Read Online Search the Seven Hills by Barbara Hambly - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Hambly
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course. I gather that Christianity, unlike the other cults based on irrational acceptance of some central mystery, puts a high premium on acceptance of the correct beliefs—on the correct interpretation of the mystery. Unfortunately, opinions differ on what is correct. And since all Christians, whatever their belief, are passionate believers, tomcats in a sack are nothing to it. This doesn’t even include offshoot cults, Gnostics and Black Gnostics and the worshippers of the other Jewish prophet John.”
“You know a great deal about it,” said Marcus slowly.
“I should hope that I do,” remarked the old scholar dourly, “Antioch was alive with them, fighting and cursing and denouncing one another and forever hauling one another into court over the most trivial litigations. Since I’ve returned to Rome I have spent most of my time in seclusion, but I’m using my time to compile an encyclopedia of eastern cults.” He gestured at the room around him, which, Marcus could see, as his eyes grew used to the subaqueous light and deepening shadows, was heaped with scrolls, wax writing tablets, and stray leaves of parchment and papyrus. From the gloom of the corners idols peered with agate eyes from crude shelves made of stacked boxes, on which Marcus saw clay baals, bronze votives to barbarian deities of unimaginable age, a tiny gold image of the Slayer of the Bull, and a minute jade of a little man with an enormous bald head, sitting cross-legged amid a swirl of draperies. “My researches have taken me very far afield,” continued Sixtus’ deep voice. “I probably know as much about Christianity as any man in Rome.”
“Do you know any Christians?”
For a long moment he did not reply, only toyed with a stylus on the table before him, tracing the pale grain of the waxed table with its blunt end. Finally he said, “I know people who have been suspected of being Christians. I have taken care, however, never to ask them directly if they were, in fact, followers of Joshua Bar-Joseph, for the simple reason that if asked, they might speak the truth. Then I should be in the intolerable position of having to decide whether to abet them or denounce them.”
“It’s a fine distinction to make,” said Marcus hesitantly, “between lying and truth.”
“A year governing Antioch,” returned the old man in a dry voice, “would make a semanticist out of anyone.”
“But—why would you screen them at all? Why would you screen anyone who does the things they do?”
His shock and disgust must have carried into his voice, for Sixtus looked down for a time, rolling the stylus slowly between his fingers, as though struggling with something within his own mind. At last he looked up and said, “I did a lot of killing when I was a young man. Soldiering in Africa I must have killed hundreds of men personally—nobody I knew, of course—and caused the deaths of literally thousands more. Generals do that, it’s their job. And later, as military governor of Antioch, I was responsible for law within the city. I saw a lot of very untidy dying, and I learned the painful fact that once one has been accused, if the crime is heinous enough it does not greatly matter whether one is in fact guilty or not guilty. Perhaps I am merely philosopher enough to try and make a distinction between general and specific guilt.”
“But they’re all guilty!” argued Marcus. “I mean, they’re all guilty of abominations, of sacrificing children to the ghost of a dead fisherman—and besides I thought the Christians hated philosophy, along with just about everything else.”
Sixtus smiled wryly. “They do. But that is hardly reason for philosophy to hate them back. After all, one doesn’t return the compliment when an ill-mannered child throws stones.”
“But that isn’t the same thing!”
“No,” sighed the old man, “perhaps not. But then, the Christians hardly have the monopoly on the killing of children. Quite aside from what
“You know a great deal about it,” said Marcus slowly.
“I should hope that I do,” remarked the old scholar dourly, “Antioch was alive with them, fighting and cursing and denouncing one another and forever hauling one another into court over the most trivial litigations. Since I’ve returned to Rome I have spent most of my time in seclusion, but I’m using my time to compile an encyclopedia of eastern cults.” He gestured at the room around him, which, Marcus could see, as his eyes grew used to the subaqueous light and deepening shadows, was heaped with scrolls, wax writing tablets, and stray leaves of parchment and papyrus. From the gloom of the corners idols peered with agate eyes from crude shelves made of stacked boxes, on which Marcus saw clay baals, bronze votives to barbarian deities of unimaginable age, a tiny gold image of the Slayer of the Bull, and a minute jade of a little man with an enormous bald head, sitting cross-legged amid a swirl of draperies. “My researches have taken me very far afield,” continued Sixtus’ deep voice. “I probably know as much about Christianity as any man in Rome.”
“Do you know any Christians?”
For a long moment he did not reply, only toyed with a stylus on the table before him, tracing the pale grain of the waxed table with its blunt end. Finally he said, “I know people who have been suspected of being Christians. I have taken care, however, never to ask them directly if they were, in fact, followers of Joshua Bar-Joseph, for the simple reason that if asked, they might speak the truth. Then I should be in the intolerable position of having to decide whether to abet them or denounce them.”
“It’s a fine distinction to make,” said Marcus hesitantly, “between lying and truth.”
“A year governing Antioch,” returned the old man in a dry voice, “would make a semanticist out of anyone.”
“But—why would you screen them at all? Why would you screen anyone who does the things they do?”
His shock and disgust must have carried into his voice, for Sixtus looked down for a time, rolling the stylus slowly between his fingers, as though struggling with something within his own mind. At last he looked up and said, “I did a lot of killing when I was a young man. Soldiering in Africa I must have killed hundreds of men personally—nobody I knew, of course—and caused the deaths of literally thousands more. Generals do that, it’s their job. And later, as military governor of Antioch, I was responsible for law within the city. I saw a lot of very untidy dying, and I learned the painful fact that once one has been accused, if the crime is heinous enough it does not greatly matter whether one is in fact guilty or not guilty. Perhaps I am merely philosopher enough to try and make a distinction between general and specific guilt.”
“But they’re all guilty!” argued Marcus. “I mean, they’re all guilty of abominations, of sacrificing children to the ghost of a dead fisherman—and besides I thought the Christians hated philosophy, along with just about everything else.”
Sixtus smiled wryly. “They do. But that is hardly reason for philosophy to hate them back. After all, one doesn’t return the compliment when an ill-mannered child throws stones.”
“But that isn’t the same thing!”
“No,” sighed the old man, “perhaps not. But then, the Christians hardly have the monopoly on the killing of children. Quite aside from what
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