"True high gods are unknown to mortals," said the Etruscan. "We only know the Elder Gods exist, not who they are or anything about them. Elder Gods have planned everything that happens on earth. Little gods we worship are—how you say—just errand boys for Elder Gods. Lesser gods must do as they are told. Everything fixed in advance, including omens that tell us what gods have in store. Everything run in cycles. Etruscan nation will run for ten cycles only; then we lose power and disappear."
"So it doesn't matter what I do," said Segovax, "because these Elder Gods have it all planned anyway?"
"That right."
"Then why shouldn't I go into battle next time without a shield? If the gods have decided I'm not to be killed, it wouldn't make any difference."
"If you do not carry shield, is because gods have planned you shall not carry shield."
"Valetudo save us! It seems I can't win. Now at home, the druids told us we have not one life but many, one after the other. And, if we try to do right in this life, we may get a better job in the next, like being promoted at the court of the Great King. According to you, it does a man no good even to try."
"That's a Pythagorean doctrine, too," said Alexis, "although I don't know about the promotions. Personally I have always known I'm a reincarnation of Daidalos."
"The fellow who made the wings?" said Segovax. "That the son of him was drowned trying to fly with?"
"That's the one—the greatest inventor and artificer the mortal race has produced, if we believe the traditions."
"How do you know you're Daidalos reborn?" asked Zopyros.
"I've dreamt of my former life as Daidalos, and the idea agrees with my mathematical and engineering skill."
Zopyros grinned. "That's odd, because when I was a boy in school, learning the Pythagorean doctrines, I was sure I was a reincarnation of Daidalos. Obviously, Daidalos might or might not be reborn in one of us, but hardly both at the same time."
"I know what I know," said Alexis sulkily.
"Well, whatever the truth, I doubt if we can really remember our former lives, save perhaps by special divine favor. That's the trouble with metempsychosis. Not remembering your former lives, you go on making the same stupid mistakes over and over."
Alexis put in: "But I can remember mine!"
"Congratulations."
Segovax, trying to keep up with the spate of ideas, stood leaning against the rail, frowning and tugging his mustache. He asked Zopyros: "What did your Pythagoras say about the gods?"
"Much the same as the Eleatics. Pythagoras taught that God may be symbolized by a sphere, which is the perfect figure. When it came to more precise details, however, the Man became vague or confessed that the inner nature of divine was unknowable. Anyway, these doctrines were only for members of the sect. We must always, he said, assure the masses that there are gods, and these gods take an interest in mortals, rewarding virtue and punishing sin, because without such threats and promises the masses will not behave themselves."
Segovax chuckled. "The trouble is, who are the wise philosophers and who are the masses? Everybody will be thinking he's a wise man, and 'tis the other fellow who is one of the vulgar herd. Is it not so?"
Zopyros smiled, for he loved this kind of discussion. "You should have been a philosopher instead of a warrior, man. When I was in Tyre I heard still another doctrine. The Babylonians claim the gods were the stars—or the stars were the chariots of the gods, it wasn't clear—and they controlled events on earth by their movements around the heavens."
"Now, isn't that the massive thought, though?" said Segovax. "But a star moves around the heavens in one certain way, over and over. So I don't see what good it would do to pray to one, because he'll go right on moving the same way as always and making things on earth come out the same as before. That's as bad as the Etruscan gentleman's—excuse me, sir, what's your name?"
"Vibenna."
"As Master Vibenna's idea, that the Elder Gods have laid out one master plan for the world, and everything that happens is according to that plan. What do you think of the gods, Master Zopyros?"
"I suspect they're the mathematical principles that rule the universe," said Zopyros.
Segovax said: "But prayer wouldn't help a man change your mathematical principles, any more than he could change the mind of a star, or Alexis' divine principle, or Vibenna's grand world plan."
"Perhaps not. But, if a man learns how these principles work and puts them to practical use, perhaps he can better his lot in the world of the living."
"I think you are all wrong," said Asto the mate, who had been quietly bossing the sailors. "And, if you will excuse me, very impious men. You speak of learning the truth about the gods." Asto glanced upward and touched his chest, lips, and forehead. "Can a man catch a whale with a fishhook, or climb to the moon by a ship's ladder? Then, how can the little spirits of mortal men understand the mighty thoughts of the gods? All we know is that the gods are strong, and jealous, and terrible. We are to them as insects under the feet of men. If we abase ourselves before them and give them all they ask, including our first-born, perhaps they'll let us live—for a while. To talk of measuring and weighing the gods is madness. We must obey them without thinking. Why, if one of them overheard you speaking about him in this insolent way, he might puff the world out of existence, as you blow out a taper!"
"How do you know what the gods wish?" asked Zopyros.
"The priests tell us. If they didn't know, how could they be priests?"
"They could be men seeking their own power and wealth," said Alexis.
"That's your wicked Greek atheism, and I will have no part in it!"
"Who's an atheist?" said Alexis. "The Libyans worship baboons, and anybody who kills a baboon is put to death for atheism."
"You know what I mean," persisted Asto. "What the priests say must be true, because the gods would never let them live if they lied in such matters."
"You mean," said Zopyros, "that there must be gods because the priests say so, and the priests must tell the truth because the gods compel them to?"
"That is right."
"Alexis, it seems to me there's a flaw in our friend's logic, even if I can't quite put my finger on it."
"He's assuming what he wishes to prove. It's arguing in a circle," said Alexis. "I'm clever enough to see that."
"So it is! One could argue just as logically, as did Kritias, that the priests invented the gods to frighten the common people into behaving themselves."
Asto shuddered at this blasphemy, rolled his eyes heavenward, and muttered a short prayer in Punic. Then he said: "Your logic is just a game with words; but I have faith, which is better. My faith tells me there are gods, as the priests say. I don't need logic; I know I am right. You Greeks get yourselves tangled up in big words, like those men in the agora this morning. While I am not an educated man, I think half your arguments are not about the real world at all, but about the Greek language. Because you have a word like Becoming, you think there must be something in the real world that the word answers to. If you learnt other languages, you would know that this is not always so."
"My dear fellow!" said Alexis. "Do you actually expect Hellenes to learn a barbarous dialect like your Punic speech, with all those funny sounds made down in the throat?"
"It would be good for your national self-conceit if you did. I can speak with men all over the Inner Sea, but Master Zopyros is almost the only Hellene I ever met who knew any language but his own. Well, in the Canaanitish tongue we don't have fancy expressions like—what is it you call them?—Phenomenal Universe and—ah— Essential Being. So we get along very well without them. By Milkarth's bronzen balls, I should like to see Ethbaal try to sell fifty amphorae of your Becoming in the harbor at Syracuse!"