A Flame in Byzantium aoc-1

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  From what little I have learned of your wife's condition, she will require fairly constant care. Those with such symptoms are never certain when they will once again be seized by the terrible cramping that you described and which I witnessed for myself yesterday. I certainly share your concern. To be candid, I am not sure there is much I can offer to relieve her of her suffering, but what I am able to do, you may be confident I will make every effort to do. In cases such as hers it is most important to alleviate the immediate suffering, but beyond that the cause must be determined and a course of treatment reached that will not in any way increase the symptoms of this or any other disease.

  Let me urge you to encourage all your household to pray for the speedy and complete recovery of your beloved wife, for as you are aware, nothing can happen without the aid of God. Such supplications may succeed where no medicine can.

  That is not to say that the case is hopeless and only the intervention of Heaven will save Antonina. This is far from the case; your wife's health is not good but she is not in danger of losing her life yet, and with prompt action and good attention, she may recover in good time and enjoy a long life free of pain and attendant distresses. Let me emphasize this to you: at this time I do not fear for her life. To be sure, if she continues as she is going now, then my view of the gravity of her case will change, and of course no illness that so prostrates a woman can be regarded lightly, but there is much room for hope and I want you to think of my treatment in this light.

  It is a great honor to have so distinguished a patient, but I trust you will not be offended in any way if I say that it would please me far more if there was no cause for us to meet. The illness of Antonina is not an opportunity for advancement, as many might see it, but an occasion for the best and most devoted service not only to the benefit of the august lady herself, but the office of physician which was elevated by having the Apostle Loukas at the head of its numbers.

  At your convenience I will take up temporary residence in your house in whatever quarters you see fit to assign to me. I confess I do not know your eunuch slave Simones, but if you say that his recommendation brought me to your attention, then I will seek him out eagerly to tender my gratitude for his kindness on my behalf.

  In the meantime, I ask you take what consolation you can in the knowledge that I will dedicate all my skills to ending the travail your wife currently endures, and I will strive to restore her health so that she may once again live as so august a lady ought to live.

  With my prayers and thanks, by my own hand,

  Mnenodatos

  physician

  8

  Night hung over Alexandria, oppressive in its remoteness. There was a lazy breeze off the Mare Internum, blowing toward the swath of the Nile.

  Drosos stood in the window of his largest reception room staring out into the darkness. Although it was late, he was still in his short military dalmatica and formal, highly embossed lorica. Only his mussed dark hair gave any indication of the distress that consumed him: it was the Feast of the Circumcision and Epiphany was five days away.

  "Captain?" Chrysanthos had come into the room a short while before and was still waiting for Drosos to address him.

  "I know," Drosos said distantly, not leaving the window.

  "The Guard is waiting." Chrysanthos kept his words level and without feeling but this served only to mask his deep concern for his superior. "You requested they accompany you."

  Drosos nodded, his broad back rigid under his ceremonial armor.

  "It is after midnight," Chrysanthos said as tactfully as he could.

  "The nights are long," Drosos remarked inconsequentially.

  "It is the dark of the year," Chrysanthos agreed, staring at the whitewashed walls, noting the smudges above the braziers.

  "The Copts are fasting tonight and tomorrow. They do not feast until Epiphany." He said the last word as if it were gall.

  "Yes; I know."

  "They say it's heretical of them." He stopped talking, his eyes fixed on the large buildings that loomed out of the jumble of darknesses that was the city. "God," he whispered. "He does not know what he is asking."

  Chrysanthos suddenly found it difficult to speak. "Drosos. If it is so unendurable—"

  "I am Captain here," Drosos said in a still voice that silenced the other man. "I have been given a command by the Emperor. I am sworn to carry it out."

  "There are others who will do it if you give the word," Chrysanthos told Drosos, wishing that he would turn and face him.

  "Would you!" He asked it lightly but his hands closed into hard fists at his sides.

  Chrysanthos hesitated. "No."

  "You are the Emperor's officer, as I am." He looked up at the remote stars. "They say God watches the stars as He watches men, to the end of the world." Under the metal of his lorica his chest was aching.

  "Your escort—" Chrysanthos reminded him.

  "Yes." At last he turned away from the window and his face was blank with suffering. He crossed the room to Chrysanthos. "I am ready."

  "They're in the courtyard. Four of them, armed." Chrysanthos looked closely at Drosos, seeing how much he had changed from the man he knew on campaign in Italy. "Are you all right, Captain?"

  Drosos met Chrysanthos' eyes. "No."

  "Is there—"

  "No. Nothing." Drosos moved past him, walking directly and purposefully to the door. He stopped there, and said without looking at Chrysanthos, "If you want to leave, I understand."

  "Thank you," Chrysanthos said, longing to take advantage of the offer. "I will remain here for the time being."

  "Um." Drosos nodded, unable to express the painful gratitude he felt at his subordinate's loyalty. "When I return… share a skin of wine with me."

  "If you like," Chrysanthos said carefully, thinking that he had never needed to guard his tongue as much as he did now.

