Chapter One

[Carthage, 413 AD]

"Synesius of Cyrene, Bishop of Ptolemais," Augustine's servant, a Nubian, introduced Synesius in rich, mellifluous tones.

Augustine looked up from his scroll and nodded at Synesius. "You look tired – please sit."

Synesius sat. "I worry about Alexandria. . . . Thank you for permitting this visit. I regret interrupting your work."

"Marcellinus said it was about a matter of great importance to you, and this is all but finished." Augustine held up a scroll, and sighed. "It is named The City of God." Augustine nodded to the Nubian, who receded from the lushly appointed room. Augustine offered the scroll to Synesius. "Plato is redeemed. His words have much to teach us."

"Thank you." Synesius unrolled the scroll, but only glanced at the words in front of him. He knew the offering of the scroll was symbolic, a courtesy, not an invitation to read. "We are blessed to have you . . . and your tolerance." Synesius rewound the papyrus. He closed his eyes for a moment, to prolong the good smell of it. Few things smelled as good to him as recently written upon papyrus.

"Intolerance is all around us," Augustine said, sadly. "It is the source of my disagreement with the followers of Donatus, as you know. Intolerance from Christians is a response to the lingering cruelty of pagan Romans who have not yet seen the light, and the continuing brutality of barbarians. It has become more of a danger to us now than the pagans and barbarians themselves."

Synesius nodded.

"Would you care for a libation," Augustine inquired. "Wine? Kykeon?"

Synesius's eyebrow rose slightly at the offer of kykeon - an ancient mixture of water, barley, and mint, rumored to sometimes have soul-expanding qualities. Synesius had imbibed the mixture only a few times, with no result other than his thirst was quenched and perhaps his psyche was calmed a bit. But he knew most of his brethren frowned upon it.

"Yes, the drink of Socrates, thank you," Synesius responded.

Augustine smiled and poured kykeon from a flask into two ornate cups. "Or of Plato, perhaps – some say he wrote his best dialogues under its beneficial influence." He handed Synesius a cup.

Both bishops sipped.

"Hypatia is at risk from the Nitrians," Synesius said softly, after a time.

"You love her," Augustine observed.

"She walks by the Lighthouse and the Library, more beautiful than the Lighthouse, more wise than the Library, in my dreams every night."

Augustine closed his eyes. "You are in unusual need now, with your wife and your sons so young no longer in this world."

"Hypatia refuses to leave Alexandria," Synesius said. "She will be killed if she stays."

"You cannot be sure of that. But if she must die, what can you do – what can anyone do – in the face of the inevitable?" Augustine asked.

"Forgive me," Synesius said, "but I was hoping you might have a better answer. You believe in free will."

Augustine opened his eyes, then smoothed his purple robe. "Perhaps there is a better answer. There are several matters I must attend to first. Then I will introduce you to someone who might be able to help."

"Thank you." Synesius bowed slightly and left.

Augustine massaged his eyes with his fingers, and resumed reading his scroll.

The Nubian returned a few minutes later with an older man and made the introduction: "Heron of Alexandria".

* * *

Synesius looked from his room to the city of Carthage below. His room was plain, nothing like the mauve elegance of Augustine's quarters. Synesius did not begrudge this in the slightest. Augustine was by far the greater bishop, probably the most important visitor to Carthage at the moment. Augustine was to address the synod tomorrow. If he could convince enough bishops, he would set the Church on its proper course.

These were times of peril for the Church. Despite its victories, it could yet end up like conquered Carthage – triumphant at first, then burned to the ground by Roman pagans, who salted its earth so no crops could grow, then rebuilt it in Rome's image. The Christian fanatics were now salting the crops of the Church with their hatred. He could not bear to think about what kind of world of monstrous intolerance the fanatics would bring into being.

But he knew Hypatia would be its victim, even as she battled a mystery that only she could see.

Synesius looked at the sands below, slick with water from the harbor. The sun shone up from the wetness – an upside-down sun, a light standing on its head.

He heard footsteps at his open door. He turned from Carthage to a hooded figure before him.

"Apologies for arriving unannounced," the figure said. "Augustine said I might be of service."

Synesius scrutinized the face inside the hood. The piercing brown eyes seemed familiar. "Thank you."

