Written in the Ashes

by K. Hollan Van Zandt

  Hannah blinked back the sun. Jemir was right; it was a dream of the gods. She never imagined such beauty existed. Everywhere there were cascades of flowers and fountains, reflecting pools and immense marble statues. Tarek pointed across the garden to the Shrine of the Nine Muses: a rotunda of columns with beautiful maiden statues in various poses holding writing instruments, masks, lyres and scrolls; and to the thirteen lecture halls beyond it, the medical wing, and the zoology and botanical wings, the outdoor theatre, the gymnasium: each more magnificent than the last, painted with intricate murals of Egyptian and Greek myths and set with rows of elaborate Roman tile.

  This was the Great Library of Alexandria, more beautiful than any heaven.

  They passed over a little footbridge and then walked toward a palatial structure with rows of massive, ornate columns set before it like sun-bleached whalebones; each was decorated with intricate painted scenes at the base. Hannah had never seen a structure so large before. She wondered how many camels standing on top of each other it would take to reach the top. As her count topped eleven, Hannah’s eyes reached the large cupola that crowned the high walls where glass of white, ruby, orange, violet, indigo and emerald scintillated in the sunlight. Tarek proudly explained the Alexandrian technique of variegated ornamental glasswork that was renowned the world over. Hannah was breath-taken. She only wished her father were there beside her to see it.

  On the ground all around them were marble statues of Zeus, Thoth, Hermes, and Serapis with rippling muscles and lifelike eyes that watched over the garden as men in long wine-red robes sauntered past, their hands clasped behind their backs, their somber faces preoccupied with scholarly tasks.

  Hannah followed Tarek between the widely spaced columns and through a massive and intricately carved teak door that, he explained, Ptolemy and Alexander the Great had brought back from India. It was held open by a chain of stone links as large as ostrich eggs, and carved from the same granite boulder in a masterpiece of stonework.

  Beyond the doors lay the greatest room Hannah had ever seen. It stretched up three stories high, and people were suspended on skeletal ladders that led to narrow catwalks. The walls were speckled with thousands of tiny pigeonholes where thin ivory handles of parchments projected above Greek letters etched in the shelves. Tarek explained that sorting in the library was never-ending.

  The librarians who sauntered past, all men, seemed to be accustomed to the magnificence of the place, their thoughts consumed with the business at hand, their arms full of scrolls or odd shaped instruments Hannah had never seen before. There were no beggars within these walls.

  Tarek pointed out that the librarians wore wine-red robes and kept their hair shorn to the scalp in a fashion that distinguished them from the philosophers, who wore grey tribons and let their hair grow long to proudly display that they never toiled in hard labor, but led fortunate lives of intellectual pursuits.

  Hannah walked to the nearest wall and let her hand brush the smooth ivory handle of one of the parchments, and looked up at the tremendous cupola in awe. A few moments later they were approached by a youthful librarian with a smooth-shaven head, skin the color of river silt, and the penetrating eyes of a hawk.

  “Tarek, welcome.” The librarian nodded to them both. “And you must be Hannah.”

  She returned his smile and nodded.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Synesius. I was appointed by Alizar to be your tutor. You may call me ‘Sy’ if you wish.” He held his hands at his sides and bowed formally in greeting.

  Hannah bowed shyly in return.

  Synesius nodded his approval. “Tarek, Hypatia needs to see you down on the wharf to discuss the next shipment.”

  “Oh.” Tarek straightened himself. “Certainly. I will be back in a few hours to gather Hannah.”

  Synesius gave a little nod to dismiss Tarek and then spun. “Come, Hannah.”

  They walked together in silence out into the garden. Hannah followed behind Synesius, who walked so gracefully that not a pebble was disturbed by his sandals. He was rooted in his body the way a tree is rooted in the ground, yet he flowed like wind, the mark of the yogic training Hypatia required of her staff.

