Sierra looked at him with suspicion and surprise. "Surely you know that the ancients knew some things that the future has yet to rediscover."
"Not as much as you think. Not that." Heron stroked his chin. "And I was responsible for introducing a lot of future knowledge, at least in Alexandria."
"Athens still has a good Library," Sierra said, almost wistfully. "Some of its learned schools endure, though Justinian will close them forever in a hundred years. And Pergamum has some excellent holdings, too. Perhaps they have some of Theon's scrolls."
"Good," Heron said. "Then come with me to Athens. There should be four chairs in that house now. Take yours anywhere in the future you like – I won't get in your way." He had been standing for the entire conversation. Now he sat near Sierra. "Let me take you away from Alexandria."
Sierra stood. "No."
"You would prefer to be ripped to pieces by the Nitrians? Why, when we have an insensate body that can take your place?"
"We can't do that now," Sierra answered. "If my double is killed before 415, that will change history."
"Let me worry about that."
"That's your best response?"
"Maybe Hypatia was murdered in the first place in 413 not 415," Heron said. "But Synesius has been informed about all of this. He will write several accounts of your death and hide them in safe places. They will all say you were murdered by the Nitrians in 415. The date of Hypatia's death will be safeguarded for subsequent history regardless of when they tear your double apart."
Sierra started to reply, then turned her head towards the hall–
"Yes," Heron said. "That would be Appleton the publisher. He wants to leave this place, too. He wants you to leave, as you know. But he will stay here, till his death if he has to, before he abandons you to the Nitrians. If you won't leave here to help yourself, do it to help Mr. Appleton. Please."
Sierra gestured to the hall. "I'll think about it. Now I would like some privacy, if you don't mind." Her nearest weapon, a knife, was unfortunately on the far side of the room, or well beyond her reach. She shuddered, slightly, at the realization of how accustomed she had become to violence. What had Socrates regretfully said about Alcibiades becoming so violent? Now it applied to her–
Heron did not move. "I know noble motives are not the only things that are keeping you here. You want to stay here for Alcibiades."
Did Heron also have the power to read her mind, and know she was thinking about Alcibiades? No, it was only logical, knowing what Heron knew about her and Alcibiades, that Heron would think that. "Do you know what happened to him?"
"You may not like what he has become – it was not my doing."
"Tell me."
"If you agree to leave with me, I will do more than tell you," Heron said. "I will show you."
Sierra shook her head. "Appleton was the last person to see him. I tried to go back to that night in the prison with Socrates, but I couldn't get any closer than nine nights later. There was no trace of anyone by then. You must have restricted the chairs – they don't allow travel now to any time before nine nights after the last evening in the prison of Socrates."
Heron nodded. "We need to keep that night sacrosanct – it is the only way we can make any genuine progress with this time travel. Otherwise, people could keep going back and undoing what we are doing. Socrates would be saved and unsaved and saved and unsaved, forever, in a never-ending loop–"
Sierra realized that Appleton's footsteps had stopped–
Heron caught her expression. "I assure you, I am only trying to help–"
Sierra walked quickly across the room–
But two Roman legionaries were at the door, before the knife was even in her hand.
Heron told them in Latin to take her, but treat her with respect. He addressed Sierra, in the English they had been speaking. "Perhaps this will give you more incentive to come with me. I am reasonably certain that the visitor from the East who spoke to Theon about a cure for the illness of Socrates was Alcibiades."
Chapter One
[Carthage, 413 AD]
"Synesius of Cyrene, Bishop of Ptolemais," Augustine's servant, a Nubian, introduced Synesius in rich, mellifluous tones.
Augustine looked up from his scroll and nodded at Synesius. "You look tired – please sit."
Synesius sat. "I worry about Alexandria. . . . Thank you for permitting this visit. I regret interrupting your work."
"Marcellinus said it was about a matter of great importance to you, and this is all but finished." Augustine held up a scroll, and sighed. "It is named The City of God." Augustine nodded to the Nubian, who receded from the lushly appointed room. Augustine offered the scroll to Synesius. "Plato is redeemed. His words have much to teach us."
