The still raggedy Arthur Greyford, crossed his arms, giving her words a moment’s thought. ���Now that I think of it… I might have come to some part of this world, before. Though, I’d never met anyone,��� he answered.
���Then, if you’d never met anyone,��� Timothy interrupted, coming over to stand beside them. ���How do you know their language?��� he asked.
Surprised by this, Arthur exclaimed, ���What? Do they no longer require Latin in your schools?���
���No,��� Barbara answered, automatically. And for a brief second, she smiled, since she thought that Arthur might have been joking.
From across the room, seated in a chair by Tavora’s hospital bed, Ata butted in, ���Why should anyone learn Latin? No one speaks it,��� he said.
���Well, not no one,��� Arthur said with emphasis, to make his point.
Then, Barbara asked, ���So are you saying that these ‘tree people’… that they speak Latin?���
���Yes, of course,��� Arthur replied, as if it were obvious.
These words seemed to boggle them. ���But how is that possible,��� Timothy said, placing his chin in his hand.
Not glancing up at the group, Ata piped in. ���How is any of this possible?��� he said, not expecting a response.
After a few seconds had passed, Arthur spoke up again.
���You both are logical,��� he said. ���Why don’t you tell me how they speak Latin?��� he said, as a slight challenge to pass the time. Then continuing, he asked, ���They do still teach Logic in schools, don’t they?���
At the same moment, Timothy and Barbara both answered in unison, ���No.���
Arthur began to play with the end of his beard, looking rather disappointed. ���I can’t imagine I’ll like returning to Earth,��� he said in passing, while Barbara and Timothy discussed the matter amongst themselves, eventually coming to the proper conclusion. That since these people speak a language from Earth, then they must themselves be from Earth, and from an ancient society that spoke Latin.
���They’re Romans. Aren’t they?��� Barbara said.
���Indeed,��� Arthur answered her. ���A fully functioning Roman Colony, to be precise,��� he said, peering over his shoulder to make sure that there was no one to overhear their conversation. ���And a good number of them still believe the Republic is still intact. In fact, there’s a whole political party in their Senate dedicated to honoring the Republic, and their leadership in Rome.���
Barbara was surprised that whole groups of people could believe something that seemed so obviously untrue.
���And what did they say when you told them there was no longer a Republic?��� she asked.
At these words, Arthur Greyford scoffed, and said that he hadn’t mentioned a word about it, and that they would do best to keep it to themselves until he found a proper time and place to ease them into the idea.
From across the room, Ata interjected, saying that it might have turned out to be a good thing then that none of them spoke Latin, since there would be no chance of them ruining their secret.
And afterward, Timothy raised the very logical question: Why not tell the ���tree Romans��� the truth about their culture?
���It seems unfair to hide it from them,��� Timothy ended with.
Arthur gave a thoughtful look at the group (and to Ata, as well, who was now paying more direct attention). ���Can you imagine,��� he said. ���You’ve believed in something wholeheartedly for more than two thousand years, only to have it ripped away from you by a man you’d hardly known.���
���What a horrible thought,��� Barbara said, astonished.
���I don’t even know if I’d believe you,��� Timothy added.
To this, Arthur said that simply not believing him might be their best case, and that he had no idea what to expect from these people. Thus, they all agreed to keep the fate of the Roman Republic a hushed secret, until Arthur felt it appropriate to make their news public.
And several minutes later, while Tavora’s doctor, Caius, was checking on her condition, Tavora herself awoke just long enough to sip at a liquified dose of herbs and vegetables, before gagging considerably at the taste, and falling into an even deeper uninterrupted sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Keeping Secrets
And now I believe I should say something about this city to which they had come, so that you might be better able to imagine it.
In their native Latin, the city was called ���Lucus,��� that is to say ���a sacred grove,��� or forest. It was a collection of seven mighty hollowed trees, all joined to form a circle: banded together with rope bridges, and spanning walkways built upon tree limbs, thousands of feet above the forest floor.
And at the central point of the grove, there was a different species of wider, wilder tree that was bundled together to form a domed ceiling of intertwined branches. In this incredible domed meeting place, there were stone benches positioned in a circle around a lit fire that burned continually while their Senate was in session, and also every night to keep that world’s gigantic insects at bay, every lightless evening when those bugs were their most vicious and unpredictable.
Though returning to the pressing matter at hand, that was continually at the back of everyone’s thoughts; Tavora’s recovery inched by at a frustrating pace, and several times per day Ata would come to check for any improvements (and Arthur and Timothy would very often join in with these routine visits). Yet, in all these many visits it was not Ata, in fact, who was the first at Tavora’s bedside when she’d finally woken to her senses. That privilege had oddly fallen on Barbara, who was not so great a nurse as Ata, being that she was not naturally inclined to liking hospitals. But this night, she’d had trouble sleeping, and had wandered down from her room, deciding to make her way to Tavora’s hospital room.
