Selene of Alexandria (10 page)

Orestes mused on whether the entertainers were the Patriarch's true target, or a means to an end. "If I can curb these performances, do you think you could control the more violent elements among your followers?"

"That is my mission." Theophilus put his hands together as if in prayer. "Only when this city is of one mind and one heart, dedicated to the One True God, will there be common cause. I've been striving for twenty-seven years to make this a Christian city and bring peace to our bodies and souls. It is a difficult struggle."

"Is that why you surround yourself with armed monks? I have always felt it better to convert with words and deeds rather than cracked heads."

"You speak of the parabolans? They are my bodyguards. You should be aware there have been threats against my life over the years."

"Yes, but it is my understanding there have been none of late. And you could always call upon me to supply city guards, if you feel the need. I would be honored to accommodate you."

The Patriarch started to cough again and, gasping, took another sip of wine. Servants hovered near his elbows, throwing worried looks at each other.

Pity dampened the frustration building in Orestes. The old man may be clever in his machinations, but his body failed him, his empire slipped from his fingers and he still had to account to God for his actions. Orestes concluded he need do little more than bide his time and be gracious.

"Thank you, Good Father, for your time and advice. With your blessing, I shall take my leave. I fear I've overtaxed your strength."

Theophilus put a shaking hand on the Prefect's bowed head and croaked, "Go with God, my son, and may He light your way."

Orestes straightened, murmuring his thanks. A violent spate of coughing and wheezing followed him out the door. Relief mixed with guilt and pity. Orestes resolved to make his case more forcefully with Theophilus' successor. Archdeacon Timothy seemed a more reasonable man.

"His lack of conviction troubles me." Cyril frowned. "But then, he is newly baptized. Perhaps Bishop Atticus is not as strict in his requirements as you."

"Many at the court are convenient Christians," Theophilus nodded, "outwardly conforming to Christianity because it is the religion of the Emperor, while maintaining the old ways in thoughts and deeds. But I spoke more of his purpose here in Alexandria than of his belief in God."

"From his words, he wishes peace." Cyril shrugged. "Doubtless a peaceful, prosperous city would put him in line for further promotions."

"Yes. He cannot attain his goals without our help. That is why he is so deferential."

"But you are the Patriarch! How else would he treat the Father of our Church?"

"I did well in sending you to the desert monks in Nitria for your spiritual education, my son." Theophilus chuckled. "But you have much to learn about dealing with men of power. Orestes is backed by the imperial troops at Nicopolis. We must be subtle in our approach, support the Prefect, put him in our debt until the time is right to rid this city of non-believers. If we push him too early, he might turn against us, as have other Prefects."

Another paroxysm of coughing doubled over the old man. Coming out of his fit, he noted the drawn look on his nephew's face and reached out a hand, which Cyril clasped in his own. "You have been a good son to me. Better than one from my own body. I regret leaving this task to you at such a tender age."

"You have time yet to oversee my education, Uncle. God would not take you from me or your people so soon." Cyril leaned forward, earnest eyes raised to his uncle's faded ones.

Theophilus extricated his hand and patted his nephew's cheek. "My days on this earth are nearly finished and, in so doing, God has set you a trial. You must carry on in my stead. Purge the city of the heretics, Jews and pagans. Lead Orestes to the light."

The old man coughed again, bright blood showing on a fresh kerchief Cyril supplied. Tears blurred the younger man's eyes. "I will do your bidding, Uncle, for it is also God's."

"I know you will, my son. Tomorrow we start planning. There are many things I must tell you, many pieces to move on the game board if you are to succeed me."

Chapter 8

On the night before Hypatia's public lecture, Selene retired to her room to make preparations. She had taken Nicaeus' third best tunic, ostensibly to repair an embroidered neckband. The bleached linen garment lay, arms outspread, on her bed. Accept for its length, the tunic was not much different from her daily wear – a basic "T" shape decorated with two red and blue embroidered strips from shoulder to hem and two smaller strips banding the edges of the full sleeves. Because of the warm summer weather, she could forego a mantle.

