Alexandria, Egypt 287 B.C.
Alexandria shone brightly, flaunting its glory and supremacy over other cities. The great harbour was buzzing with the activity of one of the gateways to the goods of the world from the depths of Africa to the deserts of Arabia and the lands of the Hindus beyond and the Mediterranean Sea up to Carthage and further afield to the gates of Hercules, the mouth of this historic sea and its exit to the unknown.
A few metres above sea level, in the distance, overlooking the harbour and the city below, Ptolemy was standing on the balcony of his palace with his arms stretched wide, surveying and attempting in his mind’s eye to encompass his domain as the master that he was of all that he surveyed and that extended beyond his embrace in every direction, even including the sea of which he was the undeniable, and at least in this period in time, unchallenged overseer, the undisputed ruler in the Eastern Mediterranean, up to the coast of Asia Minor, including the island of Cyprus and all the way North to Crete and West up to the seas overlooking Cyrene and the strategic island of Melite (present-day Malta) and its smaller satellite isles or, more correctly, rocks.
Sicily though evaded him and he craved it for no apparent good reason. He could not deny to himself that its position was strategic. And he smiled at his achievement in only a few miserable years. He was proud of the strength and wealth that was his Egypt.
For he was Ptolemy I Soter, the King and Pharaoh of all of Egypt, the successor to all the Pharaohs and their glorious dynasties that came before him; such an exalted heritage and such weight on his shoulders. He knew he was worthy of such inheritance and history and achievement.
And let’s not forget that he was also successor to Alexander, yes, the one and only, the Great, the general of generals, that great strategist, the founder of this great city, whose tomb had pride of place in Ptolemy’s capital, shielding inside his sacred and now divine body.
Alexander had become a god and he was worshipped and embraced as such in the whole of the Egyptian lands, within boundaries that enclosed a vast expanse, Alexander the divinity, worshipped as one of the greatest of the pantheon of Ptolemaic gods that encompassed Greek and Egyptian deities and honoured and loved them all.
Ptolemy turned to his visitor who had been patiently waiting a few steps behind. ‘My dear Hieronymus, our work at the Library has only just begun and may my successors prove worthy and keep my dream alive and expand it.’
A royal servant interrupted.
‘Your Majesty, Demetrius of Phaleron is waiting to see you.’
‘How long has he been waiting for? By the gods, Antinas, you have no respect for old age. Bring him here. Have you at least offered him a seat to rest his old bones, some water or wine, perhaps?’
Antinas lowered his head and bowed to his king so low that he almost prostrated himself on the floor. Ptolemy was about to dismiss him when he heard a familiar voice.
‘Ptolemy. Your servant has not seen me before? He deserves a good whipping. I’m not getting any younger, you know. It’s not a secret that your ambitious library project is keeping me busy.’
‘I knew you were the right person for the job. It must be torture to leave your now primary home, is it not?’
‘It is indeed. It is indeed. May your ambition for it keep expanding together with its size, so as to keep me fit and sustain my soul.’
‘Well, you have always been fit. But some fresh air will not make you ill, let alone kill you. Demetrius, I have a mission for you. I hear some canny souls in Pergamon are attempting to bypass my ban on the export of papyrus by experimenting with a new material made of animal hides. I want to know what progress they have made.’
‘I will not ask whether your source is reliable.’ Demetrius saw Ptolemy’s thunderous expression, eyes shooting fire and shut up.
‘You’ve never questioned my information before. How dare you do so now?’
Demetrius was aware he had overstepped the mark and putting familiarity to one side, deployed a respectful tone suitable to the great king before him. ‘My king my intention was not to doubt you. Please forgive me.’ He could not help himself. He had to say it. But Ptolemy caught his thought before it was transformed into words.
‘You think it improbable, don’t you?’ ‘No, my Great King. I will go personally’ ‘First, do not patronise me, Demetrius. Drop the formalities. We’ve known each other for far too long. And though I would trust you with my life, you are to remain here. You are too valuable to me. I want you to send someone else that you can trust, but who is also expendable. The journey is perilous.’
‘As you wish. I believe I have someone in mind.’
‘Good.’ Ptolemy turned to look at his beloved city deep in thought. That was Demetrius’ cue to leave.
