Evolution

Athalaric suppressed a sigh. "You know, Augustine found comfort in his faith. He believed that the empire had been created by God to spread the message of Christ, so how could he allow it to collapse? But Augustine concluded that history’s purpose is God’s, not man’s. Therefore in the end the fall of Rome did not matter."

Honorius eyed him wryly. "Now, if you were a diplomat, you would point out to me that poor Augustine died just as the Vandals swept through northern Africa. And you would say that if he had devoted more attention to worldly matters than spiritual, he might have lived a little longer, and managed a little more studying. That is what you should say if you want to persuade me about your wretched bishopric."

"I am glad your mood is improving," said Athalaric dryly.

Honorius tapped his hand. "You are a good friend, Athalaric. Better than I deserve. But I will not take your uncle’s gift of a bishopric. God and politics are not for me; leave me to my bones and my maundering. We are nearly there!"

They had reached the cliff’s edge.

To Honorius’s frustration the path he remembered was overgrown. It was anyhow little more than a scratch in the cliff’s crumbling face, perhaps made by goats or sheep. The militiamen used their spears to clear some of the weeds and grass. "It is many years since I came here," Honorius breathed.

Athalaric said sternly, "Sir, you were younger when you were here — much younger. You must take care as we descend."

"What do I care of the difficulty? Athalaric, if the path is overgrown it has not been used since I was last here — and the bones I found are undisturbed. What matters compared to that? Look, the Scythian has already started his descent, and I want to see his reaction. Come, come."

The party formed up into a line and, one by one, they stepped with care down the crumbling path. Honorius insisted on walking alone — the path was scarcely wide enough to allow two to walk side by side — but Athalaric went first, so at least he would have a chance of saving the old man if he fell.

They reached a cave, eroded into the soft chalk face. They fanned out, the militiamen probing at the walls and ground with their spears.

Athalaric stepped forward carefully. The floor near the entrance was stained almost white by guano and littered with eggshells. The walls and floor were worn butter smooth, as if many creatures, or people, had been here before. Athalaric detected a strong animal scent, perhaps of foxes, but it was stale. Save for the seabirds, it was evident nothing had lived here for a long time.

But it was here that a younger Honorius had found his precious bones.

Honorius hobbled around the cave, peering at anonymous bits of the floor, kicking aside dried leaves and bits of dead seaweed. Soon he found what he was looking for. He got to his knees and cleared away the debris, carefully, using only his fingertips. "It is just as I found it — and left it — for I did not want the bones to be disturbed."

The others crowded around. Athalaric absently noticed that one of the young Romans, a man of Galla’s entourage, was pressing peculiarly close behind Honorius. But there seemed no harm, nothing but eagerness in the boy.

And everyone was impressed when Honorius gently lifted his osteoid treasure from the dirt. Athalaric could immediately see that it was the skeleton of a human — but this must have been a particularly stocky human, he thought, with heavy limb bones and long fingers — and that the skull was distorted. In fact, it appeared to have been broken from behind, perhaps by a blow. Beneath the bones was a litter of shells and flint flakes.

Honorius pointed to features of his find. "Look here. You can see where he has eaten mussels. The shells are scorched; perhaps he threw them on a fire to make them open. And I believe these flint chips are waste from a tool he made. He was clearly human, but not as we are. Consider that skull, sir Scythian! Those massive brows, the cheekbones like ledges — have you ever seen its like?" He glanced at Athalaric, his rheumy eyes shining. "It is as if we have been transported back to another day, lost unknown centuries in the past."

The Scythian bent down to scrutinize the skull.

That was when it happened.

The young Roman behind Honorius took one step forward. Athalaric saw his flashing arm, heard a soft crunch. Blood splashed. Honorius fell forward over the bones.

The people, startled, scrambled out of the way. Papak squealed like a frightened pig. But the Scythian caught Honorius as he fell and lowered him to the ground.

Athalaric could see that the back of Honorius’s head had been smashed. He lunged at the young man who had stood behind Honorius, and grabbed his tunic. "It was you. I saw it. It was you. Why? He was a Roman like you, one of your own—"

"It was an accident," the young man said levelly.