Selene of Alexandria (17 page)

"Dead men gone to dust centuries ago can't teach you to see living flesh and know healthy tissue from diseased. Look at me." Haroun waved his hand from head to foot. "What do you see?"

Selene inspected him in the same way he had her, noting various scars, his well-muscled body, and one sandal thicker than the other. "Your skin, teeth and breathing indicate good health. But you suffered some sort of animal attack in your youth. Your left leg – the one with the scars – is shorter than the other by far, probably due to damage to the muscles or tendons. From the look of your shoulders, I guess you wrestle, throw the javelin or the discus."

Haroun smiled, showing two gold canines. "She has good eyes, Hypatia. Very promising." He turned back to the girl. "It was a jackal and I wrestle. But it takes more than good eyes to see what is. You must also use your hands to feel the difference between broken and straight bone, your ears to hear the difference in humors in the lungs and your nose to smell health or disease on flesh, breath, or urine. Are you up to the task, girl? I can't have you fainting or fluttering in my classes."

"Yes, Master Haroun. I don't faint at the sight of blood or flutter in distress." She bowed to the tall man, desperately hoping she could keep her promise. "I want nothing more than to study with you."

"Hypatia speaks on your behalf and you've proven to have some talent in observation. Can you draw?"

"With ink and charcoal, Master."

"You may come to my anatomy class three days hence. It starts just after dawn, before the heat of the day makes it impossible to work. Wear clothes you don't mind getting stained." He bowed to Hypatia and turned back to the ape. The two women beat a hasty retreat.

Hypatia took Selene's arm again. "You are doing well, child. Let's return to your father. Of course, I expect you to attend some of my lectures."

Selene tried to keep a neutral face as she contemplated hours of obtuse philosophic discussion, abstract mathematics and calculating the rotation of the planets. "I would be honored to attend any classes you recommend, Lady."

Hypatia laughed knowingly. "Natural history, my dear…science. Of course, I believe the study of philosophy is the highest calling a person can have. Philosophy encompasses all the lesser subjects. But I think your interests are more of this world than the next. When you need it, you will seek out philosophy and mathematics as well."

Selene relaxed and, at Hypatia's urging, chatted easily about her experiences of the day and her excitement about her studies. They continued to a spacious public garden, Hypatia greeting people along the way. Selene's head swam with names, specialties and relationships. When they reached her father, she forgot all decorum and threw herself at his chest.

"Oh, thank you, Father. I couldn't be happier." She hugged him tight in an explosion of emotion. "You won't regret this. I won't shirk my duties at home. All will be the same as before."

He caressed her hair. "I'm not worried about the household, my dear; Rebecca's been doing a fine job since she returned. I'm worried about you. Will you be safe? Will you be happy? This is a difficult choice you're making."

"It's not difficult, Father. It's the only choice for me."

Hypatia cleared her throat. "Selene did well today, Calistus. I'm sure she will fulfill her promise. Now I must be off. I'll expect her at my lecture, two days hence."

Selene watched the diminutive woman disappear into a hall then guided her father toward the garden exit. The sweet scent of lilies replaced the faint odor of death lingering about her clothes. She felt as if she could float home on her happiness.

On the morning of her first class, Nicaeus' surly mope and belligerent pout spoiled Selene's ebullient mood. It wasn't her fault Father assigned him as chaperone. The third time he scuffed a rock, it ricocheted off her ankle.

"Ouch! You did that on purpose!"

His eyes shifted from her angry gaze, as he muttered, "Did not!"

She rubbed her ankle to remove the sting. "Listen, Nicaeus, you're stuck with me three times a week for the next several weeks. You might as well make the best of it. You might even learn something."

"I doubt it." One side of his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. "I've never liked to study."

It was true their tutors sometimes despaired of Nicaeus. When they were young, a teacher resorted to a cane to encourage the boy to apply his wits. Calistus dismissed that man, saying a stick never taught any lesson except that the strong can beat the weak bloody. Nicaeus was not a stupid or light-minded youth, but seemed directionless, like a piece of wood adrift on the Nile. That's why Selene was startled when he said, "Luckily, you don't have to be smart in the army – just fast and strong."

