by Albert Noyer
“I see you have visitors, Sergius,” she noted with restrained surprise in her voice.
Abinnaeus’s tone softened. “Carita, they’re from our Western Empire. Ravenna to be precise.”
“How very interesting.” Dorothea Isidora Abinnaea put the kitten down and moved gracefully into the room to greet her husband’s guests. “This terrible disorder,” she commented—as an explanation rather than apology. “The Prefect and I are preparing to move to our winter villa at Myos Hormos in a few days, yet we welcome you. May I know your names?”
“Surgeon Getorius Asterius,” he replied, while the kitten nosed around his tunic hem. “My wife is Arcadia.”
Dorothea raised perfect eyebrows in another question. “Surgeon, why do you choose the winter season to visit Egypt?”
Abinnaeus answered for him. “The surgeon told me that he and his wife are on some kind of…of religious mission for Aelia Pulcheria.”
“We know of Her Serenity. What mission would that be?”
The governor responded again. “Following the Holy Family’s route, isn’t that so, Surgeon?”
“It is, sir. We supposed that you knew of our plans.”
“Arcadia, you’re shivering, and with cause,” Dorothea noted. “Sergius, this room feels colder than a mausoleum.”
He ran a hand through his hair and looked apologetic. “Carita, since we were preparing to leave, I ordered the furnaces half-stoked. Only our bedroom is heated.”
“The Latins will need a warm room in the guest quarters,” Dorothea told him, then turned back to Getorius. “Surgeon, you’ve just traveled all the distance from Constantinople?”
“No, Domina, most recently from the Holy City.”
“Jerusalem?” Abinnaeus grumbled, “We hear Hebrews are causing trouble in the streets and yet Empress Eudocia is permitting them to hold their festivals in the city.”
“Sergius…” Dorothea laid a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. “Sergius, I would like you to do this for me. Order the slaves to place a brazier in our guest’s room and heat water for the tub. Then have Bishop Eusebios join us for supper. I’m sure we would all like to hear the latest news from the West. Also invite your physician, Papnouthios. I abhor the man, yet he can exchange medical talk with the surgeon.”
“As you wish, dearest…” Abinnaeus patted his wife’s hand away and told his secretary, “Nepheros, make the arrangements.”
“Excellency….” He bowed slightly.
Dorothea picked up the kitten, which began mewing, and stroked its fur. “Supper will be at the seventh hour,” she informed Nepheros.
“Of course, Domina.”
Abinnaeus unrolled another manuscript. “And show my guests to their room,
“I shall, Excellency.” The secretary bowed again and motioned for the couple to follow him.
Guest quarters were in a far wing of the building, barely receiving furnace heat in the floor and wall ducts. Nepheros assigned the Latins the furthest room and said their luggage would be brought in. He would return by the seventh hour to take them to the dining room for the meal.
After he left, Arcadia glanced into the bathing alcove, felt for the warmest wall in the room with her hand, and then backed herself up against the plaster to absorb its meager heat. “Getorius, did you notice how our Prefect dotes on his wife? Dorothea ordered him to make arrangements for our stay by hardly raising her voice above her kitten’s purr.”
“And made him think it was his idea. Cara, you’re quite good at doing that yourself.”
She ignored his quip. “I’m sure the slaves who bring in that brazier and hot bath water won’t think it their idea…” Arcadia paused. “Slaves. I’m still devastated when I think of what happened to Brisios at Paphos.”
Getorius recalled, “In that senseless violence against those Hebrew refugees. Moshe ben Asher and his people only were trying to leave Cyprus for safety in the Holy Land.”
“May they find a refuge in the Galilee.”
Two dark-skinned slaves brought in the couple’s damp leather travel cases and a third the glowing brazier. None returned with buckets of hot water for the tub. The governor’s chaotic moving evidently extended to a disruption or ignoring of the slave serving staff.
* * *
Just before the seventh hour, Nepheros came to escort the couple to the dining room. When he brought them into the triclinium, a young woman knelt on a sheepskin rug to one side, strumming a long-necked harp. The musician’s complexion was the color of dark cedar wood. Nilus-blue eyes were outlined in dark antimony. He soot-black hair had been arranged in a fall of braids that dropped to the middle of her back. Each tip was encased in a golden sheath. A full length white tunic reached from just above the nipples of her breasts to golden sandals on graceful feet.
