Athene's Prophecy (Gaius Claudius Scaevola Trilogy) (9 page)

"But . . ." It occurred to him he had fallen into a trap. This was clearly a well-known but difficult problem, and he had not heard of it.

"You accepted the challenge," Timothy interrupted. "I look forward to seeing your reply." With that, he turned and walked away.

Gaius realized he was in a bind. In principle, he could do what he liked with this Greek, but that would solve nothing, particularly when the reports of whatever he did got back to Tiberius. But there was more to it; it would be dishonourable to take advantage of whatever position he thought he had.

Suddenly, he burst out laughing. The Greek was probably playing with him. He, Gaius, was to think the Greek was a slave. The minute he tried to take advantage of that, that would be the minute he was sent packing back to Tiberius. Yes, Tiberius had chosen well. This Greek was clever. Unfortunately, too clever. He had set a problem that, by the look of things, was not going to be solved. The one thing he was not going to do, however, was let Timothy watch what he did. He may or may not solve it, but all Timothy would get out of this was the final answer, or lack thereof.

He walked back to his tent, where he took some bread and cheese and a skin filled with water, then he decided to walk, and since Timothy would be watching, he would walk in the opposite direction to the town.

The sun was pleasant as he walked along a track that broadly followed the coast, but along the hills. What would he do if he failed to solve the problem? That was a problem in itself. He could beg, he could . . . No! He had to stop thinking like that. He must devote his mind solely to this problem and deal with failure if he failed. He walked on, but nothing came to him. The problem seemed insoluble.

He reached the top of a hill and gazed out. The sea was so calm. Out there were two fishing boats, happily . . . No! He was being distracted. The sun was so warm too. All this walk was doing was making him hot. He needed shade, and perhaps fewer new things to look at. That was it. He must sit down somewhere.

It was then that he saw, down in the small valley, amongst some trees, a small temple. Nobody seemed to be about, so he decided he would use the shade. He walked down and found a shady spot. As he looked around he noticed that the temple was old, the marble cracked, weeds were coming out from between the stones, it was almost as if this temple had long been abandoned. Near the altar was a statue of a woman who seemed to be thinking. Divine assistance with thinking was just what he needed, although, as he noted wryly to himself, from the decaying nature of this temple, thinking was not exactly a highly valued commodity amongst the locals. Not that it mattered. The sun now seemed to be past mid-day. He had a few sips of water, then he began eating his bread and cheese. He finished these, sipped some more water, then, rather reluctantly, decided he must concentrate on the problem.

He lay back, and felt the warm sun on his face. The problem kept circulating through his head, but, he realized, that was the problem. It circulated unchanged. He was getting nowhere. He was missing something. The answer! No, he corrected himself, the way to get to the answer.

The sun was too warm. A better position was at the temple altar. If nothing else, the statue was at the cooler part of the temple, an ideal place for thinking, and since the temple looked as if it had never been used for years, this could hardly be termed sacrilege. On impulse, he looked at the writing carved into the stone: it had been dedicated to Athene, goddess of war and wisdom. A strange mix, he thought. Still, he needed wisdom right then. On impulse, he muttered a prayer.

Nothing happened, not that he expected much. This was his problem, and he had to solve it. And that was easier said than done.

He sat with his back to the altar. The light seemed a little darker; a cloud had passed across the sun. Wretched problem! Was there even an answer? Yes, he thought, as inspiration seemed to come, he could address that. Either there was or there was not, for there were no other choices. Therefore there must be an answer, for otherwise nobody could win but Timothy must lose. Timothy did not strike him as an inevitable loser.

He had to summarize what he knew. He had one question, and he had to use it, and the answer had to tell which door was the correct one, so the question had to involve the door. He was only allowed to ask a guard, so he had to do that. 'My problem,' he summarized to himself, 'is that I cannot guarantee to get the truth. It is impossible to work out which guard will lie, given this information.'