  "I'll need a drink by then," Drosos said, and left the room. As he descended the stairs to the ground floor, he tried to calm his thoughts. He was the Emperor's officer and he had orders to carry out and there was nothing more to be said. He walked more quickly as he approached the escort waiting in the courtyard. "Let's get this over with," he told them as he strode to the door, letting them scramble to keep up with him.

  The streets were almost empty and those few, furtive men who saw the soldiers hurried away from them, wanting nothing to do with anyone from the Byzantine garrison. Neither Drosos nor his Guard paid any attention to the others, going quickly to the enormous buildings Drosos had watched from his window.

  Two Greek scholars waited for Drosos at the gates to the Library, and they admitted him with deference.

  "You are most welcome," the younger said to Drosos.

  "Am I?" Drosos asked, his words brittle and light. "Well, I will strive to remember that."

  The older scholar regarded Drosos with curiosity and puzzlement. "Captain?"

  "Pay no mind to what I say," Drosos told them. "It's late and I want to get this settled as soon as possible. I must send a full report to the Censor before we… before we start the fires."

  "May God aid our endeavors," said the younger, pious ardor in his face. "This has been a long time coming. If the vision of the Emperor is to be fulfilled, we must see that temptation is expunged from the world so that we may better serve the cause of Heaven."

  "Yes. Of course." Drosos motioned to his four Guards to remain at the gates. "Show me…"He was not able to finish his request.

  Neither scholar appeared to notice this. "Yes, there is much to see," said the older. "If you will follow us, I will be pleased to explain this place to you."

  "If you would," Drosos said, trying to be polite. He let the two scholars lead the way into the largest of the four buildings that surrounded the vast central courtyard.

  "This," said the younger as they approached the largest building, "is called the Mother. It is the oldest of the libraries and was built in the time before the birth of the Christ. It has two war
ehouses where materials not yet catalogued are stored. We have already determined that what is in them is not Christian, and so we need have no reluctance about burning them along with the Library itself." He stepped aside so that Drosos could enter ahead of them.

  "On the main floor are works of philosophy from several lands. I understand that some are from lands far to the east and that there are records about the peoples in the heart of Africa." The older scholar rubbed his hands together. "These works would lead the unwary soul to great error."

  "Indeed?" said Drosos. "I am only a soldier, and I do not understand how that information might hurt the faith of one who read these works."

  The younger scholar shook his head. The uneven light from the braziers made his shadow dance on the walls, huge and misshapen. "The Emperor has determined that those who pursue studies of material that is not Christian often are seduced into following areas of learning that imperil the soul. You think, as most soldiers must, I suppose, that you might have strategic reasons to want to know about… the peoples of Africa, for example. Surely you would seek out such intelligence if you were expected to campaign there."

  "That had crossed my mind," said Drosos, relieved that the scholar had provided him an excuse for his reluctance. "It would make the campaign more effective if we knew what we were getting into. The same might be said of many other areas of learning, because a soldier never knows what information might give him the advantage in battle."

  The older scholar chuckled. "You soldiers are such pragmatists. But I suppose you need to be."

  The younger scholar was not as amused. "And for a simple military campaign you would imperil your soul. What are scouts for, if not to obtain the information you require? And they do not lead you into doubt and error as much of these records might. Think what would become of you if you or your men should be captivated by the terrible gods of the barbarians around us. You assume that this cannot happen, but we know that it can." He was leading the way down the hall. "There are texts here on plants and animals found through the world."

  "Where is the harm in studying that?" Drosos wondered aloud.

  "You are not aware of the subtle ways in which these texts turn the mind from the adoration of God and the veneration of his Saints," said the older scholar. "The

  Emperor is aware of this, and we must praise him for his wisdom in sparing others from the dangers that are present here."

  They had entered a cavernous room that was lit by braziers. Huge pigeon-hole shelves lined the walls and stood in serried ranks down the length of the chamber. Drosos stared at the mass of rolled and fan-folded scrolls that were stored around him and the breath nearly stopped in his throat.

  "You see we have an enormous task ahead of us," remarked the older scholar. "Luckily there are excellent records for this room and we can identify every work here."

  "So many," Drosos said dreamily.

  "Yes. The oldest scroll here is a treatise on shipbuilding from Samos. From what we have determined, it was written at the time of Perikles." The older scholar pursed his lips. "They worshipped idols, those old Greeks."

  "Perikles," murmured Drosos. "Can you tell me which one it is?"

  The younger scholar frowned his disapproval. "It is not important that you know that."

  "I was… merely curious," said Drosos. "I have never seen anything but a bronze vase from the time of Perikles." He took a deep breath but still had the sensation of having insufficient air in his lungs.

  The two scholars led him through the room. "There is a smaller chamber beyond this," said the younger. "It is devoted to works on botany, for the most part. It is a pity that the authors were such dreadful pagans, attributing the properties and virtues of the plants to the activities of deities and supernatural beings instead of to the Will of God."

  "You can see, Captain, that the Emperor has considered this most carefully." The older scholar indicated a narrow, steep stairway. "There are medicinal texts on the floor immediately above us, and material on jewels, metals and rare earths on the floor above that. Some of those writings come from far away and their heretical content is more obvious than in works written in the Empire."

