Selene of Alexandria (35 page)

"No, it's Selene. Drink this." Rebecca took ragged gulps, draining the cup. "I'll get you more."

Rebecca closed her eyes, her breast barely rising with each breath. Phillip tightened his grip, as Rebecca's head lolled off his shoulder. His voice edged with panic, "Selene, she's dying!"

His sister rushed to his side, listened to Rebecca's breathing, and smiled. "She's sleeping. Much better than delirium." Selene gently shook her friend and pressed a second cup to her lips. "You must drink. It will cool the fever and replenish your body."

Rebecca raised a hand a few inches either to take the cup or ward it off. "I'm so tired," she whimpered.

"Don't try to do anything. We'll take care of you. Drink." Rebecca managed to drain another cup and part of a third, before again falling asleep. Selene laid a hand on her forehead. "She's cooler."

"Thank God." Phillip lowered Rebecca to her pallet as if she might shatter.

"She may yet succumb." Selene gripped his arm; the bruising strength of her grasp matched the depth of his own feelings. "It's important to keep her warm and make her drink. It will be many days before she fully recovers, but we might move her to a more convenient place to convalesce tomorrow."

Phillip squatted beside Rebecca, stroking her hair. His mouth twisted in a bitter line. "She will live, sister, if I have to move heaven and earth to make it so. When she is well, we will be married."

"Brother." Selene put a hand on his shoulder. "Rebecca may recover, but we know not what she will wish to do."

He set his chin in a stubborn line.

"All this," Selene indicated the camps, "might change her affection towards us. I also love Rebecca and would welcome her as a sister, but would Father accept a servant as a daughter? Would the church sanctify your marriage? There are many obstacles."

Phillip scrubbed his face with both hands. "If Rebecca returns my affection, we'll make it work."

He and Selene took turns sitting with Rebecca through the night, pouring wine and medicine down her throat whenever possible. In the morning, Rebecca awoke alert but enervated. Her body looked visibly plumper. Phillip fussed over her, feeding her clear broth and gently berating her for running off to the camps and getting sick.

"What else was I to do?" Rebecca whispered, eyes clouding with pain. "Leave my mother to the jackals?"

Phillip, stricken, clasped her hands in his. "No, no, my love. I'm selfish, thinking of my own pain at almost losing you. Rachel told us about your mother."

"I think she died of a broken heart." Rebecca shuddered. "Her sons dead or missing. Turned out of her home. All she worked for since Father's death, gone to dust. The mob did not kill her with blows to her body." She withdrew her hands from his. "Once she knew Aaron was safe, she gave up her life as if it were too heavy a burden." A single tear trickled down her cheek, as she turned her face away. "Why did she have to die like that? Why do you hate us so?"

Phillip sat in stunned silence, Rebecca's words slicing his heart. He finally spoke. "I love you, Rebecca. Those men who did this are no part of me." Phillip put his arms around her and rocked her gently. "Let me protect you. No one could ever do this to you again, if you married me."

Her eyes flew wide. She shook her head and opened her mouth.

Phillip put a finger to her lips. "Shush. Don't answer now. We can talk later, when you're stronger." Before she could protest, he picked up the cup. "Drink this."

Rebecca drank the concoction and made a face. "Tell Selene I'd rather have the wine. Her bitter medicines have done their work." She lay back on her bedding and yawned. "I'm still so tired."

"Go back to sleep, my love. I'll watch over you."

When Rebecca slept, he moved to the small charcoal fire Selene tended. He watched her preparing the medicine, marveling at how the gawky girl had become a beautiful and clever woman, skilled in a profession. Selene had turned her stubborn independence from detriment to desirable trait - at least in his eyes.

She looked up from the fire, searched his face and smiled. "She's better?"

He sniffed the acrid odor from the small pot hanging from a tripod. "Enough to ask relief from your witch's brew."

"If she can complain, she's getting better." Selene's forehead creased in a small frown. "We must get her out of here soon. Now that her fever has broken, the guards might let us pass into the city. Tomorrow we'll move her to the infirmary. In a day or two, you can hire a litter or cart to carry her home. I'll go to the infirmary and see what accommodations they have."

Phillip looked around. The camp was emptying and soldiers patrolled the perimeter. He nodded. "Don't be long."

Selene strode past the checkpoint, down the road toward the cattle market. It felt good to stretch her muscles after a night on rocky ground. Rising dust marked the passage of a small knot of people coming from the city. Selene squinted through the pall. A short man with a pronounced limp led a procession of half a dozen people. Selene hurried forward. "Archdeacon Timothy! What are you doing here?"

The archdeacon, eyes twinkling, said in a voice loud enough to be heard by the guards. "My child, I've come with these other good Christians to minister to the sick as our merciful Lord commanded." He hooked his arm in hers and said lower, "I heard rumors of plague. It is better to contain it. If it spreads to the city, the mob might burn the camps."

"Surely these people have suffered enough?"

"The Prefect has things under control for now, but our zealous Patriarch might seize this excuse to complete a task, if he feels it undone. Perhaps we can forestall more tragedy."

The infirmary was a makeshift affair of tents and converted cattle stalls. A steady trickle of people carried in the sick. A soldier helped a young man, who'd collapsed by the side of the road, to his feet and into the first tent. They followed. Selene caught a whiff of now familiar vomit and human waste and involuntarily held her breath.

Row after row of pallets lay on the floor, occupied by bodies ranging from comatose to delirious. Selene's stomach sank. She had had no idea of the extent of the illness. Only three women cared for the hundreds of ill. Timothy's six would not stem this tide of need.

"Holy Mother of God have mercy." Timothy's face settled into a grim mask as he surveyed the scene. He turned to a woman dressed in rough gray robes. With a gentle smile, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sister, we have come to help in the Lord's name. You look exhausted. Get some food and rest while we take over your labors."

