Two Sikilian Greeks, still in their heavy travelling khitons, stood next to Chareus, messenger of Isokrates the rhetorician and political thinker, with Milo, the keeper of the Museum, where the Word in written form was preserved by Aristotle and his students. Aristotle swelled with pride and hope every time he walked into this place for the collection of records and ideas, for which he was lucky enough to serve as steward—doting parent more like—so long as Chance permitted.

The most pleasant of greetings were exchanged, and Aristotle found himself in the company of Timeaus the inquirer of Tauromenium, the exiled son of a petty western tyrant, and Dekaearkhus of Messene, a geographer and astronomer of some repute, who had been working on a comprehensive map of the known-world-as-sphere with a meridian traced through Rhodes. Aristotle had heard of this work and was thrilled to be speaking to the man himself, hoping to receive the permission to copy his work.

Despite the volatile location, we are so very fortunate to be located at the meeting place of so many minds.

Timaeus and Dekaearkhus were very astute followers of the Lykeum’s work—indeed the western colonists that came to Isokrates for instruction, when curious about deeper wisdom were often referred to the Lykeum by Isokrates, who was a likeable enough fellow despite his rhetorical bent. Such referrals were conducted with the utmost discretion less Isokrates be discredited as impious and too tolerant of resident aliens. They were not however, here to present a copy of Dekaearkhus’ work, as it was not yet complete, but to deposit a copy of a unique document in the Lykeum’s collection. The work was that of an intrepid Massaliot named Pytheus, and was titled On The Ocean, an account of a journey into the mist-shrouded Bearlands beyond Gaul and Kimmeria. Aristotle was thrilled.

“Dekaearkhus, Timaeus, I thank you and cannot wait to examine this. It shall be treasured and consulted—and Dekaearkhus, our collection is at your disposal. Make of its contents what copies you require, and stay as long as it contents you. Theophrastus, look!”

He could feel his smile widen into a childlike grin as the bookkeeper and Theophrastus examined the work. He could have been no happier.

Would that the day would end on this note and that nothing troubling should intrude. It is a shame that I will have no time to read this book of Pytheus’ until the last dekad of the moon.

He spent hours discussing the mapping of the world and the exploration of the extreme latitudes of Riverland and Bearland, with the pleasant Sikilians, who spoke Ionian better than if they had been born and raised on the Aegean. It occurred to him then that colonization was in sync with the search for the Ends, and was to the Good. He could make this a feature of his afternoon lecture. As he mused over the great expanses of the unknown that were being penetrated by the likes of Pytheus on one hand, and his own pupil Alexander—an explorer despite his hegemonic impulse—it occurred to him that it was less than an hour before noon.

Oh, how Time gets away with us when we impose upon it.

“Friends I must be off to the zoological gardens lest Skylax take his own life in despair.”

As he hurried out of the high-roofed chamber, its ceiling seemingly supported by the round-slotted book racks, with his scribe and messenger in tow, he felt light of heart, despite the gathering heat and the increasing pace of the day.

If the beast is rabid we may have to put it down and conduct an examination. For that purpose a butcher or a hunter would be useful.