"Thank you." Synesius unrolled the scroll, but only glanced at the words in front of him. He knew the offering of the scroll was symbolic, a courtesy, not an invitation to read. "We are blessed to have you . . . and your tolerance." Synesius rewound the papyrus. He closed his eyes for a moment, to prolong the good smell of it. Few things smelled as good to him as recently written upon papyrus.
"Intolerance is all around us," Augustine said, sadly. "It is the source of my disagreement with the followers of Donatus, as you know. Intolerance from Christians is a response to the lingering cruelty of pagan Romans who have not yet seen the light, and the continuing brutality of barbarians. It has become more of a danger to us now than the pagans and barbarians themselves."
Synesius nodded.
"Would you care for a libation," Augustine inquired. "Wine? Kykeon?"
Synesius's eyebrow rose slightly at the offer of kykeon - an ancient mixture of water, barley, and mint, rumored to sometimes have soul-expanding qualities. Synesius had imbibed the mixture only a few times, with no result other than his thirst was quenched and perhaps his psyche was calmed a bit. But he knew most of his brethren frowned upon it.
"Yes, the drink of Socrates, thank you," Synesius responded.
Augustine smiled and poured kykeon from a flask into two ornate cups. "Or of Plato, perhaps – some say he wrote his best dialogues under its beneficial influence." He handed Synesius a cup.
Both bishops sipped.
"Hypatia is at risk from the Nitrians," Synesius said softly, after a time.
"You love her," Augustine observed.
"She walks by the Lighthouse and the Library, more beautiful than the Lighthouse, more wise than the Library, in my dreams every night."
Augustine closed his eyes. "You are in unusual need now, with your wife and your sons so young no longer in this world."
"Hypatia refuses to leave Alexandria," Synesius said. "She will be killed if she stays."
"You cannot be sure of that. But if she must die, what can you do – what can anyone do – in the face of the inevitable?" Augustine asked.
"Forgive me," Synesius said, "but I was hoping you might have a better answer. You believe in free will."
Augustine opened his eyes, then smoothed his purple robe. "Perhaps there is a better answer. There are several matters I must attend to first. Then I will introduce you to someone who might be able to help."
"Thank you." Synesius bowed slightly and left.
Augustine massaged his eyes with his fingers, and resumed reading his scroll.
The Nubian returned a few minutes later with an older man and made the introduction: "Heron of Alexandria".
* * *
Synesius looked from his room to the city of Carthage below. His room was plain, nothing like the mauve elegance of Augustine's quarters. Synesius did not begrudge this in the slightest. Augustine was by far the greater bishop, probably the most important visitor to Carthage at the moment. Augustine was to address the synod tomorrow. If he could convince enough bishops, he would set the Church on its proper course.
These were times of peril for the Church. Despite its victories, it could yet end up like conquered Carthage – triumphant at first, then burned to the ground by Roman pagans, who
salted its earth so no crops could grow, then rebuilt it in Rome's image. The Christian fanatics were now salting the crops of the Church with their hatred. He could not bear to think about what kind of world of monstrous intolerance the fanatics would bring into being.
But he knew Hypatia would be its victim, even as she battled a mystery that only she could see.
Synesius looked at the sands below, slick with water from the harbor. The sun shone up from the wetness – an upside-down sun, a light standing on its head.
He heard footsteps at his open door. He turned from Carthage to a hooded figure before him.
"Apologies for arriving unannounced," the figure said. "Augustine said I might be of service."
Synesius scrutinized the face inside the hood. The piercing brown eyes seemed familiar. "Thank you."
The visitor smiled. "Augustine told me he led you to believe it might be a while before I came to you – but I arrived in Carthage a little sooner than expected. I hope this moment is not inopportune."
"I would be grateful for any help you can provide," Synesius replied. "Am I permitted to know your name?"
The visitor removed his hood. "I am Jonah – Benjamin's father."
