* * *
Synesius walked the streets of Carthage. His sandals clacked on worn stones. His blood pounded in his ears and clouded his eyes. But he did not need to see clearly. He knew where he was. At the end of streets.
He held Hypatia's heart in his hand. Her locket felt warm.
He had arrived back here, in this time, earlier than expected. The devices were imprecise, as Jonah had told him the very first time they had met, here in Carthage, in Synesius's quarters. That was less than a year ago, in the time that had elapsed here. And, coincidentally, less than a year in his own lifetime – coincidence, because he now understood that the two, time elapsing in a given place, time elapsing in a person's life, could be vastly different if that person traveled through time.
What Synesius knew he did not know were Augustine's intentions in this matter of Hypatia. Synesius had sent word to Augustine the Bishop of Hippo, still here in Carthage, that he had returned from his mission. Augustine had requested his presence. Synesius was due in Augustine's residence in less than an hour.
Synesius's slave appeared from under a canopy. "You walk very quickly," she said. "I always forget that."
"I said I wanted to walk alone," Synesius replied.
"A squall is approaching, faster than anticipated."
"Anticipated by whom?"
The slave smiled. "You cannot smell it yet, but you will soon. Do you want to present yourself to Augustine liked a drowned scroll? Or–"
"You can protect me from the elements, too?"
The slave nodded. "This garment I am wearing is resistant to water, and it easily expands to shield two."
He nodded and went under the expanded garment and enjoyed the closeness of her body. He enjoyed it even though he knew her body was false. Maybe he even enjoyed it more, because of that.
* * *
"Synesius." Augustine put down his scroll, coughed, heavily, three or four times, and rose to greet his guest.
Synesius lowered his head and took the proffered hand.
"Please, sit," Augustine rasped. "Wine?"
Synesius sat. He slowly shook his head no. "You are not well? What are you drinking?"
Augustine sipped a hot, steaming liquid. "Heated wine, honey, and water." He regarded Synesius. "You look ill yourself, my brother. You have been to hell and back. Was I wrong to have sent you on this mission?" His voice was a hoarse shell of itself.
"The mission is such that I am still in hell," Synesius said. "To move unnaturally forward in time, even once, is to forever be outside of natural time, even if you return to where you began."
Augustine nodded. "I want to learn all about your travels, to learn what you have learned. You may well find that talking to me about that will ease your burden. Let our brief meeting, today, be the first of many."
"Debriefing," Synesius muttered.
"What?"
Synesius smiled, slightly. "A phrase from the future. From the Germanic-Latin tongue they speak in that time. A phrase – which explains what you have just said you would like to do with me."
"I will endeavor to remember that," Augustine said. "May I ask you, did you find love in the future, in the age to which you traveled?"
"Love of a woman, or–"
"Yes, love of a woman," Augustine said, and coughed.
"Yes," Synesius said.
"Yes, you found the love of a woman?" Augustine asked.
"Yes," Synesius replied, again.
"And was this woman not the woman you loved in Alexandria?"
"Why do you put that in the past tense?"
"I meant no disrespect," Augustine said, reassuringly. "I was just asking."
"I do not know," Synesius said.
Augustine again regarded Synesius. "You must soon commence to write a journal, post-dated, in which you describe how Hypatia was put to death in 415, mutilated by Nitrians wielding the shells of oysters. In that way, history will be preserved should you manage to save her." He clapped his hands loudly, a signal for the Nubian. "I require more of this hot drink." He coughed repeatedly.
"It is complicated," Synesius said. "The woman I love in Alexandria, and the woman I found in the future, are in some sense connected."
"The same person, at a different time, with a different face?" Augustine asked. "I understand that is possible."
"No, not the very same person. Of that, at least, I am certain."
The Nubian entered, and poured steaming wine and honey for his master. Augustine sipped very slowly, closed his eyes, and spoke. "Would it be possible for me to meet her – your woman from the future? Did you bring her back with you?"
Synesius did not answer. He touched the hilt of his knife, hidden in the waistband of his garment.
"Given the powerful feelings you clearly harbor for this woman," Augustine continued, "I believe you would not have wanted to part–"
"She is outside," Synesius said, "in the quarters you reserve for the slaves of your visitors."
"You brought her here as a slave?" Augustine asked, surprised. He spoke to the Nubian. "Invite her to join us."
The Nubian nodded and left.
"You have been intimate with this woman? Of course you have, I can see it in your face. You realize how dangerous it could be to procreate with a woman from the future?"
"She assures me she can control her fertility," Synesius replied.
Augustine scoffed and coughed. "Apparently women of the future spin tales of their mysterious power just as do women of our own time–"
The Nubian entered, with Synesius's slave.
Synesius's slave nodded perfunctorily at Augustine, and walked to Synesius's side. She placed her hand on his shoulder above his hand that again touched the hilt of his knife.
Synesius looked at her, but did not smile.
"Welcome to Carthage," Augustine said to her. "I do not usually welcome slaves, but you are clearly something more." He extended his hand.
