Wayward Son (33 page)

One day an especially loquacious young guard told of a new threat to the empire.

“They say that
King Philip
of Macedon is planning an invasion of Persia,” he informed Cain.

“What chance of success could such an invader possibly have?” asked the prisoner.

“No chance at all, in my opinion. The emperor will defeat him soundly.”

The guard refrained from further comment on the matter, but Cain knew from other jailers that Persia’s current monarch, Artaxerxes III, had come to the throne after plotting the assassination of eight of his half brothers.

“Agathon, did you know that my commander cannot find any records relating to your imprisonment here?”

“That’s strange. Has there been some confusion?”

“Our detachment has been assigned to this tower only recently, and the commander was looking for verification of each inmate’s original date of incarceration. But it seems that all your records have disappeared. We have no idea how this could have happened. But the emperor has not reversed the orders on the plaque outside your cell. So at least you know that you won’t be moving soon!”

Unseen inside his cell, Cain smiled at the young man’s naïveté.

That evening, shortly after sunset, the master of spirits appeared. He assumed an amorphous, dark shape in the corner of Cain’s cell.

“You are so comfortable, Cain? The Persians do not possess unlimited patience, my friend. Sooner or later they will force you to reveal your secrets, if only so that they can defeat Philip of Macedon. And consider this also. For the moment, I have concealed your prison records. But if the Persians should find and examine them, they may discover the secret of your longevity.”

The prisoner ignored the veiled threat. “Where do you come from, spirit?”

“Oh, I am never far from you. I go to and fro on the earth, and walk up and down.”

Cain was repelled by the nonchalant, almost jaunty tone.

“And you are happy, spirit, in your quest to wreak woe upon human beings?”

“You misinterpret me entirely. My own happiness is immaterial. I only seek to spread pleasure and share benefit. Right here and now, I offer you relief—an escape from this prison before the Persians can injure you further. You know what they are capable of, I presume?”

Cain remained silent.

The master of spirits continued.
“As self-professed lovers of the truth, their treatment of liars is most unpleasant, Cain. One Persian soldier was recently accused of slandering the emperor. His punishment was to be stretched out between two troughs, one below his body and one above, and force-fed with delicacies and milk mixed with honey. Only his head and his feet remained visible. Unable to move, he was attacked by flies that swarmed over his face. Inside the troughs, his excrement began to attract worms and maggots. After seventeen days of exquisite suffering, he died. When the top covering was lifted, the onlookers could see that his flesh had been eaten away.”

Even though he knew this was blackmail, Cain felt himself growing numb.

“They could easily inflict the same torture on you, Cain. Except you wouldn’t die, would you?”
said the master of spirits.

“What would you have me do, spirit?” Cain burst out angrily.

“Swear allegiance to me, not to the Persians. I will arrange for your release.”

“Depart from me, evil one. You will never have my allegiance!”

The dark shape in the corner vanished. What remained after the spirit’s departure was an unnerving tableau acted out repeatedly in Cain’s mind, dominated by the wrenching spectacle of the Persian soldier, his vitals destroyed by his truth-loving compatriots.

***

“He has brought peace to the world!” a day jailer reported.

Cain’s ears perked up.

“
Alexander
is a great ruler, Agathon!” the young guard gushed. “Although he threatens my country, some of us wonder if he would not be a better king for us. Alexander has already vanquished the cities of Susa and Persepolis.”

Cain was astonished. The cities he had named were, besides Babylon, the most important metropolitan centers in the Persian Empire.

“What else has this leader Alexander accomplished, other than conquest in battle?”

“It is said that he has great plans for a worldwide capital in Egypt. The city will be known as Alexandria. Two of its monuments will be wonders of the world, as surely as our Hanging Gardens here in Babylon. In the harbor, there will be a lighthouse that soars higher than any other on the inland sea. And in the city itself, there will be a
great library
, a glorious temple of knowledge gathered by all humanity and a center for scholars from every corner of the world.”

“How can this commander hope to construct such magnificent public works?” Cain asked with keen interest.