Sandals proved a problem. Nicaeus' feet had grown large over the last two years. Her own, dainty footwear would be inappropriate for a boy, so she sent Rebecca to the second-hand market to find a suitable pair in stout ox hide.

Selene seated herself before her bronze mirror and combed her hair. It rippled in silky waves down her back and across her shoulders. She raised sewing shears and cut off a hank just at her left ear. It dropped to the floor in a dusky heap. The remaining hair bounced back in a loose curl.

"I have the sandals. Is there anything else before you retire, Mistress?"

Selene started. She had so concentrated on her task; she had not heard Rebecca enter the room.

Rebecca's gaze darted from the shears to the hair on the floor. Her eyes grew round as she raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a moan. "Oh, Selene! Your beautiful hair!"

"Rebecca! Just in time to help me. I despaired of being able to cut the back straight."

The servant girl shook her head in wonderment. "Just what do you think you are doing?" She approached Selene and took the shears.

"I'm going to disguise myself and attend public lectures tomorrow. I hope to obtain a prominent teacher as my patron. I should be able to go unnoticed among the young boys."

"And what is to stop me from going right to your father and revealing this foolish plan?"

Selene looked at her servant in shock. "Rebecca. You would betray me in this? How many times have we kept secrets from Father? No harm has come of it. I will tell him myself once the deed is done and I am approved to study."

"Those were minor matters – the loss of a coin, climbing a forbidden tree. Those things your father could readily forgive. But this…" Rebecca swept her hand from the shorn lock of hair to the tunic on the bed, "this is against your father's express wishes!"

"Father has never forbidden me to cut my hair or walk to the agora or attend lectures." Selene raised her chin to a defiant angle. Rebecca just looked at her with a sorrowful expression. Selene turned back to the mirror and crossed her arms over her chest, but Rebecca's accusing image still showed over her shoulder.

She slumped.

"You're right. Father never said I could do any of those things." She raised her eyes to plead with Rebecca's reflected ones. "I want to be a physician. I need a patron, Rebecca, someone who can convince my father to let me follow this dream."

"You were never one to shrink from a difficult task." Rebecca sighed and laid her hands lightly on Selene's shoulders. "But I think you underestimate your influence with your father. He loves you deeply. Why not approach him?"

Selene shook her partially shorn head. "In this, he will not indulge me. His very love will tell him to keep me safe at home until he can find a suitable husband." She reached up and covered Rebecca's hand. "I truly believe this is the best way."

"Do you have a patron in mind?"

"Lady Hypatia."

"The foremost philosopher in our city?" Rebecca shook her head. "I fear you have set yourself not just a difficult task, but an impossible one."

"I can do it, Rebecca, with your help." Selene turned again to plead with her servant. "Help me be a boy tomorrow and all will be well. I know it."

With a look of resignation, Rebecca picked up the shorn lock of hair. "How do you intend to keep this a secret from Calistus? Don't you think he will notice at first meal tomorrow?"

Selene frowned. "Maybe I could wear a scarf or veil?"

"Indoors? I think your father will be suspicious."

"Tell my father..." Selene drooped against the cosmetics stand with a limp hand to her forehead and half-closed eyes, "...that I am indisposed. Ill. Afflicted with my moon time." She "recovered," giggling with relief. "That should stop all questions."

"Perhaps." Rebecca tugged at her lower lip while she surveyed Selene's ragged locks. "I'll braid your hair before we cut it and use the braids to dress your hair while it is growing out. With pins, ribbons and veils, we might be able to make you look presentable. Or I can take your hair to a good wig maker?"

"No. I'm sure you'll do fine with braids and pins." Selene inspected the first cut in the mirror. "Will you do the back?"

A few moments later, four thick braids of hair coiled on the wash stand and Selene ran her hands through closely cropped curls. "My head feels lighter. What do you think, Rebecca? Do I look like a boy?"

