Island in the Sea of Time (94 page)

That didn’t seem to make much impact compared to the prospect of having to pay indemnity, but it was far more important in the long run. The full-grown warriors might not want to give up their sky-clan of godlets, but he’d bet others in their tribes would—the women, to start with. Nantucket-style Christianity had a lot more to offer them than their own people’s faith; and while they might not convert their husbands, they’d certainly have a lot of influence on their sons. He hid his smile. These people weren’t sophisticated enough to see through that sort of gambit—hell, he hadn’t been either. Martha and Father . . . Prelate Gomez had come up with it between them.

Again, the grumbles came from both sides of the circle. “We’ve suffered, we’ve bled at your side! Many of us have lost everything—we’ve lost homes, fields, flocks, brothers and parents,” a voice from the Fiernan ranks called. “What do you have for
us
?”

“You fought and bled for your own land and your families,” Cofflin said sharply. Then more gently: “We don’t forget our friends.

“You have our word—and everyone in the White Isle knows what the Eagle People’s word is, now—that we’ll stand by you if you’re threatened again. You’ll have peace, the first real peace you’ve had in centuries. Freedom from fear. Isn’t that something for the Fiernan Bohulugi?”

“It is a great thing,” one of the younger Grandmothers said firmly. “We do not wish to see our sons ever returning on their shields. Moon Woman did not mean mothers to bury their children.”

Cofflin nodded. “There’s more than that, as well,” he said. “You Spear Chosen are great traders—well, there’s going to be more trade than you can imagine. As you say, there are many of your people who’ve lost their homes, lost their kin, in this war. We Eagle People have need of new helpers. We’ll welcome them; we’ll adopt the orphans, give homes to the displaced. Those who wish can learn our ways and become part of our people. Those who don’t will return here with new wealth and new skills, because they’ll learn from us. You’ll be the first people to learn our arts, and it’ll make you rich and strong beyond your dreams.”

And Angelica will get that damn settlement on Long Island she’s been wanting
, he thought. The adults might never fit in really well, but their children would—universal schooling was a wonderful thing.

“Besides that, we’ll send skilled folk here to set up new things—mines, forges, water mills.” Brand and Leaton thought that with a little technical aid they could just about quadruple the Earth Folk’s productivity in a single generation. “Wealth for you, and for us. We’ll also send our healers”—
thus ensuring a population explosion, but we can deal with that later
—“and wise folk. Your Grandmothers will learn more of the stars than they ever knew before.”
Which will gradually undermine their religion, but sufficient unto the day is the evil or not-so-evil thereof.

There was a fair bit to recommend the cult of Moon Woman, but it did breed an unhealthily otherworldly attitude, and excessive fatalism—sort of like an astrological Buddhism, as Ian had put it.

The uproar began again; this time it got to the fistshaking stage and the soldiers had to start thumping their shields again. He sighed. This was going to take a good long while.

He took off his coat and shifted his shoulders, as if settling a load. This was his work, and he was going to by God do it the best he could.

“We’re going to need someone to stay here and ride herd on this bunch,” he muttered. “Ayup. I can’t stay, Martha can’t stay, Marian’s got too much else to do . . .”

He turned his head and looked at the Arnsteins. Ian raised his hands.

“Now,
wait
a minute, Chief—”

 

Marian woke to find the bed empty. She ran a hand into the spot where Swindapa had lain; it was still faintly warm. The children were sleeping in the next room, from the sound of it; the wet nurse was with them anyway. She slipped out into the chill and dressed quickly. The sanded log planks were warmer than any tent or the locals’ housing, but she’d never felt entirely easy sleeping in the house Walker built.
I’d rather have burned it
. That would be far too wasteful. They’d take what he’d made, and put it to better use.

Or Swindapa will
, she thought.
God, God
—

Outside the stars were frosted across the arch of heaven. The full moon was setting, casting a bright glimmer over dew-wet fields past the guards pacing their rounds. She found Swindapa standing in one meadow, her arms raised with palms up, swaying and chanting. The half-song broke down in sobs, and the Fiernan girl covered her face with her hands.

“ ’Dapa?” Alston asked softly, touching her shoulder. “Can I help?”

“I want to stay, it’s my home, they’re my family, my people, they
need
me! I want to stay!”

Alston stood frozen.
I need you too
flashed through her, and her lips clenched on the words.
And I cannot say that,
not when you’re in pain like this.

“I want to stay, and I
can’t,
” the Fiernan went on, and turned to grip with bruising strength. “You’re my life.”

Alston wrapped the cloak about both of them; they stood in silence, watching the moon—
the Moon,
she thought—fade below the horizon and the first stars turn pale in the east.

“We’ll come back here, again and again,” she murmured at last. “Believe me, ’dapa—your people and mine, we’ll never be apart, now.”

“Yes,” the other sighed. Then, later: “I’m cold. Let’s go back to bed.”

I’m not cold
, Alston thought, as they walked hand in hand through the chill wet grass. Birds were piping, fluting greetings to the coming dawn.
Never cold again, I think.
The years stretched ahead, and the work that filled them stoked the glow below her breastbone.

 

I
an Arnstein stepped off the gangway and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder. Nantucket was its chilly, foggy March self this evening, but they’d learned to make a pretty good turtleneck sweater over in the White Isle.

“Home at last,” Doreen said. “Praise God, home at last.”

They walked up past Easy Street, keeping to the sidewalk—the horses from
Eagle
’s latest shipment were being led up the cobbles, their new horseshoes casting sparks and an iron clangor that echoed back from houses-turned-warehouse, factor’s office, chandler’s shop. People bustled about as work shut down for the evening; a long blasting steam whistle echoed from one of the new factories.

“Dirty trick, making us ambassadors plenipotentiary,” Doreen said.

“Oh, I don’t know. The work was sort of fun, actually,” Ian answered. Laying the foundations of a country, and who’d have thought he was flying from California into
that
when he left LAX, two years ago almost to the day on his personal world-line.

“Making us stay through the English winter—now
that
was a dirty trick.”

Of course, they’d also gotten Walker’s mansion as their own in fee simple, and the surviving Iraiina and their new chief had insisted on throwing in a tract of land around it.

“Come on, everyone’s waiting—we’ve got all the gossip since last September to catch up on,” Doreen said.

In theory the dinner tonight was supposed to be a surprise anniversary party for them, combined with Event Day and coordinated by radiophone. Doreen wormed it out of Sandy Rapczewicz on the trip back from Fort Pentagon. He had an uneasy feeling that the chief and Marian had something else in mind, too, like the role he was going to “volunteer” for in this Mediterranean expedition everyone was talking about.
Oh, we’re off to see the Pharaoh, the wonderful Pharaoh of
. . .

Ian Arnstein began to laugh as they turned onto Broad, looking around and drawing a deep breath of air pungent with whale oil from the street lanterns, woodsmoke from hearths, the delicious scents of cooking and the not so pleasant but infinitely familiar smells of horses and their by-products.

“What’s the joke?”

“That time travel forward can bring you back full circle just as surely as time travel backward,” he said, and shook his head at her puzzled frown. “Later. I’m
hungry.”

They hurried up the street past whalers and fishermen, Indians in blankets and Fiernan Bohulugi Moon Priestesses wrapped in dignity, past kilted Sun People warriors gawking about in wonder, past carts and steam carriages and running whooping children. Some things
didn’t
change. They
still
served a mean seafood dinner in the basement restaurant at the John Cofflin House, even in the Bronze Age.