The Glory That Was

Chapter Nine

Sokrates banged the door of Meton's house with his stick and roared, "Boy! Boy!"

When the spy hole opened and a wrinkled face appeared, the philosopher added, "Tell your master the greatest dunce in Athens is here with two other ninnies from far countries."

The hole closed and after a while opened again, to disclose a man older than Sokrates but younger than Protagoras — a thin man with a sharp, glittering-eyed expression.

"O Sokrates!" said the man. "I have not seen you since the banquet at the house of Alkamenes last year, when you got drunk and danced the kordax."

"I am never drunk! Besides, you were asleep under your couch at the time and could not see what I was dancing."

"And who are these?" said Meton.

"My new acquaintances from far Tartessos. You will find them quite gentlemanly even though they be not Hellenes, let alone Athenians." Sokrates introduced them, adding, "They say they have an astronomical problem for you."

"Come in, come in, do not stand there like so many herms," said Meton. He turned and shouted back over his shoulder, "EJ You women, out of there!"

There was a twitter of female voices and a scrambling sound. Bulnes started to follow Sokrates through the vestibule, but was stopped by Meton, who said in a marked manner, "Are you not going to leave your shoes?"

"I is sorry," he said, and doffed his sandals before following Meton into the open court at the end of the passage.

The court was nothing but a bare rectangle of beaten earth with an altar in the middle, from which a thread of incense smoke arose. The barren patch was surrounded by wooden columns holding up the inner edge of the roof; and the columns in turn were encompassed by a lot of dark little curtained cells opening onto the court. In the courtyard stood a table on which was spread a mass of sheets of papyrus held down by a stone for a paperweight. In one corner a very old man sat at a smaller table, working on some similar sheets.

"Rejoice, Anaxagoras!" Sokrates called across the court to the oldster, who replied in kind.

"What is your problem, men of Tartessos?" asked Meton.

Bulnes had been composing sentences in anticipation of this question. He said, "You — uh — know the theory, Meton, that the earth is round like a ball?"

"What did you say?"

Bulnes repeated.

"Yes, of course," said Meton. "The silly Pythagoreans have been making that claim for several years, and I begin to think they have hit upon the right answer by the wrong method. It would explain many things, such as the shape of the earth's shadow during eclipses of the moon."

"What do you mean, silly Pythagoreans?" said Sokrates. "Perhaps you, who know so much more than I, would condescend to explain wherein lies the silliness of their divine teachings?"

"Their approach, my dear Sokrates, is entirely unscientific: number mysticism, intuition, and all that moonshine. By the way," and Meton sent a sharp look at Bulnes, "I trust you two foreigners are not here to spread that pernicious Babylonian superstition that is ruining scientific astronomy?"

"What do you mean, sir?" said Bulnes.

"Oh, that species of astronomical divination that pretends that the stars control our destinies here on earth and can be used for purposes of prophecy."

"Not at all," said Bulnes.

Sokrates said, "My good Meton, this materialistic so-called science of yours is bankrupt, and you might as well admit it. You and your colleagues have gazed at the stars and plucked at lyre-strings and tried to weigh smoke in a bag, and you have come to a dead end. The material senses alone can do no more for you. If you would seek divine aid in bettering your character, now ..."

"Later, later," said Meton. "Let us finish with these strangers first. What about the roundness of the earth?"

Bulnes said, "We Tartessians believe if we can get measurement of height of the North Celestial Pole from the horizon in enough places, we shall be materials for a complete — uh — complete — what's the word, Wiyem?"

"Map."

"A complete map of the world."

"Papai! Now that is an idea," said Meton, making gestures with his fingers. "The angle from the North Celestial Pole to the horizon will be the same as the angle the observer stands at from the equator toward the North Pole, would it not? A neat point. O Anaxagoras!"

The old man looked up.

"Come here and take some notes. These men have brought an interesting theorem with them."

Anaxagoras came over with a papyrus sheet and wrote as Meton dictated.

"Are you really Anaxagoras of Klazomenai?" asked Flin.

"Indeed I am," quavered the oldster. "Do the Tartessians then know of the poor old Anaxagoras, neglected of the world and sunk to a pensioner of the generous Meton?"

"Nonsense!" gruffed Meton. "He enjoys feeling sorry for himself. That is all for the present, old man. Well then, Bouleus of Tartessos, what more do you wish?"

"We thought if you had instruments at your house, you might let us make observations of the position of the Pole to find it height here at Athens."

"Hm. That could be arranged. I tell you, come back here this evening after dinner and we will take a look from the roof. You will stay, will you not, Sokrates?"

"I shall not need much urging," said Sokrates. "Good-bye for the present, my foreign friends."

