Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [76]
Oh God, let it be so. “But, if I were trying to imitate Sophocles, I bet I could produce a strong similarity, too.”
“Maybe,” said Miles. “I don’t know. Not my area of expertise.”
Yeah. How do you measure genius?
She looked again at the letter that had accompanied the manuscript: If you’d like to see more . . .
What else did they have?
After Miles left, she began translating Achilles into English.
FOUR days after she’d posted the translation, another package arrived. Again, with no return address. This one mailed from Cherry Hill, New Jersey. She had the letter opener ready this time.
LEONIDAS
by
Sophocles
Again, it was accompanied by an unsigned note:
February 11
Dear Dr. Kephalas:
Are you convinced?
She turned the manuscript over to Reading the Syntax, which produced almost the same result. PROBABILITY ONE AUTHOR: 86%.
She went to her Web site. Up front, page one: Leonidas received. Who are you?
She sat over the computer until well into the evening. She skipped dinner, read the play, which was not about the battle of Thermopylae, but about the Spartan negligence and delay that had preceded it. That had made it necessary to sacrifice three hundred Spartans and their Thespian and Theban allies.
Sparta had known for a long time that Persia constituted a major threat. But their rulers had not taken it seriously. They’d ignored all evidence that disagreed with their conviction that Xerxes was a coward. That he would not dare attack. Leonidas, despite his exalted position, was unable to move the bureaucrats who effectively ran the country. Even when the threat finally materialized, when the Athenians brought their warnings that the Persians were marching, a religious festival was going on, and they could not react. Dared not offend the gods. Ultimately, the decision was made to send the small force to hold the pass at Thermopylae. Just hold on until the celebration is over.
The climax depicts an outraged Leonidas buckling on his sword and inviting his colleagues to share in the bloodletting their indolence was about to cause. Nobody makes a move.
SEVERAL hours after she’d posted her question at the Web site, an answer of sorts was returned:
We have seven more Sophoclean plays.
Who are you?
If we gave you access to the plays, what would you do with them?
Give them to the world, of course. Make them available to any who want them.
Do you want them?
Of course. Do you really have seven more?
Yes.
Where did you get them?
That’s of no consequence.
How can you say that? It’s essential information.
It’s of no consequence.
What’s in it for you?
You ask a lot of questions. We’ll start by sending you two more. After we see what happens, we’ll decide what to do next.
THE Homeric Society, consisting of approximately four hundred classical scholars, was concentrated across the Western world. But it had a scattering of members in Japan and China, in Africa, and in the Middle East. Two days after Aspasia’s conversation with her mysterious benefactors, each member received, as an e-mail attachment, copies of the Achilles and the Leonidas.
A claim has been advanced for the validity of these plays, Aspasia’s note read. I am interested in your opinion.
Dave was among the scholars receiving the documents. He showed the package to Shel, who glanced over it approvingly. “I guess you were right about her,” he said.
“I’ve known Aspasia a long time, Shel. She’s cautious, but she’s very good.”
CHAPTER 20
Do not think of life as a matter of consequence. Rather, look at the vast voids of the years to come and the years that are past, and recall that your hours are few.
—MARCUS AURELIUS, MEDITATIONS
“SO he went to Alexandria,” said Shel.
“Who knows,” said Dave, “how many places he might have gone to that night?” He was trying to be encouraging. Maybe, somewhere, they could still find him.
Shel could think of other sites, events, people that would have interested his father. The elder Shelborne had read Carl Sandburg’s biography of Lincoln while Shel was in