Myths of the Modern Man

by Jacqueline T Lynch

  The horse. The horse as it galloped away.

  The rain pounded loudly, but behind me, all around me, I could hear the crying of my fellow slaves, cursing and calling upon gods as distant as my hope. I could hear the screams of at least one woman in agony giving birth to a child somewhere nearby. Life did not stop, even for tragedy, even for the rain.

  I filled my aching mouth again with rain, and spit, like some dull mantra on which I could focus.

  I should have let Taliesin kill me.

  If Eleanor could have brought me back, she would have done it by now.

  My mission was not supposed to last this long. I was here for good. I should have let him kill me.

  A Roman soldier stood just beyond the ring of contraband slaves. If I tuned out the other sounds, the sounds of shower and pain, of the woman screaming through her contractions, of the wails of fear and despondency from the captives, I could just about discern the tinny patter of raindrops rupturing on his Roman helmet in a thin, but relentless rhythm.

  I could not tell his age or his mood. The rain soaked the red cloak hung from his shoulder plates across his back like elegant drapery, and slapped against his muddy calves.

  “Is est locus miserrimus.” I said in a loud voice. This is a very wretched place.

  He turned laconically and looked over his cloak at me. He might have been Roman, or a Gaul, or an Iberian. He was olive-skinned, and ruggedly built, and a very long way from home. His brown eyes were tired. He nodded, and then he turned around again.

  “Omnia tempus habent,” I said, but mostly to myself, “et suis spatiis transeunt universa sub caelo.”

  To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.

  “Tempus nascendi et tempus moriendi…”

  A time to be born, and a time to die…

  “…tempus plantandi et tempus evellendi quod plantatum est…”

  …a time to plant, and a time to pluck that which is planted…

  “…tempus occidendi et tempus sanandi…”

  A time to kill, and a time to heal…

  The Roman soldier turned to look at me over his armored shoulder again. He swiped the film of rain off his forehead and his nose. I spoke to him only.

  “…tempus destruendi et tempus aedificandi…”

  …a time to break down, and a time to build up…

  “…tempus flendi et tempus ridendi…”

  A time to weep, and a time to laugh…

  He gripped his standing javelin with both hands and rested on it, watching me and listening to my voice, growing more hoarse.

  “…tempus plangendi et tempus saltandi…”

  …a time to mourn, and a time to dance…

  “…tempus spargendi lapides et tempus colligendi…”

  A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together…

  The woman had stopped screaming in fatigue and deliverance, and the new baby cried.

  “…tempus amplexandi et tempus longe fieri ab amplexibus…”

  …a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing…

  “…tempus adquirendi et tempus perdendi…”

  … a time to get, and a time to lose…

  The baby stopped crying, because it had stopped breathing, and the woman began to wail and mourn.

  “…tempus custodiendi et tempus abiciendi…”

  …a time to keep, and a time to cast away…

  “…tempus scindendi et tempus consuendi…”

  …a time to rend, and a time to sew…”

  The Roman soldier blinked the rain off his dark eyelashes. Not taking my eyes off him, I sensed rather than saw the blacksmith working a new chain at my feet.

  “…tempus tacendi et tempus loquendi…”

  …a time to keep silence, and a time to speak…

  The blacksmith looked up at me a moment, distracted, cast a satirical glance at the soldier who was my bored audience, then went back to work linking a new slave to me.

  “…tempus dilectionis et tempus odii….”

  A time to love, and a time to hate.

  The rain slowed to a drizzle. The blacksmith lovingly protected his soldering iron from being extinguished. He tugged at the newly forged link. I could feel the bite on my ankle.

  I looked down at him, and the leering creep grinned up at me. I looked towards the Roman soldier. He blinked again, and, hearing the approach of his centurion, turned his back to me, and stood at attention.

  “….tempus belli et tempus pacis,” I said, with practically no voice left.

  …a time of war, and a time of peace.

  I tipped my head back again, filled my mouth with rain, swished it around, and spat. I glanced at the new slave forged to my leg.

  My God. It was Tailtu.

  CHAPTER 21

  Dr. L’Esperance ordered Eleanor, gently but firmly, to take off her clothes.

