by Albert Noyer
After the couple returned to their room at the villa, Arcadia found a relatively dry night tunic and crawled under a sheepskin covering on one of the two beds. Getorius lay awake on the other, regretting his outburst and trying to understand her mood. Pulcheria is one thing, but Arcadia is beginning to sympathize too closely with Droseria. That could endanger her treatment and even her own health. Unable to sleep, he got up to sit at his wife's side.
"I'm sorry about being curt with you," he whispered, leaning over to rub her neck and shoulders, "but it would have been unhealthy to stay in that cabin with Droseria."
Arcadia was awake and nodded a slight acknowledgement. Encouraged, he slipped under the sheepskin, kissed the nape of her neck, then reached over a shoulder to tease a nipple erect through her tunic material.
"Getorius, don't," came her muffled refusal.
"We haven't made love since Amphipolis."
"I don't want to."
In a flash of resentment, he pulled his arm away. "What is the matter with you, Arcadia? Ever since you went to Pulcheria's you've acted like a different woman. You're cold toward me as today's rain."
"It's something I can't talk about."
"Can't talk about? Hades's name, woman, I'm your husband!" Getorius stopped, frustrated, yet aware that anger would serve no purpose. "Fine, Arcadia, I'm sorry. Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow we have another long day on the galley."
* * *
Herakles awakened his clients at dawn, bringing them bread rolls glazed with honey, and a leather bottle of the drink the slave girl at the Nova Roma had brewed from dried black leaves. He called it "Tsai."
Although their clothing was still damp, Getorius repacked what he had hung in the wardrobe without speaking to Arcadia. Going outside, he separated himself from Basina Bobo to walk toward the galley with Herakles. The woman already had accosted the guide to complain about the poor supper, her uncomfortable night, and the skimpy breakfast. Arcadia followed with Maria, Melodia and the presbyter.
On reaching the wharf ahead of the others, Getorius noticed a small body wrapped in a shroud being carried down the gangplank. In the flickering light of torches aboard the galley, Deacon Basil struggled to keep an hysterical woman from flinging herself onto the pitiful corpse.
"Herakles, that looks like the sick girl's mother," Getorius noted. "What happened?"
"Asterios, her unfortunate daughter died in the night."
Coming up with the others, Arcadia heard him. "Kiki? No!" She tried to push past her husband, but he pulled her back by the arm.
"You'll stay here," he ordered. "There's nothing more you can do for the girl."
Arcadia shook free of his hand. "I can help the mother."
"And be blamed for her daughter's death?"
Herakles stepped in front of Arcadia to stop her. "Domina, your husband is correct. You treated her daughter and a grieving mother will not listen to reason."
"What will happen to Kiki?"
"The girl is to be buried here in the quarrymen's necropolis. The mother will return to New Rome on a transport galley."
Tranquillus asked, "Is there a presbyter on this island?"
"Ohi, no."
"Then I'll conduct a Christian burial service at the cemetery."
"Impossible," Herakles refused. "When Hermes sails, Nikephoros will leave without you and anyone else not aboard."
On deck, two oarsmen started down the gangplank carrying a second shrouded corpse. Getorius wondered if it was Damianos or Droseria, when the galley-master, standing on the helmsman's platform, shouted down in Greek to the men.
"Herakles, what is he saying?"
"For them to leave the body on the wharf and go back to their rowing stations." The guide turned to his clients, arms spread wide to shepherd them aboard.
"Could that other person be Droseria?" Arcadia wondered, and ran past the men toward the woman's cabin.
Droseria, lying on her bench-bed, managed a wan smile when she saw Arcadia. "My dear, the Sisters are busy with others. Would you find me a cup of water?"
Arcadia wiped away a tear of relief and held up the bottle of Tsai. "I'll help you drink this."
Again rain began to pelt the shrouded bodies lying on the wharf stones. A now-familiar panpipe signal, followed by the splash of oars and a sudden lurch, indicated that Hermes was being pushed away from her berth. Marble workers pulled Kiki's mother away from her small form. Basina, standing on deck with the others, was quiet, uncomplaining for a change, as she watched the grieving woman being led away toward the town.