Demetrius bowed gently and walked away. Now, with that out of the way, Ptolemy needed to tend to two well-travelled visitors who had just landed in their midst from afar. He waited and when Demetrius was out of earshot he turned his attention to Hieronymus.
‘My dear Hieronymus, how is progress at the Pharos? Will I see my lighthouse finished, do you think, before I die? I have passed by in disguise and I did not like what I saw. Construction appears to have slowed lately. Work should have been even faster as I get older. I’m not getting any younger, you know. Maybe I should pay the site a visit, undisguised, to speed things up.’
Ptolemy paused and extended his arm towards the city before them. Hieronymus next to him was looking at his feet, deep in thought.
‘Hieronymus, feast your eyes. Do not ignore the feast before you at your feet. Isn’t it a spectacle? My creation in only a few years, out of nothing. Alexander may have planted the foundation stone, but it was I that gave it life and the nutrition to grow. And it has grown, beyond my expectations and wildest dreams. The greatest city on earth.’
Giorgos and Aristo were not far behind. But they had taken a detour. Aristo could never resist markets and the market by the harbour called to him like a flower to a bee.
Giorgos saw Aristo veering off course at every turn and soon after every attempt to correct his deviation, or so it seemed, from their intended destination when relief at such an apparent success quickly turned to annoyance. ‘Come on, Aristo, let’s go. Why are you going that way?’
‘I want to see that stall over there. Oh, and that one… Yes, I’ll have two of that… and… look at that… look at those pancakes and the honey… yes, two of those… and I have to get some of that.’
‘What’s got into you? You are behaving like an impetuous child. You sound as if you have regressed to the age of ten. Come on, leave that, we have to go.’
Aristo winked conspiratorially at Giorgos to remind him about such a thing as a sense of humour. ‘Hold your horses. How often do get the chance to be here? It’s never happened before and it’s not likely to happen again. Oh, what is that smell? Let me just see that stall over there. It will be the last one, I promise.’
Giorgos rolled his eyes to the heavens. But Aristo pretended to relent feigning disappointment. He was really playing with Giorgos after all. What Aristo was really looking for was for valuable manuscripts and he found a contact from whom he bought two with coins that he had found inside a small pocket in his chiton.
That would be their passport as visitors into the Great Library. Ptolemy, determined to make his Library the greatest in the world, decreed that every visitor to the city was obliged to leave behind a manuscript for the Library’s collection.
Giorgos and Aristo reached the great Library where, as visitors from Athens, and bringing with them the ultimately desirable gift to Ptolemy, two rare manuscripts, they expected to gain favour with the King and entry into the inner parts of the Library.
After a short meeting with Ptolemy, they were led on an honorary tour of the Library they had so generously endowed, and about which they had heard so much and were dying to see for themselves.
During the tour Giorgos and Aristo noticed that the building was unusually quiet for this time of the day. They asked their guide who simply smiled and looked away as if he did not understand their question.
As they were passing by shelf after shelf choked full and brimming to its lips with papyrus scrolls, their eyes caught a glimpse of something that looked unlike any of the expected contents of the collection, not a scroll but something shiny. It was only a brief glimpse that stared them in the eye and sent the light through their eyelids and burned their skin, as if rushing to brand itself, its memory upon them.
They both screamed, but their scream died inside their vocal chords that went on strike and never left their locked lips. Their guide seemed to be oblivious to their predicament and impervious to their reactions. He kept walking and smiling to himself. His lips seemed to be moving of their own volition, but nothing came out. His arms were glued to his sides, the movement of his hips was awkward and his walk unsteady.
Their guide then stopped in the great hall of the Library. He briefly looked around the numerous shelves extending as far as the eye could see, furiously searching for something. His stare seemed to settle on a point on the opposite wall, as if he could not see anything else in that magnificent space, as if his life depended on it. He was transfixed, but his face retained its mask of gentle expression, occasionally blighted by colour in his cheeks or knocked into the shape of a crooked smile.
Giorgos and Aristo’s eyes followed the guide’s gaze and settled on a strange small statue in a niche at eye level, above a shelf that seemed to hold a collection of strange manuscripts different from the others. They went close to study this little creation. It just did not fit in this exalted space.
