Francis Bacon, an ambitious politician and a brilliant philosopher, had loathed Aristotle’s philosophy deeply since his university days.
Aristotle had sought to find logical answers atop immutable truths, but could one discover new knowledge that way?
Man is mortal. Socrates is a man. Therefore, Socrates is mortal. Is the fact that Socrates dies truly so new and valuable?
No.
Universal truth is not obtained by spinning logical wordplay atop such general propositions. One must proceed toward truth gradually, through meticulous experiment and verification, from each individual fact.
Plato died, Socrates died, and Aristotle died as well. By confirming those individual facts, we can move toward the truth that “all men die.”
That was his belief.
And now, in that moment, Bacon’s belief came to him in the form of a cruel metaphor.
The “servants” Robert Devereux had assigned to him each drew a dagger from their breast and approached that Indian emperor.
And once, they stabbed his heart.
Again, they stabbed his abdomen.
Once, they slashed near his Adam’s apple.
Once, this time, they struck near his thigh.
Thus, step by step, each individual sword stroke led him toward the final and universal state called death.
Through thorough and meticulous verification and re-verification, the assassins confirmed his death.
Bacon’s face turned deathly pale. From this situation, he was able to call to mind several facts.
Grounds. 1. His patron, Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex, had been extremely displeased by his coming here. Because it had looked as though he were trying to attach himself to Walter Raleigh, a rising star.
Grounds. 2. His patron was terribly narrow-minded and impatient, and stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. And in the process, he often did extremely stupid things. One might say he was a man whose ability could not support his ambition.
Grounds. 3. His patron had more than enough reason to want to ruin Walter Raleigh’s colony.
Therefore, the conclusion.
The Earl of Essex had sent assassins in order to screw over Bacon himself and Sir Raleigh as well. Even though, if he assigned assassins to his own close associate, he himself would naturally come under suspicion.
Bacon’s face turned deathly pale.
His lips trembled, and the ruin that would soon follow was painted in his mind. Traitor, madman who brought to ruin the American colonial enterprise that would make his homeland great, Spanish spy…
It was over.
With the death of that Indian emperor, the splendid political life he had dreamed of was also coming to an end…
…
…
…
Oh, God.
Before he realized it, the strength left Bacon’s legs and he collapsed to the ground.
Socrates died. Cause of death: ingestion of poison.
Plato died as well. Cause of death: natural causes.
Aristotle also died. Cause of death: stomach disease.
Therefore, all humans die. This was a truth forged from observation and experience over the past several thousand years.
And.
The native emperor before his eyes did not die.
The wounds that had been hacked open filled in once more, and the severed blood vessels and muscles clung together as they had been before.
The blood that had flowed out was replenished, and color returned to the face that had been turning pure white.
He had come back to life.
Therefore, from this “individual fact,” Bacon could take one of two conclusions.
Either humans did not necessarily experience death.
Or else…
The being before his eyes was not human.
Bacon chose the latter conclusion.
***
He looked around.
Thousands of people were staring at one man.
On each and every one of their faces, all manner of different emotions appeared. Relief, or wonder…
And.
Clang.
On the faces of the assassins who had just dropped their weapons flowed shock and terror. When the man took one step toward them, they took two steps back from him.
It was laughable. There were more than six or seven of them, while the man was unarmed and alone.
The man gave them a faint smile.
“Have you forgotten that among the commandments it is said, ‘Thou shalt not kill’?”
“…Ah, aaah.”
As the man said this and took another step forward, this time no one could open their mouth.
“If you know your sins, will you repent?
How is it that you fail to recognize the Lord’s own and commit wickedness?”
“D-dev…il…”
“I cannot understand why you call me a devil. I have never harmed you, nor shall I ever harm you.”
At that moment.
The bodies of all who heard the man’s voice froze. The natives and the Englishmen looked at one another’s faces, and they were shocked to realize that all of them had understood the man’s words.
“Do not flee. One cannot flee from the justice of the Lord. I shall give you a chance to repent…”
“U-uuuh, uuaaaagh!”
The assassins began stabbing the man with their knives again like madmen.
The false servants, the false cleaners… all manner of impostors, as if they no longer had any reason to hide, picked up other knives and weapons they had concealed and attacked the man.
Only one person, the false bootblack, stood frozen in fear.
Aside from him, the assassins now stopped at nothing in order to kill the man. The being before their eyes had just used trickery. Therefore, he had to die. Or else he was an evil devil, and so had to be killed.
Yet despite the ceaseless slashing, the man did not fall.
The onlookers, who at first had not understood what was happening, gradually grasped the situation and their faces turned white. But those more terrified than anyone else were the assassins themselves.
He must die.
And yet he does not die.
We must kill him.
And yet he does not die.
Then, if that man truly does not die…
If it was neither trickery nor the work of a devil.
What, then, were they who had tried to kill such a being?
“…Huh?”
Someone who realized that much suddenly stopped his futile slashing.
The others, too, slowly… lowered the hands holding their knives.
Then the man spoke.
“Even now… you are sons of the Lord… The kingdom of heaven has not fled from your hearts.”
At those words, their movements stopped completely.
The more brilliantly his mercy shone, the more deeply they felt the shadow they had come to bear upon their backs. When they looked around, everyone was weeping at his radiance, and only they bore shadows.
They felt that the sin they had just committed was heavier than a thousand pieces of gold. They felt as though they would be crushed beneath the weight of that sin.
At last, one of the assassins slit his own throat. The man had no time to stop him.
And that became the signal.
Slash! Schlk!
The assassins, who had been standing stock-still in place, one by one seemed to come back to their senses and stabbed and cut their own throats, taking their own lives. It was likely to hide whoever was behind them.