Bulnes said to Flin in English, "That's what in America they call the bum's rush." Then to Meton, "Many thanks, my dear sir. It is an honor to have meet you."

"Nonsense. It is no honor at all. Be back after dark, but do not keep me up all night waiting — what is it, Anaxagoras?"

The oldster had been plucking at Meton's chiton. Now he muttered into Meton's ear. After a whispered argument Meton said, "Anaxagoras asks me to invite you to stay so he can question you on the geography of Spain. He is always after such details to improve his world map, you know. How about it?"

Bulnes smiled broadly. "You are much too kind ..."

"Of course, if you have an engagement ..."

"... but my colleague and I would not miss an hour in such learned company for anythings. We accept with heartfelt thanks."

Meton, looking none too pleased, turned to shout to a slave to set extra places. Anaxagoras laid a bony hand on the arms of Flin and Bulnes, saying, "If you will step into my room, my dear friends ..."

The room turned out to be one of the airless, lightless cubicles opening on to the court. Anaxagoras thrust the curtain aside and ushered them in.

Inside, Bulnes saw, leaning against one wall, a huge -rectangular sheet of papyrus in a wooden frame. On it was drawn a world map with Greece in the center of a great circular mass in which the Mediterranean, Red, and Caspian Seas made indentations from different directions. While Greece was drawn with fair accuracy, the other parts became less and less recognizable as one went outward from the center. After some puzzling, Bulnes made out that the tapering horn on the left extremity of Europe was supposed to represent the Iberian Peninsula.

He said, "With all due modesty, my dear Anaxagoras, I thinks I can improve on that. Have you something to draw with?"

Anaxagoras produced a piece of charcoal from the litter and said, "Draw on the wall, if you will."

Bulnes stared at the plaster (on which appeared the half-erased remains of other map sketches) for a few seconds while the picture of his native land formed in his mind. Then he drew rapidly, correcting by smudging out and redrawing once or twice, and adding the main courses of the Ebro, the Tajo, and the Guadalquivir. At the mouth of the last, in the lower left corner of Spain near where Cadiz should be, he drew a little circle.

"Tartessos," he said.

Anaxagoras whinnied with pleasure. "Many thanks! Many thanks! This is the greatest single addition to my map since I started work on it forty years ago. Know you any more of the coasts of the world's outer rim?"

Bulnes smiled and added the western and northern coasts of France. He said to Flin, "Suppose you put in the British Isles. You know them better than I." Then to Anaxagoras, "To you Hellenes of course it seem as though you lived at the center of the world and we at the outer rim, but to us it seem like we lived at the center and you at the far edge. It is all in point of view."

"You mean there are other lands beyond what we used to call the rim of the world?"

"Certainly. Whole continents unknown to you."

"By Hera! I work a lifetime on this map. I correct the blunders of Thales and Anaximandros and Hekataios, and just when I think it perfect, you fellows wander in from far places and blast my hopes with a single sentence. Such is life, I suppose. What is your friend drawing?"

Flin answered, "These are the Tin Islands, which you have perhaps heard of."

"Wonderful! Then the Western Ocean does in fact pass around to the North of Europe? Ha, would that Herodotos were in Athens! He doubts that such is the case. And how do you divide the continents of Europe and Asia?"

"Oh, we do not consider Europe a continent," said Flin, "but a mere peninsula on the continent of Asia — ouch! What are you kicking me for?"

The last sentence was in English to Bulnes, who replied with a suave smile, "Don't seem to know more than you plausibly could, or you'll give us away. Ah — my good Anaxagoras, it is the greatest pleasure to have helped a so distinguished savant as yourself — but I think I hear our host."

Meton beckoned them toward the door at the farther end of the court. Through this door they entered a large and barely furnished room with a floor of stone. In one far corner stood another altar; in the other, a great pile of manuscripts, work sheets, drawing instruments, and the like, which litter looked as though it had been hastily pushed aside to make room for the couches which the slaves were now setting out.

Bulnes sighed as he resigned himself to a discomfort he had so far escaped: that of eating gentleman-style, reclining on a sofa.

In briefing him on Athenian customs and manners, Flin had dilated on the glories of the Athenian dinner party with its contests of wit and song and its other formidable qualities. This one, however, proved much simpler. Meton seemed to have simply stretched his originally modest meal of fish, bread, and assorted greens.- He occupied the head couch with Sokrates, and instead of discussing questions of ponderous philosophic import, they chattered about sports and the high cost of living and the doings of their mutual acquaintances, while a pet marten climbed over them.

At the other side Flin, sprawled with Anaxagoras, argued the question of whether the moon was inhabited, leaving Bulnes to munch his celery in solitary silence. Bulnes did so, except when Anaxagoras became involved in an argument with a slave whom he accused of serving him wine of a grade inferior to that of the rest of the company. Then Bulnes spoke across to Flin,

"At last, my dear Wiyem, I've found a race who cook worse than the English!"

