Another Time, Another Place

by Jodi Taylor

Time wore on. I estimated we’d been here long enough. The sun was lower in the sky but we couldn’t rush this. We just had to be patient. In an hour’s time we could all be safely back in the pod. We’d done our best to alert Prentiss. With luck she would be ready to go at a moment’s notice. What sort of state must she be in? I could not – must not – get this wrong.

  I caught Clerk’s eye and nodded. He slipped quietly out through the door and into the street. A comfort break was implied. Actually, he was going around to the back wall again. There was no back door. All houses were built around a central courtyard with just the one entrance which, in this case, was in full view of the shop. I hoped to God he wasn’t going to start singing again.

  I caught Rosie’s eye. She nodded. It was time. This was it. I stood up impatiently because, obviously, nothing here was good enough to interest me. Not a wise move as it turned out. As I stood up, I made a small sound and swayed. Rosie Lee swept forwards to support me. I put my hand to my forehead and said, in English, ‘I think I’m going to faint.’

  The merchant was in a quandary. Out on my own I might be but I’d belong to a man somewhere and no man would touch another man’s woman. That was just asking for trouble. On the other hand, he wouldn’t want an unconscious woman sprawled all over his special silks. And everyone knew women could have all sorts of mysterious but messy things wrong with them that decent men knew nothing about.

  I let my knees sag and somehow, Rosie Lee manhandled me back on to the divan where I sprawled gracefully in a nest of medium-priced fabrics.

  ‘Water,’ said Rosie Lee, urgently. In English, obviously, but he got the message. Pulling aside a curtain concealing an archway, he shouted.

  Nothing happened for a minute. Well, the merchant dithered helplessly, wringing his hands, but nothing important happened.

  And then . . . She was soundless on bare feet, but it was Prentiss. She was here. We’d found her. My heart leaped. We were halfway home.

  I don’t know what she’d had to do to ensure she was the one who brought in the drink, but whatever it was, she’d managed it. She was closely muffled in dusty unbleached shawls with only her face showing. She carried a gilt tray with a jug and beaker. They rattled against each other. She was trembling. On the edge. I could hear her short breaths.

  ‘Breathe,’ said Rosie, ostensibly speaking to me. ‘Breathe. St Mary’s is here but things will probably be fine, nevertheless.’

  Clerk slipped back in again, approached and under the guise of speaking to me, bowed and said, ‘Where’s the baby, Paula? Take the basket near the door. Put the baby in it. Put it back by the door.’

  ‘No,’ I said, bravely. ‘I’m fine.’ I tried to sit up, groaned theatrically and lay back down again. All eyes were on me, especially those of the merchant. Corpses in your shop are not good for business. People might think you keeled over because of the prices.

  Prentiss left the tray beside me, eased her way through the concerned throng, picked up the basket and slipped back through the curtain.

  I groaned a little more. Rosie Lee helped me sit up and sip from the beaker. I’ve no idea what it was but it was cold and quite nice.

  From the corner of my eye I saw Prentiss slip back through the curtain and replace the basket, now with its cover fastened shut. I held my breath. If the baby made even a sound . . .

  As soon as she stepped away, I stood up. Clerk tried to support me and I slapped his hand away angrily. Immediately he bowed and stepped back. The message, I hoped, was clear. No man was allowed to touch me.

  We needed to be out of here fast in case the baby woke up. We’d be well and truly buggered if that happened.

  I swayed again and Prentiss came forwards to take my arm. I smiled and patted her shoulder. Rosie casually picked up the basket and passed it on to Clerk who disappeared out of the door. That was the baby safely out of here. Now it was just us.

  Supported on one side by Rosie Lee and Prentiss on the other, I nodded to the fibrillating merchant who just wanted me out of his shop. And he seemed reasonably happy for Prentiss to assist me. We knew she was permitted to leave the house. And she’d be leaving her baby here as a deposit so of course she would return.

  We dared not rush. Agonisingly slowly, we exited the merchant’s shop and turned into the street. He gave us five or six paces for politeness’s sake and then I heard the door close firmly behind us.