  The day was exceptionally clear and vibrant birdsong filled the sky. The scent of the sea clung heavily to the breeze. As they walked, wide palm fronds shimmered overhead and busy sparrows darted in and out of the bushes.

  The tour began in the zoological park, where Hannah was introduced to animals she had never seen before and had no idea even existed. She marveled at the long, spotted neck of the giraffe, the sprightly play of the otters and the size of the elephants’ feet. And although she found all the animals interesting, the one she thought most remarkable was not in the zoological park at all, but a sole osprey perched on Cleopatra’s crypt, devouring a fish. “I always think of my brother when I see them. Each winter when we were boys the osprey would nest on the cliffs near our home,” said Synesius, a touch of nostalgia in his soft voice that made Hannah wonder where his brother was now.

  Then there was the butterfly enclosure which, once inside, Hannah did not want to leave. She could hardly believe the brightness of the colors and the intricate patterns on the wings of the tiny creatures that seemed made of some divine parchment. Nothing Jemir had said could possibly have prepared her for such beauty. “I would love to be as colorful as that,” she mused.

  “When you learn respect for knowledge and the mind you will find yourself more colorful even than these.” Synesius stretched his palm toward the butterflies. “They would be envious if they knew.”

  Inside the library, Synesius led Hannah through hall after hall where fist-sized pigeonholes arranged like honeycomb contained scrolls of all sizes.

  “They are in Greek, Hebrew, Latin, Aramaic, Nabatean, Arabic, Indian and Egyptian,” declared Synesius.

  “How do you know where to put them all?” Hannah asked, overwhelmed by the library’s vastness, like a human beehive with all its sprawling complexities.

  Even the angel was impressed with its sophistication.

  “An excellent question.” Synesius clasped his hands behind his back and began to explain as they walked. “The documents here are stored in three primary places. The outer library, comprised of three large warehouse rooms beside the docks, holds shipments procured from ships or large caravans. It is in constant chaos, you will see. Every day we receive hundreds more manuscripts then we are capable of reviewing, and since we always sort the material in the order received, it can be a very long time before the manuscripts get shelved. Right now it takes a manuscript three years to go from the outer library to becoming a scroll and finding a place here.” Synesius patted one of the ivory handles and continued walking.

  They descended a flight of worn white marble steps and entered a wide room with doors open to the harbor docks. Scribes deep in concentration bent over long tables, their sleeves and fingertips—and in some instances, their foreheads—stained with ink. “This is the Hall of Review. These men examine the manuscripts to decide whether or not they will be transcribed for the library’s collection. We have some works that are translated into five or six languages, depending on their importance. Translation is often difficult and tedious. There is a law in Alexandria that our library has the right to confiscate all manner of texts, maps, records and writings that enter the city.” Synesius lowered his voice to a whisper. “The owners are given copies, never the originals. Those we keep.”

  Beyond the Hall of Review lay the Great Hall, a multi-story octagonal room with little reading alcoves tucked into corners at the heart of the library. Overhead, the magnificent glass cupola magnified sound from one wall to another. For that reason, librarians and visitors were asked to keep conversation to a minimum, as a whisper could be heard as loudly as a shout. The entire hall was well lit, both from the sunlight that poured through the dome, and the tall doors lining the inner co
urtyard, which opened to the Caesarium Gardens.

  Hannah quietly followed Synesius through the hall, her eyes wide with wonder as they passed beneath the dome. She wondered if she would have an opportunity to see Hypatia.

  Synesius leisurely glided out of the Great Hall and into a narrow passageway that led to another room also filled with pigeonholes, where an older gentleman, fingers twiddling his beard, was seated at a small desk, where he poured over a pile of scrolls that were cascading onto the floor in disarray.

