Selene of Alexandria (51 page)

With a yearning so intense it knotted her stomach, Selene wanted to see Nicaeus. If she couldn't be near Phillip in the city of her birth, at least she could have the comfort of one of her brothers in her new life. She resolved to ask Orestes to arrange for her passage to the Thracian border.

Her course settled, Selene decided to attend a final lecture by Hypatia. She mused on the twists her life had taken since over three years ago she set out on the same errand dressed in a very different disguise.

Selene entered a major crossroads square where a man jostled her elbow, bringing her out of her reverie. A shrill voice, filled with vitriolic passion, rolled across the crowd. Selene turned to see a man in the sober robes of a presbyter inveighing against some evil.

The throng felt wrong. Mostly male, it contained far fewer men of stature and many more with rough clothes or hardened looks than Selene expected. It seemed more a mob waiting to riot than a public seeking knowledge. The holy man, whom someone addressed as Peter, exhorted the people to beware of demons and witches.

A chill crawled up Selene's spine.

She looked around to see a familiar brown figure, standing several feet away. Hierex nodded as Peter's voice rose and thundered. He scanned the crowds, nodding in seeming satisfaction. Selene froze like a rabbit in the open then broke off her gaze. When she glanced back to see if the Prefect's secretary had noticed her, he was gone. A name, dropped by the presbyter, caught Selene's attention.

"Hypatia is the snake in the path of the Prefect's and Patriarch's reconciliation. This city is torn apart as she beguiles those in power through her satanic wiles."

Ice gripped Selene's bowels.

"The first to fall victim was the governor. Orestes came to us a Christian but that foul practitioner of the black arts convinced him to stop attending church. Hypatia is an abominable messenger of hell devoted to magic, astrolabes, and instruments of magic. She must be stopped!"

Alarm lent urgency to Selene's flight.

She edged her way out of the crowd and ran toward the forum, Hypatia's usual lecture spot. Tripping on her cloak she dropped it to the street. She soon shed her encumbering outer robe, and hiked up her light tunic. Her legs flashed brown as she raced through the crowds, dodging carts and stray cats.

People frowned at her as she rushed by. Several shouted, but Selene didn't waver from her course.

It had been months since she ran so freely. Pain stabbed her side. Selene gasped for breath as she skidded to a stop at the entrance to a colonnaded plaza. A much smaller crowd dotted this area. She spotted Hypatia dismounting from her chariot on the far side and took off again.

"Selene?" An incredulous male voice made her hesitate.

Antonius.

Hoping he would think he was mistaken, she dropped her tunic and walked away at a brisk pace. After only a few steps a rough hand closed on her shoulder, jerking her around. She lowered her eyes and brushed at his hand. "Please, Sir, I must get back to my sick child. Don't delay me further."

Antonius put his hand under her chin, tipped her head, and inspected her countenance. A joyful smile blazed across his face. "Selene, it is you. I thought I saw a ghost. But I would know your running, your face anywhere. It's burned into my heart."

He reached to embrace her.

"Not here," she hissed. Antonius' arms dropped to his side. His eyes grew round with hurt. Giving up her pretense, she grabbed him by the wrist and started to sprint across the plaza. "We must warn Hypatia."

She pushed forward at a faster pace. People complained as she jostled her way through a final screen of people. Hypatia had yet to start her lecture. Selene rushed to her teacher's side.

"Lady, you must leave at once."

Hypatia turned her unflappable countenance to Selene. Only a raised eyebrow acknowledged her surprise at seeing the student whose funeral she had just attended.

"Why should I disappoint my followers?"

"You are in great danger. The presbyter Peter preaches against you, inciting a crowd to riot. He accuses you of practicing the black arts."

"I see." Hypatia's face looked grim as she straightened to her full diminutive height. "If this crowd has been incited by words, they can be dissuaded by words. Let me reason with these people."

"They have no reason. These people are driven by hate and violence." Selene put every ounce of pleading she could into her voice. "Please, Lady, do not tarry. I fear for your very life."

A commotion broke out on the side of the plaza. An angry mob boiled into the open space, sweeping the students before them.

