Selene of Alexandria (9 page)

Chapter 7

Orestes rubbed his temples trying to forestall a headache. He closed his eyes to temporarily shut out the sight of several enormous stacks of reports and petitions mocking his efforts to master his appointment. As a field commander, he had only to show personal courage and enforce discipline to bring order out of chaos. His brief experience at court did not prepare him as well as he hoped to face the bewildering array of possible allies and enemies in Alexandria. He struggled with how best to sort them into camps, learn their strengths and weaknesses, evaluate their strategies, and deploy them in his cause.

Demetrius entered his office with another armload of scrolls. "More matters for your attention, Master."

The dull throb lurking behind Orestes' eyes became a stabbing pain. He drowned in paperwork from officials gauging how much latitude he would afford them. Did he hold the reins of state tightly or loosely? Until they knew, every decision would be forwarded to him. This mountain of minutia sapped his time and energy.

"Can't the administrative staff take care of those?"

"I believe these will be of interest to you, Master. More allegations of civil disorder, assault and destruction of religious property."

Orestes frowned as he scanned the reports. "We've been getting a half dozen a day. This is a fair city – a prosperous one – far from the dangers of the barbarians in Gaul and Italy. I don't understand this destructive urge of the good citizens of Alexandria."

Demetrius shrugged, moved behind Orestes and massaged his master's neck and shoulders. "Alexandria has a history of perverse violence. Greeks, Egyptians, Jews, Romans – many peoples, each with its own language, customs, gods. A century ago the good citizens killed a Roman trader who accidentally harmed a cat. It's been but twenty years since they rose up and murdered two holy men, representatives from the Church in Constantinople. A mob dragged them through the streets, hacked their bodies to pieces and burned them on a pyre."

"A gruesome death, for sure, but this is mostly a Christian city now." Orestes winced, then relaxed under the tender ministrations of his slave.

"An opposing Christian faction murdered the monks. Patriarch Theophilus united the Christians to break the back of the pagan cults early in his episcopate. But lately with the Patriarch's illness and their common enemy suppressed, the various sects have begun squabbling."

"So much for 'love thy neighbor,'" Orestes muttered as Demetrius kneaded the knots in his shoulders. After a few moments, he shrugged off the gentle hands. "That feels better."

Orestes tapped his front teeth with the tip of his reed pen. "Patriarch Theophilus sent word he was too ill to wait on me after I first arrived. I think it is time I paid my respects to the Bishop of Mark. See if he will receive me." He eyed the stack of papers. "Today, if possible."

Demetrius bowed from the door. "As you wish, Master."

Orestes was pleased at the courtesy shown his office. The Patriarch responded immediately that he would welcome the Prefect's presence and asked him to come at his convenience after noon. Orestes arrived with Demetrius and two bodyguards at the sprawling complex that housed the Patriarch and his staff. Theophilus had converted the Serapeum, a former pagan temple compound located on a prominence in the southwest Rakhotis district, to the Episcopal Palace. Orestes thought it significant that he and the Patriarch occupied the two highest points in the city.

A deacon met them at the gate and escorted them across the grounds to the administrative offices and personal residence of the Patriarch. He pointed out the Library of St. Mark and several houses for presbyters and visitors as they progressed. Arches supported the whole edifice with enormous windows above each arch. Sitting courts and small chapels occupied the highest level. In the middle stood the Church of St. John – the former temple of Serapis – built on a magnificent scale with an exterior of marble and faced with columns.

Orestes, familiar with the imposing imperial and religious architecture of Constantinople, recognized the symbolism of converting this center of pagan worship to the seat of Christian power throughout Egypt. It was a most awe-inspiring sight and befitted the rank of the See rivaled only by Rome in prominence.

A large number of young, stalwart men dressed in rough brown robes guarded the gate to the Patriarch's compound, congregated in the courtyard and filled the halls. They carried themselves more with the swagger of soldiers than the piety of priests. Orestes knew fighting men when he saw them, whether they wore the breastplates of the Roman army, the furs of the northern Germanic forests or monks' robes. Why did the Patriarch need an army?

