Selene of Alexandria (34 page)

Abandoned objects littered the road. Something sparkled under a shrub. While Phillip talked to the soldiers, Selene walked over and retrieved a small wooden doll with painted face and hair, glass eyes and jointed limbs. Some child was either dead or carrying something more useful to her survival. Selene tucked the doll into her medical bag.

Phillip waved to her from the checkpoint. "The soldiers say the camps are quiet now, but be careful not to start trouble. They suggest we start asking at the well. It's this way."

"Is there a hospital?"

Phillip shook his head. "Just a dispensary where some Sisters minister to the sick."

They headed to the well, passing refugees sheltering from the sun under woven mats or cloaks strung between shrubs. Some crouched by dung fires protecting their meager food. The stench of unwashed bodies and human waste overpowered Selene's senses.

"Why haven't the soldiers dug latrine trenches?" Selene asked as they held folds of their cloaks over their noses. "If a plague starts here, it could spread to the city."

"They don't want permanent camps." Phillip shrugged. "With primitive conditions, people will more likely move on rather than stay, hoping to go back to the city."

At the well, a long line of people – mostly women and children – stood with pots and bowls. More joined the end every moment.

"You ask the new arrivals," Selene suggested. "I'll go to the well and work my way back."

She went to the head of the line and helped an old woman lift the bucket. "Grandmother, do you know of a young woman named Rebecca, daughter of Miriam? Her mother was injured in the riots. She may be caring for her."

"Why do you want her? Has she done something to you?"

"No, Grandmother. She's a friend and I fear harm may have come to her. I've come to help if I can."

The old woman shook her head. "I know several Rebeccas, but none such as you describe. Many are missing." A tear tracked down the old woman's face. "My only grandson hasn't been seen since before the Patriarch forced us out." She spat on the ground. "May Cyril be plagued with boils and maggots eat his living flesh."

By noon they had no news and the crowds had thinned. They found a rock to sit on; all the shady spots taken by refugees, and shared some bread, cheese and fruit. Selene noticed new lines etched at the corners of Phillip's eyes and across his forehead.

"We'll find her." She patted his knee. "Or she'll find us. We'll talk to every person in the camp, one at a time if we have to."

"One brother is dead, another in the dungeons, but Judah, the oldest, is still free. What if he took Rebecca and her mother away? What if they are already in another city?"

"There's a lady named Rebecca over by my gran'ma." The child jerked her head vaguely over her shoulder. "She's a nice lady. She helped Gran and me, but she's awful sick."

"Take us to her, please?" Phillip asked.

"This way." The child skipped ahead, while they scrambled around rocks and between squatters. After several minutes, the little girl stopped by a substantial woman dressed in black. "Here's Gran."

"Where you been, Sarah?" The big woman picked up the girl and hugged her tight. "I told you not to go a wanderin'."

The woman seemed familiar to Selene, especially in the way she treated her granddaughter with rough affection. "Are you Rachel?"

The woman looked her up and down. "Who're you?"

"Selene. Rebecca introduced us once. This is my brother, Phillip. We've come to find Rebecca."

Rachel put one hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side. Finally she smiled. "I remember. Mother Nut's apprentice, aren't you?" Her face turned serious. "Rebecca could use a healer. Over here."

Rachel pulled a cloak away from a shrub to reveal Rebecca's form shivering under a blanket. "She's got a fever. It came on her sudden. She can't keep anything down and she's got runny stools. I've tried to help, but," indicating the little girl, "I've my own to care for."

Rebecca looked shrunken, her blankets soiled and stinking. Selene knelt by her side, Phillip peering over her shoulder. "Oh, my friend, what's happened to you?" She felt Rebecca's forehead, pushing lank hair from her face. Rebecca moaned; her eyelids fluttered but didn't quite open. "Help me lift her," Selene said to her brother as she raised Rebecca's shoulders and started to remove the soiled bedding. Rebecca shivered, teeth chattering.

