Time Travelers Never Die Part 27

Aristarchus repeated his question: "Who are you?"

"A friend of the Library."

"Why are you here?"

"As we told you, to find my father."

"You are are human." human."

"Yes." He paused. Took a deep breath. "When we said we were travelers from a distant place, we were telling you the literal truth."

Aristarchus gathered his robe around him. "The world is wide," he said. "I suspect it is about to get wider."

Shel nodded. "We travel in both s.p.a.ce and and time." time."

"Explain, please."

"We come from another era era. We come from an age when the glory of h.e.l.las and Rome are still admired. But they have been gone a long time."

"You come from a time that has not yet happened? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes."

"After what I've seen today, Shelborne, I am prepared to believe almost anything."

"Then know that, in my time, the Library, your your library, is also gone." library, is also gone."

His eyes closed briefly. "What happened to it?"

"No one is sure. But it persisted a long time."

"What about the books?"

"A majority of them will be lost also."

"Diana help us."

"We will not even have a good accounting of what was here. Only that it was the pride of the ancient world."

His head sagged.

"Aristarchus, your name will survive."

"That's not much consolation." His eyes lost their focus. For a long time neither spoke. Shel became aware of the rumble of the sea. "That is the real real reason you have come." reason you have come."

"It is one reason. I had hoped to find my father."

"And to reclaim what is here."

"We reclaimed a little of it today."

"Is this the first time you've been here?"

"It is."

He allowed himself a pained smile and reached into his toga for the gooseberry. He put it on the table in front of Shel. "You looked at nine books today."

"Yes."

"Nine books," he said again. "We have half a million."

"Fortunately, some books survived. From other sources. Others, perhaps, have lost their utility."

"You were planning to come again?"

The answer to that, a few minutes ago, would have been no no. But something had changed. "Yes."

"I will alert my staff. When you return-"

"No. Don't tell them about me."

"Why not?"

"I ask it as a favor. I'm probably in violation of my father's code even now. By telling you as much as I have."

"All right. I suppose I can understand that. But when you come again, let us know, let me me know, and I will see that you get everything you need." He stood. "Shelborne, I am more indebted to you than I can say. We know, and I will see that you get everything you need." He stood. "Shelborne, I am more indebted to you than I can say. We all all are." are."

Shel was missing some of what he said. But the general thrust was obvious enough. "Then we help each other."

"Yes." He paused. "I am almost afraid to ask my next question."

Shel waited.

"How far have you come?"

"More than two thousand years."

"At least the disaster is not imminent." His eyes narrowed. "It isn't isn't imminent, is it?" imminent, is it?"

"No. The Library has a long life ahead of it."

"Good. Thank you." He lowered himself into a chair. "What is your world like?"

"How do you mean?"

"Do people live in harmony?"

"Some do."

"Have you maintained the rule of law?"

"Yes."

He saw something in Shel's face and frowned. "Maybe I should stop while I still like your answers."

CHAPTER 19.

I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.

-PERCY BYSSHE Sh.e.l.lEY, THE CENCI THE CENCI

IT was, Aspasia knew, another ma.n.u.script. But this one came in a plain manila envelope with no return address. The date stamp indicated it had been mailed in Levittown, Pennsylvania. First cla.s.s. was, Aspasia knew, another ma.n.u.script. But this one came in a plain manila envelope with no return address. The date stamp indicated it had been mailed in Levittown, Pennsylvania. First cla.s.s.

Since she'd won the Athena Andreadis Award for scholars.h.i.+p in cla.s.sical literature, she'd been awash in ma.n.u.scripts by people who thought she could help them get published somewhere. Usually, they were Greek family histories of no interest to anyone, but there had been two or three academic gambits of interest. The ma.n.u.scripts arrived regularly. Sometimes they were book-l ength, with the writer unable to understand why the Oxford University Press had not gobbled it up. Others were commentaries intended for Cla.s.sical Heritage Cla.s.sical Heritage or or h.e.l.lenic h.e.l.lenic or or Greek Life Greek Life.

They usually came online. But not always. And there was a tendency among those who used the post office to neglect sending self-addressed stamped envelopes. With the current cost of postage, sending them back was expensive. But Aspasia had never been able to bring herself simply to dump the ma.n.u.scripts.

She put this one aside, with a couple of bills, and opened the more interesting mail first. A note had arrived from Kingsley Black informing her that his cla.s.sical literature cla.s.s had profited from Showtime at Rhodes Showtime at Rhodes, her a.n.a.lysis of the reasons for the decline of cla.s.sical drama. "Excellent book," "Excellent book," he concluded. he concluded. "Best I've seen on the subject." "Best I've seen on the subject." Well, of course, he Well, of course, he would would say that, but she say that, but she had had broken new ground. broken new ground. Showtime at Rhodes Showtime at Rhodes had been the princ.i.p.al reason she'd won the Andreadis. had been the princ.i.p.al reason she'd won the Andreadis.

Two or three letters took issue with her conclusions, and one quibbled with the dates of two of Aeschylus's plays. As if it mattered.