"Huh. At least they don't smother everything with pepper the way they do in Spain. When I got back from there, I thought I should have to have a new skin grafted to the inside of my mouth."

"And the lack of women makes it seem like living in an American YMCA ..."

"What is that?" said Meton.

Flin answered the astronomer in the latter's language, "A thousand pardons, my dear sir. We have been praising your splendid cuisine."

Meton snorted. "Nothing splendid about it. It is the Corinthians and barbarians who live for their bellies."

"Precisely," said Bulnes. "So heathfully modest in quantity and rugged in quality! None of your guests will ever stuff self till he becomes useless ball of fat."

Sokrates added sententiously, "Nothing in excess. Let us eat to live, not live to eat."

Meton shot a sharp look at Bulnes, then apparently decided to take the comment at its face value.

"Oh, well," he said, "if you put it that way, I am glad you appreciate it. However, since you have set us a task this evening, we will not waste time matching verses from the Poet or tossing dregs at a mark. As the stars will soon be out, we shall have one more pull at the wine, and then off to the roof."

Flin, catching the eye of Bulnes, flicked a thumb toward the big door that led to the rear of the house, through which the food had come,

"See that, Knut? For all we know Thalia might be back there. We have no way of finding out."

"The entrance to the seraglio, eh?"

Flin nodded. "It drives me mad when I think ..."

They reached the roof by a ladder. Bulnes was a little alarmed to see Anaxagoras struggling up behind the rest, but the ancient bag of bones reached the top without visible difficulty.

The roof itself was flat and made of some composition like adobe. From here Bulnes could appreciate the figure-eight plan of the house, with its two open interior courts and blank outer wall. He walked over to the corner where stood a group of primitive astronomical instruments: sighting devices more or less like the forestaffs and astrolabes of later centuries, with angles marked off in simple fractions of a circle.

Meton adjusted one of the instruments.

"Come here, Bouleus," he said. "Look along these sights. Now, see you that star, the tip of the tail of the Little Bear? And that one, the brightest star in the tail of the Dragon? And that one, the nearest one to it in the constellation Cepheus? Move your pointer about one-fifth from the first star to the second, and you will be very close to the point you seek. It is unfortunate that there is no bright star near the spot ..."

"Wiyem!" cried Bulnes in English. "It's still in its normal position!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean we're still in the twenty-seventh century, Anno Domini! If we were back in the fifth B.C., it would be — let's see — the other side of Alpha Ursae Minoris, over towards Alpha Draconis. If I had a good star map, I could show you exactly ..."

"No!" cried Flin.

"Look at it yourself."

"Oh, blast it, you know I'm ignorant about such matters. But this can't all be a fake. It's too good!"

"There's your evidence. At least it makes finding Thalia a bit more hopeful."

"What are you two saying?" asked Meton.

Bulnes answered gravely in Greek, "Know, O friends, we have found Athens is a few hundred stadia north from Tartessos. If Anaxagoras will put southern tip of Greece on the same latitude as our Phaiakian city, he shall be very close to the truth."

As they walked homeward with Sokrates, Bulnes said, "Ahem — ah — Sokrates, perhaps you can help us ..."

"In what way?"

"Like yourself, we often find that vulgar money matters interfere with the search for higher truths. To be frank, the stipend with which our city sent us forth is shrinking like the snows in spring, and — uh ..."

"Gentlemen," said Sokrates, "were I as rich as Kallias, I should be glad to help you, but as it is ..."

"I did not mean that. We have considered honest methods of fattening our purses before proceeding to our next stop, and it strikes us that, since some of our scientific ideas seem unknown here, perhaps we could set ourself up as professor like Protagoras ..."

"Well?" said Sokrates in a sharper tone.

"We thought you could advise us how much to charge and where to round up some pupils ..."

"I? I, who for years have been deploring and ridiculing the prostitution of philosophy by these same hucksters? I help you to continue this debasement of the divine faculties? My good men, you have been misinformed ..."

"Excuse us, please," said Bulnes. "Let us consider the proposal as not having been make."

"Of course," continued Sokrates, "not being Athenians, you could not be expected to view these matters according to civilized standards of honor. I suggest you consult Protagoras himself, who is well qualified to advise you in the liming of twigs to catch some of our more credulous birds. And here our paths diverge. Rejoice!"

Off he strode, his paunch bobbing before him.

"I'm afraid he's sore at us," said Bulnes. "But what else could I have done?"

"Dash it all," said Flin. "You shouldn't have gone at him hammer-and-tongs like that. What shall we do now?"

Bulnes shrugged. "Follow his advice and ask Protagoras, I suppose."