MacRoscope (37 page)

“Of these three superpowers, I would deem the most formidable to have been the Hittite, chiefly because of the vigor of their leadership and their facility with the working of iron. Unfortunately, they also had the worst enemies. The northern nomads — Cimmerians and Cythians and such — raided constantly, and the western barbarians — Thracians and Greeks — invaded in masses. The Phrygians even set up a kingdom in western Anatolia, and the Hittite empire finally collapsed. This left a power vacuum of monstrous proportion that was to cause interminable trouble. For a time the entire countryside was a nest of robber barons.

“This left two superpowers — but both were hard-pressed. For a time Assyria expanded, but eventually it fell into stagnation and merely defended itself against the nomads from the south, the Arameans. Egypt lost its possessions in Palestine and resisted the incursions of the fierce Peoples of the Sea with difficulty.

“The result was that a number of lesser powers developed, feeding on the decay of the great ones. Perhaps none of this anarchy would have happened if the Hittite empire had survived.” He stood up and drew aside a curtain. There, set into the wall, was a huge cedar panel with a painted map. Ivo recognized the crude outlines of the far eastern Mediterranean. His host really was a student of history!

“The Philistines,” Mattan continued, touching a section of the Asia Minor coast, “invaded Palestine from the sea, having been repulsed by Egypt. The Hebrews, meanwhile, invaded from the desert, having also been repulsed by Egypt. Thus were the rightful residents of the land between Egypt and Damascus dispossessed: we Canaanites, who had occupied it for a thousand years in peace. We could have repulsed one invader, meager as our military posture was compared to that of the superpowers, but the combination was beyond our means. Our enemies were numerous and savage, while we were civilized. Fortunately, Tyre and her sister cities along the northern coastline — Acco, Sidon, Berytus, Byblos, Arwad and Ugarit — these seven were strong even then, and we were able through our developing naval power and coastal fortifications to hold off the despoilers and to succor many of our victimized kinsmen. We developed our industry and improved our craftsmanship and made our fair cities a sanctuary for vigorous men of all types, even the Mycenaeans. Thus did we begin to prosper from out of the ashes of holocaust.”

Holocaust! One by one, Ivo thought, the pet fears of his own time were realized in this earlier age. So little seemed to have changed. The weakening of superpowers, the onset of anarchy, the high hopes for a new beginning — what remained to distinguish his own world from this one?

The
destroyer
remained! Nothing like that could exist here. Nothing.

“That is where it stands today,” Mattan said. “The great destroyer Assyria remains confined—” His eyes narrowed as Ivo jumped. “Though I believe strong leadership could make it great again, and may do so to our cost. The Hittite empire is beyond redemption, however. And Egypt has been taken over by the Libyans.” Again he noted Ivo’s reaction, but continued talking. “Sheshonk calls himself Pharaoh, but he is only a usurper thinking to build his capital at Bubastis. Of course he does have a certain barbarian vitality. He is laying siege to Ugarit now and has his eyes on Byblos. But he will be wise not to interfere with Sidon or Tyre.”

Ivo had followed only the gist of all this, more concerned with his own situation. At least the mystery of his Egyptian experience had been partially alleviated. There
was
a superimposition of cultures: Libyan over Egyptian. The main question remained unanswered, however: how could
he
be participating? Probably he would have found himself physically in Egypt, had he not fled immediately… and had he had the sense to quit then and rest for a few hours away from the macroscope, none of this present adventure might have come to pass.

Well, recrimination was futile. Mattan was waiting for his comment on the local situation. The Pharaoh of Egypt was attacking Ugarit. “But aren’t the Phoenician cities being attacked? Why don’t you help them?”

“That becomes problematical. For one thing, their colonies along the African coast — and there is more to Africa than you might suspect — are competing with ours. For another, we can’t afford to weaken our comparative standing with our rival Sidon, and Sidon has not agreed to match any assistance we might grant. For a third, we have a continuing contract with the Kingdom of Israel, and a war effort against even a decaying giant like Egypt at this time would seriously interfere with this. That would be bad business.”