Nepheros held a hand by the side of his mouth to whisper, “Pennuta, a Kushite slave, is actually the governor’s concubine. The woman claims descent from one of their queens, and even might be pleasant looking were it not for her perpetual pout.”
The harpist intrigued Getorius. “She looks quite attractive to me.”
Arcadia narrowed her eyes at him before asking Nepheros, “How does the governor’s wife feel about her?”
The secretary snickered―he enjoyed spreading gossip, a benefit of his position. “Dorothea calls her ‘Serqet,’ the name of a scorpion goddess in an ancient Egyptian pantheon.”
“Husband,” Arcadia warned jovially, “I wouldn’t get too enamored of ‘Scorpion Woman’.” She turned back to Nepheros and smiled again in the way she knew flustered most men. “At the table, please tell me who the other guests are.”
He reddened on cue and stammered, “Of…of course, Domina. That w…would be my pleasure.”
Despite several glowing braziers set on low stands around the walls, and heat from numerous oil lamps, the dining room retained a penetrating November dampness. The space smelled of wood smoke, cooked cabbage, and fish. Stucco walls painted with figures in the stiff Egyptian style of the Serapion murals at Pergamum depicted slaves with food offerings, an appropriate theme for the dining room.
Toying with a silver wine cup, Sergius Abinnaeus sat at the head of a table set for seven diners and listened to an elderly clergyman on his right. His wife stood near the door, holding her gray kitten. She noticed the couple arrive and beckoned them toward the table.
Dorothea had dressed in a richly patterned silk damask gown. A small filigree Greek cross around her neck contrasted with loop gold earrings. A woolen shawl around her shoulders covered dark hair, and black antimony outlined her eyes in the same way as the Kushite woman’s. Arcadia thought it an Egyptian cosmetic practice. Dorothea did not smile in asking, “I trust your room is acceptable?”
Getorius complained, “Those slaves never did bring us hot water for Arcadia’s bath.”
“Perhaps as well,” she said without apology. “This chill weather governs the body’s watery phlegm humor. I noticed your wife shivering and baths are not recommended in November.”
“Domina, it’s of no importance,” Arcadia assured her, gesturing toward the governor. “To whom is your husband speaking?”
“Our Bishop, a most holy man. Eusebios was called by Patriarch Cyril from his monastery outside Alexandria to the episcopacy here at Pelusium. He wears that camel hair outer coat as a reminder of his former station. Come meet His Holiness.”
“You mentioned a physician would be here,” Getorius told Dorothea as they walked to the table.
She scowled at his reminder. “Papnouthios. He has not yet arrived.”
And I recall that you don’t like him. After being introduced to the bishop, Getorius was seated next to him. Gaunt-faced, with a white beard that hosted stubborn dark strands, Eusebios wore a clergyman’s black linen head covering that reached to mid-back. A pattern of gold crosses was embroidered on the linen and a gold pectoral cross of a circle above a T hung from the bishop’s neck onto his camel hair garment.
Arcadia was sea
ted to the left of Sergius, with Dorothea between her and Nepheros, where she had decided it would be difficult for him to gossip with the Latin woman. When the physician arrived, he would be placed to the right of Getorius.
Dorothea settled the kitten in her lap and signaled to Karitina, a freedwoman. She came to pour a steaming amber liquid from a silver flagon into the diners’ cups. “We have Ascalonian and Chian wines, but this spiced and sweetened wheat brew…corma…is best drunk hot during cold weather. It purges phlegmatic residues in the stomach.”
“A Celtic beverage popular at Ravenna,” Getorius told her, “yet mulled wine is the Empress Mother’s choice.”
“The…Empress…Mother?” Abinnaeus stretched out his question.
Arcadia explained, “Galla Placidia, Excellency. Our emperor, Valentinian, is her son.”
“Of course…Domina, simply call me Sergius,” He reached over to squeeze her hand and frowned after he noticed a faint henna design. “You favor these Bedouin decorations?”