It was then that another wave of inspiration passed over him. He remembered advice from old Libo, "Stop worrying about what you can't do, and concentrate on what you can." Yes! He could not guarantee to get a true answer, but perhaps he could guarantee to get a lie. He leaped to his feet, and gave a cry of triumph.

* * *

"So?" Timothy asked at last. Gaius had sat before him, impassively, for some time, and had been quietly carving pieces of roast meat and stuffing them in his mouth, in between chewing on vegetables. "Do you have a solution?"

"Oh yes, the problem," Gaius said with a shrug. "I almost forgot about that."

"To which I assume you have no answer, short of taking a fifty-fifty guess?"

"Oh," Gaius remarked carelessly, "I have a much better answer than that."

"And did you work this out, or did you cheat and get the answer?"

"I worked it out," Gaius said, "although I did get inspiration."

"And what was that?" Timothy asked impassively.

"From an old temple in a valley about five kilometers in that direction."

"You went there," Timothy remarked. "That temple has been abandoned for about a hundred years."

"I believe it," Gaius replied, as he took a sip of wine. "You know, Timothy, this wine is rather good."

"It's been in a cask for some time," Timothy smiled. "We Greeks have a taste for the better things in life."

"So I see," Gaius said, as he picked up a piece of fruit.

"I remind you," Timothy said caustically, "that claiming to have a solution is not the same as having one. I am about to retire for the night, so if you wish to claim success, you had better get on with it."

"The answer I have depends critically on the guards knowing and obeying the rules."

"Assume that. So?"

"I cannot work out who is telling the truth," Gaius explained, "so with one question to one guard I cannot get the truth, and in fact I'm not sure that two questions would help. One question to both guards gets both answers, so that's no help. However, I can guarantee to get a lie, by getting both guards to answer in sequence. I ask a guard which door the other guard would tell me was the safe door. That way I get one truth and one lie, hence a lie, hence I choose the other door to that given in the answer."

Timothy nodded, and said with a smile, "In that case I had better prepare some lessons for you."

* * *

The next day, Gaius had a pang of conscience. He did not believe in Gods, but on the other hand he had prayed to Athene, the problem had been solved, and he had just got up and ran. So while he did not believe in Gods, there was no point in incurring their wrath through such negligence. He arrived back at the temple shortly after noon. He walked to the altar, said a 'Thank you', then feeling that this was a little abrupt, he lay down in a shady alcove beside the altar and stared towards the hill. The sun was warm on his skin, the air still, there was a pleasant fresh smell, it was so peaceful. He lay there, and watched the shadows move slowly and grow slowly longer. He ate some bread and cheese, then he sat back to reflect. Life was certainly worth living on a day like this. He felt his eyelids becoming heavier.

"It is good to see you are now untroubled." Gaius turned slowly to see one of the most beautiful women he had ever imagined. Blonde hair, a beautiful skin that almost seemed to glow, but above all the eyes struck Gaius. They seemed infinitely deep, and, so un-Greek-like, were grey. Then, with something of a jolt, he recognized the face: it was the face of the statue. How could that be? He glanced down to see the most incredible cloth he could imagine. It glowed slightly, it flowed in a breeze that was not there, and it seemed almost out of focus, for there were no sharp edges. The wreath-crown in her hair seemed simple, but it glowed a magnificent light, like nothing he had ever seen before, or had even imagined possible before. But there was something else: her expression. It was almost as if she had taken a deep breath before she had spoken.

"Wh who are you?" Gaius asked in a dazed voice.

"Oh, Gaius Claudius Scaevola," came an almost ethereal reply. "Did you not come to thank me?"

"I came . . ." Gaius found himself saying, and then he stopped. How did she know his new
cognomen
? He had told nobody on Rhodes. Was this really Athene?

"You stumble because, even now, when I am right in front of you, you do not believe in me. Is that not true?"

"Well, I . I . . ."

"As your Tiberius would say, surely not another stutterer," the woman smiled. "Come, say what you wish. No harm will come to you."