“Israel? But I thought you were at war with the Hebrews!”

“Not currently. Hiram and Solomon got along well enough, and now that the Hebrews have split up into Israel and Judah, they’re not so much of a threat. There is still much copper and iron to be had from Wadi Arabah, in their present territory. One must appreciate the practical side of things.”

Mattan, like the deceased Senator Borland, was a practical man. And Sidney Lanier had inveighed (would inveigh?) against cruel trade! He had been a trifle late.

Then another thought: “Solomon? You mean this is
that
time?”

“Ah, you have heard of David’s son. Almost as great a king as our own Hiram, in his fashion, and he certainly did a good deal with the kingdom he had. It isn’t easy to bring culture to nomads. Solomon died only three years ago, and his empire broke up. Too bad; Sheshonk will overrun them before long. For a while it seemed as though a new power were developing in that area, but that’s all over. Tyre will have to carry the burden alone.” He brought his gaze to bear on Ivo “And now, Ivarch, if you please,
your
story.”

This still posed a problem. Mattan had showed no inclination toward superstition or magic; rather, he was extremely pragmatic. It hardly seemed likely that he would go for anything as fantastic as the macroscope.

“First,” Mattan said, “explain to me exactly where Merica is.” He gestured to the map. “Is it represented here?”

“No. It is much farther away. Do you have a map of the world?”

“This
is
the map of the world.”

Oh-oh. “You mean the
civilized
world, don’t you? There are lands beyond it.”

Mattan nodded. “I misunderstood. Yes, there are regions beyond and we are exploring them. Suppose you sketch a map of your own?”

The tone remained mild, but Ivo realized that he was being tested again. This man was determined to take his measure, and smart enough to know that he didn’t have it yet. Ivo also seemed to remember that the Phoenicians had traveled out quite far in search of trade and exploitation, as had their rivals the Greeks, and were secretive about any important discoveries. Hadn’t they mined tin or something in Britain? And what about the story of the lost Phoenician ship, blown from an attempted circumnavigation of Africa over to South America, where its craftsmen inspired Western pyramid-building? Still, he was on much firmer ground here.

He accepted the blank scroll Mattan provided and drew a tiny copy of the wall-map. Then he extended it to complete the closure of the Mediterranean. He was no cartographer; his rendition was crude and not particularly accurate, but he doubted that mattered. “Here is Italy,” he said, “and Sicily — the boot tripping over the rock.” Mattan nodded thoughtfully, and Ivo knew that this was a geography so far familiar to the man.

“Here is the western coast of Europe, and the British Isles.” Mattan was so carefully noncommittal that Ivo was certain he knew something of this area also. “And to the south is the rest of the continent of Africa, so.”

“What lies to the east?”

“A huge continent.” Ivo sketched an exceedingly crude Asia.

“And where is Merica?”

“Across the sea to the west.” He began to sketch it in, leaving inadequate space for the width of the Atlantic because of the limitation of his map-surface.

“I see,” Mattan said as Ivo’s charcoal rounded the peninsula that would later be Florida. “And in what manner did you travel here?”

Ivo took hold of himself and gave the only answer. “I flew.”

“And can you fly for me now?”

“No.”

“I see.” Mattan thought a bit more. “And do they speak Phoenician in America?”

“No.”

“How did you master it, then?”

“I don’t know. It just seemed to come to me when I needed it.”

“I see.” The two words became more ominous with each repetition, and this time the pause was very long. “You are, then, laying claim to the godhead?”

The godhead: the attributes of deity? Ivo wondered how far he could get by breaking and running. “In America, these things — like flying, I mean — are not surprising. There is nothing supernatural about it.”

“America is a land of gods, then.”

“No, no! It—” But how could he explain, to this intelligent yet so ignorant man? Here there were many gods, and they were no more supernatural than the One God of Christian times. Mattan’s suspicions were quite justified, by the standards of his age. Any further attempts to clarify the nature of the divine would merely make things worse.