  Eleanor’s growing sense of panic reduced her ability to think clearly, and her near-hysteria took the form of a sudden helpless resignation to take orders. Eleanor undressed, wondering what she would say if General English suddenly entered the lab, but almost wishing he would, anything to delay or stop this. Dr. L’Esperance looked pleased with the tunic she lifted from the satchel in which it had been secreted to the lab and as she examined it, spoke again of Milly’s efficiency, which Eleanor again grudgingly acknowledged to herself was the truth. She had never given Milly enough credit for being a good administrative assistant. Now Eleanor was being sent to hell, otherwise known as 60 A.D., because of it. This is what happened to people who were not kind to their staff.

  Dr. L’Esperance slipped the long, saffron-colored tunic of some coarse linen over Eleanor’s naked body, and gave her a gentle hug to comfort her, because Eleanor was shaking. She fastened a plaited leather belt around Eleanor’s waist to draw the baggy tunic in close to her slender waist. Dr. L’Esperance then draped a woolen cloak around Eleanor’s shoulder, and fastened it with a thin silver brooch.

  “They were quite vain, weren’t they?” Dr. L’Esperance said, “They loved their finery.” She placed a torque of twisted silver around Eleanor’s neck, to mark her as noblewoman and not peasant.

  “Sit down,” Dr. L’Esperance said, and Eleanor, weak with anxiety, lowered herself to a lab stool. Dr. L’Esperance cupped Eleanor’s face in her hand and began to remove Eleanor’s makeup.

  “My hypothesis about the staging area for captives is based on reports from this agency,” Dr. L’Esperance continued, “For you see, after your mission failed and Colonel Moore was not returned, as a way of deflecting public outcry against the agency, a follow-up mission occurred to save Colonel Moore, to attempt to retrieve him. Of course, you did not have the electromagnetic tracking technology then, so your operative’s mission was to remain for roughly half a year and manually search out Colonel Moore or information about his final status. His return was to be accomplished through a synchronized rendezvous point, in a similar arrangement to what you had with Colonel Moore.”

  Eleanor glanced up into the luminous green eyes as Dr. L’Esperance delicately wiped Eleanor’s lips.

  “What happened?” Eleanor found her voice again.

  “Alas, the second attempt was also unsuccessful. That operative was also lost.” Dr. L’Esperance then brushed Eleanor’s hair, and the slow, soft stroking relaxed her to the point of recalling briefly her mother and her sister in the trailer park, the only other two important women in her life, and how she hated them, wishing now it were not so.

  “The…the only other candidate qualified at this time is Colonel Yorke,” Eleanor said, mesmerized.

  “Yes. Brian K. Yorke was also lost.”

  “I am responsible for two deaths.”

  “Not if we are successful. Tell me more about Colonel Moore. What sort of man is he?”

  This reduced Eleanor to momentary muteness again, and Dr. L’Esperance jogged her once more.

  “He’s, he’s been with the agency
a number of years…” Eleanor at last replied.

  “Yes, I’ve seen his file, what I mean is…”

  “You have? It’s classified.”

  “Milly is resourceful.”

  “Yes,” she sighed, “she is.”

  “What is he like?”

  “I don’t really know him that well. He’s…he’s a hard person to get to know.”

  “Is he friendly?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’d call him friendly. He’s sarcastic, especially with me.”

  “Why especially with you?”

  “We have a rather caustic relationship. I don’t know my authority threatens him particularly, or if he’s rude to everyone.”

  Dr. L’Esperance knelt before Eleanor and laced her feet into leather caligae, closed and fastened over the top of each foot with a thin piece of leather.

  “What is his character?” she asked, “Is he trustworthy, does he have courage?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. There is a certain code of honor in him.”

  “A code of honor? Then do you feel there is at all a certain self-sacrificing element to his nature?” Dr. L’Esperance asked, standing, surveying Eleanor from head to toe.

  “I suppose. Yes, to be fair, I think so. His debriefing from previous missions shows a sense of striving for the greater good, or at least looking for it, though I am beginning to be uncomfortable with the increasing emotionality in his reports.”

