Selene of Alexandria (48 page)

Selene stretched and winced, profoundly sore.

Demetrius set up the tray by the bed, studiously ignoring her nakedness and the stained bedding. Selene, ravenously hungry, wrapped herself in a sheet and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Demetrius, where is your master this morning?" she mumbled through a mouth full of bread and cheese.

"At the baths. He bid me tell you his plan is moving apace and he will join you for evening meal."

A whole day stuck in these rooms. So much for the heady feeling of freedom that infected her last night. "Could I have a hot bath and some books? History or verses, if available."

"I'll draw the bath now, Lady, and have a selection of books for you when you are finished."

Selene watched Demetrius efficiently set about his tasks, noting the gray in his hair and beginning stoop to his shoulders. "Demetrius, how old are you?"

Selene set down her food. "Over twenty-five years a slave? That's outrageous! Why has no one given you your manumission?"

Demetrius shrugged. "One's service must be valued to earn freedom."

"I see." The basic injustice of such long servitude stung Selene. She should speak to Orestes. Yet, by what right did she interfere? She was not the mistress of the house and never could be. The privileges of her birth disappeared with her death.

Still, she thought as she watched the faithful servant clear away the dishes; it would hurt no one to bring up the topic.

As Orestes and his guard of four men approached the agora, he heard shouting. "The Prefect! The Prefect approaches!" The crowd thickened.

A young guard turned to Orestes and indicated an alley. "This way, sir. You will be safer going in the side entrance."

"Nonsense. I will not be seen skulking into my offices." Orestes surveyed the crowd. The majority wore bright colors and rich embroidery. This was no mob to be feared, although several monks in the ragged robes of the desert monasteries mixed with the citizens. Orestes looked up as the sky darkened. A cold wind kicked up leaves and dust. A storm would dissipate the throng.

"Speak, Prefect! Answer our questions!"

Orestes pointed to the steps of the massive municipal building. "I'll speak there." He and his guard pushed through the crowd and ascended the steps halfway. Orestes held out his arms for silence. "Good citizens. What do you seek of me?"

"Relief from the city tax!" An assenting murmur rippled through the crowd.

"Bring back the mimes!" Some laughs and a louder affirmation.

"Cease your pagan ways!" shouted an angry monk with a familiar matted beard and flashing black eyes. The crowd subsided into confusion.

"Who accuses me of paganism?" Orestes crossed his arms.

"Ammonius. We monks of Nitria demand you rid yourself of pagan influences and return to the Holy Church."

"The monks of Nitria should go back to their desert and leave Alexandria to the Alexandrines," someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

Ammonius. Orestes searched his memory, mentally shaking his head. He met so many people. The hatred stamped on the monk's face reminded Orestes of…

"Outsiders, go home!"

"Don't talk to the holy fathers so!"

"Good citizens, I will answer your questions." Orestes again stretched out his hands. "But there must be peace or you won't hear me." A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. "I have sent reports of our hardship to the Emperor. He understands the burden he asks of Alexandria and begs his loyal citizens to bear it some while longer. Heretical Arian Christians mass on the Empire's borders, threatening Constantinople as they threatened and overran Rome not four years ago. Only the armies keep the Goths from the city gates." Orestes paused then shouted, "Do you wish to serve a barbarian prince?"

The monks filtered to the front of the excited crowd, massing on Orestes' left. Ammonius stepped forward. "You hide behind false regard for the Church, but by your own actions you are a pagan."

Orestes glared at the monk. "I am a Christian, baptized by Atticus, Patriarch of Constantinople."

"You don't go to church." Ammonius accused. "A black sorceress has seduced you from the holy path. Give her up!"

A rock struck Orestes' shoulder, stinging through the woolen mantle. A hail of pebbles rained about him. One of his guards yelped. The crowd surged forward.

"Stop!" he cried in his battlefield voice. Lightning crackled above leaving the scent of ozone in the air.

Orestes' guard deserted his side. He started to order them back, but an agonizing blow behind his left ear sent him to his knees, gasping in pain. His hands came away from the wound covered in blood.

Before blessed darkness wiped out the pain, Orestes remembered Ammonius, blood pouring down his face after being tortured for disrupting the theater.

On the third day with no word from Orestes, Selene grew angry. Demetrius avoided her questions, putting her off with suggestions of rest and reading. She determined to leave. How dare Orestes treat her as a plaything he could dismiss when he grew bored? If he couldn't be bothered with her, she would not impose on him further.

When Demetrius brought dinner, she confronted him. "I would like different clothes. Servant's garb, perhaps, so I may freely leave the mansion." She stripped off a gold bracelet. "Could you sell this for me and bring me the coin? I'll need it to rent a room."

Demetrius declined the bracelet. "Lady Selene, you can not leave now. The guards and the monks of Nitria battle in the streets. My master…" He looked at the door with a worried frown. "My master would not wish it."

Orestes had another crisis on his hands. Foolish girl, to think he could take the time to attend to her problems. Her shoulders slumped. "If I stay here much longer, I'll go mad. Have arrangements for my death been completed?"

"We located a possible body today. I'll know by morning if we can implement the plan."

A chill ran up Selene's spine. She knew the ruse depended on someone dying, but had not followed the thought to its logical conclusion. Some abandoned girl's life ended and she benefited. Queasy, Selene said in a low voice, "I wish to leave as soon as possible."

"I will do what I can, Mistress." Demetrius looked pale. "Please be patient."

Selene spent the next morning pacing and cursing herself for a fool. She alternated between anger at Orestes or Demetrius or whoever kept her from knowing what was going on in the world and fear of knowing. How fared her father? Had Phillip recovered and returned to the city? And Orestes. His abandonment hurt more than she liked to admit.

