Selene of Alexandria (26 page)

Cyril pointed at Orestes and pronounced, "Let you not harm them again or any others under my protection or everlasting damnation will be your fate."

Orestes rose, a vein pulsing in his forehead. He pointed toward the door. "Out! The Emperor shall hear of the actions of his Patriarch in Alexandria."

Cyril looked up from shepherding the injured men. "And be assured, the Emperor – and his sister – will hear of the actions of his Prefect."

Orestes mouth dropped at the slave's audacity. His immediate reaction was to whip the man, but he was too honest not to acknowledge the truth of the matter. "The Patriarch will not listen to reason. The arrogance of youth and position puts iron in his neck. What am I to do with him?"

"Perhaps if you gave him a more public show of support, he could be more lenient, call off his dogs. You have – sometimes – through your attentions to Hypatia and Jesep, given the impression you favor them over the Patriarch. You could be more conciliatory, allow him to show his supporters he has access to you, that he has other ways to attain his ends than through violence."

"My experience says that to show weakness invites attack." Orestes squared his shoulders. "I will not offer support to Cyril while he orchestrates these riots. He is still accountable to his congregation. I will try to build a coalition of older nobles and counselors to advise the Patriarch. Maybe he will be guided by other – and cooler – heads."

Demetrius bowed. "You know best, Master. Shall I bring in the next visitor?"

Orestes eyed the piles of scrolls. "Yes. Though for once I would rather deal with paper than with people and their obstinacies."

Cyril sat at his desk, reviewing his intentions. The leaders of the Jewish community would arrive shortly. He needed to project a strong presence. He heard a knock at his door and rose to open it.

"Hierex, my friend, what are you doing out of bed?" The man still limped from the torture ten days past; his face mottled yellow and green from fading bruises.

"Hot tempers will not serve our purposes. Save your rage for later. We need to present a calm, reasonable face. The Jews must feel shame for their intemperate actions and our moderate response."

"They will not be punished for their crimes?" Hierex spluttered.

"Of course." Cyril put a calming hand on his friend's shoulder. "But it must not look as if we orchestrated it. Many powerful men watch us closely. We cannot afford to lose their support. Soon, my friend, we will be rid of the Jews, and without them at his back Orestes will bend to our will. Now, off to bed."

Cyril called a servant to assist Hierex. He limped away, giving his master one last imploring look.

Cyril returned to his desk, but couldn't concentrate on the papers in front of him. The Jews had the Prefect's ear. He couldn't even have a reasonable conversation with the man. Cyril snapped the reed pen he held. The water clock sounded the hour with hollow bongs.

Chapter 20

Selene wove through the crowds in the market, looking for a special wedding gift for Honoria and Antonius. Bright swirls of color chased each other as women trailing servants picked over piles of goods. The duller grays and browns of pilgrims going to or coming from holy sites punctuated the vivid mosaic.

A large contingent of beggars worked the crowd. Selene hesitated over giving a bronze coin to a small girl missing a leg, knowing she would be besieged within minutes. She gave it anyway and let Rebecca shoo off the dozen urchins who immediately converged on them clamoring for alms.

After dealing with the children, Rebecca pointed to a frantic merchant in desert-colored robes. "Mistress, how about a carpet?" He saw them considering and spoke louder extolling the colors and softness of his wares.

The glaziers occupied the next quarter. Selene could tell they were close by the occasional whiff of noxious fumes that made her eyes water. At the first shop, a young man, on hearing of a wedding, offered them a tour of the premises. "We make the finest glassware in all of Egypt, ladies. Come see our wares. We will make to your order. Vases, plates, perfume bottles, beads. Any color you wish." He ushered them into a small courtyard surrounded by fourteen small workshops, none more than six strides across or deep.

All the workers to the right made platters of various sizes. Some tended furnaces, melting the sand, lead and minerals to make the liquid glass. The men tending the furnaces glistened with sweat and charcoal dust. Some wore cloths over their mouths and noses, but frequent wracking coughs indicated weakness of the lungs. Other workers poured the glowing liquid into granite molds or polished the final products with grit-embedded cloth. The plates, a deep blue, reminded Selene of the color of the western desert sky just after sunset.

On the left, workers made more delicate objects. Selene admired a set of goblets to match the plates, and a flawless perfume bottle of rose pink. She and Rebecca watched a roomful of little girls threading beads into intricate necklaces and bracelets. The dim light made them hunch and squint.

"Is there much illness among your workers?" Selene asked the glass merchant.

"No more than most." The man shrugged. "They are a lazy lot of slaves. But if they complain too much, I sell them to the porphyry mines. That keeps them in line."

"Even the children?"

"No, Lady, not the children. They come from an orphanage. I teach them a trade in exchange for a small fee." He took Selene's elbow. "Perhaps, Lady, you would like a glass of wine in my office while we talk of your new glassware. How many sets will you need for your household?"

"You mistook me, Sir." Selene shuddered at his touch. "The wedding's a friend's, not mine."

His face stiffened in disappointment at the loss of a large contract, but he recovered quickly. "Surely you saw a suitable gift among my fine wares?"

"Perhaps, but I wish to look further. Thank you for your time." Selene turned to leave.

The merchant followed her to the street. "You'll find none finer for a better price in all of Alexandria," he shouted after them.

"I wish I could buy him, and show him the same misery he shows his workers. Did you see those little girls? Their eyesight will be ruined before they are adults. If they live that long. They were all thin and most coughed as often as the furnace tenders."

"You can't save everyone in Alexandria, Selene." Rebecca rested her hand gently on Selene's arm.