“For Alexander, such a goal will not be difficult. His wealth is boundless. He is on the brink of becoming master of the known world!”

From that day on, Cain’s attitude toward his imprisonment changed. Originally stoic and passive, with ambition drained by a sense of detachment and relief, he was now consumed by a new passion for release. By day and by night, dreams of Alexandria fired his brain. The tempo of his wall designs quickened, as he sketched mathematical formulas and the blueprint of a great telescope to study the constellations. He envisioned learned colloquies with the scholars who congregated from every part of the world at Alexandria. He wanted—no, he
needed
—to be a participant in this remarkable new turn in the trajectory of human civilization.

Accordingly, he began a series of blatant appeals to his guards, using a range of blandishments. To one of the day jailers, he alluded casually to the location of buried treasure in Egypt. Cain had miscalculated. The young man reacted with shock and then threatened reprisal. To another, he hinted of diamonds and other precious gems as big as a man’s fist. To no avail. And to the captain of the day contingent, Cain spoke casually of the silver deposits he had identified in Greece. Not interested. Reluctantly, Cain had to admit that these Persian jailers cherished duty and integrity. The one thing he would not do, however, was to mortgage his liberty to the master of spirits.

The jailers’ integrity, however, soon became a moot point. Babylon fell to Alexander the Great in 331 BC. Eight years later, in mid-June of 323 BC, the conqueror succumbed to fever there at the age of thirty-two, breathing his last in the great palace of Nebuchadnezzar. Bells rang and shrieks of wailing echoed throughout the city. While Alexander’s generals converged to divide the spoils, all of Babylon’s nonviolent prisoners were ordered to be released, Cain among them. Abandoning the as yet unsuccessful black powder project, he dumped the ingredients down the cell’s refuse chute so they would not be found. Two Greek soldiers unlocked the cell, using a key brittle with the rust of time.

Exiting the prison tower, Cain strolled toward the Euphrates River and breathed, for the first time in nearly a century and a half, the fresh air of freedom.

CHAPTER 42

Alexandria, Egypt, 285–250 BC

SOON AFTER THE TURN of the third century BC, Cain received news that the Royal Library at Alexandria was nearing completion. A showcase for the city, the library enjoyed the direct patronage of
King Ptolemy I
, who had adopted the popular name
Soter
, Greek for “savior.” As one of Alexander’s three most senior surviving generals, Ptolemy possessed by far the most lucrative portion of the empire. The fertile lands and ample tax revenues of Egypt boosted Alexandria to worldwide prominence at an explosive rate.

Cain had secured full-time employment at the Royal Observatory of Babylon, but he was only marking time until the Great Library beckoned. At last, the moment was ripe for his return to Egypt. He booked passage on a caravan on the Royal Road through Asia Minor to Ephesus. From there it would be a leisurely voyage on the Mediterranean to Alexandria. He had no idea what sights would greet him, but his thirst for a journey of the mind was as strong as ever.

He arrived at Alexandria in the spring of 285 BC. What he saw astounded him. Since his last visit long ago, when Alexandria was an obscure fishing village, both harbor and city had undergone massive improvements. As he rode on horseback around the city, he admired the majestic civic buildings. Huge
stoas
, or colonnaded covered walkways, surrounded a vast marketplace on all sides. The city wall divided the residential areas from Lake Mareotis and the canal that stretched to the Nile. Alexandria boasted no fewer than six gymnasia, each with its attached palaestra, or wrestling practice ground. Cain marveled at the degree to which Greek architecture had become rooted on Egyptian soil.

The jewel in the city’s crown was the library, its prominence signaled by its location adjacent to Ptolemy’s royal palace. The library was an adjunct to the
Mouseion
, the think tank that Ptoelmy had established for scholars from all over the world. This institute for advanced study had attracted experts in every field, ranging from literary and textual criticism to geography, history, anatomy, geometry, and physics. The convergence of these savants in Alexandria had vaulted the city into the top tier of learning and made it the new Athens.