  “This is the first room of the mathematics stacks. We are each in charge of our own sections here in the library.” Synesius placed his finger on the Greek letters etched in one of the shelves. “There is so much information that the only way we have found to handle it all is to make each librarian responsible for his own field of expertise. Within that field, certain important works are then selected for the Great Hall, and the Pinakes. All important works that find their way to the Great Hall are categorized as physicists, dramatists, epic poems, legislators, philosophers, historians, orators, rhetoricians or miscellaneous. Our system was designed several hundred years ago by Callimachus of Cyrene, and we all find fault with it. I am in the process of expanding the Pinakes to include mathematicians and physicians. You see here,” he pointed. “This is an initial, and beside it are the numbers that indicate what scroll this is in the order of scrolls that this librarian has worked on. This wall belonged to a librarian called Theon. He was Hypatia’s father, a great mathematician and scholar. When he died his wall was closed, his greatest works removed to be placed in the Great Hall, and a plaque bearing his name was set there, on the floor.”

  Hannah bent down to touch the polished bronze plaque. “Theon.” It was the same name as Alizar’s son.

  Synesius cleared his throat and continued. “In this armaria,” he opened the door of a cabinet that was set in the corner of the room, “are the codices containing the indexes corresponding to this section. They are alphabetical compendiums. Since Theon was primarily an astronomer and mathematician, these books will be on those subjects.” Synesius gave a satisfied smile.

  Hannah looked up at him, her brow furrowed.

  Synesius pursed his lips and closed the trunk. “I should tell you I have a tendency to get into details too quickly. We shall go upstairs to the study room and I will give you your first lesson on the Greek alphabet.”

  In between pronouncing letters and learning to hold a stylus, Hannah learned that Synesius was one of two librarians known as an overseer. This meant he was responsible for going into the sections belonging to other librarians and procuring the most important works from those sections to be brought into the core collection of the Great Hall, where the works of the masters were kept. They had the complete works of Homer and Plato, as well as Aeschylus and Euripedes, and all of Caesar’s letters to Cleopatra and Mark Antony. Synesius explained his special interest had been creating a compendium of Egyptian culture. He had spent his career organizing the lineages of the pharaohs through the dynasties that led back to the building of the pyramids. Along with bloodlines, he had compiled details of the pyramids’ construction and purpose. With that effort now behind him, he had taken a year to travel and recently returned.

  “What are you working on now?” asked Hannah.

  Synesius smiled, and his face brightened. “In my travels I discovered the teachings of Christ, and I became devoted to new translations of the gospels. It will be my life’s work. My soul has found God.”

  Synesius was a Christian.

  So.

  7

  Hannah felt grateful for the chores that kept her from thinking of the night in Sinai she was kidnapped from her father’s camp. The regret, shame and sadness were always there in the background of her mind, churning like a waterwheel. Her only strength was the resolve to find her father, and the decision that she would never shed another tear over what happened.

  She knew that the men must have watched their camp for some time before they attacked to learn where she slept, when she would be alone. She shuddered to think how long the slave traders must have been standing there in the shadows of the hills, watching, waiting. And she remembered the strange feeling in her belly that had made her want to return to her father’s fire. If only she had listened. Sitting in Alizar’s kitchen, Hannah vowed to herself to never disregard that inner feeling again. She did not know how soon she would be tested.

  Hannah applied herself with vigor to the tasks at hand. Her Greek improved steadily, and before long she was conversing well. Days became weeks, and weeks drew into months. The moon had filled and emptied of light four times. Hannah was feeling more and more desperate to find her father. She knew that despite her promise to Alizar, she would attempt another escape. There was no other way. She felt in her bones he needed her.

  So.

  With Alizar away, there was still much to be done. They had run out of barley and honey. Jemir wanted to restock the kitchen of basic elements but Leitah was busy, so Hannah volunteered. Tarek would not let her out of his sight, so they went to the many markets around the city together with the wheelbarrow between them. The beggars in the alleys, covered in flies, held out their twisted hands to the beautiful girl. Tarek spit at them as Hannah lowered her eyes.