  "Medicinal texts and metals. These things can be of great value to soldiers," Drosos said trying to speak in a disinterested way.

  "We can show them to you, if you require it, Captain," offered the older scholar.

  "That won't be necessary." He had not intended to be harsh with these two, but the words were out before he could stop them.

  "No; soldier's pragmatism," said the older scholar to the younger. "You see he is a man of good sense. He leaves these matters to those equipped to deal with them, as a good officer of the Emperor ought."

  The words stung Drosos like a lash; he closed his eyes so that he would not have to look at the two men accompanying him, or at the doors into rooms filled with books. "Are the others like this?" The question was out before he could phrase it properly; he mastered himself sufficiently to give the older scholar a cool stare.

  "Very similar. The Daughter Library of Christian writing is on the far side of the courtyard, if you need to inspect it." The older scholar had become slightly servile and Drosos wondered if the man felt as oppressed as he did.

  Before Drosos could speak, the younger scholar said, "You will have to take every precaution to be sure that the Christian Daughter escapes the flames. If any harm should come to those sacred writings, the loss to the world would be incalculable."

  Drosos did not trust himself to speak. He motioned to the two men to take him out of the building. "What do the other Daughter Libraries contain?"

  "Oh, works of history and literature. A few are interesting to Christian scholars, but the Emperor has rightly pointed out that the only history any Christian needs is the history of the world since His coming. The Testaments are literature enough and philosophy enough for the soul of any man, and the writing of good Christian scholars have more merit and worth than all the pagan writings of the world. What man desires to know things that will condemn his soul to eternal torment?" The younger scholar indicated the long rows of shelving. "Think of the improvement in the world if one tenth of this mass were devoted to determining the true nature of Christ. This would be a shrine as sacred as Hagia Sophia."

  "But might not there be…" Drosos began, then let his thought remain unfinished.

  "You forget that few men have the wisdom to know the difference between information and knowledge, and they often confuse one with the other," said the older scholar. "A great pope or metropolitan might read some of these works without danger, but there are many others who assume they would not be led astray who would be at the greatest risk."

  "Including pragmatic soldiers," said Drosos, his neck and shoulder aching now, and his heart.

  "Most certainly," said the older scholar, his attitude almost comradely. "It is a sign of your virtue that you recognize this."

  "Is it?" Drosos asked, feeling more desolate than he ever had in the aftermath of battle. As they left the building, he looked back at it.

  "It will take care to burn it safely," the younger scholar warned him. "It is just as well that the burning is being left to you and your soldiers or it might be disastrous."

  "Yes; disastrous." The lorica Drosos wore felt as if it had shrunk, compressing his chest in its brass embrace.

  "We will see that you are given every assistance," the younger scholar promised him. "You and your men have only to tell us what we must do and we will perform your orders to the best of our abilities."

  "How many are you? scholars who are willing to assist in the burning," asked Drosos.

  "Some have refused, which is to be expected. We have kept a list of their names to pass on to the Court Censor and the Emperor for whatever action they believe is appropriate." The younger scholar cleared his throat.

  "There are forty-eight of us; there are several hundred scholars here, but most of the Coptic scholars have refused to help on the grounds that thi
s is an Alexandrian monument and they are not willing to diminish it, even at the hazard of their souls. Since they are heretics in any case, we have taken no notice of them."

  "Will they resist us, do you think?" Drosos asked, hoping that he might find an excuse for disobeying the Emperor's orders in opposition from the Copts.

  "They have said they will not," the younger scholar said with pride. "They have admitted that their allegiance to the Library is as much vanity as dedication and they are willing to stand aside if we agree to keep the Christian Daughter intact."

  "We have spent over a month attempting to persuade them to join us, but they are not willing," said the older scholar as he led the way across the courtyard to the second-largest building. "All the documents in this Daughter are in foreign tongues—nothing in the walls is in Latin or Greek."

  Drosos stared up at the stone front of the Foreign Daughter and he had to bite his lower lip hard to keep from weeping. "How many manuscripts are stored here?"

  "They say there are over twenty thousand, but I assume that is a boast," said the older scholar. "Perhaps twelve thousand at the most, or so I believe. This Daughter has one small warehouse, but it is two streets away, and you will have to arrange for that to be burned at another time. It is too dangerous to try to control two fires at the same time, or so your officer explained it to me yesterday."

  "Two fires—yes, two fires are much too dangerous," said Drosos, hardly hearing the words.

  The younger scholar indicated the Third Daughter. "This Library has two large warehouses directly behind it, but they front on the leatherworkers' market, and so it will be tricky to keep the burning from spreading."

  "My men will see to it," Drosos declared, wishing fervently he did not have to listen to any of this. "I will send a contingent of Guardsmen to you tomorrow after-noon and you can show them everything that will have to be protected." He gazed around the courtyard, thinking for a wild moment that there might be a way to protect all of it, or perhaps a few of the warehouses. Surely the loss of one building would be enough to satisfy the Censor. He imagined all the arguments he might put forth, and abandoned the notion at once. His orders were specific and if he failed to carry them out, he would be disgraced.