"Your cloak!" Selene barked. Phillip handed over his thin servant's garment. Selene took off her own warmer cloak and covered Rebecca with both.

"Can you help?" Phillip held Rebecca's frail, dry hand.

"I don't know. I can give her something for the fever and we must make sure she drinks, but beyond that…" Selene shook her head. "This sickness either kills or it doesn't."

"I'll do what I can." Selene restrained him. "It's dangerous to move her. Besides, the guards would never allow us to carry a sick woman into the city. Rumors of plague spread faster than riots."

Phillip stood, hands dangling at his side, looking around helplessly. Purpose firmed his stance. "She needs clean blankets and water. I'll see what I can get from the guards." He headed toward the checkpoint.

Selene shouted to his retreating back, "Send word to Honoria. She promised to care for Father." She turned to Rachel. "How long has she been like this?"

"Since last evening." The big woman scratched her nose. "Her mother died yesterday morn. Worn out from days of nursing, Rebecca lay down and went to sleep. When she woke, she raved with fever."

Selene rummaged in her bag for feverfew. "Have any others come down with this illness?"

"Many are sick." Rachel's eyes grew round. "Is it the plague?"

"This illness strikes swiftly and kills many. We must get word to bring the sick to the dispensary." Selene balled up the soiled bedding. "Burn these."

"We've got to get away." Rachel backed from the odorous pile. "I got to stay alive for my granddaughter. We're all that's left of our family."

"I understand." Selene reached into her bag and took out the doll and a few coins. "Give this to Sarah and use the coins to get on the road."

Rachel gave the doll to the child and hid the coins in her voluminous robe. She bundled their meager possessions, snatched her granddaughter's hand and headed for the road saying over her shoulder, "May God be with you."

Cyril labored over his report to the Emperor. Normally words – written or spoken – came easily to him. He needed to craft this letter in the best possible light to justify his actions.

He had not been surprised when several city nobles told him of their intent to submit protests to Constantinople. He suspected Orestes' or Hypatia's influence at work.

Cyril crossed out his last two sentences, breaking the nub on his reed pen.

Hierex entered the room. "Forgive the intrusion, Patriarch. A visitor from Constantinople wishes to see you. He said to give you this." Hierex held out a signet ring – gold, inset with a porphyry seal. It showed a two-headed eagle, the sign of the Imperial family.

"Show him in." Cyril put away his writing instruments and signaled his servants to bring refreshments.

Hierex led in a short robust man in sturdy travel clothes. The man bowed low to Cyril, sweeping back his cloak. "Patriarch, I'm honored. The Augusta Pulcheria particularly recommended you. My name is Thomas."

Cyril kept his face neutral, but his heart beat faster at the mention of the Emperor's sister. His sources at court said she held the reins of power at present and was very religious. If she supported his actions, Orestes would have to come around to his way of thinking.

"Welcome to Alexandria, my son." Cyril indicated a chair. "What news do you bring us of the capital? I hope the Emperor and his sister are in good health."

Thomas seated himself. "The Emperor and the Augusta Pulcheria enjoyed good health when I saw them last, several weeks ago."

"You see them often?"

"When I am at court, I frequently dine in private with the Augusta." Thomas presented a bland face to the Patriarch. "She is very interested in my travels and observations. She particularly wanted me to visit this fair city, as it is vital to her plans for the Empire."

"You are most welcome in Alexandria." Cyril allowed a warm smile to lighten his face. "Please let me offer accommodations. You will find our guest rooms quite comfortable."

Cyril had dispatched his most trusted deacon to Constantinople upon his investiture, but the man had been unable to penetrate the thick wall of local priests and clergy already established around the Augusta Pulcheria. Cyril could make good use of a personal emissary from the court.

"Thank you, Patriarch. I have taken rooms with a dear friend." Thomas spread his fingers in a deprecating manner. "I must report to the Augusta, but am at some loss to describe the current state of affairs. There seem to be significant disruptions in city life. Since this is the main staging area for grain to the capital and the frontiers, I hope I will be able to report that all is well?" Thomas examined his fingernails while Cyril pondered a reply.