"But. . . ." Yes, those were Benjamin's eyes. And Synesius was well aware, from his own experience, of how young a man could be when he became a father. "You look scarcely old enough to be Benjamin's older brother."
"I know," Jonah replied. "And I will tell you how such a thing is possible – how a father standing before you can be but five or six years older than his son."
"And will that help me save Hypatia?"
"Yes," Jonah said. "May I sit?"
Synesius nodded, and motioned to the chair next to his by the window.
Jonah joined him and gazed down at Carthage. "A city with a magnificent past, but little future. Would you agree?"
"Yes, that seems the logical, unhappy analysis for this city."
"I know it to be true – and from direct observation, as proposed by Aristotle as the best path to knowledge. Not logic. Observation."
Synesius scoffed. "You consider Aristotle's methods superior to Plato's?"
Jonah smiled. "Not necessarily. I am saying only that I know the future of Carthage from direct observation."
"Direct observation?" Synesius repeated.
"Yes. Shall I prove it to you?"
"By some trickery?"
"No," Jonah said. "I was here, in Carthage, three months from now. I wish it could have been three hours or even three days from now. That would enable me to prove my claim to you more rapidly. But these devices are . . . imprecise."
"I do not follow your meaning."
"That is of no matter – the specifics are irrelevant," Jonah said. "What does matter is this: I have recorded, on a scroll, events which will occur three months from now in this city. You will be profoundly affected by these events. I have been very specific about the details – about the exact day they will happen. I could not have predicted this on the basis of any logic alone, however powerful." Jonah withdrew a scroll, closed, from his robes. "Here, please take it." He offered the scroll to Synesius. "Keep it someplace safe. Do not read it, until the morning of precisely three months from now."
"And if I do read it, sooner?"
"Then you might act to change the events I predicted, and this would be very dangerous . . . to history. And it could invalidate this very proof I am giving you."
Synesius hesitated. "I am not sure I completely understand . . . When I examine your words in three months, shortly after I learn about the events which will soon occur, this will cause me to believe that you have been . . . to the future and returned?"
Jonah nodded. "Someone once said – will say – that there are more things possible in this world than we can ever imagine."
Synesius took the scroll. "I do not believe you but I lose nothing by taking this text."
* * *
Synesius received an invitation to dine with Marcellinus and Augustine the next day. He walked in the coolness of the first evening star to Marcellinus's home. Its furnishings were even more splendid than Augustine's. Synesius accepted a cup of rust-colored wine offered by a servant and followed him to the two men seated by a window. Neither one was happy.
"–The Roman soldiers killed far more than necessary," Augustine was saying.
"I had no choice," Marcellinus replied, smiled briefly at Synesius, and waved him to a chair. "Our faithful appealed to the Emperor for protection – the Donatists are accosting them in the marketplace, demanding they give up their devotion to Rome or be beaten . . . or worse."
Augustine shook his head, gravely. "Yet answering violence with violence cannot be the way. And they are still the majority here in Africa. You were their champion once, not very long ago."
Marcellinus nodded. "Yes, I believed Alaric and the Goths were the greater threat to us, then. Now . . . ." He joined Augustine in the head shaking, and looked again at Synesius.
"I, too, believe that killers who call themselves Christians are the greater threat to us now," Synesius replied bluntly.
Augustine looked keenly at Synesius. "But if we mirror their violence, are we not also killers who call themselves Christian?"
"What would you have me do?" Marcellinus asked, with ill-concealed irritation.
"Go to Alexandria," Augustine replied. "Even with its diminished holdings, the Library contains scrolls, recordings of the true doctrine, that can help us triumph – on the basis of reason not blood."
Marcellinus considered.
Synesius's heart pounded at the prospect of returning to Alexandria–
"I cannot command you," Augustine softly addressed Marcellinus. "You are the Emperor's Secretary of State. You command me. All I can do is suggest and propose."
"You want me out of Carthage," Marcellinus said, coldly.