She eased her hand away. “How I acquired them is a rather complicated story.”
Getorius glanced at Dorothea, who took a sip of her drink without reacting to her husband’s interest in Arcadia. Does he act with familiarity toward all women?
The over-sweetened brew was cloying, more suited to a dessert course, Getorius thought as he opened a conversation with Eusebios about what he and Arcadia had seen at Jerusalem. The bishop feigned interest, then asked if Bishop Juvenal still wanted the city to be made a fifth Patriarchate after Constantinople.
“The bishop did mention that to us.”
“I must agree with Juvenal that Constantinople has no apostolic claim to the title. The honor is a political, not ecclesiastical, decision that should be rescinded.”
Getorius complimented him, “Holiness, your Latin is excellent, much more refined than mine. I have a provincial accent common to the Veneto.”
Eusebios smiled acknowledgment. “Some years ago I went to Hippo in your African province. For three seasons I studied Latin in the academy with Bishop Augustinus.”
Abinnaeus had been listening. “That province has been lost to the Vandals for over a year now. Surgeon, does your Valentinian plan on a re-conquest?”
“I…I’m really not sure.”
Eusebios rescued Getorius from a subject he would not be expected to know. “Prefect, I understand our surgeon and his wife are here to learn more about the sojourn of the Holy Child in our land of Egypt.”
“Yes, and”—Abinnaeus glanced toward Nepheros—“and I supposedly have instructions from Constantinople for them about the itinerary.”
The bishop looked across at Arcadia. “Domina, are you in the West familiar with the conversion of Egypt to the True Faith?”
His question surprised her. “I…I suppose some are, but my husband and I, no…not really.”
“Our church tradition is that the Evangelist Mark came here after the Resurrection of the Savior.”
“The same Mark who was a companion of the apostle Paul?”
“Domina, you do know some Holy Scripture,” Eusebios commented with surprise in his voice. “Yes, Mark was episkopos for some twenty years before suffering martyrdom at the hands of a wretched street mob.”
“I can believe that,” Getorius agreed. “We suffered such a riot against Hebrews at Paphos.”
Eusebios remarked, “There are few Hebrews in Egypt now. The ‘Chosen of God’ have rejected the Cornerstone, Jesus, God’s only begotten Son, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity.”
Nepheros ventured, “Holiness, if you would tell our Western guests about the years that the Holy Infant spent in our land?”
The bishop fingered his pectoral cross. “The Blessed Child lived here more than four years. Do you in the West know the Hebrew Gospel of Matthew?”
Getorius answered, “In the Latin Vulgate Testament? Of course.”
“Surgeon, the narrative of Matthew I speak of is in Greek, a different Hebrew manuscript thought to be a preface to his Testament account.”
Arcadia said, “Surely, Bishop Chrysologos at Ravenna knows of it.”
“Perhaps.” Eusebios seemed eager to share information of which the newcomers were ignorant. “Jerome, of Blessed Memory, was brought a Hebrew papyrus purporting to be a true account of the Infancy of the Savior. He suspected it to be of doubtful origin, yet not clearly false, therefore the account could be translated and read without damaging faith or imperiling souls.”
Getorius said, “A year ago at Ravenna we found a ‘Last Will and Testament of Christ,’ that was exposed as a forgery. That makes me doubtful of such late discoveries.”
Eusebios fixed him with an accusatory stare. “This new account of Matthew describes wondrous events and great miracles. Do you doubt, Surgeon, that God can accomplish these things?”
He was spared an answer by the arrival of Papnouthios. The physician was of medium height, with a rotund face of light-brown complexion, and squinting eyes. His shaven head emphasized large ears. A down-turned mouth was unsmiling even when introduced to Abinnaeus’s Latin guests.
After Papnouthios sat next to Getorius and had his cup filled, Dorothea clapped for the servers to begin the meal, but seemed eager to end a dinner she had not planned to serve yet graciously offered. Arcadia noticed that she had not joined in the table conversation, an emotional state probably due to the presence of her husband’s concubine. Pennuta had continued playing without looking toward the guests, and alternated her string music by standing and jingling rhythms on a tambourine.