  I could feel Prentiss shaking like a jelly beside me. ‘You’ve got her?’ Her fingers gripped my arm painfully. ‘Tell me she’s safe.’

  ‘Clerk’s got her,’ I said. ‘And we’ve got you. And in a few minutes, you’ll both be safe.’

  ‘He’ll send someone after me.’

  ‘No, he won’t. Why would he? He thinks your child is still on the premises and you’ll come back because of that.’

  ‘But once he realises . . . which he will . . . he might already . . .’

  He did. Prentiss was right and I was wrong.

  I could hear running footsteps behind us.

  ‘Don’t turn around,’ I said. ‘It might be nothing to do with us. Just keep walking.’

  But it was to do with us. The merchant had sent one of his boys to escort us. Whether out of concern for me or to ensure Prentiss was safely returned to her rightful owner was unclear. What was clear was that now we had a problem. Well, of course we did.

  I looked at the lad from the corner of my eye, assessing our chances of overcoming him should we have to. He wasn’t a man but he wasn’t a boy either. If figuring in a police report he would probably be referred to as a youth. He wasn’t big – all of us combined could probably overpower him. Except he’d be yelling his head off and there were soldiers everywhere.

  I sighed. And it had all been going so well. On the other hand he was paying us no attention at all, looking around him and obviously enjoying this unexpected free time.

  ‘What now?’ muttered Rosie Lee.

  ‘Smile and keep going,’ I said. ‘Perhaps he’s on his way somewhere else and just keeping us company.’

  I don’t think any of us believed that.

  ‘We didn’t do anything wrong, did we?’ whispered Prentiss.

  ‘Well, we have a stolen baby in the basket,’ said Rosie Lee. ‘Does that count?’

  ‘It’s my baby,’ said Prentiss, her voice trembling.

  ‘Not according to Babylonian law and custom,’ I said. ‘The two of you are a single unit but that unit belongs to the merchant back there.’

  ‘How much further?’ she said. Far from supporting me, I was holding her up.

  ‘A couple of hundred yards,’ I said. ‘Nearly there.’

  ‘We’re going to have to push him into the canal,’ said Rosie Lee, eyeing the youth who, in turn, was eyeing a group of young women at the well.

  ‘That will be Plan B,’ I said, firmly. ‘Hang on, everyone, slow down a little.’

  Rather worryingly, there was a large crowd of people ahead. We hadn’t planned for this either, and the last thing we needed was our young lad alerting any of them. Mostly men, they were watching some sort of street entertainment hidden from us. Food vendors hung optimistically around the edges. I could smell hot onions on the air.

  Clerk was waiting for us there. For one moment his face registered horror at our escort, who was craning his neck to see what was happening.

  While he was distracted, I spoke quietly to Clerk. ‘Can you and the baby lose yourselves?’

  I could see he wasn’t keen. He was far more vulnerable to recapture out on the streets on his own. And he didn’t want to leave Paula.

  ‘We’ll create a diversion,’ I said. ‘Just slip quietly away. We’ll meet you back at the pod.’

  I tottered artistically for another few yards. Very slowly. We were almost upon the crowd which had spread all the way across the street. Anyone who wanted to get past would have
to squeeze through the narrow chicane of men’s backs and a largish table outside a shop selling fresh fruit and veg. And the ground here was muddy from the water a young boy was continually sprinkling over the produce to keep it fresh.

  I said, ‘In your own time, Mr Clerk,’ and we began to ease our way through the crush.

  The youth stuck close to Paula, I noticed, who in turn was sticking close to me. I gave a small cry of alarm at being in such close proximity to all these nasty rough men. Paula and Rosie Lee tightened their grips and the youth was forced to step back. Clerk and the baby just melted away.

  A street vendor placed himself in front of me, grinning ingratiatingly and offering dates dipped in honey and rolled in either crushed nuts or street grit. Every fly in Mesopotamia hovered over the sweet stickiness.

  Rosie Lee imperiously waved him away. He seemed reluctant to depart without a sale and in the end, it was the young lad who dismissed him curtly. I began to feel more kindly disposed towards him.

