Selene of Alexandria (32 page)

"What's your business here, Lady?"

"I seek Antonius, son of Lysis, the Councilor. He escorted me last night and came armed to protect me. He might be mistakenly detained."

"A councilor's son, eh?" The guard scratched his neck. "Come with me." He led them to a centurion questioning a sullen young man. "I think you should speak to this lady, sir."

Selene repeated her story, adding that she had been helping with the wounded. The centurion listened closely. "I would like to help, Lady, but we've detained no one by that name."

Selene bit her lip in frustration. "I thought I saw him among the prisoners. Please, sir, may I look closer?"

The centurion looked over the cowed prisoners and motioned to the guard. "Take her, but be quick about it."

Selene went to the man she had spotted earlier. He had a form similar to Antonius', but when he raised a scarred face to the light, Selene's shoulders slumped.

She heard a scuffling to her right and turned. A seated figure rose from the shadows. She pulled the cloak from her hair. The man stumbled forward, enveloping her in a crushing embrace.

"Thank God you are safe! I don't know how I could have lived with myself if you had been hurt," Antonius whispered into her ear.

"Leave the lady alone, you." Rough hands separated them. Her guard escort faced off with an angry Antonius.

Selene put her hands on the guard's arm. "Please, sir. This is the man I sought." Her eyes pleaded with Antonius to keep his temper. "Can he come with me?"

The guard looked skeptically at Antonius' bruised, dirty face. "He gave his name as Leiksos, Lady."

Antonius waved his hand dismissively. "I didn't want to embarrass my father."

The guard snorted. "He'll have to be questioned by the centurion before we release him." He motioned to Antonius. "You, come with me and behave toward the lady." The guard escorted them back to the centurion, muttering about spoiled sons of rich men.

Selene noticed a stir in the crowd. The guards walked with more energy and stood taller. She looked up to see Orestes on his horse and – thank the Lord! – Phillip standing by his foot, conversing with the Prefect. Relieved, she ran forward, shouting.

He relaxed his grip. Selene rubbed her arms. "We came to find you. Rebecca heard the Jews were setting a trap and we came to warn you. But..." she motioned around her, "we were caught in the riot. Rebecca and I helped with the wounded afterward."

Orestes nodded. "Your sister had the good sense to send me a warning. The carnage might have been much worse."

Selene turned to Orestes. "Prefect, might I ask a favor? Our friend Antonius escorted us here, but is being detained because he was armed. He carried a sword only to protect us. Could you release him?"

"You have my most solemn promise, sir. I never want to see again what I saw tonight." She shivered. Phillip put his arm around her protectively.

"Good. I'll see to young Antonius." Orestes descended from his horse and strode toward the centurion, returning shortly with Antonius, Rebecca and two guards in tow. "Phillip, see your party home. These men will provide escort."

Chapter 25

Orestes eyed the creeping dawn, put his hands to his lower back and stretched. He had done all he could. The wounded had been dispersed to their homes or hospitals, the unclaimed dead taken to the mortuary. The centurion concluded his interrogations and made his report. Now Orestes had only to make sense of it. He gave Demetrius some final instructions and headed home with an escort.

Hypatia waited for him in his private quarters. "My dear Lady, I'm delighted to see you, but what brings you out at such an early hour?" He snapped his fingers at his servants, who rushed to fetch food and drink.

Hypatia rose. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. "I am always up before dawn. It's good discipline. This morning my servants brought news of riot in the city. Is it true?"

Orestes sighed, shedding his cloak and taking a comfortable seat. His servants arrived with warm bread, cheese, cold roast lamb and spiced wine. The smell reminded him he had eaten no dinner. He indicated the tray laid for two. "Care to join me?"

Hypatia poured a goblet of wine and spread a piece of bread with runny cheese. She settled on a couch opposite Orestes and watched him eat. Finally, Orestes asked, "What do you hear from your servants?"

"Only that all the churches burn, Jews and Christians fight in the streets and the dead number in the thousands." Hypatia put down her bread, untouched.

Orestes choked briefly and sipped. "That's all?"

"It's a fair estimation of the stories racing through the city." Hypatia asked gravely, "I surmise the truth is somewhat short of the rumors?"

"I asked Demetrius to post notices and have proclamations read from the street corners. I suppose word hasn't spread far enough." He scrubbed his face with his hands and looked at Hypatia with haggard eyes. "Apparently, some young Jewish hotheads decided to take revenge for the attacks in their neighborhoods. They raised an alarm that St. Alexander's was on fire. When the congregation came to save their church, the Jews attacked and killed many. More died in the rioting that followed."

"The young fools! They've played right into Cyril's hands. What do the Jewish elders say?"

"They're defiant, saying they did not plan this but it was inevitable. They claim now that the Christians have seen their strength, the parabolans will stop their attacks."

"I thought better of Jesep and his faction." Hypatia shook her head. "Violence only begets more violence in this city. The Christians rarely practice turning the other cheek, as their messiah counseled. What are you going to do?"

"I have asked both sides to meet with me this morning."

"I doubt either party will come." Hypatia leaned back on her couch, frowning. "The Jews feel they have made their point. Cyril will trumpet his moral right and retaliate shortly."

"If so, we are at a significant disadvantage. I've appealed to Abundantius for troops but it will be at least one day before they arrive. I've built a coalition of nobles who seek to advise Cyril. Maybe they can put pressure on him to allow heads to cool."