Selene grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her. "Nicaeus, not the army! We might not see you for ten years. Father would never give his permission."

"He wouldn't? Phillip got to escape to Constantinople. You get to follow your heart's desire to study medicine. What possible excuse could Father have for keeping me out of the army?" Nicaeus scuffed at another rock. "It's not as if I'm needed here."

His flat tone belied the pain showing in his face. Selene reached out to cup his cheek in her hand, but he turned his head away. Staring at a middle distance, he continued, "It's an honorable career. Phillip told me he would ask Orestes for a commission. I would go in as an officer with the Egyptian Prefect's recommendation."

"But they don't post troops in their own provinces." Tears shone in Selene's eyes. "I don't want to lose you! It was hard enough with Phillip gone for three years, and he was safe in a city." She dashed the tears away and said in a bantering tone, "Besides, you are needed here. Who will accompany me to classes if you go?"

He folded her into his arms and patted her back. "I won't go for several months. By then you will have a new chaperone."

"Are things so bad you feel you have to leave us?" She leaned into his shoulder.

Nicaeus' face took on the grim lines of a much older man. "It's time I made my own way. Phillip will inherit when father passes on. I don't have the patience for a civil appointment or your thirst for knowledge. This is best for me."

She had watched without comprehension, as Nicaeus grew older and more restless. Selene assumed their father would chart his younger son's course or Nicaeus would find something or someone to anchor him. Selene never expected he would hie off to the army.

"We have a while to figure this out." She straightened in his arms, heaviness temporarily lifting from her heart. "I'm sure I can come up with a way to keep you happy at home. Maybe we can find you a rich wife."

"You don't understand, Selene." Nicaeus pulled back, laughing. "I want to go. Don't try to come up with some romantic scheme to keep me here." He wagged a finger at her. "I don't want to see a parade of rich, empty-headed girls traipsing through our house."

"We'll see. Maybe I can find one with a few brains to make up for your lack of wits." She turned and started toward her classes at a brisk walk, counting off on her fingers. "There's Harmonia, Eudoxia..."

"Selene!" Nicaeus shouted after her. "Don't you dare!"

Chapter 13

"Our Father, Who art in heaven, have mercy on my uncle. Restore him to health so he may take up the staff again in Your name and lead Your people to righteousness." Cyril prayed with fervor and despair in the private oratory connected to the Patriarch's bedchamber. Theophilus' health had steadily declined over the past two months. A constant stream of clerks carrying letters and gifts now flowed to the bedroom where the Patriarch conducted most of his business. He grew weaker each day and soon would be unable to see anyone other than physicians and close aides.

"Master Cyril?" A servant boy asked tentatively from the door. "The Patriarch is asking for you."

"Thy will be done. Amen," Cyril concluded. A spike of irritation at the interruption jarred with the peace prayer always brought to his soul. When he became Patriarch…

Cyril cut the thought short and shrugged his shoulders to rid himself of the knots. If God could be persuaded by the number and fervency of prayers, Theophilus would recover. All of Egypt prayed for his health. Cyril believed in miracles, but felt in his heart, his uncle's time had come. The thought shook his body with grief tinged with fear and anticipation. He rose, twitched his woolen robes into order and strode toward the door with renewed purpose.

The Patriarch's chief steward sat on a bench next to the bed. A dour, horse-faced man with an uncanny nose for corruption, Paulinus had been chosen with the approval of all the clergy thirteen years ago to "keep the ministry of God free from avarice." Theophilus had encouraged Cyril to be on friendly terms with the steward who oversaw every aspect of the church's financial activity. Paulinus received the congregation's tithes and offerings. His staff of treasurers and auditors provided the funds for the church-run poorhouses, hostels, hospitals and homes for the elderly; drew up the list of subsidized poor and widows and inventoried valuable consecrated vessels. Paulinus even provided the almoner who accompanied the Patriarch on visits and processions to give gifts to the poor.