  There was no sign of Clerk anywhere. ‘Rosie,’ I said, ‘before he notices Clerk is missing – flirt with him.’

  ‘What? Why me? You do it.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘I’m old enough to be his grandmother,’ and waited for them both to say no, you’re not, and they didn’t so I was feeling more than a little aggrieved as we plunged even deeper into the hot, smelly world of men.

  ‘What’s his name?’ I muttered to Paula.

  ‘They call him Abilsin. Son of Sin.’

  ‘Oh, great.’

  ‘Because he’s a bit of a naughty boy.’

  ‘Really? Don’t just stand there, Rosie. Get stuck in.’

  I gently let go of her arm and Paula and I began to drift to the right. Rosie craned her neck to see what was attracting everyone’s attention and somehow got between the young man and us. She was smiling at him and he, poor lad, had no idea of the danger he was in. She gestured to him, giving him a sort of what’s going on here, can we get closer? look.

  He was a teenager, with an unexpectedly free afternoon and a pretty girl wanting him to show her what all the excitement was about. He didn’t even hesitate.

  Prentiss and I melted away behind a fat man in a too small tunic. From him we moved to another street vendor displaying some sort of pastries. I hovered artistically as if unable to make up my mind and then eased us gently around a group of boys and suddenly we were on the edge of the crowd.

  We didn’t look back. I walked us briskly down the street. Clerk was approaching. Minus the basket.

  ‘All safe,’ he said as we passed him, and I felt Prentiss sag with relief.

  I patted her arm and said, ‘Not far now. Mr Clerk, can you collect Rosie, please, before she injures someone.’

  ‘On it,’ he said, and disappeared into the crowd.

  We were like a well-coordinated tag team. I was quietly proud.

  Paula and I paused at the street corner. Within easy running distance of the pod, just in case anything should go wrong at the last moment. The wait seemed endless and by now my nerves were in shreds. We were here, alone. No back-up of any kind. If anything went wrong then all I’d done was make things considerably worse. Still we waited. No sign of Clerk and Rosie Lee. On the other hand, there was no fighting, shouting, screaming and no one had come to blows. The moments dragged by.

  I turned to Paula. ‘What will happen to Abilsin when he returns without you? Will he be sold on?’

  ‘He’s not a slave. He’s Nabu’s nephew.’ I suddenly realised I’d never known the vendor’s name. ‘He’ll probably get a clip round his ear from Nabu but not much more because Abilsin’s dad is Nabu’s elder brother and they’re very hot about the respect due to the eldest son. And Abilsin’s dad will compensate him.’

  I nodded, satisfied.

  More minutes dragged by and just as I was considering leaving Prentiss in the pod and going back to see what was happening, I saw Clerk and Rosie Lee emerge safely from the crowd and without young Abilsin.

  Paula and I immediately set off towards the pod. So close . . .

  I heard someone – Abilsin – shout.

  Clerk and Rosie broke into a run. People turned and stared at them. There was another shout from the crowd.

  Paula and I broke into a gallop. Bugger the heat. We flew down the street with me thanking God for kick pleats and attracting no end of amusement but not caring in the slightest. Because we were nearly there.

  We kicked up little clouds of dust as we went. Rosie Lee had complained about sand in her bra but I had sand everywhere. We flew past shops, people and goats. We slowed down for the two soldiers on the street corner, obviously, sauntering past with professional nonchalance, and then picked up the pace again afterwards. All the time I was waiting for someone to come after us. Waiting for the sounds of pursuit. Waiting for the hand on my shoulder . . .

  Clerk and Rosie caught us up and we all ran together. And then, finally, we rounded the last corner and there was the goat shed. And the crumbling wall. And the pod. I called for the door. One last burst . . .

  Laughing – and crying a little bit from relief – we all tumbled into the pod.

  We crashed inside, barking our shins on all the boxes and stuff stored therein.

  Paula collapsed on to one of them so I couldn’t help feeling it was a good job they were there. She was in tears. The unexpected rescue, the strain, the relief, the fear something would go wrong at the last moment, fear for her baby . . .

