, Jorge kicked the ball to his brother. Ricardo swerved left then right before thumping the ball past Horatio, who appeared to be tasked with guarding a twenty-foot gap between two trees.

  Charles blew a shrill note on a whistle. “Goal. Three–nil to the twentieth.”

  “Are there rules to this game?” Catalina asked.

  “Yes. But most of them are being ignored.”

  Several men had removed their shirts, not just Yaraha and Piracola. Catalina had never seen so much flesh on display before. Yet it seemed innocent, like children at play. The men’s bodies glistened with sweat as they ran barefoot. Everyone was clearly enjoying themselves, and both Liz and Kali were laughing at the antics.

  Catalina glanced up at Alonzo. “Do you want to sit down? I don’t know if there’s another crate around.”

  “No, my lady. No.” His eyes were fixed on the players. Then he shook his head and turned away. “I…I must go to my room. Please excuse me.” He appeared flustered.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, my lady. I trust it’s acceptable if I leave you with Doña Elizabeth.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I will see you at dinner.” Alonzo hurried away.

  Catalina was wondering whether she should follow and assure herself all was well, when another burst of shouting reclaimed her attention. Sam had the ball, using her speed to get by first Floyd, then Madison. She booted the ball high across the lawn, over the head of Babs, who was filling the role of gap guarder for the twentieth century.

  Charles blew the whistle again. “Goal. Three–one.”

  The game continued. The rules appeared to be straightforward, although questions arose. �
�Why are Horatio and Babs the only ones who pick the ball up?”

  “They’re the goalies. The only ones allowed to touch the ball with their hands,” Liz answered.

  After more of the game Catalina asked, “Why does Jorge keep shouting ‘offside’ to Charles?”

  “It’s one of the rules everyone bar him is ignoring. Don’t worry about it.”

  And later still. “Is Torvold allowed to pick Ricardo up like that?”

  But this time Liz was laughing too hard to answer.

  Catalina found her eyes continually drawn to Sam. She could not help watching the way Sam moved, the sunlight on her face, her speed and fluid grace. Sam might have been a dancer. Catalina drew a deep breath, as if she could by an act of willpower command her heartbeat to slow. What had come over her?

  Sam wore the same breeches as before but had loosened the ties around her knees and rolled the hem up so they were more in keeping with the shorts worn by other castaways. Her shirt was no longer tucked into her waistband, and the buttons at her neck were undone. Her stockings and boots were gone.

  Catalina twisted slightly, feeling the satin stick to the sweat on her back and chafe her neck. She knew she should be grateful to Alonzo for retrieving her gown, but half of her wished she could dress like the others. They looked so at ease.

  Catalina remembered the excitement of getting a new gown, reveling in the cut and the color, the soft warmth of velvet and fur, the sheen of satin and silk. But how much had been due to imagining how other women would see her? Catalina assumed women of the twentieth century did not dress in shorts and loose shirts all the time. What could she wear to impress Babs, or Liz, or Madison? What could she wear to impress Sam? And why should she want to? When had she started caring about the opinion of a cabin boy on a pirate ship? That question at least was easy to answer—as soon as she had gotten over her surprise that Sam was female.

  The game ended with the score five–three to the twentieth century, but no one on the losing team was downhearted, judging by the talk of a rematch. Ricardo trotted across to claim a winner’s kiss from Kali. Torvold, Floyd, and Jorge pulled on their shirts and wandered away, jostling each other and laughing loudly while they argued some point about the game.