Rebecca looked her over critically. "A fine-boned one, yes, if no one looks too closely."

"Good. After the servants leave for the market, I will slip out the back and proceed from there." Selene took Rebecca's hands in her own. "Thank you. This will work out. You'll see."

"I hope so, Mistress. For your sake and mine. Sleep well and I'll wake you in the morning. Perhaps by then, you will have returned to your senses."

Selene felt exposed and vulnerable in her brother's tunic. It fell midway down her calf and startled her whenever the hem flapped on her legs. She wore brief tunics while running, but her public attire always enveloped her from head to foot. Even more discomfiting was the lack of company. Only scandalous women appeared in public unaccompanied by mother or servants.

She pushed at the fabric around her waist and readjusted her belt trying unsuccessfully to cover more of her legs. Realizing her inward unease might be reflected in her appearance, Selene tried to relax. She focused her senses outward. There seemed to be a general flow in the direction of the agora. Once she was beyond the quiet neighborhood of her home, her nervousness transformed to anticipation and a delicious feeling of freedom. She could do as she pleased and there was no one to say her "nay." Tomorrow she would be Selene again, but for today, she was an unknown boy, free to explore the city.

Selene drifted with the current, taking in the smell of frying fish and the sound of merchants hawking their wares as she moved through the marketplace adjacent to the agora. The sun shone high overhead, so she bought a fig leaf stuffed with mashed beans and roasted garlic for a copper coin. She scooped the aromatic paste into her mouth with her fingers, licked the remains from the fig leaf and discarded it on the street.

A public fountain in the shade of a tree, gushed water from the mouth of a demon into a trough embedded with seashells. Before the Romans introduced inexpensive concrete, such mundane objects as troughs were laboriously chipped from stone in treeless Egypt. Selene joined a line of women with jars and stuck her face in the flow for a drink and a cleansing splash of water. The warm sun quickly dried her face and damp hair. She ran her hands through her short tresses, amazed at the ease of its care.

She reluctantly left the anonymity of the marketplace and entered the agora. The huge square was only moderately crowded. The viewing stand for the Prefect's investiture had been taken down days ago and the streets swept clean. Selene stayed to the left. She wanted to avoid the law courts and city offices where pronouncements were posted and friends of her father were likely to congregate.

She headed for a complex of buildings containing lecture halls, baths and a small theater sandwiched between the agora and the ruined palace district. The men she encountered paid her no attention. The crowd was a shifting mosaic of light colored robes, punctuated by the glint of polished armor or the occasional brown or black of a strolling monk. One approached her now.

At the sight, Selene stiffened then relaxed. The monk was unarmed, but who knew about the next one? She rubbed her head in unconscious imitation of Antonius when telling his tale of cracked pates. Selene surveyed those closest to her and edged toward a band of youths. They cut through the crowd to the main north-south thoroughfare, the Street of the Soma. The Great Alexander's body had been removed from his magnificent tomb and the building destroyed centuries ago, but the street still bore its name. The secret of his final burial place had been lost with the ages. The boys headed out of the agora, leaving Selene in the shade of a stoa plotting her next move.

"Selene! What, by all that's holy, are you doing here? And dressed like that!" A young man's fingers dug into her arm. She looked up into Antonius' concerned dark eyes. They grew wider in shock. "What did you do to your hair?" he nearly shrieked. Several people turned their way with curious looks.

"Shush." Selene shook off his hand and rubbed her arm. She would have bruises as well as short hair to explain the next day. "Tell the whole city and disgrace me, will you?"

Antonius' face turned several shades redder than normal. "What are you up to? Don't you know it's dangerous for women to travel in the city alone, especially in these times? I should take you straight home."

"Antonius, please don't take me back." She clutched his arm. "I just wanted to hear Hypatia speak. Just once. I promise I won't do this again." She looked up at him through her lashes. "Besides, with you here, I'm not alone."

Antonius gave her a skeptical smile. "Just this once? Well, why don't we find Nicaeus? He can decide what to do with you."