The visitor smiled. "Augustine told me he led you to believe it might be a while before I came to you – but I arrived in Carthage a little sooner than expected. I hope this moment is not inopportune."

"I would be grateful for any help you can provide," Synesius replied. "Am I permitted to know your name?"

The visitor removed his hood. "I am Jonah – Benjamin's father."

"But. . . ." Yes, those were Benjamin's eyes. And Synesius was well aware, from his own experience, of how young a man could be when he became a father. "You look scarcely old enough to be Benjamin's older brother."

"I know," Jonah replied. "And I will tell you how such a thing is possible – how a father standing before you can be but five or six years older than his son."

"And will that help me save Hypatia?"

"Yes," Jonah said. "May I sit?"

Synesius nodded, and motioned to the chair next to his by the window.

Jonah joined him and gazed down at Carthage. "A city with a magnificent past, but little future. Would you agree?"

"Yes, that seems the logical, unhappy analysis for this city."

"I know it to be true – and from direct observation, as proposed by Aristotle as the best path to knowledge. Not logic. Observation."

Synesius scoffed. "You consider Aristotle's methods superior to Plato's?"

Jonah smiled. "Not necessarily. I am saying only that I know the future of Carthage from direct observation."

"Direct observation?" Synesius repeated.

"Yes. Shall I prove it to you?"

"By some trickery?"

"No," Jonah said. "I was here, in Carthage, three months from now. I wish it could have been three hours or even three days from now. That would enable me to prove my claim to you more rapidly. But these devices are . . . imprecise."

"I do not follow your meaning."

"That is of no matter – the specifics are irrelevant," Jonah said. "What does matter is this: I have recorded, on a scroll, events which will occur three months from now in this city. You will be profoundly affected by these events. I have been very specific about the details – about the exact day they will happen. I could not have predicted this on the basis of any logic alone, however powerful." Jonah withdrew a scroll, closed, from his robes. "Here, please take it." He offered the scroll to Synesius. "Keep it someplace safe. Do not read it, until the morning of precisely three months from now."

"And if I do read it, sooner?"

"Then you might act to change the events I predicted, and this would be very dangerous . . . to history. And it could invalidate this very proof I am giving you."

Synesius hesitated. "I am not sure I completely understand . . . When I examine your words in three months, shortly after I learn about the events which will soon occur, this will cause me to believe that you have been . . . to the future and returned?"

Jonah nodded. "Someone once said – will say – that there are more things possible in this world than we can ever imagine."

Synesius took the scroll. "I do not believe you but I lose nothing by taking this text."

* * *

Synesius received an invitation to dine with Marcellinus and Augustine the next day. He walked in the coolness of the first evening star to Marcellinus's home. Its furnishings were even more splendid than Augustine's. Synesius accepted a cup of rust-colored wine offered by a servant and followed him to the two men seated by a window. Neither one was happy.

"–The Roman soldiers killed far more than necessary," Augustine was saying.

"I had no choice," Marcellinus replied, smiled briefly at Synesius, and waved him to a chair. "Our faithful appealed to the Emperor for protection – the Donatists are accosting them in the marketplace, demanding they give up their devotion to Rome or be beaten . . . or worse."

Augustine shook his head, gravely. "Yet answering violence with violence cannot be the way. And they are still the majority here in Africa. You were their champion once, not very long ago."

Marcellinus nodded. "Yes, I believed Alaric and the Goths were the greater threat to us, then. Now . . . ." He joined Augustine in the head shaking, and looked again at Synesius.

"I, too, believe that killers who call themselves Christians are the greater threat to us now," Synesius replied bluntly.

Augustine looked keenly at Synesius. "But if we mirror their violence, are we not also killers who call themselves Christian?"

"What would you have me do?" Marcellinus asked, with ill-concealed irritation.

"Go to Alexandria," Augustine replied. "Even with its diminished holdings, the Library contains scrolls, recordings of the true doctrine, that can help us triumph – on the basis of reason not blood."

Marcellinus considered.

Synesius's heart pounded at the prospect of returning to Alexandria–

"I cannot command you," Augustine softly addressed Marcellinus. "You are the Emperor's Secretary of State. You command me. All I can do is suggest and propose."

"You want me out of Carthage," Marcellinus said, coldly.