  “Emotionality? You are uncomfortable with emotional displays?” Dr. L’Esperance looked incredulous.

  “We don’t all have the urge to share a lingering kiss on first meeting, Dr. L’Esperance,” Eleanor replied dryly.

  “Ah, now I think you are being sarcastic,” Dr. L’Esperance’s lips curved into a rueful smile, “Perhaps you and Colonel Moore have more in common than you realize.”

  “I think not.”

  “Your mention of the greater good, however, interests me. It is a deceptive phrase, and a ruse, I think, for merely subjugating the individual for the purposes of the group.” She took Eleanor’s hands and pulled her to a stand, turning her about so she could study her body from all angles. Eleanor’s unease returned, and she felt unusually self conscious.

  “Well, of course. That’s the very nature of the common good.”

  “But, you did not say common good, you said greater good. That implies a higher cause.” Dr. L’Esperance smoothed the coarse fabric over Eleanor’s hips and down her bottom with soft stroking. Eleanor tensed in surprise.

  “Well, yes…I guess…”

  “In my era the dignity and preservation of the individual carries the higher purpose over the group, for without the individual there is no group.”

  “One is never called upon to make individual sacrifices?”

  “No. The whole sacrifices or there is no sacrifice.”

  “That’s impractical and illogical.”

  “Perhaps in your day, not in mine. But, I confess I am puzzled about another thing. If individual sacrifice is your measure of the greater good, why then do you have such a strong relationship with Dr. Ford?” Dr. L’Esperance asked, stepping back to view the whole of her work at a critical distance.

  Eleanor colored.

  “Strong relationship?” she asked, and added defensively, “Am I to interpret this as meaning your attempt at seducing him failed? Funny, it didn’t appear that way.”

  Dr. L’Esperance opened the module, glancing briefly at Eleanor as she did so, then turned to one of the panels to enter her program.

  “Seduction?” she replied, carefully working the data, “No, merely a mutual and momentary arousal, to which he seemed quite receptive. It does appear, though, that Dr. Ford is one with whom you also feel arousal.”

  “I have no intention of discussing my relationship with Dr. Ford with you.”

  Dr. L’Esperance hit “Enter.” She turned to Eleanor, and slowly, thoughtfully approached her. Eleanor stiffened.

  “Considering you place individual sacrifice for the greater good as being noble,” Dr. L’Esperance continued, a frown working on her usually placid face, “and Dr. Ford is not such a person to make personal sacrifice, it is incongruous you value him.”

  Eleanor looked at her, at first with irritation and disdain, then searched her face for meaning behind the remark.

  “Dr. Ford does not place the worth of the group over his own self worth,” Dr. L’Esperance said in an effort to clarify herself when she could see that Eleanor was struggling.

  Eleanor said nothing, because she did not know what to say. It was true.

  Dr. L’Esperance held a small silver-colored electrode patch between two fingertips.

  “This is far more advanced than the chip you have placed surgically into Colonel’s Moore’s body. This will allow me to track you, and when you have completed your mission, you merely peel this overlay here. Do you see?” She held it up for Eleanor’s inspection. Eleanor nodded, dubious and overwhelmed.

  “When this layer is exposed, it emits a signal strong enough to be picked up by the scanner patch I’ve installed in your operating system. Rudimentary to be sure, but it should give satisfactory results for our purpose. For you, I believe the best location of the patch would be here…” Dr. L’Esperance gently slipped her hand down into the bodice of Eleanor’s tunic, to Eleanor’s surprise, and pressed the self-sticking patch against the warm skin just under Eleanor’s right breast.

  “Obviously it must be hidden on your person. Notice by others will jeopardize and endanger the mission, and yourself. The patch will adhere to your skin and should remain even with perspiration. However, take care that it not be submerged into water, because I cannot be certain of its efficacy in that event. When you locate Colonel Moore, simply grasp any part of his body and with your other hand, reach into your tunic and tear the patch overlay, leaving the remaining under portion of the patch there under your breast. Don’t take it off. Under no circumstances must be you without it, or you will be lost as well, and there will be no hope of retrieving you. Do you understand?”