She sat for several minutes in silence, on the comfortable cushion of the chair set out near Tavora’s beside. Her eyelids began to droop, and she was nearly asleep, when a frail, dry voice suddenly stirred her to her senses.
���I’m surprised. You hadn’t tried to steal your gem off my neck while I was sleeping,��� Tavora grumbled, still in quite a lot of pain, and more agitated than she would be normally.
Barbara was startled. ���You’re awake,��� she said excitedly.
Though Tavora was still in her foul mood, and in her sickly state was coming to all sorts of terrible conclusions.
���You can have your grubby medallion back… I don’t care. If you want it so badly, you can have it,��� she muttered, straining to sit up with her back against her pillow.
Barbara was shocked by this girl’s so ill-favorable opinion of her. Though deep in her heart she knew she’d almost deserved it. After all, that necklace had not made the best of her.
���No, please…��� Barbara stammered. ���I don’t care about that anymore.���
���Not that it would do you any good. It’s probably broken now,��� the sickly Tavora said, speaking over Barbara. So that both girls finished their sentences at exactly the same time.
Barbara’s eyes squinted with concern.
���What do you mean ‘it’s broken’?��� she asked quickly. ���You used it?��� she asked, in a hushed but irritated voice, looking over her shoulder at the same time to see that they were still alone.
Tavora raised her eyebrow, in a slightly condescending manner.
���I thought you said that you didn’t care about that anymore,��� she said, smirking.
Leaning in to speak more softly, ���I don’t,��� Barbara whispered. ���But Ata’s father told me I had to keep it private����.���
All this excitement was beginning
to drain Tavora’s energy.
She spoke while her eyes were softly shutting. ���So… Then it’s our secret,��� she said. ���I won’t tell anyone…���
���But it’s broken,��� Barbara said about the necklace. ���So what does it matter anymore?���
Tavora softly yawned. ���Then it’s our broken secret,��� she said.
It was a conscious decision, and it took Barbara Elizabeth Cholley several seconds before she would agree to willfully share her very personal secret.
���Alright,��� Barbara answered.
Though her new friend was already fast asleep, by this time. So that only Barbara had known she’d agreed to this. Though that was enough.
*
���� Yet, this was not exactly what Ata’s father had said, as you’ll remember. He said, that the medallion was meant to be ���secretive���, though not private, as Barbara had said, which are two very different things. For truly, Asim had never hoped that Barbara would never tell anyone about her special powers, since superhuman abilities held to oneself have a way of damaging personal integrity. He had, instead, only wished that she would wisely consider whom she shared her secret with, so that it could be kept safe.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Truth
It was several days after this that Tavora first began to hobble out of her bed, and even several more days after that, that she was able to get around under her own power. Yet, once she again had full use of her legs, and once her horrendous insect bite began to heal, so that you would hardly even notice a scar, she was then able to travel through the seven hollowed trees in the city of Lucus, to see with her own eyes what a magnificent world these ingenious Romans had built for themselves.
Trees as grand as skyscrapers, with approximately two hundred levels in each hollow tree. Delicately carved winding staircases, and hand-crank elevators constructed with a fascinating system of pulleys; This civilization was above all the most astounding that Tavora had ever seen. Though Ata, and Timothy, and to some extent Barbara, had often liked to compare it to the floating, and flying, and underwater cities of Sonsuz Su, trying to decide which of them all was the more incredible.
However, this fascination did eventually wear away. (And thankfully for Tavora’s sake; since she had never been to any of these other places, and she was growing ill from hearing them mentioned so often.)
And what followed, after these initial days, were several months of struggling through basic Latin, until they could navigate through full conversations without being laughed at. There were summer days of riding through the forest, around the city, upon the backs of tamed giant lizards. And days spent running barefoot across rope bridges, a thousand feet above the forest floor.
And it was at the end of this time, that the ���Tree Romans��� celebrated their week long festival of the first fallen leaves: seven full days of parties and banquets, and sacrifices of grain and material possessions, made to the Roman goddess, Ceres, whom Arthur said was their goddess of the harvest. During this time, Arthur recommended that they all participate in these parties and banquets, seeing that it would have been unconscionably rude to deny their hosts this honor. (Though he was clear to make the distinction, that he was by no means suggesting that they should actually sacrifice anything to this mythical goddess. Since she was, in his words, ���not real to begin with.��� And that it would be to their benefit, to avoid the habits of giving anything to false gods. Yet this notwithstanding, they all enjoyed the festivities, immensely.
And on the last night, while seated at a massive carved table, in the center of a circular banquet hall, Arthur rose up from his seat, holding up a goblet of acorn wine in his hand. He spoke in Latin, but used a variety of poetic words that none of the other travelers could understand. However, his hosts understood, and his words were met with a riotous applause.
���What did you say to them?��� Timothy asked, once Arthur had returned to his seat.
Arthur took a sip from his cup, and answered, ���I made the announcement, that tomorrow night I would begin to tell them of the fate of their Republic,��� he said.