Demetrius arrived with the noon meal and Orestes hobbling behind with a cane. Selene's anger drained. Bandages covered half his head. Purple and green bruises spotted his limbs.

Orestes approached Selene, took her right hand and kissed the palm. "I'm terribly sorry to neglect you these past few days, my dear, but I've been indisposed."

She moved closer, fearing to touch him. "How did you come to be so?"

He ushered her to a couch. As Demetrius laid out a light meal, Orestes told Selene of the monks' attack. He spoke emotionlessly as if narrating someone else's exploits and pain, but his eyes flashed with anger.

"Where was your guard?" she asked.

"My escort scattered, thinking I was dead and they would be next."

"Cowards!" Selene spat out the word, as she would bitter wine. "I can't believe the Nitrian monks would be so bold as to attack the Augustal Prefect. They go too far!"

"Evidently the citizens felt so. They chased the monks and caught Ammonius. If not for them, I would have died on the street." He picked up his wine with a steady hand and drank.

"The punishment for attacking an Imperial Officer is death. The details are not an appropriate topic for a lady. Of course, our Good Patriarch is publicly castigating me. Ammonius' body resides in the church. Cyril has renamed him 'Thautmasios' and enrolled him among the martyrs venerated by the faithful."

"'Admirable' is hardly a name I would give an assassin."

"Cyril has overplayed his hand." Orestes' smile chilled Selene. "He eulogized the monk, praising his magnanimity and bravery in defending the faith. I've heard some more sober-minded Alexandrines circulated a statement saying Ammonius suffered the punishment due his rashness. Perhaps this will clip our ambitious Patriarch's wings."

Selene lightly touched the bandages. "And your wounds? How bad are they? Who's been caring for you?"

"The guard surgeon tended me." Orestes' face softened with a rueful grin. "My head isn't as hard as I thought. The rock cracked my skull. The surgeon feared brain swelling, but I recovered and came here as soon as I was able to walk."

Selene put her hands on her hips in exasperation. "You were gravely ill and didn't send word? If you had died, would I have had to wait until the new Prefect moved in to learn your fate?" She rounded on Demetrius. "Why did you keep this from me?"

"I forbade him to tell you." Orestes laughed. "You would have been in my rooms before the surgeon could open his bag. Word of your presence would have reached Cyril."

"Credit me with a little sense in approaching you."

"Better you not come at all." He took both her hands in his. "Demetrius tells me we can complete our plan. Cyril's on the defensive. He has more to think about than an escaped girl. When you are found dead, he will stop his hunt and you will be free." He stood, pulling her into his arms. "When that time comes, I hope you will consider staying."

"But I..."

He put a finger to her lips. "Don't answer now. Think on it. We have a few days." He kissed her softly but longingly. "I must make my reports to the Emperor. Tomorrow I'll let you know our progress."

Cyril fidgeted with his reed pen, recognized the nervous reaction and put it down. Thomas, Augusta Pulcheria's agent, lounged in a chair across from Cyril's desk, legs crossed, eyes steady.

"The Emperor and the Augusta will be much concerned over this attack on their Prefect by a monk. Orestes took appropriate action in executing him. You must stop propagandizing the affair, Patriarch."

"I can see how their Majesties might be concerned, but they are unaware of the provocative actions of their Prefect. He is a lapsed Christian. Since his arrival in Alexandria, he has been under the influence of a pagan woman. He has stopped attending Christian services and publicly attends lectures by this infamous lady. His active disregard has inflamed the religious community, especially the desert fathers."

"The desert fathers are holy but exceedingly ignorant." Thomas' eyes grew steely. "You and I are sophisticated men, more aware of the larger issues at stake. The Lady Philosopher Hypatia – it is she of whom you speak?" Cyril nodded stiffly. "Lady Hypatia has long and ably advised the governors of this land. If important men prefer her advice to yours, you might consider looking to the content of your words or the manner in which you deliver them. I myself have attended her lectures." Cyril sat straighter, trying to stem the hot flow of blood this confession inspired. "She speaks persuasively, making her arguments and leaving men to decide their own course of thought or action. You, my dear Patriarch, have a – shall we say – less flexible style?"

"That does not exempt Orestes from proper public display of reverence for the Church," Cyril ground out.

"I agree." Thomas examined his fingernails. "It is your personal responsibility to counsel and bring him back to the fold. Clouting the Prefect on the head with a rock is not an effective way to bring him to your side."

"Do you think I'd urge the monks to murder an Imperial officer? They came into the city on their own." Cyril's lips twisted. "I can't be responsible for every member of my flock, especially when Orestes is so blatant in his contempt for the Church."

Thomas uncrossed his legs, put both feet on the floor and leaned forward. "You can stop inciting the ignorant fools. There is more at stake here than your pride or even the justice of the sentence on that monk. Get your house in order, Patriarch, or the Emperor and the Augusta might find you incapable of leading such an important See. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly. Have we any other business?"

"None. I look forward to my next visit to your fair city." Thomas rose. "I can see myself out." The agent bowed and left the room, door open.

Chapter 39

Cyril knew God tested His loyal servants, but he wished this cup would pass him by. He silently asked forgiveness for his blasphemous thoughts. "Distressing news can't be any worse than what I just heard."

"The shore patrol found a battered body – a woman's – with the remnants of a boat on the beach. Evidently she capsized and drowned in the storm a few days ago. Calistus' son Phillip identified her as his sister Selene. It seems God exacted His own punishment."

"Have you confirmed it is she?"