They looked around at the statues having pride of place in their little heavily adorned niches near the ceiling. They seemed to have a theme, except for the small statue, which at closer inspection turned out to be a bust.
‘It looks Byzantine. What is it doing here?’
‘That’s what I would like to know.’
‘Aristo, the face looks familiar…’ Giorgos stopped and turned around as if in search of something. ‘Wait a minute. Where’s the guide? He seems to have just vanished into thin air. He was standing right there only a moment ago. And another thing, I cannot hear birdsong or the running water.’ He stared at the fountain. ‘Aristo it looks as if time has stopped, but we are still conscious and moving. What’s going on?’
Without warning the bust’s features became distorted and it came alive and started to speak. At the same time another voice rose behind them. They turned and they saw the guide standing before them again. Where had he disappeared to earlier?
The guide suddenly stopped talking. A huge smile broke on his face, which turned into a malevolent laugh that echoed around the hollowed space, building in volume and intensity to a high crescendo. The walls and the shelves were resonating.
Aristo felt his own body resonating. He looked over at Giorgos. He too seemed to be resonating and at the same frequency, like a suspension bridge tossed about by an earthquake. They both hit the ground at the same time, writhing in agony, covering their ears, holding their heads in their hands and shaking their head from side to side, in a vain attempt to banish this torture. The ordeal stopped as suddenly as it began.
Giorgos was surprised to discover he could still hear his voice; that he even had a voice to hear in the first place. He was relieved his ears had not been smashed to pieces together with his brain, which he would expect had turned to mash. But thankfully it hadn’t as it was not gibberish that came out of his mouth. ‘I don’t think I can take any more of this. First a burning light, now this. That’s a high cost to pay for this mission.’
‘Well, Giorgos, you know what they say. No pain, no gain.’
‘I don’t think when they said it that they had this in mind. Anyway… that bust… that face… does it look familiar to you?’
Aristo stared at it and thought for a while. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Doesn’t it look like the face of the last Byzantine Emperor, Konstantinos XI Palaiologos?’
‘It could be.’
As they were looking at it, the bust left its niche and flew around the hall touching different parts of the building as it went. They looked up and followed its progress.
There, close to the roof, they could see words appear and disappear across the four corners of the hall, place-names in shining crystal letters as if made from gleaming diamonds: “Constantinople”, “Athens”, “Alexandria” and on the fourth wall, instead of a place-name, the following inscription appeared: “Save the places that cure the soul.”
They remembered the inscription above the entrance to the Library: “The place that cures the soul.”
‘Giorgos, which are the places that cure the soul?’
‘It’s the libraries, isn’t it? This is supposed to be the biggest library at this time and for a few centuries to come. You remember about Ptolemy’s ban on the export of papyrus. That continued with his successors. Well, that was the reason for the enlightened rulers of Pergamon in Asia Minor to experiment with the development of a new writing material. And what they came up with was parchment made from treated animal hides. That was what came to be called pergamene in Greek, from the name of the place where it was invented, Pergamon. This would, in the next few decades, lead to Pergamon possessing a great library, second only to Alexandria with an estimated two hundred thousand manuscripts to Alexandria’s estimated seven hundred thousand. I think that in Pergamon may lie something to help us with our quest.’
Aristo raised a hand to shush Giorgos. ‘Just a minute. Didn’t Mark Anthony gift the Pergamon Library collection to Queen Cleopatra of Egypt sometime between 43 and 31 B.C.? And didn’t you say earlier that it was rumoured that the Alexandrian collection was moved by Emperor Constantine to his new capital, Constantinople? Shouldn’t we try to find something there? Wouldn’t that be easier?’
Giorgos shook his head. ‘No, it wouldn’t. That is a rumour. No real evidence has ever been found to support that rumour. It’s just speculation. Any trail has gone cold long ago and it would be impossible to find out the truth. We wouldn’t know where to start. Anyway, how are we going to get to Pergamon while it was still a great cultural centre? It would have to be around 133 B.C.’
‘Maybe we don’t have to. We could go through the same transformation as with Alexandria. What looks almost certain is that we need to get there.’