The woman fell to her knees and kissed Timothy's fingers. "Bless you, Archdeacon, but the children need me. I will stay with them."

Selene helped the woman to her feet. "I have some medicines for the fever. Show me the children. I'll help you tend them."

"I put my faith in prayer." The woman looked through careworn eyes. "But maybe you're God's answer. Bring your medicines to the next tent." As she followed the woman, Selene heard Timothy deploy the others.

They entered another tent where over a hundred children lay two or three to a pallet. Those in the early stages showed yellowish skin and sweated profusely. Many had fouled their bedding with watery bowel movements. Those closer to death lay quietly, eyes shut, barely breathing through cracked lips.

Selene's gut twisted.

She had only enough medicine for a dozen doses. Her heart cried out to give succor to the sickest, but the medicine would be wasted on those at death's door. She quickly used up her small store of medicines on the strongest children.

With no other recourse, Selene washed ravished bodies, comforted weak whimpers as best she could, and covered more still forms than she wanted to remember. She worked steadily, taking time only to eat a couple of dried figs and drink stale water from a pail.

Late in the day, Selene tended a small girl who put out her hand, groping, crying piteously. Selene searched the area and found a wooden doll with a painted head and moveable joints. Selene stared in dull horror. She hadn't recognized the sprightly girl who took her to Rebecca. In all that misery, each child had no past or personality, just a needy body.

Selene tucked the doll into the girl's arms and looked around. Rachel must be sick or dead. The child sighed then stopped breathing. Selene sat stunned at the suddenness of the death. The lady in gray put her hands on Selene's shoulders. "There are live ones that need your attention."

"What?"

"This child needs you no longer. Others do." The woman closed the girl's eyes, wrapped her in a blanket and picked her up.

Selene took up the doll, which had fallen from the child's limp arms. She followed the woman outside. A burly monk transferred bodies from an ever-growing stack to a raging fire. Oily smoke rose from the pyre. Jackals crept close on the other side, attracted by the smell of roasting meat.

Slow tears coursed down Selene's cheeks. "How do you stand it?" she asked the woman.

"God sets me many tests and trials, but never more than I can bear." The woman laid her pitiful burden on the stack.

Selene noticed the orange quality of the light. Sunset. Phillip would be frantic. She stared at the stack of small bodies, torn between conflicting duties.

"You have done enough here, my child." Archdeacon Timothy put a kind hand on her shoulder. "Go home and tend your father."

"No, my child, this is Satan's work." Timothy clasped her shoulders with steady strength. "You, me, these others ministering to the sick. We are God's work."

Selene slumped in his grasp. Exhausted from days of worry, labor, and little sleep, she gave up. "I'll be back tomorrow with more medicine."

Fresh tears welled. She wanted to be held tightly and told all this would go away, not scolded. Resentment added a bitter edge to her voice. "We can't take Rebecca to the infirmary. Death infests the very air there."

"What's wrong?" The color drained from Phillip's face. "Why were you so long?"

She told him of her day's labors. He held her while she cried over Rachel's granddaughter. Selene dried her tears on her sleeve.

"We're going home." Phillip hugged her close. "In the morning we'll move Rebecca to the checkpoint and I'll go to the city for a litter."

At the city gate, Selene listened inside the litter as Phillip argued with the guards. The litter bearers conferred over whether they were likely to get their fee if the guards turned them back. She and Rebecca held a hasty conference. Rebecca pulled a cloak over her hair, leaned back against the seat and feigned sleep.

A scarred brown hand pulled back the curtains. The guard frowned as his eyes searched the dim interior.

"Is there some problem?" Selene asked. "If not, I would like to get to my father's home. He is a city councilor and expects us shortly." She regarded the soldier with a cold eye.

He appeared unimpressed, scrutinizing Selene's well-worn clothing and Rebecca's even shabbier appearance. He sniffed and pointed toward Rebecca. "Who's she?"

"My nurse. My family bought her before I was born." Selene turned a warm smile toward her companion. "She's old and falls asleep with the swaying of the litter. My father promised to retire her when I marry, but she claims she wants to raise my children, too."

Rebecca let out a soft snore.

The guard snorted. "Old'uns do like to sleep." He dropped the curtain back in place. Selene heard a brief exchange between the guard and her brother. The litter lurched forward.

Well away from the gate, Selene giggled. Rebecca opened her eyes and smiled ruefully. "Do I look so bad I pass as your old nurse?"

Selene patted her friend's knee. "You'll look better in a few days, after you've rested and eaten." Selene giggled again and leaned against the seat, light-headed.

At last they reached her father's house. Phillip lifted Rebecca from the stuffy litter and carried her into the cool vestibule. Selene followed, giving directions to scandalized servants that Rebecca be taken upstairs to the family quarters.

As they approached the rooms, Selene was gripped with intense cramps. She barely made it to the toilets, where her bowels let go a stream of watery stools. Her cramps eased briefly, but a wave of nausea over took her. Afterward, Selene wiped her mouth and shook with fear.

Selene awoke, aching in every fiber of her body. She licked a leathery tongue across cracked lips, and croaked, "Water."

She felt as if she had been left in the sun to dry like a hide. Confused images blurred in her mind; something about Rebecca and a little girl. She tried to shake her head, but it felt too heavy.

"Drink this." A familiar face hovered over her bed, exhaling the unmistakable stench of garlic. A wiry arm propped her head, and a cup of bitter-smelling brew appeared at her lips. Selene drank greedily, ignoring the taste, glorying in the moisture that soothed her mouth and throat.

"More," she rasped. She drank a second cup of bitter herbs and a third, before sinking back into an exhausted sleep.

On the edge of her consciousness she heard low worried voices.