Small Gods

a war, like a child playing with soldiers? Was it really wrong if it was for the greater glory of…
    …a god who was a tortoise. A god that only Brutha believed in?
    Who did Vorbis talk to when he prayed?
    Through the mental storm Brutha heard Vorbis’s level tones: “If the philosopher who wrote this does not own up, the entirety of you will be put to the flame. Do not doubt that I mean it.”
    There was a movement in the crowd, and the sound of Didactylos’s voice.
    “Let go! You heard him! Anyway…I always wanted a chance to do this…”
    A couple of servants were pushed aside and the philosopher stumped out of the crowd, his barren lantern held defiantly over his head.
    Brutha watched the philosopher pause for a moment in the empty space, and then turn very slowly until he was directly facing Vorbis. He took a few steps forward then, and held the lantern out as he appeared to regard the deacon critically.
    “Hmm,” he said.
    “You are the…perpetrator?” said Vorbis.
    “Indeed. Didactylos is my name.”
    “You are blind?”
    “Only as far as vision is concerned, my lord.”
    “Yet you carry a lantern,” said Vorbis. “Doubtless for some catchword reason. Probably you’ll tell me you’re looking for an honest man?”
    “I don’t know, my lord. Perhaps you could tell me what he looks like?”
    “I should strike you down now,” said Vorbis.
    “Oh, certainly.”
    Vorbis indicated the book.

“These lies . This scandal . This…this lure to drag the minds of men from the path of true knowledge. You dare to stand before me and declare”—he pushed the book with a toe—“that the world is flat and travels through the void on the back of a giant turtle?”
    Brutha held his breath.
    So did history.
    Affirm your belief, Brutha thought. Just once, someone please stand up to Vorbis. I can’t. But someone…
    He found his eyes swiveling toward Simony, who stood on the other side of Vorbis’s chair. The sergeant looked transfixed, fascinated.
    Didactylos drew himself up to his full height. He half-turned and for a moment his blank gaze passed across Brutha. The lantern was extended at arm’s length.
    “No,” he said.
    “When every honest man knows that the world is a sphere, a perfect shape, bound to spin around the sphere of the Sun as Man orbits the central truth of Om,” said Vorbis, “and the stars—”
    Brutha leaned forward, heart pounding.
    “My lord?” he whispered.
    “What?” snapped Vorbis.
    “He said ‘no,’” said Brutha.
    “That’s right,” said Didactylos.
    Vorbis sat absolutely motionless for a moment. Then his jaw moved a fraction, as if he was rehearsing some words under his breath.
    “You deny it?” he said.
    “Let it be a sphere,” said Didactylos. “No problem with a sphere. No doubt special arrangements are made for everything to stay on. And the Sun can be another larger sphere, a long way off. Would you like the Moon to orbit the world or the Sun? I advise the world. More hierarchical, and a splendid example to us all.”
    Brutha was seeing something he’d never seen before. Vorbis was looking bewildered.
    “But you wrote…you said the world is on the back of a giant turtle! You gave the turtle a name! ”
    Didactylos shrugged. “Now I know better,” he said. “Who ever heard of a turtle ten thousand miles long? Swimming through the emptiness of space? Hah. For stupidity! I am embarrassed to think of it now.”
    Vorbis shut his mouth. Then he opened it again.
    “This is how an Ephebian philosopher behaves?” he said.
    Didactylos shrugged again. “It is how any true philosopher behaves,” he said. “One must always be ready to embrace new ideas, take account of new proofs. Don’t you agree? And you have brought us many new points”—a gesture seemed to take in, quite by accident, the Omnian bowmen around the room—“for me to ponder. I can always be swayed by powerful argument.”
    “Your lies have already poisoned the world!”
    “Then I shall write another book,” said Didactylos calmly. “Think how it will look—proud Didactylos swayed by the arguments of the Omnians. A full retraction. Hmm? In fact, with your permission, lord—I know you have much to do, looting and burning and so on—I will retire to my barrel right away and start work on it. A universe of spheres. Balls spinning through space. Hmm. Yes. With your permission, lord, I will write you more balls than you can imagine…”
    The old philosopher turned and, very