From
Zenodotus
, the head librarian, Cain learned that the library’s first major project was to establish definitive, standard texts of Homer’s
Iliad
and
Odyssey
. Identifying himself as Callias, an elderly scholar, Cain had used his credentials from the observatory in Babylon as an entrée, and Zenodotus had welcomed him courteously. As the two men strolled down a spacious, colonnaded stoa, lined with marble statues of Greek gods and punctuated by smaller rooms leading off to one side, Cain asked about the library’s acquisitions policy.

“As you have seen,” said Zenodotus, “more and more people are traveling here, some to settle permanently. We encourage book donations. Sometimes, these are not entirely voluntary.”

Raising his eyebrows, Cain asked for clarification. Gesturing toward a narrower stoa that stretched down toward the harbor, Zenodotus explained, “That is the acquisitions wing. Every ship that docks here is inspected by His Majesty’s harbor police. The books that are found aboard are brought here for copying.” He lowered his voice and added, conspiratorially, “Of course, sometimes it is the copies that are returned, not the originals.”

Cain smiled. “It is the King’s goal, then, to amass a universal collection?”

“Exactly. We have everything in our collections from medical texts to accounts of ancient foreign wars to the works of Plato and Aristotle,” the head librarian said proudly.

Zenodotus invited his visitor to examine some of the library’s holdings, and they made a detour from the main stoa into one of the smaller rooms. There, on shelves that lined the chamber from floor to ceiling, were hundreds of papyrus rolls, neatly stacked in compartments. At the end of each roll facing outward was an identifying tab.

“This is, in fact, part of the Homeric collection,” said Zenodotus. “These ancient scrolls have come to us from all over the world, from Sicily to Asia Minor. Because we have collected so many copies of the
Iliad
and
Odyssey
, we have tagged them alphabetically according to their place of origin.”

Cain asked permission to open one of the scrolls, which contained a thousand lines or so of Homer’s
Odyssey
. Running his eye over the text, he pointed to a line in a speech by the hero Odysseus to the divine sea nymph Calypso.

“Surely this can’t be right, Zenodotus. This line violates several of Homer’s metrical rules of poetic verse.”

Skeptical, the librarian peered at the text. As he read the line to himself, comprehension dawned on his face. “You are absolutely correct, Callias! Why haven’t we noticed this before? Any copyist who could make an error such as this has probably included dozens of other botches.”

***

At the chief librarian’s invitation, Cain made many repeat visits. He collaborated steadily with Zenodotus on Homeric questions—never revealing, of course, that he had firsthand knowledge of the epic bard’s performance techniques. Within three months, Zenodotus had become so impressed by Cain’s abilities that he offered him a part-time fellowship at the Mouseion. Cain’s privileges would include a meal allowance and a small annual salary. Most important of all, he would enjoy unrestricted access to the library.

“I think I can persuade King Ptolemy’s council to upgrade this appointment within six months,” Zenodotus told him. “I would very much like you to become a full fellow. That would mean life tenure.”

Cain gratefully accepted the probationary appointment. It was the fulfillment of a dream that had begun in his tower cell in Babylon.

By the following year, it was clear that King Ptolemy, now in his early eighties, had not long to live. Before his death, however, he presided over a council meeting at which Cain was promoted to a full fellowship at the Mouseion. The king, who had personally sponsored such brilliant scholars as Euclid, sent his latest superstar, “Callias,” a special message of commendation along with an ornate signet ring. He now had tenure for life.

***

Over the next ten years, Cain grew steadily happier in his life of scholarship. The library was virtually his residence. Every morning, as he ambled across the huge quadrangle in the palace quarter, passing green hedges and spectacular gardens of imported trees and fragrant flowers, he glanced upward at the library’s front entrance. There, he glimpsed an inscription in Greek letters:

the place of the cure of the soul

These were the very words he himself had used at the grand opening of Pharaoh Ramesses II’s much smaller library in Memphis nearly one thousand years before. An attentive scribe must have been taking notes, Cain thought. But he felt no irritation at the lack of attribution for his quote. On the contrary, the notion that it would be reechoed after a millennium filled him with gratifying serenity. Some of the things he had done, Cain reflected, were becoming matters of record.