Selene of Alexandria (46 page)

"Where you going, Menas?" one of his fellows shouted after him.

"I gotta piss." Menas wobbled toward the wall and relieved himself, sighing with pleasure. Something in the shadows – a flutter of robe, a glint of light – caught his wandering attention. He quickly covered himself and strode toward them crying out, "Who goes there?"

Her escort whispered, "Forgive me, Lady," and enveloped her in a passionate embrace. His stubbled chin scraped Selene's face and his breath smelled of onions, but she returned the kiss with all the art she could muster.

Menas grasped her escort and spun him around. "I said, 'Who goes there?'"

"A fellow parabolan, minding his own business. Why don't you mind yours?"

Four of Menas' companions ambled over. "What's you got, Menas?" When they saw Selene tucked close to her escort's side, they hooted, "Rousting lovers, now?" Then, to her escort, "Looks dangerous. Do you need any help?"

He gave them a broad wink. "Thanks for the offer, but I can handle this duty myself." He gave Selene another sloppy kiss, much to the delight of their audience.

"Sure you don't need help? How about sharing the duty?"

"Goodnight, boys!" He put his arm about Selene's trembling shoulders and escorted her in the opposite direction. Around the corner, Selene's knees gave way. He lowered her against a rough plastered wall.

Selene rose and they continued another two blocks to a small limestone kiosk decorated with murals depicting water carriers. Her escort opened a door in the kiosk and entered. Selene ducked after him. The air was cool and heavy with moisture. She heard water lapping on stone. They followed a spiral staircase down to a cavern with a vaulted ceiling supported by pillars. Water filled the cavern within inches of a platform where the stairs ended. A small boat was tethered to a ring sunk into the wall. There was one torch, and the water stretched beyond the light.

"What is this place?" Her voice echoed from the dank shadows.

"The cisterns. Alexander had the city honeycombed with them, in case of siege. They provide water to most of the private homes."

"I thought we got our water from the lake. How big is this place?" Selene asked.

"This is one of the smaller ones. They're all connected by underground canals and pipes." He set aside his cudgel and reached for the rope to pull the boat closer.

Selene knelt on the mossy stone and scooped water into her mouth. The cool liquid coursed down her throat. After she had her fill, she scrubbed her face with a wet hem. She didn't feel clean, and her skin itched with insect bites, but she felt more like herself. She looked up to see her escort sitting patiently in the boat, oars in one hand, torch in another.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting." Selene settled herself in the bow facing the man. "Where are we going?"

He handed her the torch and grinned, showing a gold tooth. "To a friends'."

Up to now, she had avoided thinking about the agent of her escape. Had her father arranged this? Was Phillip back? She supposed she would find out soon. In exhaustion, Selene closed her eyes and listened to the water. The sound soothed her raw nerves.

They continued to a conduit wide enough to accommodate the boat, but had to duck for safe passage. After several minutes they entered yet another enormous reservoir divided by stone columns, like a drowned temple.

The man seemed certain of his destination, so Selene did not burden him with her doubts. At one point, she nearly dozed off and dropped the torch into the water. Only her companion's sharp cry saved them from plunging into darkness.

"I'm so sorry!" Fear coursed along her nerves, banishing sleep. "That won't happen again."

"If it does, don't worry." He grinned. "I know these cisterns better'n my mother's face. I can find my way in light or dark."

Selene was not inclined to test her guide's prowess.

"We're nearly there, Lady, just beyond that pillar."

She looked over her shoulder. Another platform materialized out of the dark. He guided the boat to the dock. Selene stepped out. He tied the boat to another ring, took the torch and led her up stairs carved in the side of the wall. They came up in another kiosk at the bottom of a substantial hill crowned by the Prefect's residence. Selene filled her lungs with the smell of sweet honeysuckle and the briny tang of the sea.

Demetrius waited for them. He gave the man a purse and her escort disappeared into the watery underground with only a quick bow.

"This way, Lady," Demetrius pointed up the hill to the Prefect's compound. Selene tripped on her long robe. He put a steadying hand under her elbow. "Are you well?"

Selene arched a weary eyebrow. "I actually get to make myself presentable for the Prefect? Every time he sees me, I look worse than a street urchin. Why should this interview be any different?"

"Because my master wishes you to receive every comfort while you are his guest."

She chuckled derisively. "The Prefect's hospitality will surely be more gracious than the Patriarch's."

"You may judge for yourself, Lady." Demetrius ushered her into a suite of rooms that glistened in soft lamplight. Selene absently noted the magnificent floor mosaics and delicate murals, but what drew her attention was steam coming from a marble tub flanked by a tray of food and wine.

"I'm afraid there are no servants to care for you. Master wished to keep your presence a secret." He bowed. "There are clean clothes on the bed. I will return shortly to see to any other needs."

"Of course. Thank you, Demetrius, for all you've done."

"It has been my will as well as my duty, Lady." He bowed again and left.

Selene couldn't decide whether to start with the food or the bath, so she did both at once. After a hot soak and a meal of fruit and cold pigeon, she donned a light robe and fell asleep, exhausted, on the soft bed.

She didn't hear Demetrius arrive to remove her tray.

Selene awoke with a startled cry, thrashing in the bed linens. She sat up, took in her surroundings, and lay back on the cushions with a sigh of relief. A delicious feeling of security swept through her body, lulling her senses. She fell back to sleep.

The second time she awoke to the warble of a water clock announcing late morning. Selene got out of bed. Her filthy clothes had been removed, and clean – if exotic – robes laid out. She found her jewelry on an intricately carved dresser with a pink marble top, along with the various implements of a lady's toilet. She explored the jars and boxes, discovering a full array of cosmetics, lotions and perfumes, as well as ivory-backed brushes and tortoise shell combs. A large silver mirror adorned the wall over the dresser.