She took it and kissed it. "Thank you," she said. "I am honored."
"You speak our Latin perfectly," Augustine observed. "Better than I, at the moment." He coughed again.
"Synesius was a perfect teacher," she said.
Now Synesius smiled, because he knew she spoke his language with this level of perfection at the instant of their first meeting.
"You come from a very distant future," Augustine said.
"Yes," she said.
"A future in which our Latin is still spoken."
"Yes," she said, "but not in common discourse."
"How, then?"
"In scholarly classes, and in recitations still conducted in the Church which you are helping to found," she replied. "And there are languages widely spoken which are derived from Latin, but which you would likely not understand."
"I see," Augustine said. "I am gratified that our Holy Church abides."
"And you are a most revered, holy figure in this future Church."
Augustine smiled. "I find that difficult to believe, but thank you."
"But you must already know this," Synesius's slave said. "For you are in contact with the future."
Augustine nodded slowly. "The future is infinite. I am not in touch with all of it." He looked at Synesius's slave, then at Synesius. "You have been very quiet," he said to Synesius.
Synesius said nothing.
"I know your soul is exhausted," Augustine said. "I sympathize with the toll this journey has truly taken on you. Let us continue this – debriefing, as you say – on another day. Till then, rest and find comfort."
He turned to Synesius's slave. "Thank you for answering my questions so truthfully – may we continue this conversation on another day, as well?"
"Certainly," she said.
Synesius rose, and he and his slave left the room.
* * *
The Nubian drew close to his master. "Your impressions?" Augustine asked his slave.
"Synesius had his hand on a weapon. She restrained him."
"I noticed," Augustine s
aid, "and why do you suppose she did that?"
"She worries about undermining the future, which the murder of Your Eminence at this time would do."
"Yes," Augustine agreed. "Is that all?"
"I am not sure."
"And what does Synesius know?"
"Not clear, either," the Nubian said. "But surely Synesius knew I would have snapped his arm in two before his knife left his garment."
"Presumably," Augustine said, "which is precisely why I ordered you to bring more drink." He shook his head and sighed. "He passed this test. But I would not venture an opinion about the future."
* * *
Synesius and the slave were in bed together. The only clothes in the room were their robes on the floor. A soft Mediterranean breeze blew through the open window.
"He wants me to kill her," Synesius said.
"Of course," the slave replied.
"If I do not kill him, he will instruct someone else to kill Hypatia – someone more devoted to the Church than I."
"Of course," the slave said again, this time kissing the spot right below Synesius's chest where her head had been resting. She lifted her head to speak. "But you know why you – why no one – can kill Augustine. He will become one of the two greatest saints in the Church after the initial disciples. The loss of either Augustine or Aquinas, before their contributions have been made in full measure, would cause irreparable damage to history."
"That was not Augustine," Synesius said.
"We cannot be sure, not on the basis of just a single conversation."
"I can be sure," Synesius said. "I know Augustine."
"Granted," the slave said. "You believe, then, we were conversing with whom, Heron?"
"You no doubt know Heron better than I."
The slave nodded. "And killing Heron here could well do even more damage to history than killing Augustine."
"History can go to hell–"
"You do not believe that. But there is another way to save Hypatia – to save Sierra Waters," the slave said.
"Heron has access to the portals of time. He controls them. No place, no time, can be safe for her."
"We have access to the portals, too."
"Do you know where she is?" Synesius asked.
"No," the slave replied. "But if she is not in Alexandria, in this time, there are only a limited number of places and times where she could be."
* * *
Synesius awoke suddenly. He thought he heard a sound outside his chamber. He looked over at his slave, sound asleep, mouth slightly open, breasts slightly rising, slightly falling, but before he had a chance to fully appreciate her beauty–
Four Roman legionaries burst into the room, followed by a Nubian who looked familiar– Augustine's Nubian servant.
Synesius jumped out of bed and grabbed his sword. His slave, awake now, seized two knives and plunged them into the neck of the legionary closest to her. His wound was fatal, but she received a similar wound from the sword of a second legionary, straight through her naked back into her heart. She collapsed backward into the legionary's free arm, as he withdrew his sword. "Waste of a good night ahead," he said, as she died.
Synesius saw all of this, in the periphery of his vision, as he savagely slashed at two legionaries. One of them shortly sliced off his head.
"Bring everything," the Nubian pointed to the bodies of Synesius and the slave, and to Synesius's head.
* * *
Synesius awoke suddenly. He thought he heard a sound outside his chamber. He looked over at his slave, sound asleep, mouth slightly open, breasts slightly rising, slightly falling, but before he had a chance to fully appreciate her beauty–
Her double, with the exact same face, but fully clothed, entered the room. "We must leave, immediately," she said, loudly enough to wake her twin.
The slave on the bed awoke, and said the same to Synesius. "She comes from the same time and place as I do," she added. "She means to protect us, just as I did you in future London."
