“For you, goddess,” Gideon said as he pulled a palm frond hat out of one of the boxes and bent down to kiss Hannah’s cheek, fitting the hat to her head. Then he proceeded to greet everyone in his teasing manner that always made the people around him feel special. After placing the fruits and wine and bread he had brought with him down before his friends, Gideon settled beside Hannah on one of the kilims they had brought from the house. She folded her legs beneath her like a fawn to make room for him.
“Has anyone seen Alizar?” Hannah brushed her hair back from her eyes and set her hand over them to scan the crowd.
“He is at the opening ceremony,” Gideon said.
Around them, the impatient crowd took to smoking a great deal more hashish then they would have if the races had begun on time. But the races never began on time, so this was only an excuse to smoke more hashish and drink more wine. Soon everyone was crimson-eyed and calm, joking among friends as they waited.
Hannah thought of her father, somewhere in the desert. Nothing would excite him more than a chariot race.
The afternoon wore on with no sign of the race beginning. Hannah learned that the trip to Antioch with the children had been smooth, and that the children had been received with tremendous empathy by the orphanage there. As she took the wine Gideon offered her, she saw again how kind he could be. The scar down his cheek only seemed to lend him character, whereas before she had found it menacing. Here, celebrating the races, she could see how handsome he was, how funny.
Gideon tickled Hannah’s shoulder with a ripe fig. “You will never believe who the mystery entrant is in the races this year.”
“Who?”
Gideon smiled. “Hypatia.”
“Hypatia!” Tarek, who had been eavesdropping, blurted.
Gideon narrowed his eyes at him in irritation.
“It is really true?” Jemir asked, rousing himself from a midday snooze.
Gideon nodded. “Neh. Her father once kept chariot horses, and she is riding to honor his memory.” Then he reached into one of his bags and withdrew a piece of dried, salted meat, and unlatched the buckles on the other bags to offer the fine food he had brought to the rest of the group.
Hannah bit into a cherry bannock and smiled at the sweetness that warmed her tongue. She tried to picture Hypatia letting her hair down in the havoc of a chariot race, and found it difficult. “Hypatia is racing, for certain? Has a woman ever raced before?” Hannah asked, wiping the crumbs from her lips.
“Oh yes, but not for ages. The last time was thirteen years ago,” said Jemir with a smile. “It was Alizar’s wife, Naomi.”
Hours crept by and the sun seemed to hold its position directly overhead. Gideon went down the wall three times to refill their flagons of water and wine. Leitah purchased a lovely peacock fan for six nummi from a merchant along the wall and they all took turns with it.
Then, suddenly, the drowsy crowd came alive.
“All hail Bishop Cyril!” came the cry from the lookout box on the top of the wall.
Hannah looked around in confusion as everyone stood, but then Gideon grabbed her hand and pulled her up. “Our city’s bishop has found yet another occasion to remind us to bow before him,” he said sarcastically, and then added, “He also has the Parabolani take notes on any houses who do not stand to honor him so they know who to put on the watch list and pay visits to in the coming week. Thanks to Bishop Cyril, our prisons are full and our library is shrinking.” He was clapping as he spoke, his face so full of admiration that in any other century he might have been a great stage actor.
Below them Cyril, in his finest violet and white ecclesiastical robes and headpiece—which resembled a beehive in size and shape—rode by in a golden chariot pulled along by a team of five well-groomed chestnut horses flanked by ten priests carrying tall staffs, their faces more somber than serene.
The crowd on the walls of the city exploded with cheers, hands raised overhead waving the flag of the city or pieces of clothing that had been removed in the heat. Anticipation blazed in their bloodshot eyes.
A few minutes later, the horns sounded at the other end of Canopic Way. No one in Alizar’s box on the wall above the Gate of the Moon could see the start, but the race had begun.
Moments later the first chariot rounded the bend. The crowd pressed forward. “It is our Aziz!” Jemir pointed to the black chariot, a sleigh design with gold edging pulled by two black Arabian horses. “It is Alizar’s chariot!” someone else shouted. The crowd marveled at his lead.