Penguin Group wanted a blurb for a Margaret Seaborn book on Archimedes. That would be an easy a.s.signment: Seaborn was always reliable. And the University of Kansas wanted her to speak at their graduation next year.

Eventually, she worked her way back to the manila envelope, which was sealed with tape. It wasn't too too heavy. Not book-length, at least. She couldn't find her letter opener-Aspasia was not good at putting things back where they belonged-and eventually she had to get a knife from the kitchen. heavy. Not book-length, at least. She couldn't find her letter opener-Aspasia was not good at putting things back where they belonged-and eventually she had to get a knife from the kitchen.

The envelope did indeed contain a ma.n.u.script, but it was in Greek Greek. Cla.s.sical Greek. And the t.i.tle startled her: Achilles Achilles. By Sophocles.

Someone's idea of a joke.

There was an accompanying note. Hand-printed.

Jan 26, 2019 Dear Dr. Kephalas: We have other ancient ma.n.u.scripts as well. If you'd like to see more, post an English translation of this one at your Web site. If there's no response within thirty days, we'll take what we have elsewhere.

No signature.

There was nothing else.

It was, of course, a hoax. And what a pity. Tempting her with one of the lost plays. If only- She looked at the list of characters. There were five: Achilles, the priest Trainor, Polyxena, Paris, and Apollo. And, naturally, a chorus.

She dropped the note and the ma.n.u.script into the trash.

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ASPASIA had an afternoon cla.s.s. It would require some preparation, and she also had to meet with one of her graduate students. A stack of essays waited in a bookcase. had an afternoon cla.s.s. It would require some preparation, and she also had to meet with one of her graduate students. A stack of essays waited in a bookcase.

She sighed, retrieved them, and started on the first one. It was an a.n.a.lysis of The Odyssey The Odyssey. The student was trying to show it had been created by a woman. And, in any case, by someone other than the author of The Iliad The Iliad. Nothing new there.

The second was a commentary on the development of the epic. Its Bronze Age beginnings. Its popularity in the preliterate world. A third essay listed the author's suggestions for six additional epics to complete the Trojan cycle. Paris makes off with Helen. Agamemnon rallies the troops but has to sacrifice his daughter. And so on.

She wondered if the lost epics had been as powerful as the two that had survived. Most experts thought not. If they'd been lost, the reasoning went, it was because they deserved to be lost.

Nonsense.

How nice it would be to find one of the other works in the cycle. Perhaps stashed in a trunk in an attic in Athens. Or maybe it would come in the mail.

Like Sophocles.

The trash can stood beside the computer table. She looked at it. Allowed her irritation free rein. That someone would play this kind of joke.

She fished the ma.n.u.script out.

By Sophocles.

Scene one was set in the chapel of Apollo.

The chapel would have been located outside the walls of Troy so that soldiers from both sides could wors.h.i.+p there. One version of the story maintained that Achilles had violated the chapel by killing the young Troilus within its walls.

In the play, it is early evening, and Achilles stands with the Greek priest Trainor just outside the chapel door, reluctant to enter because of his crime, wis.h.i.+ng there were a way to appease the G.o.d, when he sees the beautiful Polyxena. "Who is she?" he asks Trainor.

"The daughter of Priam," he replies. "She comes here every evening now. To pray for an end to the conflict."

Achilles remarks that those prayers are probably in vain. But, in the manner of cla.s.sical drama, he is hopelessly in love with Polyxena from the first moment. When he approaches her, however, she asks, "Are you not Achilles, destroyer of my people?"

It's not a good start for a romance. But the hero is smitten with her. And of course no one could accuse Achilles of being shy. In a moving scene on the edge of the Trojan plain, he wins her love.

Polyxena sees an opportunity to use her influence with him to stop the war. But she blunders by taking her brother Paris into her confidence. And Paris sees an opportunity to take Achilles out of play. "I must talk with him," says Paris. "Can you have him meet me in the chapel?"

Polyxena a.s.sures him she can manage it. When she exits, Paris looks out at the audience. "I would not betray my sister. Nor strike from the dark, which is a coward's way. Yet it is the only way to bring him down. The Acheans without Achilles would be hawks without talons. They would still bite, but they would draw no blood." It is a heartbreaking decision.

Aspasia's heart was picking up. It might not be Sophocles, but it was surprisingly good.

Achilles is also weary of the unending war. But he does not trust Paris. "It is the will of the G.o.ds," says Trainor, who shares the general impatience with the fighting. "They have provided a path whereby you might win back the favor of Apollo."

Ultimately, Achilles accedes to the rendezvous and enters the chapel. Paris is waiting in the shadows with his bow. And Apollo guides the arrow. Polyxena collapses over the dying Achilles, rages against her brother's betrayal, and brandishes a dagger. She cradles her lover's now-lifeless body and raises the weapon. "Let us go together from this dark place," she tells him.

Paris, seeing what she is about to do, pleads with her, but she cannot be appeased. She plunges the dagger into her breast and, within moments, Paris follows her lead.

The narrative, and the staging of the action, is very much in Sophocles' mode. And the language is cla.s.sical Greek. Aspasia doubted there were three or four people in the United States who could have gotten the details right. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble.