Analog SFF, November 2008

by Dell Magazine Authors

  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."

  * * * *

  Part II

  [Carthage, 413 ad]

  "Synesius of Cyrene, Bishop of Ptolemais,” Augustine's man, a Nubian, intoned in a rich, mellifluous voice, introducing Synesius with a flourish.

  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 the scroll and sighed. “It is named The City of God." Augustine nodded to the Nubian, who receded from the richly 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 right 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. It comes as a response to the lingering cruelty of pagan Romans who have not yet seen the light and the continuing cruelty 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’ eyebrow raised slightly at the offer of kykeon—it was 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.

  "I fell in love with her in an instant."

  "You can live a whole life in an instant,” Augustine said, eyes closed. “Sometimes it is better that way."

  "She refuses to leave Alexandria,” Synesius said. “She will be killed if she stays."

  "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. Let me see to the Donatians first. Then I will introduce you to someone who might be able to help."

  * * * *

  Synesius looked from his room to the city of Carthage below. His room was plain, nothing like the purple 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, if he could prevail against the Donatians, 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. Just as the Christian fanatics would poison the Church with their hatred, then rebuild it with that hatred as their mortar and goal, as their material and final causes....

  People he loved would be victims of that poison. His three sons, now in Alexandria. Beautiful Hypatia, battling an even darker night 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, soft reflection of the sky, yet far brighter than any shadows in Plato's cave. No sign of darkness or poison here, yet that was precisely the problem.

  He heard footsteps at his open door. He turned from Carthage to the 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 looked familiar. “Thank you."

  The visitor smiled. “Augustine told me he led you to believe that it might be a few days before I came to you—but I arrived in Carthage a little sooner than expected. I hope this moment is not inopportune."

  "I am grateful, truly, 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 with you?"

  Synesius nodded and motioned to the chair next to him 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 only saying 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 much 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 that will occur three months from now in this city. You will be profoundly affected by these events, and you will learn about them shortly before they occur. 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 that will soon occur, this will cause me to believe that you have been ... t
o 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 want to believe you."

  * * * *

  Synesius received an invitation to dine with Marcellinus and Augustine the next day. He walked in the coolness of the first evening star to the home of his friend. It was even more splendid than Augustine's quarters. Synesius accepted a cup of rust-colored wine and sat with the two men by a window. Neither one was happy.

  "—The Roman soldiers have been brutal,” Augustine was saying.

  "I had no choice,” Marcellinus replied. “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, and 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 head shaking and looked at Synesius.

  "I, too, believe that killers who call themselves Christians are the greater threat to us now,” Synesius replied bluntly. Much as he admired Augustine, he owed Marcellinus his loyalty. And he agreed with him.

  Augustine looked keenly at Synesius. “But if we mirror their violence, are we not also killers who call themselves Christian, to them?"

  "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, argument, not blood."

  Marcellinus considered.

  Synesius's heart pounded at the prospect of returning to Alexandria.

  "I cannot command you,” Augustine said softly. “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. “Though the fault is not completely yours, you have become a target of the Donatists’ rage—a name they can attach to their devil.... And our need for scrolls that support our positions, scrolls 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 will 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 even before the siege of Troy, however."

  "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."

  "Pagans talking,” 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 it were believers in the true triune God,” Marcellinus replied. “And the Lighthouse was constructed three hundred 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 Caesar's men—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. “Do not pretend that you are. You make this voyage not to save the texts in the Library, 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 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, along with dates and wine. “We were hoping you might be aboard."

  "So much for being inconspicuous,” Marcellinus muttered.

  "This vessel is indeed,” 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 getting active 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. “Alexandria is the jewel, true. 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 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 beautiful now than before the great earthquake,” Josephus said.

  "I am sure that is true,” Synesius replied. “If catastrophe does not destroy you, it makes you stronger."

  "Perhaps, then, we are blessed,” Flavius said quietly. He lifted his cup to the harbor. “To the most beautiful Ptolemais of all."

  Synesius emptied his cup. He looked down at the mosaic on the floor. “Paul of Tarsus visited the Ptolemais on the Galilee.... Perhaps that makes it more beautiful than this.... No, Paul was blind to one of the most inspiring beauties of this life—Paul was blind to the beauty of women.... Yet Paul was martyred by Nero, and that deserves our unquestioning faith.... We will all be martyrs soon, if the Nitrians and the Donatists and the other lunatics have their way."

  Flavius and Josephus had no response. Synesius's servant refilled his empty cup.

  "Bring me Benjamin,” Synesius commanded.

  Benjamin arrived in the very small hours of the morning. Synesius's priests had left an hour earlier.

  The two were alone on the mosaic.

  "I saw someone who claimed to be your father, in Carthage.” Synesius spoke plainly, still under the influence of the wine.

  "Yes, I know."

  "And you know, I assume, that he looks to be not even five years older than you?"

  "Looks can deceive,” Benjamin replied, smiling
.

  "This is a source of mirth for you? I assure you—"

  "I apologize,” Benjamin interrupted. “Truly.... Yes, Jonah is my father. And he indeed is my age. And I know he explained to you how that could be, and he gave you ... instructions on how you could prove that."

  "Perhaps this very conversation is sufficient proof."

  "I would follow his instructions."

  Synesius considered. “Tell me about the Nitrians in Ptolemais."

  "Very strange,” Benjamin replied. “I thought their greatest venom was reserved for Christians who disagreed with them. But they seem to burn indiscriminately now. They burned my father's house again."

  "Why? What was left for them to burn?"

  "I do not know. Perhaps they wanted to destroy what my father had buried under the house—more scrolls."

  "And did they succeed?"

  "I have the scrolls."

  "Good,” Synesius said. “And is your father safe?"

  Benjamin nodded.

  "Good,” Synesius said again. “But none of us will be safe—none of us that we love will be safe—until we destroy the destroyers."

  "Flavius told me that your soldiers are ready."

  "Yes,” Synesius replied. “If your information about where they are hiding is correct, we can scourge the Earth of them—or, at least, our earth here in Ptolemais—before sunrise."

  "My information is correct."

  Synesius nodded. “Will you come with us?"

  "I will."

  * * * *

  The Nitrians, surprised, fought ferociously. They brought down four or five Romans for each one of themselves. But the Roman numbers eventually drowned the Nitrian caterwaul. The Nitrian leader, mortally wounded but still conscious, was brought to Synesius.

  "You have accomplished nothing,” the Nitrian rasped.

  "You are barely more than a boy,” Synesius said. He felt ill. He felt inhuman, unChristian. The Nitrian was fifteen, sixteen years at most. Their leader. The oldest of this group that had just been killed, but not before they had taken more than four times their number and wounded many more. “Tell me who else of your kind I can talk to—to stop this bloodshed—and God will forgive you."

  The boy's sneer cracked the blood that was caked near the corner of his mouth. He coughed and his body shuddered. His voice was barely audible. “We do not need your forgiveness. The Engineer—” He coughed again in savage spasms and died.