The Plot to Save Socrates (Sierra Waters Book 1)

by Paul Levinson

  "True," Allectus said. He turned to Max. "I know yours is Maximus, and you paid for the booking, so that is all I need to know." He lifted a jar of wine, caressed its slender neck, and poured some into a bowl. He touched the neck again and looked at Sierra. "This amphora reminds me of you. You have a neck at least as nice, and I would wager you taste even better. Perhaps I should call you amphora."

  Sierra laughed, sipped, and tried to press her advantage. "What did this man -- your passenger -- look like?"

  "Back to him again? Not as good as you, not as good as him" -- he pointed to Max, who nodded thank you -- "not even as good as me. He was older, but not old. What more can I say?"

  "He spoke Greek to you?" Max asked.

  "No, no," Allectus said. "I said he seemed to be Greek -- he spoke Latin."

  "What made you think he seemed Greek?" Max asked.

  "I am not sure -- perhaps his accent. There was something strange about him. But I should say no more -- let us talk of something else. Let us talk of wine and beauty." He turned to Sierra.

  She spoke to Max in English. "If I had a damn phone with me I could show him Thomas's picture."

  Max nodded, dubiously. "That would take quite a phone -- did Thomas invent one with a cross-temporal connection?"

  "No. I have his picture in my phone. Yours too."

  Allectus's eyes were wide with interest. "What language are you speaking?"

  "A kind of German," Max told him, in Latin.

  "Ah yes."

  "Have you ever heard that language before?" Sierra tried again.

  "No. But coming out of your mouth, I know I will never forget it." Allectus turned to Max. "Forgive me for being so blunt -- it is the wine."

  Max smiled graciously. "Nothing to forgive. Her beauty is enchanting." And he wanted the shipmaster to keep talking.

  But the wine had another effect, and the three were soon sound asleep.

  * * *

  Max woke the next morning and breathed in the cool, sweet air of the portico. Sierra was still sleeping beside him, half-wrapped and cuddled in coarse but comfortable sheets. He resisted his impulse, and settled for a quick, soft kiss on her lips.

  She opened her eyes. "Where's Allectus?" she said, groggily.

  "I don't know," Max replied. "Inside, I assume."

  The two rose and walked inside.

  A short, thin man, whom they had not seen before, quickly approached them, with a pouch and a small scroll....

  Max took the pouch. He put his forefinger in, and looked up, dismayed. "He's apparently refunded our fare. It feels like it's all here." He counted the coins. "Yeah, all twenty are here."

  Sierra opened the scroll, and read.

  "I am sorry, but I drank too much and I talked too much last night. I am returning the payment you provided for your voyage. I wish you well."

  They thanked the short man and declined his offer of bread and watered wine.

  They ran down to the river. They had no idea what Allectus's ship -- the Vesta -- looked like. But they asked a variety of people who seemed like they might be knowledgeable, and eventually they heard that the Vesta was about to depart, nearly an hour earlier than originally expected. "The captain said the currents were favorable," a boy with an overflowing basket confirmed and explained.

  Max pulled a silver coin from his toga. He gestured with the coin to the boy. "Can you take us to the Vesta, right now?"

  The boy passed the basket to a friend, snatched the coin, and nodded vigorously. "Yes. Follow me."

  The boy ran, and Sierra and Max followed. The Vesta was docked about half a mile down river. "Look," Sierra said to Max and pointed. Allectus was on the shore, talking to a group of Celts and Roman soldiers.

  "That is the Vesta," the boy said.

  "Thank you," Max replied.

  The boy left, running again.

  Sierra and Max approached Allectus. He caught sight of them. "He doesn't seem very pleased to see us," Sierra observed.

  Allectus turned from his group, and greeted Sierra and Max with a with a deep frown. "You--" he began.