According to Demetrius, Theophilus avoided the more brutal actions of his mentor Patriarch Athanasius, known for beating and imprisoning his rivals. However, a dispute over the anthropomorphic nature of God had inspired riots soon after Theophilus' elevation to Patriarch. Theophilus sided with the more intellectual monks of the city who believed as the philosopher Origen believed, that God was incorporeal, not shaped like a man. When desert monks invaded the city and threatened to put him to death as a blasphemer, Theophilus quickly changed his mind. Since that time, the Patriarch united the desert monks and reigned unchallenged, but perhaps in his illness, Theophilus felt threatened.

The deacon led them through a maze of rooms filled with secretaries interviewing supplicants, then past hordes of clerics reading and responding to neatly stacked correspondence. They overtook several monks carrying household goods up the stairs – rich carpets, embroidered hangings, altar cloths, silver goblets – gifts from the spiritually faithful and others hopeful of more earthly assistance.

They arrived at a plain oak door, where the deacon bade Demetrius and the bodyguards wait on a bench. Orestes entered the room and stopped to let his eyes adjust to the dimness. Heavy draperies shadowed the windows and only two lamps relieved the gloom, one on a wall and a second on a modest wooden table piled high with papyri. A frail man wrapped in many layers of robes sat at the table, scribbling with a reed pen.

Orestes was shocked. At his investiture just a week ago, Theophilus seemed somewhat frail, but now his skin was the color and texture of old parchment, brittle and creased, pulled tight over fine bones. A blue vein throbbed erratically in the old man's temple. His nearly translucent eyelids fluttered up to reveal dark eyes, startling in their vividness, with a hint of pain in their depths. Theophilus started to rise in a generous act of courtesy, for Orestes was obliged to stand in the Patriarch's presence unless he was bid to sit.

"Please, Father, don't trouble yourself." Orestes strode forward.

The Patriarch murmured something to a servant, who immediately produced a chair for the Prefect. Theophilus nodded his approval and spoke in a cracked voice. "Be seated. Your presence gives me a break from the tedious duties of my office." He swept his hand toward the piles adorning his desk. "I've been ill for several days and much of this work has gone unattended." He sat back and gazed at the papyri with a rueful smile.

"I left a similar situation in my office." Orestes chuckled in sympathy. "What did man do before inventing paper?"

"We have an insatiable need to record the most mundane details of life." Theophilus lifted one substantial pile. "These are mostly lists – how much grain, cloth and wine in storage; who has tithed what to the church; charitable accounts; names of new penitents." He sighed. "As if this has anything to do with the grace of God."

"My reports are of a similar nature, but one among them, the impetus for my visit, disturbs me."

Theophilus frowned. "Not more taxes, I hope. The people do suffer greatly under the current burden."

"Not taxes, Patriarch." Orestes smiled at the familiar refrain. "I wish it were that easily dealt with. This has to do with reports of attacks on citizens and religious property."

"Then it is likely still a matter of taxes. When I process, I am besieged by families looking for alms. One poor soul, but two weeks ago, told me a typical story. It is a lean year, yet his landlord demanded nearly the whole of his meager crop for taxes. The man could not feed his family and they came to the city looking for work. Unfortunately, there is little for them here. They and their neighbors crowd the tenements, beg for food, steal when they are desperate."

He indicated the leaning tower of papers. "Many of these reports are from Christian charitable societies – our poor houses, orphanages and hospitals are all overflowing. Our stores of food and clothing are low. If you wish to settle some of the unrest, Prefect, lighten some of the levies or give some back in the form of food for the poor. Your gracious increase of the bread dole was a start. Perhaps that could be extended?"

"Our most generous Emperor believes the substantial amount of grain diverted to the Church for distribution is sufficient." Orestes avoided pointing out not all who received the dole were poor. The Church and those who served it were not only exempt from taxation, but also received grain subsidies. The list of non-church receivers had several prominent names on it, presumably in exchange for past services rendered.

Orestes spread his fingers in a gesture of helplessness. "Unfortunately, I have little control over imperial levies, except to see they are collected and speedily shipped to their destinations."