Suddenly, the bust, that had still been flying around the hall, stopped to rest on a table in front of Giorgos and Aristo. The table was heavily laden with scrolls. And then the bust started to move with lightning speed from scroll to scroll and seemed to be writing in each scroll and once it was done it bound them into one manuscript, looked at them and bowed and then landed next to the manuscript and stopped moving.
Giorgos and Aristo walked to the table. Aristo picked up the manuscript, but whatever was written there was incomprehensible. Then he had an inspiration. He passed his palm over the characters and, before their eyes, the words formed in the air. Then the words were transformed into still and then moving pictures and a series of places unfolded. They saw Athens and Alexandria, Constantinople and Cappadocia.
The last image was so incomplete as to stump them both. Then straight lines shot upwards from each place and where the lines met stood an enthralling structure, a glittering vision of transparent crystal, shooting sparks one moment and sitting benevolent the next. Aristo remembered his experience in Ayia Sophia on the second day. The fifth line infusing energy into the structure seemed to be coming from somewhere in the Eastern Mediterranean.
Flocks of glorious eagles and falcons glared at the structure, and then back at Aristo. He looked deep into their eyes, and, in pairs, they interlocked into one symbol, a flock of double-headed eagles with the falcons holding them two-abreast and they were marching supported by the falcons that emitted the most wonderful eerie sounds.
Giorgos suddenly became very animated, as if he had been bitten by a wasp.
Aristo, look.’
As the images flew passed their eyes and the slide-show came to an end, there was a commotion at the other end of the hall and an influx of soldiers burst through. They crossed the large space to where Giorgos and Aristo stood within seconds. At the head of the illustrious invading force was none other than Ptolemy himself.
‘Greetings again, honoured guests. Thank you for the manuscripts. You’ve made a good choice. They will take their treasured place in this collection. Before I leave you, I will give you some help with your quest. The answer you seek, the missing piece will not be found where you expect it. The place will seem insignificant, not a centre of magnificent work and scientific excellence, but when you take the right measurements, it will make sense to you and you will see that it could not have been anywhere else. And you will feast on the temple of god and knowledge where the two meet. Find the bridge that binds all that hold this world together.’
Giorgos addressed their host.
‘That doesn’t sound like a recipe for a tasty dish. A feast of religion and science and knowledge, all thrown together in the pot and stirred. That would make a hell of a soup, full of contrasting flavours, bitter sworn enemies and combatants, locked in a fight for dominance of taste, leaving a bitter aftertaste. If they don’t kill you, then they definitely will make one very ill indeed.’ At that he fell silent.
In the meantime, Aristo was thinking about the bridge that seemed to be the key to progress in their mission.
‘Giorgos, you should put pen to paper. You have a way with words, a talent you should nurture.’ Aristo paused. ‘I’ve been thinking about that bridge. Listen and tell me whether I’m going down the wrong path. There is a common thread going through all of this. His Majesty, here, was the pupil of Aristotle and so was Demetrius of Phaleron who helps his Majesty to organise the Library. I suspect that his Majesty, in his cunning wisdom to protect his treasures, has devised a simple system to foil the most resourceful intruder. But he would not have deviated far from Aristotle. Yet he would need to use as basis of this a solid foundation and the closest to that would be Plato, Aristotle’s teacher and, for a certain period, his contemporary, in the sense that their schools co-existed as civilised rivals for quite a few years. The influence of both was very pronounced in mathematics and, by extension, science.’
Giorgos was thinking along the same lines with the heavy taste and smell of Ptolemy’s question still hanging in the air and clogging the wheels of their brains. Giorgos spurred them on a healthy discourse.
‘Philosophy asks the questions that mathematics and science tries or is used to solve. When his Majesty asked the mathematician Euclid for an easy way to understand his seminal work, the “Elements”, Euclid is purported to have answered: “There is no royal way or shortcut to geometry”.’
King Ptolemy nodded and smiled at the memory and at these resourceful young men before him. He interrupted them.
‘If only you two decided to stay permanently here in Alexandria…’ Ptolemy let the thought fade away and you could see his brain giving birth to ideas for projects used to build a great vision of the future with Aristo’s and Giorgos’ role in fulfilling his ambitions clearly set out. ‘I can think of a few things in which to channel your brains.’
Aristo smiled at him. ‘Your Majesty, however attractive that offer may sound, we will regretfully decline. May I request that you do not provide us with any further interruptions, so that we can give you your answer and complete this mission.’