  While Hannah stood at the tent of the barley merchant waiting for Tarek to finish the transaction, she felt her stomach sink, like falling over a cliff in a dream. Perhaps her midday meal was not sitting well with her. She went over in her mind what she had eaten: a handful of figs, a warm bannock, some beans, an apple. But then she recognized the unsettling feeling, and it was nothing to do with food. Something was wrong and they were in danger. She crouched down instinctively to watch from between the stalls.

  From nowhere, a whirlwind of commotion came over the marketplace, like the frantic stirring of antelope at a watering hole. Women clutching their children flew past Hannah with panic in their eyes as merchants scrambled to keep their unpaid customers from leaving. A young boy climbed to the top of a tent pole and began shouting. Hannah shifted her position and watched through the slats in a large basket.

  Gradually, the street began to clear for a wall of men in black robes. The Parabolani. One of them held a young girl by the neck who was being forced to walk naked before them, her small white hands trying to cover her newly budded breasts, her face streaked with tears.

  Tarek appeared at Hannah’s side and gave her a start. He tugged her deeper into the tent. “We are too late,” he whispered. “Just stay quiet and pray they pass.”

  The girl was crying and pleading with the robed men, who pushed her down on her knees into the dust in front of the barley merchant’s tent. Over her shoulder, Hannah could hear the Roman merchant sputtering prayers and complaining to the goddess Concordia. “Why here? Why in front of my shop? I have customers today. Pray, goddess, this pass.”

  Hannah clutched Tarek’s hand. “That girl, Tarek. Who is she? What has she done?”

  Tarek shook his head. “She is a pagan, as her mother before her. It does not matter what she has done, if anything. They will make an example of her.”

  “What do you mean ‘an example’?” A cry escaped Hannah’s lips. She knew the terror within the girl’s eyes all too intimately. Then Hannah recognized one of the men from her first day in the city as the priest called Peter who had cut the arms from Hypatia’s servant. He had a menacing face, and he was taller than the rest.

  Peter began to speak, calling for the attention of the people in the marketplace. A sullen-faced, yet grotesquely interested crowd gathered to witness what the priests had to say.

  “This whore has been found guilty in the eyes of God for acts of black magic and sorcery! She will not renounce her heathen worship and take up the path of our Lord, Jesus Christ. God requires witnesses to her sins.”

  The girl bent her head to hide her tears. “I am not a sorceress,” she said. �
��I am a Jew.” In response, one of the priests kicked her in the ribs with a sickening crack.

  The girl crumpled.

  Hannah freed herself from Tarek’s grip and crouched near the doorway, fury rising in her blood. She squeezed her fists until her knuckles whitened.

  “Hannah, stop.”

  Hannah clung to the rim of a clay pot, unable to turn her eyes from the beautiful girl lying in the dust just feet away. The girl turned her head and met Hannah’s eyes in a look of desperation Hannah had seen before in the other women, chained in the cage with her as they traveled into Egypt.

  “Hannah,” Tarek said sternly. “Step away from the door.”

  Hannah looked back to Tarek, then to the girl, fear and fury struggling in her eyes. “Is it true what they say about her?”

  “I do not know. It does not matter. They accuse women of black magic here from time to time.”

  “Even Jews?”

  “It is not our concern.”

  “Not our concern?”

  “Do you want to be next?”

  “Tarek, look at her. She is just a child.” Hannah remembered the road and the slave traders—their hands on her body, the way they took turns with their angry thrusts—as if it were the hour before. She shuddered.

  “Hannah.”

  “No.” Hannah would not look at him. “No, they cannot do this to any sister of mine.”

  Hannah stepped from behind the barley merchant’s tent and into the crowd.

  “And herewith this heretic chooses not to renounce her sins,” said Peter, raising his fist. “She will accept Jesus Christ the Lord or be sacrificed in his name.”

  Sacrificed. Hannah cringed.

  A murmur went up through the crowd, and more people joined from the market to watch the unfolding scene, riveted by dark curiosity.