"I do not deny it," Augustine replied. "You have become a target of the Donatists's rage – a name they can attach to their devil. But our need for scrolls that support our positions, texts that can only be found in Alexandria, is real. Your brother Apringius can assume your responsibilities here in Carthage when you leave. . . . Again, I am only proposing. The decision is yours."

"I need to think about this," Marcellinus said, in a tone that indicated he wished to discuss it no further. "I believe our food awaits us." He stood, and motioned the two priests to follow him into the next room.

Augustine nodded and rose.

Synesius did the same.

As the three walked to their meal, Augustine touched Synesius on the arm and whispered. "I am trying to save not only the Church but his life."

* * *

"The sea is clear and blue today," Synesius remarked to Marcellinus, as their ship, an old square-rigged vessel, embarked from the harbor at Carthage. "Not much of Homer's dark wine in the water."

Marcellinus scowled. "This boat looks as if it was constructed before the siege of Troy."

"It is best that our arrival does not attract attention in Alexandria," Synesius said.

Marcellinus nodded. "At least our voyage should be swift – the men tell me there is a good northwest wind on the sea. With that at our back, we should see the red light of Pharos within ten to twelve days."

"Some say it is the eye of God, watching over all who come to Alexandria by sea."

"Pagan talk," Marcellinus grumbled. "The Pharos Lighthouse was constructed by man."

"Cannot what man constructs convey the vision of God?" Synesius asked.

"Only if the men who constructed were believers in the true triune God," Marcellinus replied. "And the Lighthouse was constructed 300 years before Jesus Christ walked this Earth."

"So was the Library," Synesius said. "It, too, was constructed by Alexander's general, Ptolemy. Does that mean the texts it yet holds cannot bring us closer to God?"

Marcellinus turned from the sea to Synesius. "You know my opinion of the texts in the Library. I am not at all sure that Theophilus – or Caesar's men before him – were wrong to burn them. I am undertaking this voyage only out of respect for Augustine."

Synesius was silent.

"You are no great lover of the texts in the Library, either," Marcellinus pressed his point. "You make this voyage not to save the scrolls but the pagan beauty who protects them."

[Ptolemais, four days later, 413 AD]

Synesius and Marcellinus looked out at the small boat that was approaching theirs. The water was painted glimmering orange by the last rays of the sun. It blended well with the colorful garb of the two priests on the approaching boat. They were Synesius's priests. They looked grim.

"Your vessel was observed a few hours ago," Flavius, the grimmer of the priests, told Synesius and Marcellinus when the four were seated at a table with dates and wine. "We were hoping you might be aboard."

"So much for being inconspicuous," Marcellinus muttered.

"This vessel is indeed very ordinary," Flavius replied. "But Josephus was sure he saw you on the bow." Flavius nodded to Josephus, who smiled nervously and nodded deferentially. Flavius turned to Synesius. "We were hoping you were returning to Ptolemais."

"I have the honor of accompanying Marcellinus to Alexandria on behalf of Augustine."

Flavius started to speak but sipped his wine instead.

"Is the Bishop's presence urgently needed in Ptolemais now?" Marcellinus inquired. "I assume that is so, otherwise you would not be making this visit."

"Yes," Flavius replied. "The Nitrians are at large again. They burned three homes, just yesterday."

Marcellinus sighed. "Too many fires, too few men of God to put them out."

Synesius shook his head. "I am needed in Alexandria."

Marcellinus stroked his chin and addressed Synesius. "Alexandria is the jewel. But neither can we afford to lose Ptolemais to the heretics. . . . Go with your worthy priests to Ptolemais tonight. And then come to me in Alexandria."

* * *

Synesius touched one of the alabaster columns of his home in Ptolemais and looked down at the harbor. "I never tire of looking at this." He drank deeply of his wine.

Flavius and Josephus nodded. "The Romans rebuild well. The elders say it is even more impressive now than before the great earthquake," Josephus said.

"I am sure that is true," Synesius replied. "If catastrophe does not destroy you, it makes you stronger."

"Perhaps, then, we are blessed," Flavius said quietly. He lifted his cup to the harbor. "To the most beautiful Ptolemais of all."

Synesius emptied his cup. He looked down at the mosaic on the floor. "Paul of Tarsus visited the Ptolemais on the Galilee. Perhaps that makes it more beautiful than this. . . . No, Paul was blind to one of the most inspiring beauties of this life – Paul was blind to the beauty of women. . . . Yet Paul was martyred by Nero, and that deserves our unquestioning faith. We will be martyrs soon, too, if the Nitrians and the Donatists and the other lunatics have their way."