She sat on a silk cushioned stool at the toiletry table and examined her face in the mirror. Sleep and food had gone a long way to repairing the ravages of her confinement. She opened a jar and sniffed. Oil of Lilies! Wildly expensive because it took a thousand Madonna lilies to make a single batch. Selene smoothed the ointment over her face and arms, glorying in the delicate perfume.

Selene wandered about the room. It had a distinctly feminine feel, from the pinks and corals of the mosaics to the flowers displayed in frothy sprays in enameled Indian vases. She heard no servants or street noises; saw no one in the small formal garden just outside her window. The clothes she discovered in chests were the bright colors and sheer fabrics an actress or courtesan might wear. And the statuary had a distinctly erotic style, not blatant as the Indian brass dealer's wares, but an old-fashioned style depicting nude youths and maidens in romantic scenes.

Orestes had refused to ally himself with any local family through marriage, but seemed not to have lacked feminine companionship. A wave of jealousy surprised Selene. In the absence of any encouragement, she had put aside her feelings for Orestes. Now they came thundering back confused with her gratitude for her release. Perhaps Orestes did take a personal interest in her. Maybe Antonius, in his jealousy, saw something she hadn't.

Selene ruefully shook her head. That was impossible. Orestes must have gone to such lengths to free her for her father's sake – or her brother's.

That conclusion left her feeling bereft.

She moved to the full-length window, arms outstretched, lifted her head to the sun and closed her eyes, drinking in the warmth, trying to fill the empty spaces in her soul.

Orestes strode down the hall ahead of Demetrius, who carried a heavy tray. He knocked softly at the door with his foot, but heard no voice or motion. He feared she still slept but he needed to speak to her now, before his duties took him out for the afternoon. He opened the door. The anteroom stood empty. He proceeded to the bedroom and stopped in the doorway, transfixed.

Selene stood in the sunlight, head and arms uplifted as if poised for flight. The sun sifted through her linen shift, sharply outlining her youthful body. Her muscles played under the fabric, rippling as she strained toward the healing sun, lean angles rounded at hip and breast. Her dark curly hair cascaded down her back, her face and throat bathed in golden light. Looking closely, Orestes saw traces of her ordeal, dark bruises around the eyes; hollowness to the cheeks.

Selene reminded him of another girl, long ago, with red hair and blue eyes. His heart ached at the memory, the pain quickly replaced with anger at Cyril for wantonly trying to destroy such beauty, and regret for his own part in it.

Demetrius stopped behind him, rattling the tray. Selene glanced over her shoulder, her mouth forming a small "o."

Orestes bowed and pointed to a side door. "I'm pleased to see you up, Lady Selene. I will await your pleasure in the next room." He pulled his eyes away and proceeded to a private dining room. Demetrius set up a substantial meal of roasted lamb, greens in vinegar and oil and sliced melon on trays next to two couches then poured into crystal glasses wine that matched the buttery color of the sun.

Orestes paced for the few minutes it took Selene to prepare herself and join them. In her haste, she had eschewed cosmetics and let her hair fall free. Her natural beauty more than made up for her lack of sophisticated artistry. She wore a richly embroidered turquoise tunic over a long-sleeved shift of cream-colored linen, one of the more conservative gowns available to her.

He took both her hands in his. "Welcome, my dear. I only wish you could have visited under more propitious circumstances. Come sit and share a meal with me." He put a hand to the small of her back to usher her toward the couches.

She looked up into his face, a smile trembling at the corners of her mouth. "I don't know how to thank you for all you've done, Prefect. I believe I owe you my life."

"The first thing you can do is call me Orestes. The second is to enjoy this humble meal." He seated her on a couch and took the one opposite. "You don't know how much I regret arriving too late at the Patriarch's to give you reassurances. Did Cyril mistreat you?"

Demetrius provided discreet service while Selene ate heartily and filled in the details of her confinement. Orestes noted that her hands shook as she described her meetings with Cyril. Orestes ate little and drank more than he should during the narrative. The girl had suffered much, and for what? A man's vanity and voracity for power.

Selene looked up from the remnants of the meal and asked quietly, "Demetrius told me of my father. Have you any word from Phillip?"

"I received a message this morning. He is recovering from his fever, but more slowly than he would like. When he received word of your troubles, he started back to Alexandria and fell ill again on the road. I sent a note ordering him to stay until he was well." Orestes smiled gently. "I assured him as a friend, I would stand in his stead as your kinsman. He should be back in the city within a few days."

"When did my father take ill?"

"Calistus collapsed the day after you were taken into custody. He was lucid for a while, but two days ago lapsed into the deep sleep that precedes death. Thales does not know how long he will live, but there is no hope he will recover."

Selene leaped to her feet. "I must go to him."

Orestes rose at the same time. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her to face him. "You can't, Selene. Cyril has announced your escape. You are a condemned sorceress. Parabolans already watch your father's house. If you are caught again, I doubt I could get you out a second time."

"But I can't just sit here, eating and drinking in safety, while my father dies in the company of strangers." She pulled her hands free.

"Do you think your father would want you to die trying to get to him?" Orestes asked softly. "He would want you safe. I visited myself. Your personal servant is taking most solicitous care of him."

"Rebecca. Of course she would look after him in my stead." Selene ran both hands through her hair. "I'll go in disguise."

"Cyril's men search all the women coming and going from the house."

"Then I'll go as a man." Her jaw set in a stubborn line. "I've done it before. Give me some shears and men's clothes."

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Selene, it is too dangerous." Her determined eyes alarmed him. Orestes loathed the idea of forcibly detaining her, yet he could not let her go. Not the least reason being she stirred long forgotten, dangerous feelings in him. Maybe if she knew the truth.