  I snuck a quick look. The bits of her that were visible weren’t covered in bruises. She hadn’t been well fed but she’d been fed. She’d fared better than Clerk. Her voice was hoarse. She wouldn’t be used to speaking. No one wants to hear what a slave has to say. She’d been here over a year, isolated by gender, status, language – the lot.

  I left her to Clerk who took her in his arms. He was crying too. The pod was tiny, and crowded almost to bursting point, but we tried to give them a little privacy.

  Rosie Lee squeezed into the loo – to evacuate the desert from her bra, presumably – and I fulfilled our primary function and put the kettle on.

  Clerk passed the basket to Paula. She fumbled with the fastening and he had to do it for her. They opened up the basket together and stared down at the little baby. She was so small. So tiny, but quite healthy-looking. All her limbs were straight and functioning. She had a little tuft of dark hair on top of her head. Her eyes were closed and despite our throwing her about in a basket, she was still fast asleep.

  Rosie Lee emerged from the bathroom, peered over my shoulder and snorted. ‘Typical historian.’

  I couldn’t believe it had all gone so well. I’d worried we’d have to abandon the baby and basket, or maybe float them down the canal and try to pick them up later. After all, babies were always being found floating down rivers in rush baskets in this part of the world. On the other hand, that sort of thing was frequently the precursor to exciting events and the last thing we needed was to start yet another religion.

  Neither Clerk nor Paula were able to speak now, so we passed them their tea and tactfully gave them both a while to recover themselves.

  Eventually, things calmed down a little.

  ‘I have to ask,’ said Clerk, moving away to give Prentiss a little space and edging himself around Rosie Lee, me, three boxes and numerous bundles – trust me, we could barely move. ‘What is all this stuff?’

  ‘This,’ I said, ‘is the beginning of your new life. We didn’t just throw this assignment together. We know you can’t leave your baby behind, Paula, and we know we can’t take her out of this time, so we’re taking you out of Babylon instead. I’ve been doing some research. I looked for somewhere with political and economic stability. My first choices were Carthage or Sicily but things are a bit dodgy between them at the moment. I looked at mainland Greece. I even looked at England, but there didn’t
seem much point because you still wouldn’t be able to speak the language and the climate is bloody awful. Then I started down the Ionian coast and found exactly what we needed. We’re going to Patara.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Clerk, looking up. ‘The Lycian League. Yes. Nice.’

  ‘Patara?’ said Rosie Lee. ‘Never heard of it.’

  Not many had. Founded by Patarus, a son of Apollo, and situated at the mouth of the River Xanthos in today’s Turkey, Patara was a member of the Lycian League, which consisted of Xanthos, Patara, Myra, Olympos, Phaselis, Pinara and, according to who you’re reading, perhaps Telmessos and Krya, as well. Patara was the administrative centre. It doesn’t figure much in historical records which is usually a good sign. Hardly anything happened until 333BC when it surrendered to Alexander but that was a couple of hundred years off yet.

  ‘A great choice, Max,’ Clerk said, and I inclined my head with my usual becoming modesty.

  And it was a great choice. Patara, situated on the Ionian coast, was home to the Temple and Oracle of Apollo, itself second only to the Oracle at Delphi. A thriving port and a prosperous and well-run city. In fact, the administration and government of the Lycian League was so efficient that the Founding Fathers used it as a model when setting up their own government. Wealthy and obscure, Patara was the perfect choice.

  We turned our attention to Paula, now sitting quietly, clutching her sleeping baby, the tears still wet on her cheeks. Clerk hovered protectively nearby. Watching them, I rather thought the two of them might be all right. They’d been together a long time. Professionally, I mean. I had no idea what their personal relationship had been, but they were both calm, sensible people who would make this work. They were both free now but I don’t think it had quite sunk in yet. An hour ago, they’d been Babylonian slaves. Now they had the chance of a new life in a new city. I felt my anger rise up at Treadwell and Hyssop again.

  ‘There’s no point in hanging around,’ I said, turning to the console. ‘If everyone’s ready . . .’

  Clerk lifted his head. ‘What if someone sees us jump? There could be a bit of a commotion.’