Selene of Alexandria (18 page)

"There are also carpets, household goods and clothes listed among my effects. You should use your portion to your advantage. I've prepared a list of nobles and councilors whom you need to support your claim to the bishop's chair." Theophilus waved vaguely toward a table that acted as a desk during his illness. "Make sure they receive substantial gifts. Have you contacted the desert monks?"

Cyril nodded. "They stand ready at my word to enter the city and express their wishes for the election." He frowned. "The suburban monasteries can be reached within a day, but it takes three to cross the Mareotis to Nitria and another three to come back."

"You must send word right away," the old man gasped.

"You have guided me well in all things, Uncle." Cyril bowed his head. "Do you not feel this may be premature? I've prayed for your recovery."

"I, too, have asked the Lord to let this cup pass me by. I would see you advance through the church offices and your sister happily settled, but I fear my time is coming fast." Theophilus lay back on his cushions and closed his eyes. "There is a man I've found most useful. A teacher by the name of Hierex. I've arranged for him to meet you on the morrow."

Cyril, a lump in his throat, clasped his uncle's hand. "Anything you wish, Uncle. I will see my sister well-cared for and carry out your wishes to the best of my ability." The ill man squeezed Cyril's fingers then lapsed into a fitful sleep.

Cyril watched the shadows deepen on the old man's face and prayed for the strength to carry out his uncle's will. As a young man and inexperienced in the church offices, he faced stiff opposition and sometimes wondered if his Uncle's plans in this regard were wrong-headed.

"If I had known how much work a commission took, I would have enlisted as a simple soldier," Nicaeus complained to Selene on their way to her classes. Orestes had given his recommendation, then promptly left for a tour of the province two months ago, leaving Nicaeus to the tender mercies of the bureaucrats.

He started with a simple document and ended with seven addenda and signatures from several clerks in the offices of the quartermaster general of the army, the accountant general, the minister of finance, paymaster-in-chief, recording secretary and corresponding secretary. Nicaeus kept the bundle of documents in a leather pouch which flapped at his hip.

A sharp dawn breeze tugged at Selene's robes, causing her to clutch her rolls of drawings and wax tablets more tightly. She looked up at the brooding dawn sky, tinged bloody red. The fall stormy season approached.

"Have you learned any good cures for a sore ass?" Nicaeus continued. "If I have to sit on one more unpadded bench in some condescending petty clerk's office, I'll put my swordsmanship to better use than sticking some godless barbarian. Do you think the world would miss some two dozen bureaucrats?"

"No one but their families and me." Selene laughed and leaned close. "I am grateful to them for keeping you here. I will miss you, Nicaeus."

"I know." He took her arm. "I've had time to think these past months. On some days, I regret my decision and think seriously about tearing up this cursed batch of papers." He slapped the leather pouch. "But on most days, I'm thrilled at the prospect of seeing another part of the world; showing Father I can make my own way. It's what keeps me going from one dusty office to another."

"We're almost at the hall." Selene kissed his cheek. "Thank you for the company." They had arrived early at her anatomy class. She was to give a presentation – her first – to her teacher and fellow students. Selene hadn't eaten breakfast for fear she wouldn't be able to keep it down. Talking with Nicaeus helped calm her nerves. "Leave me to the lions while you visit with Alexandria's finest. I look forward to hearing your scintillating stories of dense clerks and obstinate bureaucrats at dinner."

"You'll do fine, little sister." He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "If any of those boys disagree with you, let me know and..." Nicaeus stepped back, drew an imaginary sword and brandished it. "I'll rid the world of a few stupid students as well as reduce the population of clerks."

Laughing helped settle the feeling of insects flitting in her stomach. Selene waved to her brother and entered the dim classroom. She wanted to get the feel of the place before it filled with distracting movements and the pungency of male bodies. She ran her fingers over the scarred walls and benches covered with generations of schoolboy scrawls. Her own father probably left his mark somewhere in these rooms. The thought comforted Selene. She looked around and, seeing no one, quickly scratched her own name in the mortar behind a supporting column. That small act of desecration made her feel temporarily part of the larger student community. A feeling she relished and held fast as long as she could.