"Many of the city fathers are unhappy at the high-handed way Cyril has managed his Bishopric. Opposition is building, even among those who supported Cyril. Let me make some visits." Hypatia rose, rearranging her wraps. "I'll start with Calistus. I want to see if Selene has recovered from her fright."

Orestes started. "How did you know she had been caught in the riots? She seemed tired, but well enough when Phillip took her home."

"Selene? In the riots? What are we going to do with that girl? I had thought she learned her lesson."

Orestes looked puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"The day before yesterday, when we picked her up in the marketplace. She had obviously been frightened and, from the look of her clothes, possibly attacked. Whatever would have possessed her to venture out at night into a riot?"

"She said she had to warn her brother."

"And she had to do it herself." Hypatia smiled sadly. "Ever listening to the heart before the head; the impulsiveness of youth. I sometimes despair of Selene ever becoming a scholar."

Orestes rose and took her hand. "She will never be the famous Lady Philosopher of Alexandria. There is only one." His eyes took on a faraway look. "We can guide Selene only when she lets us."

"You must think me a foolish old woman, trying to relive my youth through another."

"No. I think you are quite wise and a good friend. You are the most remarkable person I have ever known and I don't know what I – or this city – would do without you." Orestes encased her hand in both of his. "What you despair of in Selene are the very traits I admire in you – independence, the need to make things better and a stubborn belief that you can." He released her hand. "Go, my friend. We'll see what we can do to calm the city. Between us maybe we can stop this course of destruction."

Hypatia predicted truly. Both parties refused to meet with him.

Shortly after the noon meal, Demetrius came to his office, looking shaken. "The Patriarch is on the march. He and thousands more head for the Jewish quarter."

"Damn! He didn't give us time. We have only the guards and they will not be enough." He leapt up. "Get my horse. Call my escort. I'm going to meet him."

"It's too late, Master. He will have reached it by now. And the guards are unhappy about defending Jews. Your escort might not be reliable."

Orestes donned his cloak. "I can't sit here doing nothing. Do as I say, damn you, or I'll have you whipped!"

Demetrius bowed.

Orestes raced down the steps to his waiting mount and vaulted into the saddle. He urged his horse to a ground-eating canter and headed out the gate. His escort scrambled to catch up. They dodged through the streets toward the Jewish quarter in the eastern part of the city.

As they approached, Orestes had to slow his horse to navigate the carnage. Thousands of people clogged the avenues, systematically breaking in doors and herding occupants into the street. Some refugees carried bundles, but most fled before the onslaught with little more than the clothes on their backs. Women cried desperately for children, neighbors hauled the sick on pallets; men from the workshops struggled to find their families.

Behind the first wave of Christians, a second looted the buildings, throwing such poor possessions as could be found into heaps. Anything of value – a cooking pot, a spindle – disappeared. The rest, broken, littered the street. This section of the quarter offered little loot, so the first wave moved quickly toward the shops and merchants' homes. The very wealthy lived beyond the walls in a suburb established after the last expulsion. The mob might not go there and, if they did, the staff of the walled estates might resist.

Orestes drove his horse forward. "Make way!" His crop struck right and left to clear a path. His escort strung out behind him. He broke through the crowd into the square in front of the main synagogue.

Many young Jews lay quiet and grotesque where they had fallen, swords and clubs still clutched in their hands. The Patriarch stood in the middle of the square, pouring oil over sacred objects from the temple – scrolls, chalices, and prayer shawls. Armed monks held several bruised and bleeding Jewish priests.

"The torch!" Cyril cried.

"Stop!" Orestes pulled his horse to a prancing halt on the other side of the oil-soaked pile. His mount smelled blood and rolled its eyes. "Patriarch, you have no right."

"These people!" Orestes bellowed in his parade ground voice. "Do you mean that child? Or that old man?" The crowd quieted slightly. "You punish the many for the sins of a few. Send your people home. I will bring the real culprits to justice."

"Never! The murderers will not be caught. These people protect their own. They must be made to leave Alexandria!" Cyril threw the torch onto the pyre.

Flames leapt high, sending Orestes' horse skittering backwards.

"No!" One of the priests broke loose. "Not the sacred Torah!" He threw himself on the blaze, trying to beat out the flames with his hands. His clothes and beard caught fire. His screams echoed around the suddenly quiet square. Orestes watched in horror as the human torch stumbled around the pyre and fell twitching to the ground, ashes from the sacred texts floating into the air.

A bestial howl rose from the mob. Those Jews remaining streamed for the gates out of the city. Orestes pulled his horse close to Cyril and screamed, "What is it you want, Cyril?"

The Patriarch looked up with hard flat eyes. "God's will."

Orestes' gut turned ice cold, even as a white-hot rage fixed his face in a ferocious snarl. He raised his whip as if to strike Cyril.

Orestes looked at the frightened young man fighting his nervous horse and surveyed the chaos. The madness he saw on faces boded ill for anyone in their way. His temper cooled. He turned back to the young Patriarch, standing defiant. "I won't forget this. The Emperor will hear of this calumny."

Cyril smiled. "I'm sure he and his sister will be most pleased by this day's work."

Orestes jerked his horse around and rode with the young soldier through the smoke to the forum. He didn't look back.