Flavius and Josephus had no response. Synesius's servant refilled his empty cup. "Bring me Benjamin," Synesius commanded.

* * *

Benjamin arrived in the very small hours of the morning. Synesius's priests had left an hour earlier.

The two were alone on the mosaic.

"I saw someone who claimed to be your father, in Carthage." Synesius spoke plainly, still under the influence of the wine.

"Yes, I know."

"And you know, I assume, that he looks to be not even five years older than you?"

"Looks can deceive," Benjamin replied, smiling.

"This is a source of mirth for you? I assure you–"

"I apologize," Benjamin interrupted. "Truly. . . Yes, Jonah is my father. And he indeed is my age. And I know he explained to you how that could be, and he gave you . . . instructions about how you could prove that."

"Perhaps this very conversation is sufficient proof."

"I would follow his instructions."

Synesius considered. "Tell me about the Nitrians in Ptolemais."

"Very strange," Benjamin replied. "I thought their worst venom was reserved for Christians who disagreed with them. But they seem to burn indiscriminately now. They burned my father's house again."

"Why? What was left for them to burn?"

"I do not know. Perhaps they wanted to destroy what my father had buried under the house – more scrolls."

"And did they succeed?"

"I have the scrolls."

"Good," Synesius said. "And is your father safe?"

Benjamin nodded.

"Good," Synesius said again. "But none of us will be safe – none of us that we love will be safe – until we destroy the destroyers."

"Flavius told me that your soldiers are ready."

"Yes," Synesius replied. "If your information about where they are hiding is correct, we can scour the Earth of them – or, at least, our earth here in Ptolemais – before sunrise."

"My information is correct."

Synesius nodded. "Will you come with us?"

"I will."

* * *

The Nitrians, surprised, fought ferociously. They brought down four or five Romans for each one of themselves. But the Roman numbers eventually smothered the Nitrian caterwaul. The Nitrian leader, mortally wounded but still conscious, was brought to Synesius.

"You have accomplished nothing," the Nitrian rasped.

"You are barely more than a boy," Synesius said. He felt ill. He felt inhuman, unChristian. The Nitrian was 15, 16 years at most. Their leader. He was the oldest of this group. "Tell me who else of your kind I can talk to – to stop this bloodshed – and God will forgive you."

The boy's sneer cracked the blood that was caked near the corner of his mouth. He coughed and his body shuddered. His voice was barely audible. "We do not need your forgiveness. The Engineer–" He coughed again, in savage spasms. He coughed and died.

Synesius put his hand over the boy's heart and said a prayer.

Benjamin stepped forward. "I did not understand his last word."

"Nor I," Synesius replied. "Not Greek. Perhaps a Latin tongue of which I am unfamiliar. . . . It does not matter. I must go to Alexandria now and let Marcellinus know the insanity he will be facing."

Flavius joined them. "He may already know."

[Alexandria, four days later, 413 AD]

Synesius spotted the Pharos Lighthouse, gleaming in the distance.

His trip from Ptolemais had taken longer than he wanted, but now he regretted that it had not taken just a little longer, still. It was late afternoon, and the magnificent light of the Pharos required the pitch of night for its best effect.

The sun was setting behind his back when his ship docked in the harbor. God help him, he knew there were matters before him that concerned many lives, but he could think only of Hypatia. Her eyes of coal shone through him even when she was not at hand. He could feel her gaze in every part of his being. He could not leave her to the Nitrians. But she was stubborn. Devoted to Alexandria, far more than a daughter to a father's memory, than a scholar to a wondrous tome. What really kept her here? What secret of Alexandria, what chasm in her soul?

Synesius and Josephus left the ship. "Go to Marcellinus," Synesius said. "Tell him what happened in Ptolemais. I will join you later."

Josephus nodded, started to walk, then turned back, nervously, to Synesius. "Where are you going?" His voice quavered a little more than usual.

"The Library."

Josephus nodded again, involuntarily raised an eyebrow, and left.