"I do not deny it," Augustine replied. "You have become a target of the Donatists's rage – a name they can attach to their devil. But our need for scrolls that support our positions, texts that can only be found in Alexandria, is real. Your brother Apringius can assume your responsibilities here in Carthage when you leave. . . . Again, I am only proposing. The decision is yours."
"I need to think about this," Marcellinus said, in a tone that indicated he wished to discuss it no further. "I believe our food awaits us." He stood, and motioned the two priests to follow him into the next room.
Augustine nodded and rose.
Synesius did the same.
As the three walked to their meal, Augustine touched Synesius on the arm and whispered. "I am trying to save not only the Church but his life."
* * *
"The sea is clear and blue today," Synesius remarked to Marcellinus, as their ship, an old square-rigged vessel, embarked from the harbor at Carthage. "Not much of Homer's dark wine in the water."
Marcellinus scowled. "This boat looks as if it was constructed before the siege of Troy."
"It is best that our arrival does not attract attention in Alexandria," Synesius said.
Marcellinus nodded. "At least our voyage should be swift – the men tell me there is a good northwest wind on the sea. With that at our back, we should see the red light of Pharos within ten to twelve days."
"Some say it is the eye of God, watching over all who come to Alexandria by sea."
"Pagan talk," Marcellinus grumbled. "The Pharos Lighthouse was constructed by man."
"Cannot what man constructs convey the vision of God?" Synesius asked.
"Only if the men who constructed were believers in the true triune God," Marcellinus replied. "And the Lighthouse was constructed 300 years before Jesus Christ walked this Earth."
"So was the Library," Synesius said. "It, too, was constructed by Alexander's general, Ptolemy. Does that mean the texts it yet holds cannot bring us closer to God?"
Marcellinus turned from the sea to Synesius. "You know my opinion of the texts in the Library. I am not at all sure that Theophilus – or Cae
sar's men before him – were wrong to burn them. I am undertaking this voyage only out of respect for Augustine."
Synesius was silent.
"You are no great lover of the texts in the Library, either," Marcellinus pressed his point. "You make this voyage not to save the scrolls but the pagan beauty who protects them."
[Ptolemais, four days later, 413 AD]
Synesius and Marcellinus looked out at the small boat that was approaching theirs. The water was painted glimmering orange by the last rays of the sun. It blended well with the colorful garb of the two priests on the approaching boat. They were Synesius's priests. They looked grim.
"Your vessel was observed a few hours ago," Flavius, the grimmer of the priests, told Synesius and Marcellinus when the four were seated at a table with dates and wine. "We were hoping you might be aboard."
"So much for being inconspicuous," Marcellinus muttered.
"This vessel is indeed very ordinary," Flavius replied. "But Josephus was sure he saw you on the bow." Flavius nodded to Josephus, who smiled nervously and nodded deferentially. Flavius turned to Synesius. "We were hoping you were returning to Ptolemais."
"I have the honor of accompanying Marcellinus to Alexandria on behalf of Augustine."
Flavius started to speak but sipped his wine instead.
"Is the Bishop's presence urgently needed in Ptolemais now?" Marcellinus inquired. "I assume that is so, otherwise you would not be making this visit."
"Yes," Flavius replied. "The Nitrians are at large again. They burned three homes, just yesterday."
Marcellinus sighed. "Too many fires, too few men of God to put them out."
Synesius shook his head. "I am needed in Alexandria."
Marcellinus stroked his chin and addressed Synesius. "Alexandria is the jewel. But neither can we afford to lose Ptolemais to the heretics. . . . Go with your worthy priests to Ptolemais tonight. And then come to me in Alexandria."
* * *
Synesius touched one of the alabaster columns of his home in Ptolemais and looked down at the harbor. "I never tire of looking at this." He drank deeply of his wine.
Flavius and Josephus nodded. "The Romans rebuild well. The elders say it is even more impressive now than before the great earthquake," Josephus said.
Unburning Alexandria (Sierra Waters) Page 3
