Selene of Alexandria (2 page)

Antonius knelt before the old man, grabbing Selene's hand and hauling her down beside him. A rock pierced her knee. "Ouch!" she cried.

Antonius hissed at her to be silent and dug his elbow into her ribs. He addressed the holy man with bowed head. "Holy Father. Will you give us your blessing?"

Nicaeus knelt by her other side. The smelly old man shrieked more prayers, and then put his hands on their heads for a final blessing. Selene shivered. She hoped he didn't have lice. More and more ascetics left the cities to infest the cave-pocked hills and stony deserts. They fervently believed the Second Coming was imminent and prepared to be uplifted to heaven through fasting and hardship. The general populace revered the hermits, feeling the ascetics' holiness reflected on the city. Selene never understood why the Lord Jesus Christ would require anyone to stop bathing in order to be saved.

The three rose from the ground, Selene rubbing her knee. They bowed to the hermit and sprinted toward home, scuttling through the western necropolis inhabited by the dead and those living ascetics who took up residence in the tombs. Selene's family had a fine tomb farther to the south, but they were not here to feast with the ghosts of their ancestors as many did on the anniversary of the deceased's death. Selene hurried, ignoring the sense of loss that crawled up from her stomach to choke her throat anytime she neared the tomb.

She squinted to the east. The sun glared through a haze, promising a hot July day for the new Prefect's investiture. The city's white limestone walls rose slowly from the low-lying Mediterranean shore. Alexandria sat on the westernmost part of the rich Nile delta, sandwiched between the sea on the north and the immense Lake Mareotis on the south. The Great Alexander had chosen this spot for his Egyptian capital because the breezes saved it from the desert's desiccating heat. Selene welcomed the coolness on her fevered skin.

A short distance from the Gate of the Moon, set in the city's west wall, they retrieved a small pack hidden under a rocky shelf. Selene swaddled herself in a long white linen tunic, gray wool cloak and laced leather sandals. She pulled the cloak over her head to hide her dusty hair and give her relief from the sun. She whirled in front of the boys. "Do I look respectable now?"

Nicaeus struggled with his traditional cloak bordered with a narrow band of embroidery proclaiming his status as the son of a councilor. He swore fiercely until Selene took a hand. "Let me." She settled the wrap in folds across his left shoulder and right hip, around his back, over his head and down to his right arm where she wrapped the end so it dangled nearly to his knees. She looked him up and down then glanced at Antonius adding finishing touches to his own fine cloak. "You'll do. Maybe you should get Antonius to teach you how."

"Why should I, when I always have a servant or you around to do it for me?" Nicaeus' grin disappeared – not at Selene's frown, but at the sound of church bells marking the time. "Come. If we're late, Father will tan our hides. He wants to make a good impression on the new Prefect."

Selene sniffed and wrinkled her nose. "We'll make a better impression after we bathe. We have but a short time to go home and make ourselves presentable." The boys followed her lead with no grumbling.

They entered the gate with an ever-increasing crowd, past city guards. The common people came from the countryside to join the public feasting and perhaps pick up a coin or two from the Prefect's coffers or the Patriarch's appointed almsman. The three proceeded onto Canopic Street, the vast main thoroughfare bisecting the city from east to west. The magnificent Church of St. Theonas, sometimes called the church of a thousand pillars, anchored this end of the boulevard, while the Church of St. Metras greeted travelers from the east as they entered the Gate of the Sun. Selene's father had been a boy when St. Theonas had served as the Episcopal residence. The former Patriarch Athanasius needed ready refuge in the necropolis and desert monasteries during his ongoing battles with the Emperor's choice for the Patriarchy. Calistus occasionally spoke of those bloody times with a fierce desire never to see them repeated.

Those dark days seemed long over on such a festal occasion. Flowers wreathed the church in all its glory. Garlands twined about the columns, bright hangings shaded the doors, and streamers waved gaily in the windows. All the buildings along the processional route would be similarly adorned.

Selene glanced down Canopic, assessing the crowds and their chances of making it home on time. Other wide boulevards branched off at regular intervals, leading to spacious homes clustered in residential districts – the sign of a planned city. The wide straight streets were bounded with shaded colonnades. Brightly painted statues towered over squares or peeked from carved niches.