"There's the witch!" someone shouted.

Chapter 41

Antonius swept Hypatia, protesting, into his arms and carried her to the chariot. Selene ran behind shouting, "On your life, Lady, we must flee!"

The mob, seeing their prey about to escape, stampeded across the plaza shouting.

Hypatia, seeing the murderous nature of the rabble, grabbed the reins and slapped the bays, shouting "Hie!" They took off at a canter. Selene and Antonius gripped, white-knuckled, the edges of the careening car. The leaders of the crowd peeled off to block their path.

Hypatia first attempted to go around, then through, the mob. A man in church robes leaped in front of the horses, waving a white cloth and shouting. The animals reared, squealing wildly. The man grabbed the bridles and pulled the horses to a trembling stop. The animals' eyes rolled white. Bloody foam trickled from their mouths where he yanked on the bits.

The mob swarmed in from all sides led by a goodly number of parabolans. Selene kicked a man in the face, sending a spray of blood from his broken nose. Another grabbed her tunic, pulling her off-balance. She crashed to the floor of the car, banging her chin in the awkward space, pain shooting to the top of her skull.

Antonius struggled above Selene. He pushed one attacker off the car and into the crowd, sending them reeling. Another clambered over a wheel to punch him in the lower back. Antonius gasped, half turning. The man kicked him in the shoulder, sending him sprawling on top of Selene.

Men reached in the back of the chariot. Two pinioned Antonius and pulled him from the car. Another dragged Selene from the chariot by her legs. A dirty hand throttled her while another twisted her arm behind her back. Selene's sight began to darken. She thrashed in panic at the loss of air.

"Stop!" Hypatia's magnificent voice rang out.

The man released Selene's throat. She stood trembling; gasping for breath; arm still pinned.

"You know me." Hypatia scanned the crowd, looking into individuals' eyes, until they wavered. "What do you seek? I have given freely to this city over most of your lives. Ask what you will of me."

The throng milled uncertainly.

"You," Hypatia pointed at the man holding Selene's arm, then to the ones pinioning Antonius. "Let those children go. They are innocents." She spread her arms as if to embrace the crowd. "My fellow Alexandrines, God watches and judges our actions. Go back to your homes. Don't stain your souls with murder and riot."

Hope bloomed in Selene's chest. The most famous rhetorician in Alexandria could surely tame this beastly crowd.

"Stop her mouth!" Peter strode forward, pointing at Hypatia. "The sorceress bewitches us with her words. She uses magic to turn us from the path of righteousness. In Christ's name, listen not to her lies!"

Selene's newborn hope faltered.

Hypatia turned toward Peter, voice ringing with passion. "Who advocates violence in the name of the Prince of Peace? Surely you urge blasphemous acts. I seek only safe passage for me and my students."

"Witch!" Peter's face twisted with hate. "Bind her, before she imperils all our souls!"

One of the parabolans invaded the chariot, pinioning Hypatia's arms. A second stuffed a filthy rag in her mouth. The crowd roared its approval. Selene, aghast at such treatment, let out a low moan.

The man clutching Selene's arm marched her to the sprawling complex of buildings surrounding the Caesarion. She passed through the familiar streets as if in a nightmare. The confused roar of the mob pressed on her ears, till the din took on the aspect of a distant storm – noise felt more than heard.

Most passersby melted into the side streets, turning faces away. A few joined the rabble; mouths stretched wide in demons' howls. Selene kicked out, but was cuffed for her efforts. She clung to the faint hope that the city guards would stop the mob.

That hope faded as they passed the docks.

Mariners swelled the ranks to an intimidating number. With grim purpose, the throng passed between the towering obelisks guarding the entrance to the Caesarion and entered the church precincts. Selene's heart sank. She feared she would never come out of the church alive.

Two men dragged her up the low sweeping steps, into the church proper and to the left of the altar graced with gold candlesticks and a jeweled crucifix. She had lost a sandal and the pink marble felt cool to her bruised foot. Acrid sandalwood incense almost overcame the stench of the mob bent on blood. As many as could, stuffed themselves into the soaring nave of the church, their malice crowding out any feeling of peace and holiness.