Herakles took Getorius aside. "Asterios," he said hoarsely, "at Abydos we leave this ship of death and use your authorization of the Western Augusta to travel to Novum Illium by what you call the imperial post."
"And then? How do we get to Pergamum?"
"Hermes continues from Abydos to the port of Troas, near Ilium. Nikephoros will pick up more ill passengers. We go by carriage to a ferry near Assos, cross a bay of the sea, then arrive at Pergamum two days before the galley."
"And with a few corpses that Apollonios can't work his 'miracles' on?"
Herakles spread his hands in the gesture of helplessness he used at Heracleia. "The will of the gods, Asterios, perhaps even of your Christian Trinity."
Not the place to argue theology with this self-styled agnostic. "So, Herakles, it's Abydos to Roman Ilium for tonight?"
The guide brightened and smiled. "You will like, Asterios. Did not the Trojan Aeneas escape death there to found your Eternal Rome?"
"So Homer and Virgil tell us."
"Kalos. In five hours we enter the Hellespont and very swift current. Now I go visit the ill."
And sell them your kannabis. "Herakles, we came north through the Hellespont on a wine galley from Amphipolis, but were too travel-worn to fully realize where we were. I'll try to remember what my tutor said about the Troad heroes of my boyhood."
"They are mine, too, Asterios," he reminded the surgeon.
He watched the guide leave, then turned to scan the sea and recall his tutor's lessons. Curatius told about how the Hellespont got its name. A golden-fleeced ram, entrusted with carrying the two children of Nephele to safety, dropped the girl, Helle, into the water. Her name is remembered in the strait connecting the Propontis and Aegean Seas. Nicias made me memorize the passage in the Iliad where Machaon, 'the blameless physician', son of Asclepius himself, treats the arrow wound of Menelaos. I still remember it. Getorius murmured to the wine-dark waves, "'Rise up, son of Asclepius, 'powerful Agamemnon calls you, so you may look at war-like Menelaos, the Achaeans' leader, whom someone skilled in the bow's use pierced with an arrow...'
"'But when he saw the wound where the bitter arrow was driven, Machaon sucked the blood and in skill laid healing medicines on it, which Chiron in friendship long ago had given his father'."
Getorius glanced back along the deck with its complement of pitiful, ill passengers huddled against the shelter of the cabin sides to keep dry. I never thought I'd see Troy, still less be on a ship of death, where all the healing medicines that Machaon learned about would hardly cure half of these unfortunates.
Arcadia. Will she resolve what's bothering her by the time we reach Ilium, or continue to harbor the hostility of a Juno toward Aeneas to keep me miserable for the rest of this voyage?
CHAPTER VII
The seven-hour run from Marmor to Abydos began in blustery weather. Heavy rain slashed in from the northeast, yet a following wind drove the Hermes ahead and eased strain on the rowing crew. Any anticipation at visiting the legendary sites that had thrilled Getorius and Arcadia as students, and heroes of the Trojan War; Priam, Hector, Achilles, and Odysseus, was tempered by the deaths of the two pilgrims, the murdered Fuscus, and Kiki dying from diphtheria.
As if in mourning, porpoises did not appear to race the swift prow of Hermes, or frolic across its wake.
Getorius found himself besieged by several ill patients at a time. Finally, he asked Brisios to keep back the petiti
oners and allow only one to come forward at a time. He was not surprised to notice Arcadia go into Droseria's cabin with food and not return. He did not call her back.
Arcadia held up a wooden bowl to show Droseria. "I brought you this barley broth. The sisters prepared a pot for the shrine pilgrims."
The woman declined. "I'm not really hungry, but I thank you."
"You must eat," Arcadia insisted. "Here, I'll spoon some out for you."
Despite her fever, Droseria's eyes twinkled with latent humor. "You're a very independent young woman, are you not?"
Arcadia smiled as she held up a spoon. "The same as Pulcheria, Bishop Ignatia, and you? Please, Droseria, eat some of this while it's hot."
She sighed resignation. "Oh, very well,"
After finishing half of the broth, Droseria indicated that she wanted no more.
"Fine, you did eat something." Arcadia put the bowl down and waited a moment before asking, "Droseria, do you know what was in that letter of Pulcheria's?"
"I can surmise."
"What can you tell me about the Augusta? I know so little about her."
