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The inscription on this bust identifies me, but the identification is not certain. It may not be my face at all. I am not troubled by this. My Histories are full of stories that I could not verify, that I recorded because they were told, because the act of transmission is itself part of the truth.

I was the first to write the word historia — inquiry. Not chronicle, not annals. Inquiry: the active, searching investigation into what happened and why. My critics called me the father of lies. My admirers called me the father of history. Both are probably correct. The two are not always easy to separate.