"It is my understanding the Augusta Pulcheria is a most devout lady," Cyril stated in a ringing voice. "I'm sure she would approve of the latest developments in Alexandria. The Jews attacked and murdered a number of Christians. We rose up in righteous wrath and expelled them from the city. As a result, Alexandria may be counted among the foremost of the devout."

"That is all well and good, Patriarch, and I am sure the Augusta Pulcheria will applaud your efforts. But it has come to my attention; you and the Egyptian Prefect have a less than amicable relationship. His job is to insure peace in this region and deliver the grain to Constantinople. The Emperor and his sister would be most pleased if you worked more closely with their chosen representative to attain that end."

Cyril stiffly bowed his head. "I will do God's will and as it coincides with the Emperor's, I will do his as well."

"I see." Thomas nodded, eyes glittering. "I'm sure you perceive how God's will and the Emperor's conjoin in this matter. Our own devout grow fractious when deprived of daily bread. Our soldiers' loyalty wavers on empty stomachs. It would serve neither the Emperor's nor the Catholic Church's interest for the Arian Goths to invade the Eastern Empire as they did Rome. They wait on our borders, looking for weakness. If a boy emperor cannot control riots in the cities or feed his army, the heretic barbarians may feel the time is right. We must deny them that opportunity. Do I make the situation perfectly clear, Patriarch?"

"Yes." Bile rose in Cyril's throat. So close to his vision; and to be checked in this manner! "I will do what I can."

"That is all the Emperor asks of the Lord's servants." Thomas rose and bowed. "I will take my leave, Patriarch, and after meeting with the Prefect and Egyptian dux will continue on my journey to the capital."

"Please convey my felicitations and my assurances to the Augusta that I will act in the best interest of God and the Empire."

When the door closed, Cyril snatched the paper on which he had been writing, crumpled it into a ball and threw it into a corner. He rose and paced the office, stopping in front of a window. The sun streamed in, touching everything with a golden light. He stood there; eyes closed and head bowed, for several moments.

A smile slowly grew across his face.

Chapter 27

Phillip returned with clean blankets, wood and fresh water. A bundle of stinking rags marked the furthest boundary of the campsite. He would burn them as soon as he could, to spare Rebecca, always fastidious about her person, the indignity of seeing or smelling them.

Rebecca.

His breath caught as he looked at her wasted form. Phillip knelt and took her hand, the skin dry and brittle. "What more can I do, Selene?"

"Stay with her. Talk. I've seen many respond to the voices of loved ones."

Phillip hoped his blush went unnoticed then upbraided himself for a fool. Selene only gave voice to what he knew, but left unsaid. Over the past two years, Rebecca had entangled his heart. He loved the way her hair and skin smelled of soap and roses, how she modestly denied his praise, how she passionately cared for those she loved.

"Rachel said she came down with the fever yesterday evening. This disease usually kills within a day." Selene put her hands on his shoulders. "She's still alive. That gives me hope. I'll build a fire and make some decoctions. Until it's ready, try this." She thrust a pouch of watered wine at him.

Phillip tried dribbling the wine into Rebecca's mouth. More spilled into her hair than between her lips. He sat back on his heels, fists clenched in frustration. The distant bleats of a goat sparked a dim memory. He had raised an orphaned kid when little more than a toddler. His mother had showed him how to feed the baby animal.

Phillip unsheathed a knife, cut off a piece of blanket, and soaked it with the wine. He then put an end in Rebecca's mouth. She sucked reflexively. Phillip smiled briefly and remoistened the cloth. He had used nearly all the watered wine when Selene approached with her medicines.

She looked on approvingly. "Let's see if she will take the cup."

Phillip propped Rebecca up while Selene held a chipped cup to her mouth. Rebecca opened her eyes. "Mother?" she croaked through parched lips.