  But a second group of Roman soldiers arrived and commanded everyone's attention. "Go," Allectus told Sierra and Max. "It is not safe--"

  The second group of soldiers suddenly drew swords on the first group. Completely surprised, the first group fell quickly--

  The Celts did a little better. Several of them came over to Allectus, to protect him. Allectus said something in Celtic. One of the Celts handed Max a weapon--

  The attacking Romans were upon them. Two Celts shielded Sierra. The Romans lunged--

  Sierra saw Max. Three Romans were on top of him, slashing. "Max!" She saw him go down in rivulets of blood....

  She turned to get Allectus. She felt a fist in her stomach, then something smashed her jaw, and she was unconscious.

  * * *

  [near the coast of Gaul, 150 AD]

  Sierra became aware of salty air, a warm hand on her forehead, and her stomach pressing against her throat. She opened her eyes and saw Allectus.

  "You are awake," he said, relieved and concerned. "I am afraid the sea does not agree with you."

  "I actually love the sea," she said, in English. Then she caught herself and translated. "Someone hit me in the stomach..."

  "You also received a nasty blow to the head," Allectus said. "You have been unconscious for nearly a day and a night."

  She raised herself, shakily, on an elbow, for a moment--

  "You need more rest," Allectus said. "You were lucky to escape. As was I. Fortunately a large group of my people were nearby. They know how to fight Romans...." His lips twisted. "Although I am not even certain our attackers were Romans, though they dressed like them. But something about them--"

  It all came back to Sierra now, like jagged glass in her soul. "Max!"

  "I am sorry," Allectus said, and took her hand. "Your friend perished. He fought bravely."

  "No!" Sierra cried, and threw aside the hand. She knew Allectus was lying about the last part. She had seen Max slaughtered before he had had a chance to even raise his blade--

  "You will be safe here--"

  "I want to go back--"

  "You need to rest now," Allectus repeated. "It is too dangerous now for ... visitors in Londinium. I do not believe the attackers were seeking me...."

  Sierra closed her burning eyes and tried to understand....

  "We will be stopping briefly at various ports along the way," Allectus continued, "but our destination now will be Athens not Rome. I want to stay as far away as possible now from Romans, until I learn more about what happened in Londinium."

  Sierra felt too weak to speak.

  "I do not know your name," Allectus concluded. "I will call you Ampharete, until you tell me otherwise."

  Chapter Five

  [Phrygia - later, Asia Minor - 404 BC]

  Alcibiades woke up suddenly. He sighed, started to fall back asleep, then heard the sound again. He had been sleeping, naked, half on top of a Persian woman, also naked and sound asleep on her stomach. He had met her just this afternoon -- or was it already yesterday afternoon? He could not recall exactly when they had met or her name.

  He moved himself carefully -- not to avoid waking her, because, with the amount of wine she had consumed, it might well take a thunderclap in her ear to wake her. He moved slowly off of her back and over on to his own because he did not want to make any noise that might give him away, and let any possible intruder know he was here and awake.

  Alcibiades now quickly and quietly got to his feet and looked around.

  A figure stepped forward from a far corner.

  Alcibiades looked for where he had left his knife -- alas, it was on the other side of the unconscious Persian beauty. He looked at her flowing hair and cursed. He had gotten up on the wrong side of their bed.

  "There is no need for weapons, I assure you, not now," the figure stepped closer and said, in a very peculiar yet comprehensible Greek.

  "
Why? My situation is hopeless?" Alcibiades looked around the room.

  "No," the figure said. "Just the opposite -- I'm here to save you."

  "From whom?"

  "I will explain later. For now, you must ready yourself."

  * * *

  Alcibiades dressed.

  The figure looked at the supine form. "She has attractive lines."

  Alcibiades smirked. "Are you a Pythagorean?"

  "In a manner of speaking, perhaps yes."

  The two walked into an adjoining room, and took seats at at an empty table.

  "Are you hungry?" Alcibiades asked.

  "I could eat. Thank you. But we must be quick."

  Alcibiades rose, opened the door to a different room, and summoned a slave.

  "You enjoy the Phrygian hospitality?" the visitor inquired.

  "Are you still thinking about that lovely line in the next room, or the food and drink to come?"

  "Both," the visitor answered.