Ptolemy was amused. ‘Brains and respectful insolence. An unbeatable combination. Now, I really will be very sorry to see you leave.’
Aristo ignored him. They were wasting time. ‘You know, Giorgos, above the entrance to Plato’s Academy it is said that you could see the inscription: “Anyone not versed in geometry may not enter.” The understanding of the Elements together with what followed based on them in the fields of mathematics and science can explain the events in our world, what makes it turn and change.’
Giorgos was on the same wavelength, his and Aristo’s minds acting as one, joined in a friendly pingpong match.
‘Descartes followed along similar veins by firmly setting mathematics, more specifically numbers, as the basis of philosophy and theorising about the world. Faith provides succour and comfort and it has its uses. However, it is not enough. It’s there to justify where something cannot be explained with logic and scientific means. They call them the mysteries because they cannot explain them and expect people to believe them. But enlightened people seek more, seek knowledge and seek reasoning and explanation an trustification, which is what leads to understanding and comprehension of all that is happening around us. Religion is what we cannot explain, is a means to brainwashing the meek, but it can also be a force for good where it encourages and teaches people to be generous and good and respectful to their fellow human beings, to their neighbours.’
‘But what Plato, Aristotle and Euclid and Descartes all teach us is to question, always to question and seek higher knowledge and that is what serves humanity better and leads to the greater achievement, exploration, experimentation and then invention and creativity. Because art is also part of this circle of curiosity and the succour of the soul and the mind.’
‘And yet what we have found so far in respect of the last Emperor is next to a church or a mosque, both religious establishments. So science and religion do go hand in hand as a force for good, a force for bringing people together, even if it, sometimes, draws them apart.’
Ptolemy raised his arms to silence them.
‘Well done. You have found the bridge and you are now ready to cross it. Farewell.’
Based on his earlier offer extended to them, Aristo really expected he would try to detain them, but apparently he misjudged him. Nevertheless, they should be cautious.
‘Giorgos, don’t drop your guard. We are not out of the woods yet. Let’s get that manuscript and get out of here.’
King Ptolemy I Soter, Pharaoh of Egypt, or rather his ghost, was gone, but only next door to his palace to join his physical self, who, during this episode, had continued to converse with Hieronymus and a new guest, Eliagos, from a place called Smyrna, fresh from a meeting with Stephanos, a dangerous deployment of time-hopping.
‘Eliagos, I have a gift for you. Our conniving friends next door are smarter than I expected. But right now they are vulnerable, because by solving my riddle, they believe that they are out of danger. They are simply too precious to let them get away, don’t you think?’
Ptolemy’s face turned into a mask of mirth and sardonic pleasure.
The air went cold and foul, and Giorgos and Aristo started to find it hard to breathe. There were sounds of running feet coming from the other end of the hall and approaching quickly. Aristo looked at Giorgos.
‘I think we have overstayed our welcome.’
Aristo didn’t know how he knew, but something directed his hand to touch the bust with the likeness of the Emperor.
They found themselves underwater surrounded by ruins, columns, statues, huge blocks of marble, a forgotten underwater ghost city. Aristo indicated upwards. They both desperately needed air. They broke through the surface of the Alexandrian bay blue sea.
They emerged on a beach, near the port and the old quarter of Alexandria of the present day.
‘Aristo, judging from the location, I think those ruins underwater must be what’s left of the Royal Quarter of the Ptolemies. Looking at the city, we are clearly in modern times, but I can’t tell whether it’s the same time and year we left.’
‘Let’s find out before we do anything else. At least it’s good to see we are back into our normal clothes.’
And then they saw it in front of them. The Bibliotheca Alexandrina.
‘At least now we know it’s sometime after 2003 when the Library opened its doors.’
They saw lots of places with the current date. They breathed a sigh of relief. They seemed to be back in their own time and probably at the time they were about to enter the Library before forcibly evicted to another era. They again went through the front entrance, silently hoping for the real thing this time.
Yet, with only the slightest hint of hesitation, they entered, once more, the venerated space. A space suffering with split personality disorder, a space that played on two time dimensions; conventional library by day that doubled as a portal to other days and lives of others by night.