"Beautiful lady, look at my fine bronze ware. It comes from all the corners of the Empire and beyond. Elephants from India, torques from Britannica, urns from Germanica."

Selene turned to the smoothly chanting voice and looked over the pieces displayed on a white linen cloth. There were many fine bracelets, earrings, and a delightful statue of a many-armed woman dancing on a snake.

"You like the Kali, Mistress? I have some statues I show only to special customers. Come with me to the back." He covered the wares on the table with a green silk cloth and held a striped hanging back from the doorframe, indicating they should precede him into the dim interior.

Rebecca whispered into Selene's ear, "I don't believe you should go into the shop with that man. Have him bring his wares out."

Selene, depressed over the child glass workers, compounded by her failure to find a suitable gift, replied irritably, "Oh, Rebecca, don't be such a stick. What could happen in the middle of the market? Besides, you'll be with me." She shoved her servant toward the opening.

They edged around the table and into the dim light of the shop. Selene blinked as her eyes adjusted and stumbled over something small but very heavy, banging her shin. She hopped, rubbing her leg.

"This way, ladies." The bronze merchant waved them to the back, where he uncovered a knee-high statue.

Selene saw arms, legs, heads and torsos contorted in impossible positions. When she realized it was a man mounting a woman, she gasped. She was aware of male anatomy, but doubted two human bodies could twist that way. As her sight improved, she saw many such statues, in various sizes and positions, as well as a number of miniature figures of men with large erect penises and women with voluptuous breasts and buttocks.

"Oh my! Rebecca, I think we should leave. Thank you, sir, for the viewing, but we must go."

"But, Lady, surely there is something here to your taste? I've supplied bronze art to some of the best households in the city," the merchant whined. He reached out to touch Selene's sleeve.

"Thank you, sir, but not at this time." Selene and Rebecca fled the shop.

Rebecca giggled, her eyes sparkling. "Well, that would make a fine wedding present. Maybe Antonius would thank you for providing Honoria with some instruction. You can always send someone to purchase it later."

The thought of being in such a position with Antonius brought a flood of warmth to Selene's body, and color to her cheeks. Honoria's face intruded on her torrid thoughts and turned her excitement to guilt and shame. "I don't think so, Rebecca. I'm tired. We can search again tomorrow."

The statue haunted Selene all day. While Rebecca helped prepare her for bed, she suddenly blurted, "Have you and Phillip made love?"

Rebecca stopped brushing Selene's hair, her mouth pursed in a small frown.

"Forgive me for a blunt fool, Rebecca. I have no one to talk to about these things and I thought...after seeing the statue...you are older...."

"I see." Rebecca continued brushing. "We should have discussed this earlier. Among my people, the older women pass on their knowledge when girls have their first courses. You had no one to mark your passing into womanhood. What are your questions?"

"I know what men are like. I've seen animals mating. I just want to know...does it hurt?" Selene looked up at Rebecca with curiosity and shame.

"I've heard it sometimes hurts the first time, like when you've tried a new exercise and your muscles are sore. It can also hurt if the man is careless or the woman unprepared. Two people who love each other should take their time and make sure each is ready."

Selene turned pale. "I've heard women bleed the first time."

"Very rarely, unless the girl is quite young and the man tears her. Most healthy young women do not bleed. But many men believe blood is a sign the woman is a virgin." Rebecca added with a knowing smile, "A smart bride brings a small bag of chicken blood to stain the sheets on the wedding night."

Selene giggled. "The life of a chicken is a small sacrifice for peace in the family."

"When you wish, I can take you to meet some of the women in our quarter. My mother, perhaps? She has much more experience than I and can better answer your questions."

Rebecca turned to tidy the cosmetics table. Selene snagged her hand. "Thank you, Rebecca."

On the morning of the wedding, Selene woke feeling crampy. A trickle of blood stained her thighs. "Mother of Jesus, save me. Why did I have to get my courses now?" She washed with water from the night pitcher and rummaged in her chest for clean linen cloths cut from her outworn robes.

Rebecca entered to help dress her in a dark green gown, fix her shoulder-length hair and apply cosmetics. Selene felt the dark ring of kohl around her eyes and the pale powder made her look haunted and tired, but she didn't much care. She would have avoided this ceremony if she could, but her absence would have been made the subject of gossip.

She joined her father and Phillip in the vestibule. The ceremony would be a simple one, at the bride's home, for family and close friends. A priest that Ision housed as a favor to the church would officiate, but the important parts had been handled weeks before, when the bride and groom's fathers signed the papers, transferred the dowry and entered the transaction in the city and church records.

Selene trudged to the house, feeling hot and drained. The sheltering coolness of Ision's vestibule revived her somewhat. Soon Honoria's younger sisters, fluttering and cooing like a bevy of quail, surrounded and led her away to a side room. She briefly glimpsed the men congregating under the colonnade by the interior garden. Antonius looked trapped as several friends boisterously clapped him on the shoulder and back. She had heard most of the tired jokes, and didn't envy him the role of eager groom.

Honoria was the center of a similar, but more subdued, coterie. Her mother Arete presided, so ribald remarks stayed at a whispered minimum, but sly glances and giggles abounded. Honoria turned when Selene entered the room. She looked stately in her pale umber palla stitched with gold over a white tunic. The traditional orange veil draped a nearby chair, fluttered in the slight breeze, showing the fineness of the silk weave. Today, Honoria, who had never been accounted pretty, looked beautiful. Happiness and excitement beamed from her face. For her, at least, this was a love match. A rare thing in their circle.