Droseria shifted against her pillows. "Aelia Pulcheria is only two years older than her brother, Theodosius, yet has been a strong influence on him. She taught him about court protocol and to read both Christian writers and ethical passages in pagan literature. But I'm afraid that made Theodosius more of a bookish scholar rather than forceful emperor."
"Why is she so interested in religion?"
Droseria coughed sputum into her cloth before explaining, "The Theotokos controversy, whether Virgin Maria was the mother of a human or divine Christ, is important to her."
"Why is that?"
"Pulcheria dedicated her virginity to God. When court officials called her 'The Virgin Augusta,' enemies used the title to mock her."
"Enemies? Why should anyone dislike Pulcheria?"
Droseria evaded the question. "Arcadia, that broth had too much salt."
"Here, I've filled a bottle with watered wine." She poured a cupful for the woman to sip.
"You will be a compassionate medica," Droseria predicted, lying back on the pillows.
"You...you didn't answer my question about the Augusta's enemies."
"Arcadia, I'll only say that may your desire for...for power...be only to treat your patients. Avoid palace intrigues."
"Such as?"
Droseria smiled weakly. "You are insistent! Some years back, Patriarch Nestorius tried to limit women's participation in the liturgy. When Pulcheria objected, he called her a contentious female. She bested him, but now a new steward to Theodosius, a eunuch named Chrysaphios Tzumas, is plotting against the Augusta. He...he's doing so with the connivance of Eudokia."
"Yes, what of the Empress?" Arcadia asked. "I haven't heard much about her."
"Very beautiful, a brilliant mind, and pagan before Pulcheria found Christian qualities in her that others did not. She chose Athenaïs, that was Eudokia's name before baptism, as a wife for Theodosius."
"So the sisters-in-law got along?"
"Until recently." Droseria rubbed her eyes. "I'm very tired. We'll talk about Pulcheria and the terms of your letter another time. A little more to drink, please, then I'd like to sleep."
"Of course." Arcadia helped her sit up and sip from the wine cup. "I'll look in on you again in an hour."
Droseria nodded thanks and lay back with her eyes closed.
When Arcadia left the cabin, she ducked down against the rain-laced wind, confused by what she had been told. Droseria does know about the stipulation in Pulcheria's letter. Why should a eunuch be plotting against the Augusta? Ignatia ordained Epiphania, yet how else is the old bishop involved at Pergamum? The presbytera will throw light on that, yet I might find out more about the bequest from the widows.
Maria and Melodia were in their cabin. Tranquillus had just finished celebrating a Eucharist and was putting his stole and chalice back into a travel case.
"I'll leave," he offered amiably. "You ladies will want to talk,"
"No, wait," Arcadia said. "Presbyter, aren't there women who hold the office of deaconess?"
Surprised by the question, Tranquillus paused in closing his case. "A few, but mostly at Roma and in the East. Why do you ask?"
"I've been talking with Droseria. What do you know about Aelia Pulcheria, the emperor's sister?"
"Very little, Domina. A most pious woman, I hear."
"You had supper with Bishop Proklus before we left Constantinople. Didn't you talk about the imperial family?"
"No, about church matters." Tranqullius took up his case. "I must attend to some of the ill. Ladies, the Peace of Christ be with you."
After he left, Arcadia noted, "The presbyter was quite evasive and seemed nervous about my questions."
Melodia's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
"Probably nothing, it's just that we met a woman bishop who is attracting a group of very wealthy supporters. At least one is a deaconess, a church rank below ordination. Now we're going to meet a presbytera at Pergamum. In the West, male clergy would feel threatened."
Maria wondered aloud, "What do we know about women ministers in the past?"
"Very little. You heard Pulcheria comment on Tertullian's opposition to female leaders. I admit that I haven't read his writings, but I intend to do so at Pergamum."
"What do you hope to discover?"
"Discover? For one thing, Maria, why we can't tell Tranquillus or my husband about Ignatia and Epiphania."
Melodia cautioned, "Perhaps you shouldn't...well...shouldn't pry."
"Pry? I know from the Testaments that Christ had women disciples," Arcadia said, almost as if to convince herself. "Paul greets many women in his letters. This Eastern church might be closer to understanding the early Church hierarchy." She reached over to pat Melodia's hand. "Don't worry. Whatever I do I'll remember bishop Ignatia's advice to be cunning as a serpent, while appearing harmless as a dove."
