Wrath of Rome (Book Two of the Dominium Dei Trilogy) by Thomas Greanias Page B
Authors: Thomas Greanias
Ads: Link
itself.
“I’m traveling through Anatolia and was told I should check out a memoir by a former governor if I want to do some sightseeing. It’s a travelogue by Gaius Mucius Mucianus.”
“Ah, yes. Miracles in Asia Minor. If you believe in that sort of thing.”
Athanasius said nothing about the editorial comment. “You have it then?”
“But, of course,” the librarian said, taking a small leather strip from his counter. “It’s in a private shelf in back only because we need to reserve as much space as possible on the public stacks for more popular works. Someday, when the new library goes up, we’ll have room to hold 12,000 scrolls. Even then we’d fit into the smallest corner of the Temple of Artemis. Excuse me.”
He disappeared for a moment, and Athanasius looked around, catching in just the twinkling of an eye the stare of a man at a table, who quickly buried himself back again in his scroll. Athanasius pretended not to notice.
Friend or foe? he wondered, and the librarian returned without the leather strip nor any volumes.
“Is there a problem?” Athanasius asked.
“Not at all,” the librarian said. “One of our staff is setting them out for you at that table over there. There are a good 12 volumes, you know.”
Athanasius looked over at the corner of the room nearest the statue of Athena, where a scrawny young man dropped each volume like a heavy brick, only drawing even more attention than Athanasius had already.
“Twelve volumes, you say?” Athanasius asked. John had said there were only eleven, Athanasius recalled. He supposed it didn’t matter, as he was only to concern himself with volume eight. “I might have to come back tomorrow and possibly the day after just to get through half of them.”
“That’s usually the case, sir,” the librarian said with a knowing look. “Please sit down and make yourself comfortable. Take all the time you need.”
“Certainly,” said Athanasius, and made his way over to the table in back by Athena, aware of curious glances. He sat down and cracked open the first volume.
The scrawny librarian worked silently nearby, rearranging stacks of scrolls and books. Every now and then he glanced over as Athanasius picked up one volume and then another, making notes on his own tablet like a traveler would to mark highlights for his journey. The volumes were arranged geographically, with sections inside further broken down to cities within the provinces that Mucianus detailed, each with a story of some miraculous spring, fish, fruit or even rock that was unnaturally large or boasted healing properties or some such.
When he came to the seventh volume, he actually picked up the eighth volume, looking through it like he did the others. This one had a section in back on Cappadocia and its underground cities. Interesting, he thought, and surreptitiously slipped his letter into the section and closed the volume.
He made quick work of two more volumes before leaving them all on the table and returning to the librarian at the counter.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” the librarian asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t know,” Athanasius said. “There are so many volumes. As you suggested, I’ll probably have to come back tomorrow to finish the rest.”
“But, of course,” the librarian said. “I’ll have them put in back now, and when you return we’ll bring them out for you again.”
“Thank you,” said Athanasius.
On his way out he passed the man who had glanced at him and was still buried in the single scroll that had occupied him during Athanasius’s entire visit.
The Artemis Wine Bar was just across the street from the library. It was an open-fronted building with outdoor dining under its wide canopy. Athanasius sat down on a straw chair at one of the small, round tables, ordered a cup of the Cappadocian special, and watched the entrance of the library.
It was almost an hour of observing patrons enter and exit the library
“I’m traveling through Anatolia and was told I should check out a memoir by a former governor if I want to do some sightseeing. It’s a travelogue by Gaius Mucius Mucianus.”
“Ah, yes. Miracles in Asia Minor. If you believe in that sort of thing.”
Athanasius said nothing about the editorial comment. “You have it then?”
“But, of course,” the librarian said, taking a small leather strip from his counter. “It’s in a private shelf in back only because we need to reserve as much space as possible on the public stacks for more popular works. Someday, when the new library goes up, we’ll have room to hold 12,000 scrolls. Even then we’d fit into the smallest corner of the Temple of Artemis. Excuse me.”
He disappeared for a moment, and Athanasius looked around, catching in just the twinkling of an eye the stare of a man at a table, who quickly buried himself back again in his scroll. Athanasius pretended not to notice.
Friend or foe? he wondered, and the librarian returned without the leather strip nor any volumes.
“Is there a problem?” Athanasius asked.
“Not at all,” the librarian said. “One of our staff is setting them out for you at that table over there. There are a good 12 volumes, you know.”
Athanasius looked over at the corner of the room nearest the statue of Athena, where a scrawny young man dropped each volume like a heavy brick, only drawing even more attention than Athanasius had already.
“Twelve volumes, you say?” Athanasius asked. John had said there were only eleven, Athanasius recalled. He supposed it didn’t matter, as he was only to concern himself with volume eight. “I might have to come back tomorrow and possibly the day after just to get through half of them.”
“That’s usually the case, sir,” the librarian said with a knowing look. “Please sit down and make yourself comfortable. Take all the time you need.”
“Certainly,” said Athanasius, and made his way over to the table in back by Athena, aware of curious glances. He sat down and cracked open the first volume.
The scrawny librarian worked silently nearby, rearranging stacks of scrolls and books. Every now and then he glanced over as Athanasius picked up one volume and then another, making notes on his own tablet like a traveler would to mark highlights for his journey. The volumes were arranged geographically, with sections inside further broken down to cities within the provinces that Mucianus detailed, each with a story of some miraculous spring, fish, fruit or even rock that was unnaturally large or boasted healing properties or some such.
When he came to the seventh volume, he actually picked up the eighth volume, looking through it like he did the others. This one had a section in back on Cappadocia and its underground cities. Interesting, he thought, and surreptitiously slipped his letter into the section and closed the volume.
He made quick work of two more volumes before leaving them all on the table and returning to the librarian at the counter.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” the librarian asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t know,” Athanasius said. “There are so many volumes. As you suggested, I’ll probably have to come back tomorrow to finish the rest.”
“But, of course,” the librarian said. “I’ll have them put in back now, and when you return we’ll bring them out for you again.”
“Thank you,” said Athanasius.
On his way out he passed the man who had glanced at him and was still buried in the single scroll that had occupied him during Athanasius’s entire visit.
The Artemis Wine Bar was just across the street from the library. It was an open-fronted building with outdoor dining under its wide canopy. Athanasius sat down on a straw chair at one of the small, round tables, ordered a cup of the Cappadocian special, and watched the entrance of the library.
It was almost an hour of observing patrons enter and exit the library
Similar Books