Selene desperately wanted to do well. Haroun had allowed her in his advanced class with the students already apprenticing. She was the youngest, as well as the only girl. At first, the older boys tried to shove her aside when crowding around the specimens, but with her height and sharp elbows Selene made a place for herself. Two young men quit, expressing publicly their disdain for a female in the class. Haroun called them fools for letting such a small obstacle deter them.

Today, Selene presented her theories on the structures in the eye. In lieu of forbidden human dissection, she had compared the eyes of apes, pigs and dogs, attempting to draw some conclusions from their similarities. Auxentius helped her find some drawings of the human eye by ancient doctors. Haroun, pleased with her research, had asked her to explain her findings. She shuffled her notes and drawings nervously, wondering if she had missed something and would look a fool.

"Selene, are you ready?" Haroun asked behind her back.

She twitched, startled by his voice. Turning around, Selene took a deep breath. "Yes, Honored Teacher." Haroun presented a neutral face as the other students filed into the room, no evidence of encouragement or discouragement. She was on her own.

As the others settled onto their benches, Selene moved to the front. She started to lecture in a quivery voice then dropped her drawings. Some students laughed. Others shifted in their seats or coughed behind their hands. Haroun gave them a sharp look and they quieted.

Selene became angry with herself. Why was she so timid? What did she care what these boys thought? In her calmer moments, she realized their regard meant little, but she came from a family where her accomplishments had always been praised. Her isolation and her fellow students' active disdain took its toll, shaking her confidence. She hesitated the few moments she needed to pull herself – as well as her drawings – together, and started again in a stronger voice.

Selene paused at the end, looking out over her fellow students. "Are there any questions?"

Pontine, a handsome, well-spoken young man and a charismatic leader of the philoponoi – zealous Christian students recruited from the upper classes – rose to speak. Selene's heart sank. Pontine made a point of belittling her at every opportunity and complaining of Haroun's paganism on the flimsiest of pretexts. She wondered why he bothered to attend the class, but the self-satisfied smile on his face gave her a clue.

"Do you expect us to believe the structures you identified at the back of the eye mysteriously provide pictures to the brain? What has the brain to do with this? Everyone knows the seat of consciousness is in the heart."

"Who is this mysterious everyone?" Selene's voice turned sharp. "Plato and Aristotle hypothesized the heart as the seat of consciousness, but on what evidence? Hippocrates drew different conclusions." She pointed to her head. "How else would you explain the nerve connecting the eye to the brain? There is no similar structure to the heart."

Haroun stood up. "Excellent work, Selene. You pulled together documentary and observational evidence to support your theories. However, I suggest you consult with Hypatia on your rhetorical skills." He turned to the youth. "Pontine, you might do well to observe more closely. Just because something is written does not make it so."

A triumphant grin flashed across Pontine's face. "Do you not believe in the truth of the written Word of God?"

Selene now saw the trap Pontine set for Haroun and her part in it. She prayed fervently that Haroun saw it as well.

"The Christian Bible is a sacred text. I speak of medical texts which claim to be the literal truth, but both contain much that is fantastical." Haroun fixed the youth with a stern eye. "I am encouraging you to believe the evidence of your own observations before what is written. This is a modern age. Test the words of the ancients and add to their knowledge."

"No one can test God's Word, nor should anyone compare God's Word to the works of man." Pontine jumped on Haroun's statements. "You should not be allowed to teach, Sir. I will see this class closed." Pontine gathered his wax slates and stalked to the front of the room. In the doorway, he looked back. "All who fear for their souls should join me."

Almost half the class gathered their things and streamed past Selene. Pontine pulled his mouth into a sneer, turned on his heel and left.

"They are well gone." Haroun said in icy tones. "I will not have any in my class who do not or will not challenge writing with observations and experiment." He turned his glare on the remaining students. "For instance, one well-known text claims eating the herb dittany extracts arrows from a wound. Selene, perhaps you can explain to those who remain how to test the author's assertion?"