���Do you really think they’re ready for it?��� Ata asked, making himself a part of the conversation.
���Would you be?��� Mr. Greyford said to the both of them.
Timothy tried to think of what it might be like in their situation. And while he thought it over, Ata replied, ���I don’t know… maybe,��� he said.
���Then let’s hope for that,��� Arthur answered, giving a less than confident smile.
As much as a dull conversation the fate of the Roman Republic might be while on Earth, there in the city of Lucus, where the fate of the Republic had been a topic of contention for over two thousand years, all the citizens were eager to hear what Arthur, this strange visitor from Earth, had to say.
Many had arrived at the central tree of the city several hours ahead of schedule, before the ceremonial fire was lit, before nightfall. Nearly every member of every household tried with effort to cram inside. In fact, the only ones not there, were those who had been previously assigned to the misfortunate task of guarding the perimeter of that grove city, and who, of course, could find no one willing to take their place.
The sounds within that twisting central tree were overwhelming. The four younger travelers were packed tightly together, seated in a front row, and astonished by what a spectacle this had become. There were nursing mothers, and children playing tag through the dense crowd. Just behind our travelers sat two men, decidedly arguing over what this man from their home world would tell them.
But in all of this, there was no sign of Mr. Greyford. And now the crowd was so thick, that even if he were there, they would never have seen him.
���Maybe he’s got cold feet,��� Ata said, trying to make a joke about the matter.
���Why would his feet be cold?��� Tavora began to ask before the thought occurred to her. ���Oh, no. Is he sick?��� she said.
And Ata was just about to explain this misunderstanding, but was halted as the man of the hour suddenly appeared, calling the room to attention by taking his place, standing atop a pedestal near the center of the room, which from their position placed the silhouette of the burning fire at his back.
The room fell instantly quiet. So that, not even the children made any stirring.
���I hope you’ve made yourselves comfortable,��� Arthur said in Latin. ���You’ve waited a long time for this, and I would hate for anyone to have a bad seat.���
A moderate chuckle rolled through the audience. Since the entire room was now so overcrowded that there was not a comfortable seat left to anyone, and since Arthur was obviously trying to make a joke of it.
���It has been my understanding, from your own accounts,��� he began to say, ���that your last known memories of Rome have included a period of conflict, now referred to as the First Punic War, which would place you at roughly 264 B.C., as years are now collectively counted on Earth.���
After this, Arthur went on to recount this early period of Roman conquest (which now could be seen to stretch even beyond Earth itself), and leading up to the life of the great Julius Cesar, as history knows him today: Highly regarded for his expansion of the Republic, which was soon to become an Empire, and known for presiding over a volatile Roman Senate during his reign, which eventually led to his untimely death.
And on and on Arthur went, retelling the lives of Mark Antony, and Cleopatra, and battles in Egypt, progressively and artfully expounding on the wealth of Roman history throughout the ages.
Telling of Octavian, and the deification of the Roman Emperors, about wars waged against Barbarian hordes, and the gradual decline of the Senate in political prominence.
And he told about the building of the Coliseum, about gladiatorial battles to the de
ath. Though once he said this, there were uproars.
���These are false words,��� one of the reigning Tree Roman senators said, objecting to Arthur’s claims. ���Where is the honor in this? Our Empire would never allow the death of men for sport.���
Arthur spoke with wide gestures. ���Yes… I, like yourselves, would surely wish that these things were not true,��� he explained. ���Certainly there were, at first, men and women who protested to such displays. But if the Emperor himself, who was thought to be a god, had deemed a certain entertainment as worthy, what other choice was there but to agree with him?���
This seemed to pacify their objections, but from then on that night, there was a noticeable sense of unrest, tainted with an underlying disbelief by some, that these things could never have happened, and it only grew worse.
Following this, Arthur went on to describe certain events that had transpired in the Empire���s Jewish province. How an itinerate preacher had made enemies for himself, amongst the local establishment; Teaching things, such as that men ought to love their enemies, that there was a Kingdom of heaven that should come, and that he, himself, was equal with God. And that for this, and many other such things he was executed by the local Roman governor.
Though after this man’s unjust death (as Arthur went on to explain), his followers had not disbanded as you might imagine, but instead grew in numbers and came to Rome, telling everyone there that this man, whom they worshiped as God, had been brought back from the dead.
���And for this,��� Arthur said, ���they were treated as insurrectionists, traitors, for saying that there was only one God, and that this God was not Caesar.���
Throughout the meeting hall, within that twisted tree, there were not so quiet murmurings, after Arthur had said that these people believed in only one God.
���Only one God?��� a man from the audience said aloud. ���Whom should it be then?��� he asked. ���Juno?���
���Or Mercury?��� a woman from the back yelled out.
The Histories of Earth, Books 1-4: In the Window Room, A Prince of Earth, All the Worlds of Men, and Worlds Unending Page 57