Smelling fish, the kitten scrambled from his mistress’s lap onto the table.
“Miu, no!” Dorothea scolded. The kitten ignored her to easily step among the dishes.
Arcadia smiled. “’Mew’. That is your kitten’s name?”
“Miu is the ancient Egyptian word for a cat. Perhaps not very original, but I’ll see what his traits are as an adult.”
Abinnaeus laughed. “Carita, a full-grown cat won’t respond to a name either.”
Dorothea ignored his patronizing smirk by scooping a protesting Miu back into her lap.
Lucanica, an herbed, smoked sausage, was served first with flat bread. Dorothea explained that most of their food supplies was loaded for the voyage to Hormos, thus the main course would be a simple Monokython, a single-pot meal of cabbage baked with portions of river fish, eggs, local cheeses, and garlic.
After finishing a sausage, Papnouthios wiped his fingers while asking where Getorius had learned medicine.
Getorius recalled the disdainful attitude toward surgeons of Apollonios, the priest-physician at the shrine of Asclepius in Pergamum, and hedged a reply. “My mentor studied at Alexandria and my wife is learning the art with me. She wishes to open a clinic for treating women.”
Papnouthios’s small eyes glinted in the lamplight. “Interesting, Domina. Females are said to have studied at the Alexandrian medical school.”
Arcadia asked “Are corpses still dissected there? My husband is frustrated because the Western Church prohibits what is considered the desecration of a body.”
With a side glance at the bishop, he whispered, “Domina, even vivisection is practiced on criminals in Pelusium. As you might know, Aristotle saw no value in dissecting a dead body whose functions had ceased.” The physician leaned across the table to her. “Perhaps, you would care to witness a vivisection in our hospital? I have one scheduled in the morning.”
Dorothea overheard and broke in, scowling. “Certainly she would not! Papnouthios, the very thought nauseates one.”
Arcadia said, “Surely, the victim’s pain is numbed with opion.”
Papnouthios exhaled an impatient sigh. “Numbed pain gives no indication of its causal origin.”
“But that’s…that’s barbaric.”
“Barbaric, Domina?” he sneered. “These are criminals who murdered without conscience!”
“Physician,” Dorothea snapped, “there is the virtue of Christian mercy. Cease thi
s tasteless discussion. Our guests are here at the invitation of the emperor’s pious sister to visit sites blessed by the Holy Family during their sojourn in Egypt.” She resettled Miu on her lap while two slaves doled out the cabbage mixture onto plates. “Satisfy your hunger and then His Holiness will enlighten us about the route of the Holy Family.”
In the silence that followed, Arcadia tried the dish that neither she nor Getorius had eaten―cabbage prepared with fish. The egg-thickened stew was tastier than she expected and quite delicious. When she glanced at her husband and held up a spoonful, his nod agreed with her evaluation.
After the monokython, a sweet course of stewed fruits and honey cakes was brought in. Dorothea continued to feed bits of sausage and fish to her kitten, as she had during the meal, and renewed talk of the Holy Family. “Bishop, was not Pelusium the place where Blessed Joseph first arrived in Egypt?”
“True, Domina, for the prophet Ezekiel had prophesied, “‘I will pour out my wrath upon Pelusium’.
“Wrath?” Arcadia questioned. “Why is that? What happened, Your Holiness?”
He explained, “After the Holy Family sought shelter here, citizens closed their doors and refused them succor. Bubastis, the next town, was seventy miles away. Exhausted by days and nights on caravan trails, hungry and thirsty, they yet crossed the distance in one day.”
“One day?” Getorius repeated with astonished disbelief. “That distance would be a three-day journey.”
Eusebios glared at him. “Do you once more doubt God’s power?”
Why argue? “Fine, Bishop. Please continue.”
“In a vision, Patriarch Theophilos petitioned the Virgin Mother to tell him of the various locations where she had sheltered her Blessed Son.”
Arcadia recalled, “Pulcheria’s letter mentioned the visions. Weren’t they quite recent?”
“Indeed, yet Bubastis is cited by Herodotus, who mistakenly thought the former center of satanic cat worship to be a shrine of Diana.”