"There's something wrong here," Gaius said, after a pause. "I don't know what, but . . ."

"You are quite correct," the woman nodded. "Something is to become very wrong, which is why I am here." She waved her hand. "Do you still deny me?"

Gaius was stunned to see that the temple was now suddenly glistening white and totally free of weeds or blemishes. It was only years later he was to remember that he could no longer see any background; the grass, the hills, the trees, were all indistinct, and even the sunlight seemed more diffuse, even though the temple seemed so brilliant.

"I do not deny you, for you are before me," Gaius replied, "but I do not know who, or for that matter what, is before me."

"Odysseus denied the Gods," the woman said, "and look what happened to him?"

"The tale of what was supposed to have happened is well known," Gaius nodded, "but none of what he visited can be found anywhere. I have always considered it a tale." He paused, then added, "You have yet to tell me who you really are."

There was a slight pause, almost as if the woman was trying to decide something, then she said, "My name is truly Pallas Athene, but you would be correct to think that things are not entirely as they seem. In your distant future, a most terrible catastrophe will occur. I want you to help put things right."

"Suppose I were to decline?"

"How would you earn your
agnomen
?" She smiled at his stunned expression, for who knew of this problem? "But I agree," she continued, before he could respond, and again, a strange expression crossed her face. "I give you this incentive: your life, and fame beyond your imagination."

"My life? You mean, if I decline you will take it?"

"I will save it if you accept. You have three possible futures. In a few years you will find yourself on a high hill, besieged by enemies. Without my help, you and your loved ones will die, miserably and in extreme pain. Accept my quest and I shall provide a way out, but if you take it unprepared you and your loved ones will spend the remainder of your lives caged. Your third future is to accept my guidance, prepare well, then if you succeed, your tale will be recounted for centuries. The question now is, do you have the courage and determination to accept this mission?"

Gaius stared thoughtfully, then said with a clear touch of sarcasm, "I accept, after all, how could I possibly deny a Goddess?"

"Oh, you will deny me," Athene smiled, "and even though you do not believe you will find it convenient to assert that you are following me. You will refuse to follow another God, yet only by listening to His message and by walking a path of grace and justice to the weak can you succeed. Success or failure lies in your hands as of now. You must listen carefully to your future, for this will not be repeated. Whenever you despair, remember that which was foretold and has come to pass, and you will know what to do."

For some reason Gaius could never explain, he felt entranced. He did not believe, yet he could not leave. The woman seemed so sure of herself, yet something told him she was also so unsure. All he could manage was, "What is it that you want?"

Again, she almost hesitated, as if taking a deep breath before she began. "Your
Princeps
has sent you here to study my two paths, one of war, one of science. You must devote your most complete efforts to these studies, because anything less than the most extreme effort will lead to your painful death in your near future. Neither must be subordinate to the other, for only by succeeding in both of my arts can you succeed in either. You must learn well the principles of my arts of war, for you will fight in ways and places where loss is inevitable to all but those who understand. But my second path is much more difficult. You must learn about the heavens, and about that which is around you, for you must take the knowledge of the Greeks far further. Your great Aristotle was wrong in matters of motion, you must find where and you must record all your findings. Aristarchus was correct, and only by proving this can you live long enough to earn your
agnomen
. You will wish to give this up many times, but you must not."

Gaius sat and stared. Talk about a hopeless quest. More to the point, how could knowing that save him? "You could tell me where it's wrong," he suggested.

"Yes, I could, but that would do you no good, for it is the acquiring of the skills to discover what is true that is needed, and you can only acquire those skills by doing." That was said almost irritably, but then she almost seemed to plead. "Your life will depend on your ability to reason, not to be heroic. Now, a detail you must follow! Record all your discoveries, including what you learn for yourself from your period with Timothy, and keep your records close to you, even on campaign, but give them to no person. It is only by showing these to no person do you save your very freedom when all seems lost."