accompanying him, or at the doors into rooms filled with books. 'Are the others like this?' The question was out before he could phrase it properly; he mastered himself sufficiently to give the older scholar a cool stare.
'Very similar. The Daughter Library of Christian writing is on the far side of the courtyard, if you need to inspect it.' The older scholar had become slightly servile and Drosos wondered if the man felt as oppressed as he did.
Before Drosos could speak, the younger scholar said, 'You will have to take every precaution to be sure that the Christian Daughter escapes the flames. If any harm should come to those sacred writings, the loss to the world would be incalculable.'
Drosos did not trust himself to speak. He motioned to the two men to take him out of the building. 'What do the other Daughter Libraries contain?'
'Oh, works of history and literature. A few are interesting to Christian scholars, but the Emperor has rightly pointed out that the only history any Christian needs is the history of the world since His coming. The Testaments are literature enough and philosophy enough for the soul of any man, and the writing of good Christian scholars have more merit and worth than all the pagan writings of the world. What man desires to know things that will condemn his soul to eternal torment?' The younger scholar indicated the long rows of shelving. 'Think of the improvement in the world if one tenth of this mass were devoted to determining the true nature of Christ. This would be a shrine as sacred as Hagia Sophia.'
'But might not there be…' Drosos began, then let his thought remain unfinished.
'You forget that few men have the wisdom to know the difference between information and knowledge, and they often confuse one with the other,' said the older scholar. 'A great pope or metropolitan might read some of these works without danger, but there are many others who assume they would not be led astray who would be at the greatest risk.'
'Including pragmatic soldiers,' said Drosos, his neck and shoulder aching now, and his heart.
'Most certainly,' said the older scholar, his attitude almost comradely. 'It is a sign of your virtue that you recognize this.'
'Is it?' Drosos asked, feeling more desolate than he ever had in the aftermath of battle. As they left the building, he looked back at it.
'It will take care to burn it safely,' the younger scholar warned him. 'It is just as well that the burning is being left to you and your soldiers or it might be disastrous.'
'Yes; disastrous.' The lorica Drosos wore felt as if it had shrunk, compressing his chest in its brass embrace.
'We will see that you are given every assistance,' the younger scholar promised him. 'You and your men have only to tell us what we must do and we will perform your orders to the best of our abilities.'
'How many are you? scholars who are willing to assist in the burning,' asked Drosos.
'Some have refused, which is to be expected. We have kept a list of their names to pass on to the Court Censor and the Emperor for whatever action they believe is appropriate.' The younger scholar cleared his throat.
'There are forty-eight of us; there are several hundred scholars here, but most of the Coptic scholars have refused to help on the grounds that this is an Alexandrian monument and they are not willing to diminish it, even at the hazard of their souls. Since they are heretics in any case, we have taken no notice of them.'
'Will they resist us, do you think?' Drosos asked, hoping that he might find an excuse for disobeying the Emperor's orders in opposition from the Copts.
'They have said they will not,' the younger scholar said with pride. 'They have admitted that their allegiance to the Library is as much vanity as dedication and they are willing to stand aside if we agree to keep the Christian Daughter intact.'
'We have spent over a month attempting to persuade them to join us, but they are not willing,' said the older scholar as he led the way across the courtyard to the second-largest building. 'All the documents in this Daughter are in foreign tongues—nothing in the walls is in Latin or Greek.'
Drosos stared up at the stone front of the Foreign Daughter and he had to bite his lower lip hard to keep from weeping. 'How many manuscripts are stored here?'
'They say there are over twenty thousand, but I assume that is a boast,' said the older scholar. 'Perhaps twelve thousand at the most, or so I believe. This Daughter has one small warehouse, but it is two streets away, and you will have to arrange for that to be burned at another time. It is too dangerous to try to control two fires at the same time, or so your officer explained it to me yesterday.'
'Two fires—yes, two fires are much too dangerous,' said Drosos, hardly hearing the words.
The younger scholar indicated the Third Daughter. 'This Library has two large warehouses directly behind it, but they front on the leatherworkers' market, and so it will be tricky to keep the burning from spreading.'
'My men will see to it,' Drosos declared, wishing fervently he did not have to listen to any of this. 'I will send a contingent of Guardsmen to you tomorrow after-noon and you can show them everything that will have to be protected.' He gazed around the courtyard, thinking for a wild moment that there might be a way to protect all of it, or perhaps a few of the warehouses. Surely the loss of one building would be enough to satisfy the Censor. He imagined all the arguments he might put forth, and abandoned the notion at once. His orders were specific and if he failed to carry them out, he would be disgraced.
'Captain?' the older scholar ventured.
'I'm sorry,' said Drosos, coming back to himself. 'I was attempting to assess the—'
'—the magnitude of the task,' the younger scholar supplied enthusiastically. 'Yes, it must be a challenge to find the most effective means to burn such large buildings.'
'A challenge,' Drosos echoed as if he did not comprehend the word.
By the time Drosos left, the moon was down and the streets were wholly deserted. He set a brisk pace for his Guard and would not speak to them as they made their way back to the small palace where the Byzantine garrison was housed. Once there, he dismissed the soldiers and went back to his reception room, black despair in his heart.
'Captain.' Chrysanthos shook his head and got unsteadily to his feet, a yawn concealed behind his hand.
'Chrysanthos,' Drosos exclaimed angrily. 'What are you doing here?'
'You wanted me to stay,' Chrysanthos reminded him sleepily.
'And I wakened you.' His face showed no emotion.
'I was drowsing,' Chrysanthos admitted. 'But I'm awake now.'
Drosos had gone to the window, drawn by the dark mass of the Library. He stood as if transfixed by the sight, though it. was now impossible to make out anything more than an irregular shape where he knew the buildings to be. 'Only one will be left when we're through,' he said after a little time.
Chrysanthos heard the pain in Drosos' words and had no anodyne to offer. 'At least there will be one.'
'They'll probably be rid of that, one day,' Drosos said unhappily. 'It's like that, once the burning starts.'
'Captain.' He was not sure Drosos had heard him, but he went on doggedly. 'Captain, you asked for wine. I brought two skins with me. They're right here.'
Drosos turned heavily. 'Wineskins.' He laughed harshly. 'Why not?'
'And I have two cups,' Chrysanthos said, taking them from a narrow shelf by the door. 'Choose the one you wish.'
'Oh, I leave that to you,' Drosos said, coming away from the window at last. 'Just so long as you keep it full. I want to be drunk as a barbarian whore.' He threw himself down into his chair and looked at Chrysanthos expectantly.
'On good Cypriot wine?' Chrysanthos pretended to be scandalized at the suggestion.
'On any wine,' Drosos said with determination. 'God, God, God, I want to forget tonight.' He sighed suddenly and deeply.
'Drosos—'
'Pour the wine,' he ordered. 'When we've drained a cup or two, I might say something. But then it will only be maundering, and it won't matter; you'll be drunk, too, and you won't care what I say.' He braced his arm on the table at his side. 'Hurry up there, Chrysanthos.'
As Chrysanthos poured out the first generous measures of wine, he said, 'Did you take that Egyptian slave to bed with you at last?'
