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Authors: John Maddox Roberts
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a Saturnalia riot,” I said, ignoring Julia’s elbow, which nearly cracked one of my ribs. “I wish we had entertainment like that in the Roman temples.”
“It was a very proper religious ceremony,” Berenice insisted. “The Holy Ataxas has revealed the sublime nature of the great god, and the value of religious ecstasy in his worship. During the holy trance, one enters mystic communion with the divinity. The Holy Ataxas has promised that, when his followers have achieved the perfection of devotion, the god will speak to us.”
“ Speak? ” I said. “You mean, manifest himself in some mystical fashion, as gods have been wont to do?”
The princess shook her head. “No, he will speak, in his own voice, and all will be able to hear.”
“Fascinating,” I mumbled, astonished as always by the unplumbable depths of human gullibility. At last I yielded to Julia’s elbow and sat back in the litter.
“It is not socially correct to ridicule someone else’s religion!” she hissed when the others were out of earshot.
“I wasn’t ridiculing,” I protested. “I merely asked some questions. Besides, this is not a true religion. It’s a foreign cult. And no educated person, whatever his nation, should lend credence to such fraudulent drivel.”
“So what? She is a princess, and certain allowances are always made for royalty. It’s not as if this were Rome and Ataxas were challenging Jupiter for supremacy.”
In such deep theological discussion did we pass the time as
our bearers sweated our way to the Museum. The litter lurched a bit as they carried us up the great stairway; then they deposited us in the anteroom of the dining hall. There we were greeted by the luminaries of the place. Which is to say that they groveled to Berenice and graciously acknowledged us as part of her entourage.
We passed into the refectory, which had been laid out for a banquet suitable for scholars, which is to say simple, austere and elegant. But the presence of royalty improved matters. The wine was first-rate, as was the food, although ostentatious sauces and bizarre presentation were out. For entertainment, a lengthy passage from Homer was recited by Theagenes, the greatest tragic actor of the Alexandrian theater. We all sat through this with becoming dignity. The excellent wine helped.
In fact, the general air of quiet and self-possession made me a bit suspicious. Something seemed to be missing. Then I noticed that Iphicrates of Chios wasn’t there. I turned to Amphytrion.
“Where’s old Iphicrates? He’s missing a good feed and he might liven things up a bit.”
The Librarian looked slightly pained. “He was in his study this afternoon. Perhaps I should send to see that all is well with him.” He summoned a slave and sent him off to check on Iphicrates. The old man couldn’t come right out and say that he was overjoyed with Iphicrates’s absence.
I knew that the after-dinner chat would consist entirely of learned discussion, and this I wished to avoid at all costs. If I couldn’t get away, the best I could hope for was argument and vituperation. This I knew Iphicrates could supply in abundance. As the dishes were cleared away, a white-bearded old gentleman stood.
“Your Highness, honored guests, I am Theophrastus of Rhodes, chairman of the Department of Philosophy. I have been asked to lead the discussion for this evening. With your permission, I have chosen as subject the concept first articulated by the Skeptic philosopher Pyrrho of Elis: acatalepsia. That is to say, the impossibility of knowing things in their own nature.”
This was even worse than I had feared. The slave reappeared and whispered something urgently to Amphytrion, at which a look of great consternation crossed the Librarian’s face. He stood hurriedly.
“I am afraid I must interrupt the evening’s festivities,” he said. “It seems there has been some sort of—of accident. Something has happened to Iphicrates and I must go see what
“It was a very proper religious ceremony,” Berenice insisted. “The Holy Ataxas has revealed the sublime nature of the great god, and the value of religious ecstasy in his worship. During the holy trance, one enters mystic communion with the divinity. The Holy Ataxas has promised that, when his followers have achieved the perfection of devotion, the god will speak to us.”
“ Speak? ” I said. “You mean, manifest himself in some mystical fashion, as gods have been wont to do?”
The princess shook her head. “No, he will speak, in his own voice, and all will be able to hear.”
“Fascinating,” I mumbled, astonished as always by the unplumbable depths of human gullibility. At last I yielded to Julia’s elbow and sat back in the litter.
“It is not socially correct to ridicule someone else’s religion!” she hissed when the others were out of earshot.
“I wasn’t ridiculing,” I protested. “I merely asked some questions. Besides, this is not a true religion. It’s a foreign cult. And no educated person, whatever his nation, should lend credence to such fraudulent drivel.”
“So what? She is a princess, and certain allowances are always made for royalty. It’s not as if this were Rome and Ataxas were challenging Jupiter for supremacy.”
In such deep theological discussion did we pass the time as
our bearers sweated our way to the Museum. The litter lurched a bit as they carried us up the great stairway; then they deposited us in the anteroom of the dining hall. There we were greeted by the luminaries of the place. Which is to say that they groveled to Berenice and graciously acknowledged us as part of her entourage.
We passed into the refectory, which had been laid out for a banquet suitable for scholars, which is to say simple, austere and elegant. But the presence of royalty improved matters. The wine was first-rate, as was the food, although ostentatious sauces and bizarre presentation were out. For entertainment, a lengthy passage from Homer was recited by Theagenes, the greatest tragic actor of the Alexandrian theater. We all sat through this with becoming dignity. The excellent wine helped.
In fact, the general air of quiet and self-possession made me a bit suspicious. Something seemed to be missing. Then I noticed that Iphicrates of Chios wasn’t there. I turned to Amphytrion.
“Where’s old Iphicrates? He’s missing a good feed and he might liven things up a bit.”
The Librarian looked slightly pained. “He was in his study this afternoon. Perhaps I should send to see that all is well with him.” He summoned a slave and sent him off to check on Iphicrates. The old man couldn’t come right out and say that he was overjoyed with Iphicrates’s absence.
I knew that the after-dinner chat would consist entirely of learned discussion, and this I wished to avoid at all costs. If I couldn’t get away, the best I could hope for was argument and vituperation. This I knew Iphicrates could supply in abundance. As the dishes were cleared away, a white-bearded old gentleman stood.
“Your Highness, honored guests, I am Theophrastus of Rhodes, chairman of the Department of Philosophy. I have been asked to lead the discussion for this evening. With your permission, I have chosen as subject the concept first articulated by the Skeptic philosopher Pyrrho of Elis: acatalepsia. That is to say, the impossibility of knowing things in their own nature.”
This was even worse than I had feared. The slave reappeared and whispered something urgently to Amphytrion, at which a look of great consternation crossed the Librarian’s face. He stood hurriedly.
“I am afraid I must interrupt the evening’s festivities,” he said. “It seems there has been some sort of—of accident. Something has happened to Iphicrates and I must go see what
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