Peter stood between the altar and the silk-cushioned Bishop's chair. He prayed with arms outstretched, head slumped to chest. The mob quieted.

Hysterical laughter bubbled into Selene's throat. She choked it down, but not before the ruffian on her right clapped a broad hand over her mouth, hissing, "Quiet, witch."

Selene's captors forced her to her knees, head bowed, arm still twisted behind her back. Fiery pain settled into her shoulder joint distracting her from older bruises. Selene rolled her eyes. She could see nothing through her cascading hair on the right, but glimpsed Antonius held in a similar excruciating position to her left, his pale face marked with blood from a cut over his eye. Hypatia stood pinioned in front of the Bishop's chair, hair straggling down her back, white scholar's robes askew, face impassive.

Peter finished his prayer and strode to Hypatia. "All-seeing God watch over us as we destroy this abomination. Protect our souls from Satan's taint."

Hypatia's captors dragged her to the doors screening the choir directly across from Selene. Two parabolans yanked the philosopher's arms taut lifting the diminutive woman off her feet with the force. Hypatia's face grimaced in pain as a distinct popping sound announced at least one dislocated shoulder. The men lowered her so the tips of her toes just reached the floor.

Peter stood before Hypatia, made a warding sign, and ripped the robes from her body. Hypatia's wrinkled skin shone white in the dim light. She glared at her tormentors.

Selene gasped and averted her eyes. Her captor grabbed her chin and turned her face toward the horrific scene, whispering, "You're next, witch."

A mariner heaved a net bag next to Peter. The scent of dead fish and brine battled the musk of the frenzied crowd. Peter reached into the bag and pulled out a razor-edged clamshell. He struck Hypatia on the breast. The wound gaped, blood spattering the floor. Peter struck again crying, "In Jesus' name we scourge this demon."

Hypatia took that blow, and the next, and the next, without taking her gaze from Peter. With each stroke, he grew more frenzied; blood covered his face and ran down his arms. It pooled at Hypatia's feet. At last, the older woman's eyes wandered and filmed. She slumped in her captors' arms, flesh hanging in shreds.

Peter howled, "See what fate awaits the wicked!" Several of his followers snatched clamshells and joined in a frenzy of rage, mercifully screening Selene's sight as they hacked at the body.

In this holy place, desecrated by profane acts, Selene piled God's indifference on the scales of justice and found Him wanting. Her bitter curses blended with the roar of the mob as they dismembered Hypatia's body and passed the parts around as if they were relics of saints.

Someone shouted, "Burn the body!" Others took up the chant.

The mob headed for the doors of the church, dragging Selene and Antonius. She sent him a despairing glance as the parabolans paraded the bloody shreds of her former teacher before them.

The streets were quiet. The harbor battened down for a late winter squall. The hushed calm before the storm flattened the water, turning it from a deep blue to iron gray.

The mob headed through the ruined Imperial Bucheron, toward the Gate of the Sun. Peter led the way with Hypatia's head impaled on a spike, her long hair streaming before blank eyes.

Selene struggled, vainly hoping to earn a deathblow. She did not doubt the imminence of her death; she only wanted it to be quick. She knew she couldn't face the end as stoically as Hypatia and feared the pain to come. One of her captors clouted her on the head so that her vision blurred and stomach roiled, but not hard enough for merciful oblivion. Despair settled in her soul like a smothering fog.

Shouts of the crowd deafened her as they arrived at the east gate. The guards prudently gave way. The mob streamed into the open space between city wall and canal.

Parabolans appeared with wood for a pyre. Their captors pulled Selene and Antonius to the fore to watch the green faggots being lit. Sooty smoke spiraled into the sky, followed by a sickly flame.

Selene mouthed the words "I'm sorry" at Antonius. He smiled at her, she imagined, the way the Christian martyrs smiled before consigned to the circus or the cross.

It took the fire some time to grow from small licking flames to a roaring conflagration. The wind picked up sending a shower of sparks across the throng. The mob seemed smaller in the open space. Perhaps some had fled after Hypatia's murder.