The Only

Chapter Fifteen - Neima

Neima relaxed in a large, leather wingback chair and sipped a tumbler full of scotch. The library was the ideal refuge from the maddening frenzy of her diners and other guests. She needed some time to collect herself. It was jarring to be around so many at one time. Her lifestyle involved a solitary existence. Solitary and quiet.

She took comfort in being surrounded by books. They formed a map of her life. There weren't many things she bothered to keep from one life to the next. It was her only weakness when it came to material possessions. She could never bring herself to getting rid of them, and they were all stored at Àghmhor.

It started in Egypt with the library at Alexandria. Neima was overwhelmed by the amount of knowledge contained in the vast collection of papyrus scrolls. When she discovered the original works of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides were in Athens, she convinced King Ptolemy Euergetes III — persuaded really — to allow her to borrow them so she could give them a look.

"Take them," he said to her, gently lifting her by the elbow up off her knees.

The marble floor was digging into her kneecaps, but she didn't dare move until he gave permission.

"Keep them as long as you would like. What good are they to me?" The king laughed and turned to sit back in his chair. "They are just rolls of papyrus, nothing of value."

Poor man. He wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. He refused to see the value of what he had. Even worse, he couldn't acknowledge the strong and terrible animosity that had grown between Athens and Egypt. Thank goodness, she had found out about the fire before it was set.

She looked over at the tall, specially-designed glass case in the corner and smiled. She had saved as much as she dared to remove. All the masters were intact. Sure, they belonged in a museum, but she couldn't let them go. They meant too much to her.

Those years in Greece and Egypt were some of the most exciting and enlightening of her long, long life. The education she had gained from the masters was too valuable. Socrates was surprised, but not amazed that she had an aptitude for learning. Girls from wealthy families were often privately tutored, although that was a luxury mostly afforded to boys. She wanted the advantages of the higher class and her ability to learn made it possible to pass for an orphaned daughter of a merchant instead of the slave she was.

Word on the street was the teacher had a propensity for preferring the company of men to women, particularly that of his wife. Following the scholar home from one of his "visits", she recited to him in both Latin and Greek, but confessed she couldn't read or write either. That's where they started.

"Myrto," she heard him say from his cushioned seat. "Myrto, bring me that scroll."

She obediently went to fetch the papyrus and settled herself on the floor next to him.

"Let me review your work."

"I'm afraid it still isn't right. I need some more time."

Socrates stroked his beard as his hands flattened out the work. "Time is something I do not have."

She sucked in her breath. He hadn't spoken of the trial since its announcement. His future hung in the balance. He had been accused of moral corruption and impiety and was due to stand in front of a jury of male citizens and argue his case.

He had gracefully ignored the subject whenever she brought it up.

"There is definitely improvement," he said reviewing the scroll. "You will soon know all that I do."

"I know that I know nothing...without you."

The wise man looked at her with sad eyes. He wasn't used to having his own words spoken to him. His motto, I know that I know nothing was famous among his students.