“Were it not for your distinctive physical makeup and your cognizance of certain matters no local could know, I would brand you a champion prevaricator,” Mattan said. “As it is, I confess to certain doubts. Your misinformation is as intriguing as your information, and I cannot tell whether you are preposterously clever or preposterously inept at invention. Either way, you
are
preposterous. I do not see how you could be what you call a spy, yet I am at a loss to explain what you
are
.”

There was a silence.

“I think,” Mattan said at last, “that this is properly a matter for the priesthood.”

Ivo felt cold again, and the increasing hunger he had felt while watching Mattan eat departed abruptly. “I have spoken heresy?”

“By no means. You have not remarked at all on Melqart, and in any event your Merica appears to be beyond the dominion of our Baal. But since I seem to have exhausted the procedures available to me…”

If this were the final threat, it had become subtle again. There had been no further mention of sacrifice. “I suppose I could talk to your priests, though I can’t tell them anything I haven’t told you.”

“Excellent. My men will show you the way. I’m sure you will reach an understanding with Melqart, and perhaps complete unity.”

Ivo was not entirely satisfied with that phrasing, but he accompanied the two husky guards without explicit objection. He noticed that they, like every person he had seen here and aboard the ship, were shorter than he. He was a virtual giant in this city. Though he hardly thought of himself as the physical type, his superior size and weight would give him a certain advantage if trouble came.

These soldiers were better armed than the ones he had observed in Egypt, possessing vests of metal mesh and well-fitted low helmets, as well as long spears and sharp swords. Tucked in each stout belt was a wicked battle-axe.

Ivo had a second thought about his supposed physical advantage.

“Strange,” the guard on his right remarked as they entered the slender street. “I have never seen a lamb go to the sacrifice so calmly.” He spoke a different language from Phoenician, and Ivo realized with a start that these were conscripts from some other area, mercenaries who did not realize that he could understand their dialogue.

“Mattan probably told him he was going to witness the ceremony,” the other said. “And him already shorn!”

Ivo noticed now that both men were bearded — as had been Mattan. Why, then, had the visitor been so painstakingly shaved?

“Well, he’ll get a fine view — of the fiery stomach of Baal!” the first agreed, laughing. “I thought every fool knew that no one but a priest ever leaves the temple.”

“You are mistaken,” the other replied. “Every day the urns go out to the burial ground.”

“His bones would not fit in a child’s urn, even after cremation,” the first protested. “Far too long.”

They were at the foot of the steps leading to an elegant stone building. Two mighty columns stood beside the entrance, one painted yellow, the other green. The second guard turned to Ivo and put out his calloused hand. His short sword hung from a chest harness, sheathed in leather, the hilt almost brushing Ivo’s left elbow. “Let me help you up these hallowed stairs, sir,” the man said in Phoenician.

“The priests would be very unhappy if such an honored guest were to stumble,” the other said. “And Baal would be fuming.” And, in the other language: “Yes — look at the length of that humerus!”

Ivo looked up and saw a white-robed priest coming to meet them. Several temple guards accompanied him. All looked purposeful.

He grabbed at the left guard’s sword and drew it from the scabbard before the man reacted. Then he shouldered past and turned to face the second, afraid that flight would bring a spear at his back. But that guard also had been slow to react, perhaps not expecting the lamb to turn, and stood open-mouthed, hand not even on his weapon.

The guard who had donated his sword tripped over his battle-axe and sprawled on the ground. His shield, that had been hooked in some fashion to his left hip, lay between them on the lowest step. Ivo swooped at it and picked it up with his left hand, fumbling a moment with the grip. It was surprisingly light: an oval disk of wood, padded behind the hand-strap, nocked at the rim from countless military encounters. Obviously it was intended for active defense; one had to meet the oncoming sword or spear with it and deflect or snare the barb, rather than simply hiding behind the shield.