Evolution

"Long before the existence of modern humans, the Earth was empty. But the primordial ground birthed a series of Titans. The Titans were like men, but huge. Prometheus was one of them. Kronos led his sibling Titans to slay their father, Uranos. But his blood produced the next generation, the Giants. In those days, not long after the origin of life itself, there was much chaos in the blood, and generations of giants and monsters proliferated."

They sat in the half-ruined atrium of the rented villa. The air had remained hot and still as the evening had drawn on, but the wine, the hum of the insects, and the luxuriant, unlikely greenery draped around the atrium made this place somehow welcoming.

And in this decayed place, over glass after glass of wine, Honorius tried to persuade the man from the desert that he must travel with him much further: back across the wreckage of the empire, all the way west to the fringe of the world ocean itself. And so he told him stories of the birth and death of gods.

Another generation of life had passed, and more new forms evolved. The Titans Kronos and Rhea gave birth to the future gods of Olympus, the Romans’ Jupiter among them. Eventually Jupiter led the new, human-form gods against a coalition of the older Titans, Giants, and monsters. It was a war for the supremacy of the cosmos itself.

"The land was shattered," Honorius whispered. "Islands emerged from the deep. Mountains fell into the sea. Rivers ran dry, or changed course, flooding the land. And the bones of the monsters were buried where they fell.

"Now," Honorius went on, "the natural philosophers have always countered the myths — they seek natural causes that conform to natural laws — and perhaps they are right to do so. But sometimes they go too far. Aristotle holds that creatures always breed true, that the species of life are fixed for all time. Let him explain the giants’ bones we dig out of the ground! Aristotle must never have seen a bone in his life! The thing embedded in the rock in the museum may or may not be a griffin. But is it not clear the bones are old! How long can it take for sand to turn to rock? What is that great slab but evidence of different times in the past?

"Look beyond the stories. Listen to the essence of what the myths tell us: that the Earth was populated by different creatures in the past — species that sometimes bred true, and sometimes produced hybrids and monsters radically different from their parents. Just as the bones show! Whatever the precise facts, is it not clear that the myths hold truth, for they are the product of a thousand years of study of the Earth, and contemplation of its meaning. And yet, and yet—"

Athalaric laid a hand on his friend’s arm. "Calm yourself, Honorius. You are speaking well. There is no need to shout."

Honorius, trembling with his passion, said, "I contend we cannot ignore the myths. Perhaps they are memories, the best memories we have, of the great cataclysms and extraordinary times of the past, witnessed by men who might have comprehended little of what they saw, men who might have been only half men themselves." He caught Athalaric’s frown. "Yes, half men!" Honorius produced the skull that the Scythian had given to him, with its human face and apelike cranium. "A human, but not a human," he murmured. "It is the greatest mystery of all. What came before us? What can answer such a question? What but the bones? Sir Scythian, you told me that this skullcap comes from the east."

Papak translated. "The Scythian cannot say where it originated. It passed through many hands, traveling west, until it reached you."

"And with each transaction," Athalaric murmured almost genially, "no doubt the price increased."

Papak raised his thin eyebrows at that. "It is said that in the land of the people with the pale skin and narrow eyes, far to the east, such bones are commonplace. The bones are ground up for medicine and charms, and to make the fields rich."

Honorius leaned forward. "So in the east we now know that there once lived a race of men of human form but of small brain. Animal men." His voice was trembling. "And what if I were to tell you that in the furthest west, at the edge of the world, there was once another race of pre-men — men with bodies like bears and brows like centurions’ helmets?"

Athalaric was stunned; Honorius had told him nothing of this.

The Scythian began to talk. His smooth vowels and subdued consonants sounded like a song, barely perturbed by Papak’s clumsy translations, a song from the desert that soared up into the humid Italian night.

"He says there were once many kinds of people. They are all gone now, these people, but in the deserts and the mountains they linger on in stories and songs. We have forgotten, he says. Once the world was full of different men, different animals. We have forgotten."