Synesius was not happy about Josephus being the one to first inform Marcellinus, but he had waited long enough to see Hypatia. Too long, given that the Nitrians had already infected Alexandria. He walked quickly towards the Library. From this distance, it was alabaster in the setting light, like the pillars of his home. Valiant white against the surging darkness.. . . . Synesius did not feel good, either, about leaving Flavius back in Ptolemais as the ranking Church official. He was sure not all the Nitrians were dead in Ptolemais. But he had to focus now on how many were alive here, in Alexandria, and what those demented boy-fanatics might have planned for Hypatia.

The pastels on the wall of the Library now coalesced into shapes and patterns. He had been here many times with Hypatia. "The sky is glass," she once had remarked to him, "the clouds its colors, those hues on the wall what is left when the sun in its absence shines through the glass."

She sometimes spoke as if she inhabited some other realm, and he–

She was standing in front of the Library. He put his hand over his eyes. Had his mind conjured her into being, right here in front of him, looking at the same Library wall, her back to him now? Had his need to see her somehow plucked her out of Plato's perfect realm, and brought her here before him? He took his hand from his face. He was trembling. She was real. He walked a few steps forward.

"Hypatia!"

She turned around and spoke his name. He could listen all day to the way she said that.

They exchanged trite pleasantries about the nature of his trip. But she could see that something was disturbing him.

He told her about the Nitrians. She already knew about their savagery and the peril they posed to her. His warnings fell not on ears that could not hear but which were fixed on other things. She scoffed and turned from him and looked again at the Library. Synesius followed her gaze. The Library looked older now than he remembered it. Almost as if the walls were weary beneath the pastel façade.

She spoke of Theon, her departed father. The great Librarian had succumbed to a fatal fever – the less charitable among Synesius's brethren had said it was an act of God. That was only three years ago, in 410 AD. Just a few months before he first met Hypatia

Her father was wise indeed. But Hypatia was wiser still, and her eyes and her voice were sheer beauty. When Hypatia looked out at the sea, it was if she was seeing for miles and centuries. When she looked at you, she was seeing your very soul. How could someone so wise not heed what he was telling her? How could eyes that saw so deeply not see that her wisdom and beauty were the very source of the jealous hatred the Christian fanatics had for her? He mustered his strength and told her again.

He begged her to leave with him. Marcellinus could wait a little longer – Synesius's ship might have encountered adverse winds on the trip it had just made. "There is nothing here for you now. Just memories and scrolls. And the scrolls are dwindling."

But she was stubborn beyond belief. That unbending nature was impossible to overcome. Why could she not understand what he was telling her? The reason, somehow, was not that she knew less than he but more.

She spoke of her devotion to the Library, but Synesius knew it was more than the scrolls that kept her here. He lowered his head in acceptance of her decision. He told her he would spend the night in quarters provided by Marcellinus and return to Ptolemais in the morning.

She smiled about what his relationship with Marcellinus, the Emperor's Secretary of State, said about his growing importance. If only it were enough to convince her. He reached into his robe and extracted a small bundle of scrolls.

Synesius knew it would take far more than a scroll, by whatever hand, to deflect this wondrous woman from her fate. He touched another scroll inside his robe – the thin scroll with weighty words which Jonah had given him in Carthage. Synesius wondered if it offered any hidden insight into what was compelling Hypatia to stay in Alexandria.

* * *

He watched her walk back to the Library. He watched a long time, as she receded, and his imagination gradually supplanted his perception. But he was aware that imagination had been assisting from the outset in everything that transpired between him and Hypatia. What she looked like under those diaphanous robes, which showed him so much yet not enough in this sinking sunlight. What she might truly feel for him. . . .

He was aware that his own life, even when he was not regarding Hypatia, was becoming entwined with the stuff of fantasy almost beyond comprehension. He touched the Jonah scroll again. A man who claimed he could travel through time, as any other man might walk through a city or sail on the sea. Other than desperation to protect Hypatia, what drove Synesius to entertain any belief in this Jonah and not dismiss him as a lunatic? Faith? Synesius had faith in angels – would he deny that they had the power to move through time? Faith could be applied to anything. It could save you. But it could also propel you to insanity, as it was doing to the Nitrians.

Synesius could no longer see Hypatia. He turned and began slowly walking towards the quarters of Marcellinus. How to defeat evil, save good, and save what he loved in the process? His only assets were his understanding, ever cloudy in these matters, and a scroll said to prove that a man could become an angel and travel through time.