"Chief Steward." Cyril bowed to the senior churchman.

"I want you to hear our discussions, Nephew," Theophilus wheezed from his bed. "When you are Patriarch, you should know these things."

Cyril didn't know if the prospect of his succeeding his uncle or the sharing of privileged information with a junior church member caused the chief steward's face to look like he sucked a bitter lemon. From his past dealings with the conservative steward, it was probably both. At least the man did not challenge his presence directly.

"I am at your disposal, Uncle." Cyril deliberately emphasized the relationship rather than his uncle's title.

Paulinus straightened, his face smoothing to a neutral mask as he consulted his notes. "This quarter's distributions include increasing amounts to the sick, poor and elderly. With the influx of peasants to the city, their plights are most grave. As is customary, we've set aside funds to build temporary shelters for the homeless in the vicinity of the Caesarion during the cold season. We are also increasing our contributions to the Mariner's Guild."

"Why is that?" Cyril looked at Theophilus with a frown.

"The Mariners' are taxed heavily by the Emperor. They are required to transport the grain tithe to Constantinople without recompense. We help ease that burden and gain their support in matters more important to our interests."

"We also have a list of nobles to whom we are repaying debts." Paulinus' mask cracked somewhat.

"Yes." Theophilus subsided into a fit of coughing. Paulinus and Cyril collided in their efforts to pour water for the stricken man. The steward backed off, allowing Cyril to minister to his uncle. The Patriarch took a few sips. "These nobles loaned the church money during the early days of my episcopate and I felt we should make good on our debts."

"Who are these nobles?" Cyril inquired.

Paulinus read off the short list. Cyril recognized four prominent men in current financial difficulty. If they survived, they would be in positions to further his claim to the episcopate.

Paulinus frowned. "Did not the Lord say 'A rich man had as much chance of attaining heaven as a camel passing through the eye of a needle'?" Why not remind these good men of their obligations and keep the money?"

"My dear steward," Theophilus coughed. "These men helped me in the time of my most dire need. They suffer in their turn from financial hardship and it is in my power to help them." He waved Paulinus away. "Go now and execute your duties. I will see you tomorrow." He lay back wheezing on a pile of cushions.

"I have no record of these men loaning the church money." Paulinus continued stubbornly.

Cyril stared at the steward with half-lidded eyes. "My uncle says they loaned the church money. Those were riotous times and doubtless the records were lost or destroyed. Do you question the word of our Patriarch?"

"No." The chief steward bowed out the door. "I will execute the Patriarch's will."

Cyril approached his uncle with more water. The stricken man waved the cup away. "I have more to show you. Look below the bed."

Cyril dropped to his knees and pulled up the soft woolen blankets concealing the space under his uncle's bed. Three large chests, each made of mahogany and bound with brass, sat there. Two were of a size, but the third was smaller. He pulled each out and lined them against the wall.

"This is my personal fortune," Theophilus whispered from his reclining position. "I will leave ample provision for you and your sister. See that she marries well." Theophilus fumbled at his breast and extracted a chain with three keys. Cyril opened the chests and gasped at the treasure of gold and silver coins, jewelry encrusted with precious gems and silver plate.

"I vowed you and your sister would never be threatened with the same troubles as I and your mother." Theophilus and his sister had been impoverished and orphaned in early childhood. A faithful family slave rescued them from a miserable fate by presenting the children to Patriarch Athanasius. The Patriarch raised the children, training Theophilus as his successor and marrying Cyril's mother to a godly man in Lower Egypt.

Theophilus loved his sister dearly and, when she and her husband died of a fever, he took in her son and daughter. The cycle repeated as Theophilus prepared his nephew to be the next Patriarch.

Cyril ran his hands through the pile of gold and silver coins. The slick texture of the precious metal against his skin felt almost sensuous. Being raised in the church he felt no personal need of such wealth, but knew his uncle had his own reasons for amassing such a fortune. It would, indeed, provide a more than handsome dowry for his sister.