All eyes again turned to her. Selene gulped. "I believe it would be easy to test, Honored Teacher. A physician could treat a soldier with an arrow wound by having him eat dittany. If the arrow loosened and fell out, the premise would be proved. If not…" she shrugged her shoulders.

"Exactly!" Haroun pointed at the students. "You will make poor physicians if you persist in remedies that have no proven worth. I know not a single battlefield surgeon who treats arrow wounds with dittany. Why? Because they have seen what works and what doesn't. Dittany doesn't work. Now, are there any other questions for Selene?"

"I heard about the confrontation in your anatomy class," Hypatia stated after their lesson on rhetoric.

"I'm sorry, Honored Teacher." Selene descended from the lectern. "Is Master Haroun in any trouble? Will his class be closed?"

"There's no need to apologize, child. Haroun is protected from such as Pontine. Haroun saved the life of a rich and powerful man when all others gave up hope. That noble pays his stipend."

Hypatia, who had been standing, settled on a bench and motioned Selene to join her. "Pontine is a bright, personable young man who influences many. He walks a different path and takes many with him." She looked around the classroom. "Even a generation ago I filled this space. Now I have but a handful of students."

Startled, Selene contemplated the empty room. She hadn't noticed the decline in students. Was that the reason they were willing to accept a girl? "Why are there fewer students, Lady?"

"It's my observation that men of talent are abandoning the Museum as a place of study and flocking to the Christian Church."

"I don't understand." Selene chewed her lower lip in concentration. "The Church offers no breadth of study. They read only the Bible; prepare only for church offices."

Hypatia smiled and patted her hand. "The innocence of youth is refreshing, but dangerous. You must look beyond the obvious. Human behavior is many-layered like the onion. The old gods were variable, cruel and no One had ascendancy. They made no promises of redemption for a life lived in sin. Men of talent focused on the present life and tried their best to ignore their capricious gods. They studied a wide range of subjects, explored the world around them, and commented on what they learned. Modern men are told from birth to look forward to the next life. They have no need to explore this world, but spend their time debating the essence of God and what is to come."

Even more confused, Selene asked, "But, Lady, isn't that exactly what you do in philosophy?"

"Indeed, studying the nature of the soul is the heart of philosophy." Hypatia smiled, her gaze turned inward. "But to know God, you must know yourself and the world around you. Where do we fit in this grand scheme? Philosophy is a rigorous study and a way of life which only a few are able to master. Men of talent used to strive for that perfection, living a life of observation and rational thought. The Christian Church offers an easy way for many to succeed. 'Have faith! Obey!' It requires no thought, only belief, so everyone can partake. Where the masses go, power follows. Where there is power, there is influence."

"And power and influence attract men of talent and ability to positions of leadership. That is why they no longer continue at the Museum," Selene completed the argument. She sat quietly for a moment thinking how to ask her question then put it baldly. "Lady, is that why you made room for me? Because there were no others?"

"No!" Hypatia looked grieved. "I would have made room for you if I had four times the students I have now. Selene, all your teachers agree you have a gift. In your first three months you have shown enthusiasm, intelligence and innovation. Your talents might not lie in rhetoric, but you will bring light to the world in your own way. So forget about Pontine and his followers. Concentrate on your studies and you will be a superb physician."

The praise spread throughout her soul, warming all but the chilliest corners where Selene kept her severest criticisms and self-doubts.

Chapter 14

Cyril absorbed the voices praying by his uncle's bed. The soothing staccato rhythm washed through him, making him feel part of a greater whole. At his summons all of the church elders had gathered this morning before dawn to make their final peace with the Patriarch.

The pungent scent of incense, mixed with the sour scent of the sick room, tickled Cyril's nose. He stifled a sneeze. For the past two weeks he had rarely left this place, ministering to his uncle, sleeping on a pallet in the corner. He performed every office with love, even removing the soiled sheets and washing his uncle's wasted body.