"On the main floor are works of philosophy from several lands. I understand that some are from lands far to the east and that there are records about the peoples in the heart of Africa." The older scholar rubbed his hands together. "These works would lead the unwary soul to great error."

"Indeed?" said Drosos. "I am only a soldier, and I do not understand how that information might hurt the faith of one who read these works."

The younger scholar shook his head. The uneven light from the braziers made his shadow dance on the walls, huge and misshapen. "The Emperor has determined that those who pursue studies of material that is not Christian often are seduced into following areas of learning that imperil the soul. You think, as most soldiers must, I suppose, that you might have strategic reasons to want to know about… the peoples of Africa, for example. Surely you would seek out such intelligence if you were expected to campaign there."

"That had crossed my mind," said Drosos, relieved that the scholar had provided him an excuse for his reluctance. "It would make the campaign more effective if we knew what we were getting into. The same might be said of many other areas of learning, because a soldier never knows what information might give him the advantage in battle."

The older scholar chuckled. "You soldiers are such pragmatists. But I suppose you need to be."

The younger scholar was not as amused. "And for a simple military campaign you would imperil your soul. What are scouts for, if not to obtain the information you require? And they do not lead you into doubt and error as much of these records might. Think what would become of you if you or your men should be captivated by the terrible gods of the barbarians around us. You assume that this cannot happen, but we know that it can." He was leading the way down the hall. "There are texts here on plants and animals found through the world."

"Where is the harm in studying that?" Drosos wondered aloud.

"You are not aware of the subtle ways in which these texts turn the mind from the adoration of God and the veneration of his Saints," said the older scholar. "The

Emperor is aware of this, and we must praise him for his wisdom in sparing others from the dangers that are present here."

They had entered a cavernous room that was lit by braziers. Huge pigeon-hole shelves lined the walls and stood in serried ranks down the length of the chamber. Drosos stared at the mass of rolled and fan-folded scrolls that were stored around him and the breath nearly stopped in his throat.

"You see we have an enormous task ahead of us," remarked the older scholar. "Luckily there are excellent records for this room and we can identify every work here."

"So many," Drosos said dreamily.

"Yes. The oldest scroll here is a treatise on shipbuilding from Samos. From what we have determined, it was written at the time of Perikles." The older scholar pursed his lips. "They worshipped idols, those old Greeks."

"Perikles," murmured Drosos. "Can you tell me which one it is?"

The younger scholar frowned his disapproval. "It is not important that you know that."

"I was… merely curious," said Drosos. "I have never seen anything but a bronze vase from the time of Perikles." He took a deep breath but still had the sensation of having insufficient air in his lungs.

The two scholars led him through the room. "There is a smaller chamber beyond this," said the younger. "It is devoted to works on botany, for the most part. It is a pity that the authors were such dreadful pagans, attributing the properties and virtues of the plants to the activities of deities and supernatural beings instead of to the Will of God."

"You can see, Captain, that the Emperor has considered this most carefully." The older scholar indicated a narrow, steep stairway. "There are medicinal texts on the floor immediately above us, and material on jewels, metals and rare earths on the floor above that. Some of those writings come from far away and their heretical content is more obvious than in works written in the Empire."

"Medicinal texts and metals. These things can be of great value to soldiers," Drosos said trying to speak in a disinterested way.

"We can show them to you, if you require it, Captain," offered the older scholar.

"That won't be necessary." He had not intended to be harsh with these two, but the words were out before he could stop them.

"No; soldier's pragmatism," said the older scholar to the younger. "You see he is a man of good sense. He leaves these matters to those equipped to deal with them, as a good officer of the Emperor ought."

The words stung Drosos like a lash; he closed his eyes so that he would not have to look at the two men accompanying him, or at the doors into rooms filled with books. "Are the others like this?" The question was out before he could phrase it properly; he mastered himself sufficiently to give the older scholar a cool stare.

"Very similar. The Daughter Library of Christian writing is on the far side of the courtyard, if you need to inspect it." The older scholar had become slightly servile and Drosos wondered if the man felt as oppressed as he did.

Before Drosos could speak, the younger scholar said, "You will have to take every precaution to be sure that the Christian Daughter escapes the flames. If any harm should come to those sacred writings, the loss to the world would be incalculable."

Drosos did not trust himself to speak. He motioned to the two men to take him out of the building. "What do the other Daughter Libraries contain?"

"Oh, works of history and literature. A few are interesting to Christian scholars, but the Emperor has rightly pointed out that the only history any Christian needs is the history of the world since His coming. The Testaments are literature enough and philosophy enough for the soul of any man, and the writing of good Christian scholars have more merit and worth than all the pagan writings of the world. What man desires to know things that will condemn his soul to eternal torment?" The younger scholar indicated the long rows of shelving. "Think of the improvement in the world if one tenth of this mass were devoted to determining the true nature of Christ. This would be a shrine as sacred as Hagia Sophia."

"But might not there be…" Drosos began, then let his thought remain unfinished.

"You forget that few men have the wisdom to know the difference between information and knowledge, and they often confuse one with the other," said the older scholar. "A great pope or metropolitan might read some of these works without danger, but there are many others who assume they would not be led astray who would be at the greatest risk."

"Including pragmatic soldiers," said Drosos, his neck and shoulder aching now, and his heart.

"Most certainly," said the older scholar, his attitude almost comradely. "It is a sign of your virtue that you recognize this."

"Is it?" Drosos asked, feeling more desolate than he ever had in the aftermath of battle. As they left the building, he looked back at it.

"It will take care to burn it safely," the younger scholar warned him. "It is just as well that the burning is being left to you and your soldiers or it might be disastrous."

"Yes; disastrous." The lorica Drosos wore felt as if it had shrunk, compressing his chest in its brass embrace.

"We will see that you are given every assistance," the younger scholar promised him. "You and your men have only to tell us what we must do and we will perform your orders to the best of our abilities."

"How many are you? scholars who are willing to assist in the burning," asked Drosos.

"Some have refused, which is to be expected. We have kept a list of their names to pass on to the Court Censor and the Emperor for whatever action they believe is appropriate." The younger scholar cleared his throat.

"There are forty-eight of us; there are several hundred scholars here, but most of the Coptic scholars have refused to help on the grounds that this is an Alexandrian monument and they are not willing to diminish it, even at the hazard of their souls. Since they are heretics in any case, we have taken no notice of them."

"Will they resist us, do you think?" Drosos asked, hoping that he might find an excuse for disobeying the Emperor's orders in opposition from the Copts.

"They have said they will not," the younger scholar said with pride. "They have admitted that their allegiance to the Library is as much vanity as dedication and they are willing to stand aside if we agree to keep the Christian Daughter intact."

"We have spent over a month attempting to persuade them to join us, but they are not willing," said the older scholar as he led the way across the courtyard to the second-largest building. "All the documents in this Daughter are in foreign tongues—nothing in the walls is in Latin or Greek."

Drosos stared up at the stone front of the Foreign Daughter and he had to bite his lower lip hard to keep from weeping. "How many manuscripts are stored here?"

"They say there are over twenty thousand, but I assume that is a boast," said the older scholar. "Perhaps twelve thousand at the most, or so I believe. This Daughter has one small warehouse, but it is two streets away, and you will have to arrange for that to be burned at another time. It is too dangerous to try to control two fires at the same time, or so your officer explained it to me yesterday."