Sharp cries drew Selene's attention. A group of men in rough brown robes, armed with heavy wooden cudgels, emerged from the church and forced their way through the crowd. A woman pulled her children out of their path and drifted off into a side street. Others suddenly found their errands took them in opposite directions, leaving Selene and her companions in the middle of the wide boulevard. The glowering men headed straight for them, brandishing their weapons.

Chapter 2

"Selene!" Antonius yelled. When she stood rooted to the spot, he grabbed her arm, sprinted toward the church and yanked her onto the steps. She stumbled against the wide marble slabs, banging her shins and yelping in pain. "Are you trying to get your head bashed in? Those men are dangerous!"

Antonius' face was pale except for two hectic red spots high on his cheekbones. Was he angry? Frightened? She would have stepped out of the way in another moment. There had been no need for him to treat her so roughly.

She shook off his hands in a pique and reached down to rub her shins. "The only wounds I have sustained today are those you gave me. First you force me to kneel on sharp rocks, and crack my rib with your elbow. Now you practically pull my arm out of its socket and cause me to scrape my shins. May the Good Lord save me from your protection!"

"Why you ungrateful, stubborn, donkey-headed…" Antonius paused, grasping for words. "…child! See if I save your precious hide again. Let your brother do it. That's his job, not mine."

His unkind words stung, probably because they were close to the mark, but Selene felt wronged by his attack. She yelled back, "I don't need either of you to protect me. I can..."

The shouts of the armed men drowned out her final words. They boiled by the steps then halted to insult the vastly outnumbered gate guards. One guard, pale face sweating under his helmet, stayed close to his post and looked as if he would bolt for the guardhouse any moment. The second man, older, maintained a cooler head. "It's a feast day, good brothers. I'm sure your patron, the Patriarch, would not like to hear of disturbance by his chosen ones. Go about your business and leave the travelers in peace." The guard's friendly smile and affable manner disarmed the unruly men who, finding no fight, drifted off in another direction.

"Let's go home." Nicaeus grabbed Selene's arm and escorted her firmly down the steps to a side street. Antonius sulked behind.

"Who are those men?" Selene asked her brother. "Where do they come from?"

"They're Patriarch Theophilus' parabolans, his personal body guard. He recruits them from the hospital guild. Only the strong of back and light of purse will work lifting the sick and carrying the dead. The Patriarch offers them good money and the protection of the church if they become too zealous in their protection of him."

Selene craned her neck to look back at the parabolans. "I don't see the Patriarch. Why would his bodyguard patrol the streets? That's the city guards' duty."

She observed the two boys exchanging glances over her head. Her anger flared anew. She shook off her brother's hand and stamped her foot. "I'm not a child to be cosseted and protected. What do you know of this?"

Nicaeus sighed. "Patriarch Theophilus is building a private army in the city. Father believes he wants to suppress the Novatian Christians. The council fears riots if he attempts to purge the city of rival Christian sects."

Selene, at first irritated that she had been kept unaware of these developments, sobered. She was not yet born when the Patriarch had suppressed the last public vestige of the pagan cults. After murderous rioting on both sides, he closed the Great Temple of Serapis and reconsecrated it as the new Episcopal residence. Her father said smoke had fouled the air for days as the Christians burned the tens of thousands of books housed in the public library there. When she questioned the tears in his eyes, he explained they were irritated and would talk no more about it.

She took him at his word. Her father was a good Christian. Why should he mourn the passing of the last pagan temple?

"The parabolans are most diligent in their policing," Antonius added. "Some student friends of mine came home with cracked heads when the Patriarch's men caught them drunk outside a tavern. Their fathers protested the treatment, but the deacons quoted scripture and admonished the men to keep their sons under better control." He rubbed the back of his head as if in sympathy for his friends' pain.

Selene, remembering him complain of a sore head just two days ago, asked, "How are your 'friends' doing now?"

Antonius had the decency to blush. "They are on the mend." He looked ahead. "I see no meddling parabolans in our path. We should hurry." He grabbed Selene's elbow and the two boys hurried her toward home. Noting the angle of the sun, she did not protest their haste.

Selene and Nicaeus entered their father's home bickering. "Please, Nicaeus, I need longer to prepare. Let me have the baths first?" She looked at her dusty feet, sniffed her armpit and wailed, "I stink as bad as the holy hermit!"