  "Well, then, I should say that I do very much enjoy the hospitality, but I loathe being in this Persian land. I intend to return to Athens shortly."

  "That is precisely why your life is in danger tonight," the visitor said.

  "Oh? You have yet to tell me from whom."

  "I am not sure," the figure answered. "History says the Spartans are behind this. You have some enemies in Athens, too, as you know. But those specifics really do not matter. Your beloved mentor, Socrates, will be sentenced to death by his own people -- your people, those same Athenian people -- in five years. Were I not here, you would meet your death tonight. In a sense, you still will -- except, I have a plan that will also enable you to live."

  Alcibiades laughed, shook his head, snorted--

  The slave returned with fruit, bread, knives, and wine.

  Alcibiades dismissed him.

  The visitor took wine.

  Alcibiades took a knife, as if to cut a fruit, then swiftly moved around the table and put the knife to his visitor's neck. He held him close with his elbow and other arm.

  Alcibiades was lean and about 45 years of age. The visitor was at least 20 years older and softer. The visitor was at a disadvantage.

  "I am at your mercy," he said to Alcibiades.

  "I am afraid my supply is all but depleted. Let us start again: who are you? What are you doing here?"

  "I told you: I came to save you."

  "And how do I know you did not come to kill me?"

  "I could have killed you in your sleep, and availed myself of your Persian hospitality."

  Alcibiades laughed again, brought the knife closer to his visitor's neck, then relaxed his grip a bit. "Well, it is certainly true enough that you might have tried... But you still have not told me who you are. Is coming to save me the only reason you ventured into this slave farm?"

  "That is what you consider Phrygia?"

  "Why, do you have a higher opinion of this land? I am here only until more Athenians come to their senses, but I suppose that is akin to hoping that asses can discuss philosophy."

  "Phrygia has a proud past, and a prouder future," the visitor maintained. "One day, one of the greatest conquerors in the world will cut the Gordian knot in this land, and go on to subdue much of Asia. It might interest you to know that this conqueror's mentor's mentor's mentor is none other than your Socrates."

  Alcibiades' face flushed. He exhaled. He let go of his visitor. "I will admit that you tease my interest. Let us speak of Socrates. I will let you keep breathing -- for a little longer. I have a weakness for oracles and madmen."

  * * *

  The slave refilled their wine.

  "Tell me more about this student of Socrates, who you claim will mentor a student, who in turn will mentor your world conqueror."

  "He is not you, if that is what you are wondering, Alcibiades."

  Alcibiades made a derisive sound. "You speak with the assurance of a prophet -- I do not believe in them."

  "You may, before the evening is over."

  Alcibiades grunted. "I know that I am not that student of Socrates -- I know better than to waste my time with students, who are likely to wound your heart, in due time."

  "Did you wound Socrates' heart?"

  Alcibiades grew thoughtful. "I doubt it. I do not know if anyone could."

  "Did he wound yours?"

  Alcibiades shook his head. "No.... I did spend an uneventful, frustrating night with him under the same cover, but that is not the same as piercing your heart.... But tell me, who is this seminal student? I would like in times to come to see if your imagination proves true."

  "Imagination has no part in this. I come from the future, as you will soon see in plain evidence."

  "I will look forward to that evidence. But, in either case, whether of fanciful poetry or future history, who is the student? Is it Xenophon? He is young enough to attract a brilliant student, now unknown, but I doubt he has the depth to truly inspire anyone."

  "Not Xenophon. You are correct."

  "Who?"

  "Plato," the visitor replied.

  Alcibiades' eyes narrowed. "Plato? Yes, he has the intelligence and the depth. But he is a brooder, a pessimist. He takes no joy in the flesh.... Zeus help us if the world is to be ruled by someone he engenders with his tutelage!"

  "Once removed," the visitor corrected.

  Alcibiades nodded. "And Plato survives the death of Socrates, of which you spoke earlier?"

  "Yes."

  "Let us talk, then, about death -- my death," Alcibiades said.

  "Good. I wanted to recall your attention to that event, and how we can subvert it."