And only one man remained, dressed as a bootblack. The man could see the tips of his fingers trembling.
Slash!
But he too, after hesitating, chose the same end as his companions. He slit his throat—
Clatter.
“Guh, guh-hup, kuhuk… kuhuuk…!”
…No.
Unfortunately for him, it seemed he lacked the courage to choose death. The false bootblack’s knife pierced halfway into his throat, then stopped; as the strength left his hand, it fell to the ground. Clang.
Then the false bootblack’s body staggered and collapsed. The man hurriedly ran over and caught him so that his head would not strike the ground.
The false bootblack choked as blood sprayed like a fountain from his throat. He looked up at the man, both eyes trembling violently.
“Sinner, will you repent?”
The man spoke to the false bootblack. But the man’s words were not heard only by him; they rang out with a certain power to everyone around them.
Those who were still standing hurriedly knelt and wept. Amid the wailing that rose from every direction, the false bootblack nodded.
“Do you wish for your pain to be eased?”
Again, a nod.
The man picked up the assassin’s knife from the ground and drove it into his throat. Then the false bootblack trembled once, and went limp.
His expression was peaceful.
It seemed his soul had departed to the Lord’s side.
“…”
“…”
“…”
A strange silence rang out over the area.
The occasional sobs and cries that burst forth did not break the silence, but made it deeper. It seemed no one could break this sacred silence now.
Everyone had seen it.
They had seen the man who came back to life from death.
They had seen the man who urged repentance upon those who had tried to kill him, and even when they had tried to flee into death, tried to save their souls until the very end.
All the Christians present unconsciously murmured the Lord’s Prayer and hymns. Those who did not know the Lord sang their own sacred songs, showing awe toward the being before their eyes.
For a long while… the man looked down at the false bootblack’s face, then laid his body on the ground and closed his eyes. When the man rose, a woman sprang to her feet and spoke.
“Th-that man is behind it! All those men with knives just now, that man brought them here!”
“Th-that’s right! I saw it too! I saw that councilor sir ordering those servants around!”
A murmur rose, and the crowd stepped aside. A path opened between the man and that “councilor sir” standing on the pier.
A man with a timid-looking face was trembling as cold sweat and tears streamed down him. He did not even dare think of running away, and his body stiffened as the man approached.
And, the moment the man came to him and opened his mouth…
“I-I-I-it wasn’t me…”
The councilor sir flailed and staggered as though he were falling from the sky.
“I-it, it wasn’t… Please! It wasn’t me! I didn’t know… anything…!”
With both eyes full of fear, the councilor sir lost strength in his legs and collapsed. Then, instinctively, he threw himself off the pier.
Splash!
While the people were bewildered by the councilor sir’s sudden impulsive action, the man suddenly began to run. He ran, then leaped without hesitation into the water where the councilor sir had fallen and was sinking.
And.
A few bubbles of air rose to the surface…
Then a man walked back out onto the shore.
He was dragging out the councilor sir, who had just tried to kill himself.
As the councilor sir shivered violently from cold and fear, the man whispered.
“Fear not.”
“…”
“The Lord’s mercy is like sunlight; it is supremely noble, yet given without price.”
Only then did the councilor sir burst into tears.
And the people knelt.
And their number was 7,344.
***
Thomas Harriot “heard.”
He heard the voice of a man speaking in countless languages. No, could this be called hearing? Could one say he heard with a man’s ears the sound that came from one man’s mouth?
As if it were a chorus, sentences in countless alien languages intertwined, bound firmly into a single meaning, tied securely into a single harmony, and burrowed into his mind.
“…Sir Raleigh?”
Sir Raleigh was already on his knees, praying as his entire body trembled. Astonishment could be read on his face, but neither fear nor bewilderment.
—“With a true angel… there comes a moment when seeing is enough to leave one with no choice but certainty.”
He had already seen one once.
He had seen an “angel.”
Thomas Harriot saw.
He saw a man who showed mercy to his own murderers and saved one who fled into death.
Just as he had walked out from the sea now, he had walked steadily out from death and stood before Harriot and the crowd.
He watched them all in silence.
His eyes seemed to see through everything.
Thomas Harriot had said it. He had said that because men were foolish beings caked with greed, they would not recognize an angel even if they saw one.
Thomas Harriot had also said it. He had said that even if he saw an angel, he would remain an atheist, and that he would personally point out the Bible’s countless errors and demand explanations from him.
In this moment, no explanations to demand came to mind.
He felt only shame.
—“I mean that such a moment comes.”
I… knew nothing.
—“A moment when every doubt in your heart is erased, and you have no choice but to be certain that the being before your eyes is truly a holy being of heaven.”
Truly… knowing nothing at all, I spoke arrogantly.
Each and every one of Sir Raleigh’s words was carved deep into his heart. He looked at the “angel” walking among the crowd without even blinking or breathing.
Yes. An angel.
He was an atheist. Because he pursued the truth, he had prepared himself for the scaffold and had not abandoned that conviction.
He had been an atheist. Because he pursued an unwavering truth free from deception, oppression, and fear.
And he saw the truth he had so long desired.
He saw the naked truth tearing its way out through all the deceptions, violence, distortions, and oppressions mankind had created.
It was not merely because one man did not die no matter how many times he was stabbed with knives. There was a miracle greater than such a trifling, insignificant miracle.
The man was the angel of the assassins who had tried to kill him, and the angel of a certain councilor sir who had tried to flee through suicide.
He was an angel revealing his own nobility for the sake of all that was ugly, cowardly, and vile upon the earth.
This was the truth.
And within that truth, Harriot saw that there was light.
“…Sir Raleigh, you were right.”
Sometimes, there is a truth that pierces through even human folly and greed.
He knelt.
Thomas Harriot, converted, knelt before the angel.