He seemed to relish her minor tragedy. "I'm sorry, little sister, but I'm older and have precedence. You'll just have to wait your turn."

"But there won't be enough time!"

"Remember that the next time you beat me at a race," he teased.

She flounced off to her room with his laughter echoing in the stone halls. Her room was tucked away on the second floor in a warren of small private bedrooms. She opened the door, threw herself on the bed and planned a number of petty revenges on her selfish brother. Perhaps a purgative in his soup? A knock at the bottom of her door interrupted her plotting.

"Enter!" Rebecca, her personal servant, backed through with a basket of clothes balanced on her head and a pitcher of water in her arms. Although but two years older than Selene, Rebecca had the composure and easy confidence of a much older woman. She had been Selene's primary teacher in how to run the household. Selene jumped to help, taking the pitcher and placing it on a small table next to a wash bowl and sponge.

"Rebecca, you are an angel in disguise. Whatever would I do without you?"

Rebecca looked at her disheveled state and pursed her full lips in a moue of distaste. "We haven't much time to get you decent, Mistress. First we wash off that dust, next arrange your hair, and then fresh robes." She grabbed Selene's hands and clucked over the bitten nails. "I don't know if we can soak out that grime, but I can at least smooth those ragged edges."

Selene stripped and kicked her dirty garments to a corner while Rebecca poured warm water into the wash bowl and laid a thick reed mat on the stone floor. Selene closed her eyes and sighed as Rebecca gently sponged the dust away, wrapped her in a linen towel and started to comb her tangled hair. "Rebecca, what's the gossip about our new Prefect?"

"My friends say their masters are apprehensive. He is unknown. They speculate on whom he will support in the disputes among the Christians, much less the other factions. He is also unmarried and there is much talk about which of the local maidens might be a suitable match." She stopped to separate a particularly bad tangle. "Selene, what do you do to your hair, let birds make nests in it?"

"Ouch! If you can't be more careful, I'll comb my own hair." Selene reached up to grab the tortoise shell comb from Rebecca. The servant girl slapped her hands away.

Rebecca took a blue glass bottle from a pouch tied to her belt and poured the contents into a shallow bowl. "Here. If you need something to do with your hands, soak them in this oil."

Selene obediently put her fingertips in the bowl. The oil smelled faintly of roses. "Where was the Prefect posted before Alexandria?"

Rebecca finished combing and started to smooth Selene's nails with a flexible piece of horn. "He served in the army, but left to take provincial posts. For the past several years he has served in the Emperor's court under the sponsorship of Anthemius, the Regent."

"I suppose he worships Mithras, like most of the army?" Selene dried her hands on the linen towel and dropped it to the floor.

Rebecca shrugged. "Come, Mistress, time grows short. Let me see what I can do with your hair."

"Something simple, Rebecca, I don't want to be pushing curls off my face all day. If I had my way, I'd cut it short like the holy women."

Rebecca gasped. "Cut your hair? Oh, no, Mistress! It's so beautiful." She pulled the hair back from Selene's face and secured it with bone pins, then twisted it into a compact bun. Silver combs held it in place. Rebecca teased two small tendrils into curling in front of Selene's ears, then handed her a polished bronze mirror. "Here, this is a simple style."

Selene looked at herself critically. "Nicely done. Go as lightly on the cosmetics and I will be most satisfied."

Rebecca smoothed lotion on Selene's face and neck. "You really should stay out of the sun. You're scandalously brown. Before you know it, your skin will look like cracked boots."

"I like being scandalous. Besides, some powder should make me suitably pale."

Rebecca applied a light dusting of powder and shaped Selene's eyes with kohl. A thin red paste for the lips finished the picture.

Rebecca laid out her clothes: a long-sleeved, full-length linen undergarment to be covered by a lightweight, cream-colored wool dalmatica. The voluminous dalmatica was cut in the simple style of the day – a wide, straight sheath for the body with generous sleeves that came to the wrist. This one had green and blue embroidered strips depicting fanciful sea creatures bordering the sleeves and appliquéd from both shoulders to the hem. The crowing touch, a filmy blue-green silk wrap for shoulders and hair. Rebecca draped Selene in her various layers and stood back to judge the effect.