Theophilus shook his head. "Maybe it is the Lord's work, for the poor and the wretched do convert in greater numbers. The well-content see no need for change. After the sack of Rome, only the Christian communities were able to organize to provide food and shelter. Soon the whole town was firmly and devotedly Christian. A little more misfortune and perhaps Alexandria will be likewise."

The Patriarch's words disturbed Orestes. He did not want to believe Theophilus would manufacture troubles in order to extend his power. But in his experience, cunning ambitious men more likely served the Church as Bishops than in more humble roles and Theophilus had a reputation as both.

A servant put a silver tray on the table and poured two goblets of wine. Orestes noted the fine workmanship – a clear glass to show the ruby depths of the drink, the rim banded by chased silver. Theophilus reached for the one nearest him and raised it with a trembling hand. "Do join me in some refreshment."

Orestes lifted his glass, smelling the sweet heavy wine. The taste sparked memories of blazing afternoons; dark purple grapes ripening on the southern slopes of Gaul.

Orestes watched surreptitiously but with some alarm as the old man attempted to drink without spilling. Theophilus' hands shook and he soon gave up the effort, sighing sorrowfully as he contemplating the full goblet.

"Thank you. A most satisfactory vintage." Orestes placed his cup on the table. "I will take up little more of your time. I came only to pay my respects and ask your advice."

A sparkle of humor showed in the Patriarch's tired eyes. "I pray my words are informative, if not useful."

"I am new to my office and thank you most heartily for your insight, but the reports I referred to earlier are about more than theft. There is also disorder and destruction of property – usually religious in nature – sometimes committed by men dressed as monks. This does not seem the act of hungry people, but those of differing convictions. The Emperor expects order in the cities, but I do not want to place soldiers on every corner. What might I do to bring about accord?"

Theophilus eyed Orestes with satisfaction, as if this awkward inquiry into his affairs was precisely what he wished to discuss. "I understand you are of the Christian faith."

Orestes, taken aback by the abrupt change in topic, confirmed, "I was baptized by Patriarch Atticus in Constantinople before making this journey."

Theophilus steepled his hands, touching the fingertips to his lips. "Ah! You are new to your faith." Flames of passion animated the old man's eyes. "What do you believe, my son?"

"I fail to see what my religious beliefs have to do with bringing order to this city."

Theophilus leaned forward and slapped both hands on the table. "Then your eyes see dimly. This city needs a strong Christian leader. One who is public in his faith in the way of the good Emperor Constantine. One who will show strength to the non-believers, support the church in its endeavors and enforce the imperial laws against heresy."

The Patriarch's thrust became clear to Orestes. He parried, "You will have my full support in upholding the laws."

"But what of your soul? You should have instruction. I would be happy to have my nephew, Cyril, attend to your needs."

"Your offer is most kind, but I could not consider taking your nephew during your illness." Orestes bowed his head. The last thing he wanted was a churchman – and the Patriarch's nephew, at that – to have regular access to his clients and offices. "I will attend services, as you advise, and in all ways try to be a model for the citizens of this city. But surely there is more I – or possibly we – can do to help bring peace to the populace."

Theophilus stroked his chin. "There is another source of discord which you can influence."

"And that is?"

"There is a class of disreputable entertainers – actors, dancers, mimes – who soil our city with their wicked ways. The women are little better than prostitutes, inflaming men by showing their bodies and freely giving their favors. They are a temptation to men and an affront to our mothers, sisters and daughters. It is in your power to shut down the theaters and expel these vermin from the streets."

Orestes was dubious. When one of his superior officers had been newly baptized, he instituted flogging and demotions for soldiers visiting brothels. That action brought about only resentment and mutiny among the troops. Perhaps some middle ground might be found.

"I will look into the matter. Is this a problem for your flock? Do many stray?"

"Not many." Theophilus coughed, hacked briefly into a cloth, then managed a sip of wine. "We have strict penalties for those congregants found frequenting theaters and brothels. I fear for the souls of those poor unfortunates without the benefit of our moral guidance." The Patriarch raised a knowing eyebrow. "This disreputable element is a threat to peace in our fair city."