‘Have you read any of the pagan philosophers?’ I asked.
‘No, sir,’ he answered. ‘They have nothing to add to the truths given by the Holy Fathers of the Church.’
I tried to look devout. By much squinting, I now managed to read a few bits of Plutarch:
And, when the lower classes see their loved ones die, they would rather think them still existing, though in Hell, than utterly erased. And they like to hear it said that those they have lost are in a better place. . But they are stricken dumb with grief to hear about the dissolution of atoms. They cannot even understand it when told that someone is no more. . Behold, then, how the philosopher of bodily pleasures really takes away the sweetest and greatest hope of the lower classes. .
What could I say about this to make conversation? I wondered. That facts are facts if true? That wishful thinking doesn’t affect whether they are true or not? Best not get involved in that. I looked up at the glass dome directly above where we sat. The sun was now low in the sky. But the glass bricks still shone as if with their own light. ‘Good writer, Plutarch,’ I said, keeping up my schoolmaster act. ‘But Epicurus is also worth a read. Though lacking the same inspiration, he does fit in to some degree with Gregory of Nyassa on the infinity of things. He takes issue with Plato on the nature of the world that we are able to comprehend. His universe has always existed, and always will exist. It is boundless in all directions. His streams of hooked atoms combine and recombine in endless sequence.’
The boy frowned. ‘But the atoms are surely an impious fraud?’ he asked — or perhaps he asserted. ‘Does not Plutarch say that Epicurus was the meanest of thinkers?’ he went on in similar tone. ‘He was a man of loose morals and had feeble powers of analysis.’
I smiled and leaned forward on the table. ‘Ah, but were similar claims not made by the philosophers about our own Christian Faith?’ I pushed the scroll to one side and pulled up my sleeves to avoid the dust on the table. ‘I do agree that there are problems with the atomic theory — the “swerve”, for example, to rescue freedom of the will, the infinite divisibility of whatever has extension, the paradox of physical movement. Against all this, however, is the compelling evidence for a world beneath our senses that is comprised of very small particles. Surely, we can rescue the hypothesis of the atoms by allowing that God created them, and that He has determined their motions, and that we can, by patient investigation, use the reason that God has given us to order the atoms to our own convenience?’
If I’d finally got the boy’s interest, preaching even a bastardised version of the truth hadn’t been my intention. But I had got his interest. Trying not to show how pleased I was beginning to feel, I waited for him to smooth off his previous notes with the wide end of his stylus.
‘I think the reason Epicurus is so unpopular with all the other pagan philosophers,’ I continued, ‘is not his openness to refutation by logical paradox, but his claim that government is fundamentally unnecessary. He asserts that a viable human society can exist on the basis of free association of its members — no slavery, no taxes, no lies. Does not our Gregory here also deny the legitimacy of slavery. .?’
And so, as the sun dipped lower and lower, and the glass bricks overhead turned various shades of pink, I settled into my first long dialogue with young Theodore. Looking back, I can regret that it wasn’t our last. But all those shouting matches and pamphlet wars were still so many years in the future. I could have no premonition of them here in the library, as I set out my case, and filled it with just enough weaknesses for a clever boy to best His Magnificence and think well of himself.
I looked up finally as the last reddish tinge faded from the glass bricks. ‘But you must forgive me, young Theodore,’ I said as if startled by how long we’d sat here together. ‘It will surely soon be your bedtime.’ I paused. I let my face break into a friendly smile. ‘The lady Euphemia tells me that you have been deprived, here in Athens, of the company of other children.’
‘But, My Lord,’ he cried, ‘I was playing all day with the children of your secretary. They are delightful creatures.’
I smiled. He could find out for himself that one of them was mine. ‘Then I must arrange,’ I said, ‘for you to spend one or two nights in the nursery. My secretary’s wife is a most charming woman. She would like nothing better than to let your mother sleep free of cares. And I’m sure she would appreciate your help in getting the youngsters to sleep. Her own singing voice is more determined than pleasing.’
Theodore nodded. I managed to avoid biting my lip as he explained that Euphemia had come up with exactly the same suggestion.
‘Then I must arrange it for this very evening,’ I said. I got up and straightened my clothes. I could already feel a pleasurable tingling in my loins.
There was an approaching crunch on the stairs. I heard the telltale cough. ‘You were quick about your business, Martin,’ I said without turning. ‘Come in — you will find me less — er — less preoccupied than on your previous visit.’ I looked over at Theodore, who’d now turned back to the Alexander sheets and was trying not to move his lips as he read. ‘You have met young Theodore already. I’ve no doubt you’ll both get on very well indeed. He has a request from his mother to discuss with you.’
‘My Lord,’ Martin said in his most formal voice, ‘His Grace the Bishop of Nicaea would have a word with you in private.’
I barely had time for a scowl, when I heard another crunch of steps outside the library.
Chapter 28
Simeon walked in and gave a long sniff of disgust. ‘You, boy,’ he snarled at Theodore. ‘If the Emperor’s Legate can stand for a bishop, you have no business sitting in my presence.’ Ignoring that the boy had been making every effort to climb from his chair, Simeon sniffed again. ‘Get out,’ he said, speaking either to Martin or to Theodore — perhaps to both. ‘Come back with something fit for me to drink.’ He looked down and glared at one of the areas of mosaic that still held firmly in place. It was the bare breast of one of the Muses. Avoiding a shattered reading stand that lay in his path, he walked over to where Theodore had been sitting. He picked up one of the cushions and beat the dust out of it. He sat down heavily and looked steadily up at the last glow of light from the dome. It was just enough to bring on a sneeze. By the time he’d finished blowing his nose, Martin and the boy had gone off together, and we were alone.
I walked over to the mural of Athens in its best age. The Acropolis had been painted both higher and smaller than it really was. There were obvious inconsistencies of perspective that told me the painting was fairly modern. This was less interesting, though, than further evidence of burning in the library. At some time, there had been a series of bonfires in the room. The heat in several areas had been so intense that the mosaic tiles were lifted and the underlying concrete had cracked. Looking up, I could see that some effort had been made to clean smoke from the glass bricks.
I turned to Simeon, who was now muttering over the text of Gregory. ‘My Lord,’ I opened with a smooth and diplomatic smile, ‘I cannot say what a pleasure it always is to see you.’
‘Then it’s not a mutual pleasure!’ came the immediate and spat reply.