* * *
By midday the weather had cleared. As a meal, Herakles brought his clients flatbread, dried meat, figs, and skins of watered wine.
After taking his wife her portion, Flavius Bobo noticed Getorius eating alone at the prow. He brought his food along the swaying deck to where he sat and asked, "Surgeon, I...I'm not...not disturbing you am I?"
"Of course not, my wife is with Droseria." As Getorius moved aside, the man put his dish down and pulled up a tunic sleeve to scratch a rash on his forearm. That skin ailment could be from working with his father, cleaning sewers. "Sit down, Flavius."
"Gratias." In the shade of the awning, Flavius took off his straw hat, revealing a bald scalp speckled with brownish moles. A day's growth of blondish beard glistened on his cheeks. "Surgeon, I wanted to ask you about my wife, about Basina."
"Sadly, she's a very miserable woman."
"Yes." Flavius bit off a piece of leathery meat and stared at the sea while he chewed, then spit out gristle. "We've just come from a shrine of Asklepios at Naupaktos, but you heard Basina. She didn't like the physicians there. Could...could you find out why she's sick all the time?"
"I'd have to question your wife about her habits...look for humor imbalances. I would certainly prescribe a diet to bring down her weight, yet she doesn't seem a patient who accepts directions."
"Oh, she might if she liked you."
"How do I get her to do that?"
"Take Hermias." Flavius fell silent as he tore bread into small pieces and walked to the rail to fling them toward gulls alongside, soaring on wind currents. After watching the scavengers swoop down to snatch up the bits, Flavius sat down again and managed a slight grin. "I'm glad she has Hermias. To be truthful, I was tired of carrying her medicine case around."
"I can understand." Let the man talk. Perhaps I can find out more about his wife's condition. "Go on, Flavius."
"About a year ago Basina saw Hermias at the slave market in Arminum. She insisted I buy him for her."
"That's right, y
ou live there."
Flavius nodded. "I inherited a sewer maintenance business from my father. I...I'm doing quite well with contracts from other cities, even Ravenna."
"Well enough to take your wife to healing shrines in Greece and Anatolia."
"The one at Naupaktos was small, run down." Flavius scratched his head, then continued, "Priests warned that brigands made it unsafe to go to the shrine at Epidauros."
Getorius asked, "How long have you been traveling, Flavius?"
"Since early summer. I remembered going to Pergamum years ago with my mother. Father took her. She was always sick, too. At Naupaktos I suggested that we travel to Constantinople and consult physicians there. If they couldn't help her, I said we'd go on to Pergamum."
"So you've seen the Asklepion?"
"Briefly, Surgeon. While mother was being treated, Father and I had time to look over the city's sewer system. It's quite complex."
"And you're returning. You must be completely exhausted from traveling."
"I...I don't mind if Basina is happy." Flavius bit into a fig, chewed and swallowed the fruit, then stood and put on his hat. "I'd best see if my wife is all right. If she's had enough to eat." He extended a hand. "I've enjoyed our talk, Surgeon. I don't get much chance to go out. Basina you see."
"Flavius, I could prescribe a white lead ointment for your rash," Getorius said to spare the man embarrassment. "Those moles can upset your humors, your whole body."
"I'll be fine. It's Basina who worries me."
As Getorius watched him walk around the end of the deckhouse cabins, he recalled his own unpleasant odyssey through Ravenna's main sewer earlier that year. Flavius caught that rash cleaning drains, yet those moles are a greater concern. Some at Ravenna had them and wasted away to skeletons. A good man, completely devoted to his wife despite her crudeness.
"Surgeon," the voice of a man limping up the deck called out. "Surgeon, can y' help my foot?"
Getorius looked around. Supported by Brisios, the first man in a line of patients hobbled toward him. It will be a long afternoon.
* * *
About an hour past the entrance to the Hellespont, the sea current perceptibly quickened. Clumps of decaying seaweed, half-sunken branches, and waterlogged timbers from shipwrecks, along with the occasional bloated body of a marine creature that was swept into the narrowing channel as if into the maw of Charybdis.