  Eleanor barely nodded.

  “You are such a small woman,” Dr. L’Esperance shook her head, looking her over with evident wonder, and smiled pleasantly again, “You have a delicate appearance.”

  “I’m not so delicate.”

  “That is a good thing,” Dr. L’Esperance said, and took her by the hand again, leading her to the module. Dr. L’Esperance patted the foam mat cheerfully as a direction of where she wanted Eleanor to sit. Eleanor’s panic returned, and she stared blankly at the module surface and at the clear resin dome that was to cover her. Her breathing quickened, and she looked away to steady herself. Dr. L’Esperance eyed her sympathetically.

  “Perhaps only your emotions are delicate.” She meant it kindly, but the remark steeled Eleanor with resentful anger to the point of being able to force herself to sit on the mat surface of the module. It took longer for her to be able to lie down. Dr. L’Esperance took the initiative herself, and lifted Eleanor’s legs to the mat, swiveled Eleanor on her bottom, and deftly eased her back down onto the level plane.

  “Forgive me,” Dr. L’Esperance said, “as you know, there is a time allowance here that is finite. We must do this now.”

  Eleanor’s heartbeat began to speed, she could feel it. Her breathing turned to panting, she felt as if she were going to faint, and she grabbed Dr. L’Esperance’s wrist before she could pull down the dome.

  “Don’t,” Eleanor pleaded.

  “It’s time.”

  “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

  “There is no hope but you.”

  “I can’t do this. I’m afraid.”

  “You are a Celtic woman now,” Dr. L’Esperance crooned to soothe her, “whose family of merchants has long been intermingled with their Roman conquerors in Southern Britannia.”

  “I’m not. They’ll know.”

  “Your Latin is rudimentary for conversation, but if you keep a passive d
emeanor, no one will challenge you, or least of all be able to interrogate you in the tribal tongue.”

  “Dr. L’Esperance, please….”

  “You will be able to ask for the slave who speaks Latin well. If Colonel Moore is alive and is in the sector, that ability will easily mark him….”

  Despite everything she had trained herself to be, and appalled at herself, Eleanor began to silently cry, something she had not done since she was twelve.

  Moved with pity, Dr. L’Esperance tenderly stroked Eleanor’s face.

  “Shhh, my sweet little one.”

  “Dr. L’es…per…ance….”

  “You have been too formal with me,” Dr. L’Esperance said softly, leaning closer, “You must call me Cheyenne now.”

  Eleanor looked up into her serene face as Dr. L’Esperance lightly brushed her fingertips across Eleanor’s cheeks to wipe her tears. Eleanor realized now there had been no gesture of comfort when John left in this module; indeed, she had been in a hurry to get him gone.

  “You will be gone only moments, Eleanor.”

  “Moments?”

  “Close your eyes now. Open them when you hear the birds, and feel the cool, moist breeze on your face.”

  Dr. L’Esperance touched her lips to Eleanor’s cheek. The sound of the kiss was the last sound Eleanor could hear before Dr. L’Esperance closed the module and secured it. The soft sensation was the last pleasant feeling she was to experience. Instantly, with no countdown, Eleanor shuddered at the magnetic force against her body and it made her ill. Coupled with her panic, she feared metaphysical implosion of her entire body, her straining heart and lungs, her frantic mind, her lonely soul.

  A strong twinge of dizziness brought furious retching from her tight stomach, and she began to heave, but this metaphysical vertigo soon dissipated with the curious new sensation of feeling cushioned by deep green grass, damp and cool against her sweating body. A strong cascade of scents overwhelmed her, and she identified the clean scents of woodland and rain from distant memory of childhood, long before the career, the life spent in the scentless laboratory.

  Gingerly, she opened her eyes, feeling calmer and no longer like she was going to die. She felt only immense relief and something like gratitude. She sat up, looking over the feathery tops of tall grass, and noted she had been ported to a hillside on which stood one old tree. Down below the hill, a worn muddy road led around a hill beyond, with a dark forest in the distance. It drizzled sparkling cold rain, like a soft, silky curtain. Eleanor blinked her eyes.