* * *
The three walked quickly to the dock.
"We will wait until dawn, and then book passage to Alexandria," the second slave spoke. "Obviously, it is no longer safe for you – or her, or me – in Carthage."
Synesius nodded. He was glad, at least, that the twin slaves were in different garb. He was also glad that he and the slave he loved were still alive – the slave he believed he loved in some strange way. His head ached with the thought of what the second slave had said had just happened. Had he really been killed again? He of course had not actually experienced the cruel death of which the new slave had informed them. Not that he disbelieved her–
"Our choices are as we discussed before we fell asleep," his first slave said. "Hypatia means to save some texts from the fires. There are only three fires she could attempt to prevent – Caesar's, Theophilus's, Omar's."
"True," the second slave said. "But she could also save texts by removing them from the Library at any time prior to any of those fires."
"And put them on a vessel?" Synesius asked. "To where?"
"Let us stay focused on where Hypatia might be, at this moment," the second slave said.
"Likely in times close to all three of the fires, but in other times, as well, if I understand this time travel correctly," Synesius said.
"If you can say that, then you do," the second slave said.
"Are there any times that might be attractive to her for reasons other than the fires?" the first slave asked.
"She first met Heron, when she was posing as Ampharete in 150 AD in the Library," the second slave replied.
Synesius finally smiled. He was beginning to appreciate the value of two other-worldly intelligences, better than just one, attempting to help in these other-worldly pursuits, even if he did not yet know whom they ultimately served. But beggars could not be choosers, and he was most certainly a beggar when it came to understanding the situation, beyond bizarre and incredible, in which he found and had inserted himself. "Thank you for saving us," he said to the second slave.
She smiled, too. "We call it, 're-setting'."
"'Re-setting'"?
"Yes," the second slave replied. "Not just the saving of you, but alerting you to the imminent danger of what you are being saved from. It is a delicate business. You of course have no direct knowledge of what killed you the first time."
"True," Synesius said, "but I find I have not much difficulty believing you."
The second slave nodded. "It is almost as if you have some knowledge of what now did not happen to you. This sometimes occurs – we call it 'wash back'."
The first slave smiled enigmatically. "I see you have developed quite the vocabulary since I first was sent to re-set Synesius."
* * *
"I'm growing weary of your face," Augustine said to Heron, who snorted briefly in response. "And please don't remind me that I see the same in the mirror every day. It is unsettling to talk to oneself. Maybe unholy."
"That is one reason I did not have my voice altered to sound completely like yours," Heron replied, "though my rasp might not have been enough to convince Synesius."
"I suppose I should be grateful that you did not just take my life, and my place, altogether," Augustine said.
"I do not have the time to live out the rest of your life in the years to come," Heron said, "and no one knows exactly what you will do or say in every moment of the rest of your life. Even the slightest difference risks–"
"I know," Augustine said, "risks unraveling history."
Heron nodded. "And you have books to finish, books to write, and I have not the capacity to write them. Some of your greatest work is ahead."
"If you know this, and you read those works, you would not have recollection sufficient to recall and rewrite them?" Augustine chided.
"I have not read most them," Heron admitted. "There are far more books in the future than any man can read, even books as important as yours. You are author of more than one hundred volume
s."
Augustine did some quick calculation. "I see I have much work ahead. But . . . if you were to take my life today, and knew that you were intending to do this, could you not have put my works in the future in some safe place, impervious to my death, so that they survived, or–"
Heron shook his head. "No. They would disappear, wherever I might have put them, since if I killed you today, those books would never have been written in the first place. The same would happen were I to go back in time and destroy the very first text of a book, the original, before any copies had been made. Those books would then exist only in my memory, only if I had read them. And even then–"
"So my books yet to be written which you have not read are my best defense," Augustine mused.
"Yes," Heron said, "an example of what some wit in the future described as the pen being mightier than the sword. And there's also the small matter of my not being a murderer."
Augustine raised his eyebrows. "What would you call what you are trying to do to Hypatia?"
"She already died of a fever, as you know," Heron replied. "I am trying to keep her impostor from doing untold damage."
"And Synesius?"
"Dead in less than a year, also of an illness, as I already told you," Heron replied.
"He has nothing further to write? His treatise on dog breeding is highly respected."
"None that I know of," Heron replied.
"But every minute of anyone's life has value. It is wrong to take another person's life, even a pauper's life, an impostor's life, an author who has written all he will ever write, even someone who is hopelessly ill. Some say it is wrong even to take even one's own life. Those are powers not permitted to mortals," Augustine said. "Though I suppose someone with your power is evidently more than mortal. You somehow inhabit more than the City of Man."
"I am a human being, just like you," Heron said, "caught in the same kind of chess game – chaturanga – as you play in your own affairs, except my opponents are myriad and armed with a knowledge the vastness of which you cannot begin to comprehend and which may even include some future version of myself. But I apologize – I do not mean to be insulting."
Unburning Alexandria (Sierra Waters) Page 12