Unburning Alexandria (15 page)

"How do we save the scrolls?" Max asked.

That brought her out of her reverie.

"Let's assume all the lost books are here, right now," Max said. "How do we save them? Bury them somewhere? Bring them with us through time? That would be more reliable, with the scrolls in our possession, but it would take an enormous amount of doing."

"That's what Heron was going to show me," Sierra replied. "'Rooms resistant to flames,' is what he told me."

"Ah yes, those rooms. Cleopatra's sister was taking us there in Caesar's time."

"And?" Sierra asked.

"We never got there."

Sierra looked at him.

"We were attacked." Max shuddered slightly. "We killed them – I killed two of them." He shook his head slowly.

"Whom did you kill?"

"Romans," Max replied.

Sierra thought for a moment. "How did you get here?" she asked softly.

"How did I get here? On a boat, from Athens, like I told you. With Jonah."

"That brought you here, to Alexandria, in 48 BC," Sierra said.

"Yeah."

"But this is 150 AD."

"Ah - I see what you're asking." Max put down his bread. "There was a room with a chair."

"Where?"

"Right here in the Library," Max replied.

"What? There are only three places with chairs - the Millennium Club in New York, the Parthenon Club in London, and that rundown bar in Athens."

"Well there's obviously a fourth, here in the Library. You don't believe me," Max said and shook his head. "You think I'm, what, lying or crazy?"

Sierra realized that she didn't know what exactly she thought about what Max was saying. She didn't think he was lying. But who knows what all he had been through had done to his brain. Was he hallucinating? She looked at him, then went to hug him. He pushed her away. No, she didn't really think he was crazy, either. But the existence of a fourth room with chairs right here in the Library seemed too good to be true – it could change everything about saving the scrolls – unless it somehow also fit in with one of Heron's plans.

She took his hand. He didn't squeeze back but he didn't pull it away, either. "We'll figure it out," she said, gently. "Do you know where the room with the chair is located - can you find the way back to it? How did you find it in the first place?"

"When it was clear the Library wasn't burning, I went back in," Max replied. "Jonah and Arsinoe went somewhere else in the city - to one of Arsinoe's secret places. They invited me, but I wanted to see more of the Library, and maybe find the flame-resistant rooms. I found the room with the chair instead. I'm not sure where it is – this Library is like a maze."

Sierra had seen pictures of Arsinoe – she was more beautiful than her sister. She could understand why Jonah or any man would find her hard to resist, and she certainly had no claim on Jonah, but the thought of the two of them bothered her–

Max withdrew his hand. "You don't trust me?"

"No, no," Sierra said, "it's not that."

"Maybe you think I'm not really me?" Max raised his voice.

Two women walking by looked at Max and Sierra.

Max lowered his voice a little. "With all of these changes of faces, I guess I can't blame you – but you're the one with a goddam different face now, not me. I'm one-hundred-percent Max Marcus! You want proof? I can tell you just how you moaned and moved in my arms the last time in your apartment in New York City. "

Sierra smiled. "That you can remember, huh. . . ."

"Yeah."

She took back his hand. "I know you're you. I remember New York, too. Just like I remember last night. And I–" She could feel her face hot and smiling.

Max smiled, a little, too. "Orgasmic confirmation of identity."

"Yeah," Sierra said, and put a coin on the table to pay for their food. She stood, leaned over Max, and kissed him full on the lips. "I believe you," she said softly and stroked his hair, which she realized was longer than the last time they had been together on that God forsaken beach. Except maybe not so forsaken after all, because he was here with her now. "Let's see if we can find that room," Sierra said. "It's better now that you're here."

"Dymaxion Max to the rescue."

"Dymaxion?" Sierra asked.

"Buckminster Fuller. 1930s. I read him in a cognate course I took for my doctorate up at Fordham University a long, long time ago. . . . Dymaxion means more from less."

"You're not less," Sierra said.

"Time will tell."

Chapter Eight

[Carthage, 413 AD]

Augustine closed his eyes and sipped his wine. "What, exactly, do you want?"

"Kykeon," Heron answered, and helped himself. "This is the first I have ever seen you prefer ordinary wine."

"I want to have a clear head for this conversation," Augustine said, tiredly. "I want to understand exactly what you wish to accomplish with this . . . plan."

"Stability, continuity," Heron replied.

"That is what we all want. But we do not usually kill to attain it."

Heron smiled. "Your Church has done so already, many times."

Augustine shook his head. "What can she do? She is just a woman. One woman. Not an army. Not even a man."

"Women can move men, as you well know. But that is not my concern. It is the knowledge that she seeks to move that poses a danger, the gravest danger to humanity."

Augustine said nothing, then, "the Church seeks to preserve knowledge."

Heron continued as if Augustine had said nothing. "In the future, the human race has teetered on the edge, many times. They – we – survived only because the forces of good had slightly more knowledge than the forces of evil."

"Nothing we know about her indicates she would give her knowledge to evil-doers."

"That is not the danger, as I am sure you understand," Heron said. "Knowledge always leaks. It cannot be contained. Once that text finds its way into the future–"

"Your
Chronica
text?" Augustine asked.

"Yes. A copy already surfaced in Londinium, more than two millennia from now. Fortunately one of my people discovered it and destroyed it."

"I understand," Augustine said.

"Good."

"What would you have me do?" Augustine said. "As you have told me more than once, the woman is well protected."

"You have someone in your employ who loves her," Heron said, quietly. "He can penetrate her protection."

"If he loves her, why would he kill her?"

"Because you will enable him to understand that there are more important guides in this universe than personal, lustful love. As you yourself have come to realize."

* * *

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."