  Alcibiades looked at a small hole on a near wall, covered by a mat. "It is still dark outside, but dawn will be here in an hour. Where are the assassins you speak of?"

  "They will be here soon," said the visitor.

  "So why do we not just wake up anyone who is sleeping, carry out anyone who cannot be woken, and let the assassins find an empty dwelling?" Alcibiades asked.

  "If they do not kill you tonight, they will keep looking for you until they do," the visitor replied.

  Alcibiades cleared his throat. "And your plan?"

  "We leave everything in this house, just as it is. Except, exactly in your place, where I found you in bed, we place a replica of you, not really alive, but seeming to be. He is murdered in your place."

  "And everyone else?"

  "Our knowledge is that only you were murdered here tonight."

  Alcibiades considered. "I cannot say I care about her deeply, or even at all. I met her just this past afternoon. But I do not feel good saddling Queen Esther with some half-alive demon, who will be slaughtered right on top of her, as she sleeps, probably dreaming of me inside her."

  "Queen Esther, the wife of Xerxes?"

  "I am joking about her name, of course. I cannot recall her name."

  "In my day, Esther is thought to be a myth, created by the Jews," the visitor said.

  Alcibiades laughed, sourly. "So the man who spins tales about the future is intolerant of tales about the past? Well, I never had the pleasure of knowing the real Queen Esther personally -- a little before my time -- but from what I understand, she truly existed."

  The visitor took that in, closed his eyes. "I sometimes wish I could be just a tourist in my travels. There is so much to learn, and enjoy, here, and at other times. But matters of life and death, it seems, take precedence."

  "Who are you?" Alcibiades demanded.

  The visitor opened his eyes. "As I told you, I am from the future. But not just the near future. I am from the far future, and I travel, and I live, at some length, during certain times. And I do what I can."

  Alcibiades shook his head, disbelieving, but perhaps not as much as before. "Why are you so eager to save my life?"

  "I think you can be of help in my greater plan, to save your mentor Socrates. He has said, more than once, that you are his most beloved student. He would listen to you--"

  Alcibiades starte
d to object--

  "--but there is not time to discuss this now," the visitor said, tersely. "Your killers will be upon you, soon."

  * * *

  Part of the visitor's plan was already in place. Two of his men were standing guard outside the dwelling, with what the visitor claimed was a replica of Alcibiades, wrapped in cloth, and strapped to a wheeled, upright contraption. Each man was lightly armored, and carried a long spear and a short sword.

  "Your guards have been very patient, waiting here all of this time," Alcibiades remarked.

  "They are well trained," the visitor responded.

  Alcibiades began to talk to the men--

  The visitor interrupted. "They speak no Greek."

  Alcibiades nodded, then approached the living shroud. "May I?" he asked. "I have an urge, in my vanity, to look at myself..."

  "Of course," the visitor said. "You would see him very soon, in any case."

  Alcibiades was surprised to find his hand was trembling. He unwrapped the top of the cloth, and gasped. He was looking at himself, sleeping, breathing.

  "Is he drugged? If I woke him, could we talk?"

  "No," the visitor said. "He has no mind, no soul. He inhales and exhales, in the way that any living creature breathes, and he looks like you, in a sense he is you, but he is just the shell of you. He has never really lived."

  "How...."

  "A tiny piece of your skin was taken from you, without your knowledge -- probably as you slept with one of your lovers -- some time ago. And, from that, we were able to grow ... this."

  "And you propose to bring him into my room, and place him on top of--"

  One of the men said something in a language unknown to Alcibiades, and gestured to the right with his spear.

  The visitor looked in that direction, as did Alcibiades.

  "Your killers are very near," the visitor said. "We may have to change our plan."

  Alcibiades squinted into the dark, strained every bit of his hearing. "What does your soldier think is out there? I cannot see or hear a thing."

  "His hearing is a lot more acute than yours or mine," the visitor said. "It is enhanced by ... let me just assure you that their hearing is to ours as the strength of Hercules is to yours."

  Alcibiades was not entirely convinced. "How are my killers approaching?"