Then two chariots—one black, one glaucous green—rounded the corner neck in neck and a shrill squeal erupted as their wheels caught and sparked. The black chariot fell back as the green chariot toppled sideways into the row of barrels, the horses tumbling to their backs, legs kicking as they tried to regain their footing. In an instant the charioteer was crushed by his own chariot, his body splayed crookedly across the cobbles, the side of his face mashed beyond recognition as his blood spurted onto the street. Three men ran to move the body out of the way and pull the horses to their feet. The crowd seemed simultaneously horrified and entertained by the accident, murmuring and spreading the news of the incident along the wall as the unfortunate charioteer’s blood drew flies.
Then a red chariot pulled by two bay stallions in a full gallop with ears flattened in the wind, bolted past, driven by a man called Nicaeus who had been the favorite in the race. He was followed closely by three others. Gideon rapidly explained that Nicaeus would play it easy the first few laps before letting his horses open up. His were long-legged geldings from Rome, horses made for running. Hannah gasped as their thunderous hooves shook the wall beneath her.
And then another chariot rounded the corner: a chariot of pure white, gliding like a swan over the street.
Hypatia.
The Great Lady had donned a pure white khiton, her mane of curling golden hair streaming behind her. Her two white mares were so perfectly synchronized that one appeared to be a reflection of the other in a mirror.
Gasps that flew up from the crowd sounded like a flock of pigeons all departing the same roost at once. A few Christians at the back of the wall shouted obscenities, throwing anything they could think of. Hats, shoes, bottles and fans rained down onto the street below. Hannah was clocked in the head with a boot.
“Whore!” they cried. “Heretic! Witch!”
But also in the crowd were Hypatia’s secret admirers, her students and her colleagues, saluting the bravery it took her to appear publicly after Cyril’s threats. She was their hero, their goddess come to earth. Jemir’s hands went to his heart, and then he drew Leitah into his arms, pointing.
With each lap, the chariots grew closer together in a dangerous cluster. Hypatia dropped back, which proved to be just the thing Cyril had been counting on.
“What are those two doing?” Hannah said to Gideon, pointing down to the street where two men were pounding something into a barrel. And as quick as she spoke, Gideon was on his feet, running to the edge of the wall where he vaulted down to the street below. Hannah shrieked thinking he was dead, and everyone leaned down to see what happened.
But Gideon had landed squarely on his feet in the carpet merchant’s tent, twenty feet below, with astounding agility. He then dashed over to where two men were fixing a barrel with spikes, preparing to roll it out in front of Hypatia. Gideon caught one and gave him a punch that sent him reeling. The other he hit across the head with a board he found on the ground. Then he took the board and smashed the barrel. One of the men ran, but the other Gideon caught and had arrested by the police for questioning. When they arrived, his grey himation fell back to reveal the black robe of the Parabolani. Gideon spit on his face.
When the chariots rounded the corner in that final lap, there was not a man, woman, or child still sitting down. Nicaeus had stolen the lead, and Aziz was running second, a half length behind. The other
chariots were still four lengths behind, crowded together, with Hypatia bringing up the rear. Gideon examined the remains of the spiked barrel and put one in his satchel to show Orestes. Then he returned to his place on the wall beside Hannah to watch the finish.
Alizar’s stableman, Aziz, leaned so far forward his nose was perched above the rumps of the horses as he pressed them to their fullest stride. Come on. Run you.
But Nicaeus was untouchable. His chariot had half the weight of any other as he had purposely left off the usual adornments of the chariot box. His red Roman horses seemed to fly like Pegasus. For the seconds before he crossed the finish line the people held their breath in awe, some feeling as though they had seen the sun chariot of Apollo, some the chariot of Ra, depending on the story that lived in their hearts.
“Nicaeus has taken the chest! Victory to Nicaeus!” the crowd cheered. Hypatia was completely forgotten in the winner’s triumph by everyone except Jemir, who, Hannah noticed, was reluctant to turn his eyes away from the last chariot in the race, his eyes flooded with unspoken admiration.
“Victory to Nicaeus!” shouted Gideon. Then he leaned down to Hannah and whispered, “With what I just won from my bet, I will buy you the necklace of a queen.”
Hannah blushed.
“Come on,” Tarek jumped to his feet, spitefully shoving Gideon back.
Gideon ignored him and whispered to Hannah, “If we go now we can make it to the winner’s circle to see the closing ceremony.”
“No one wants to go anywhere with you, Gideon,” said Tarek. “And besides, she is my slave, so she comes with me,” and he grabbed Hannah’s wrist and tugged her away by force.
“Tarek, you are hurting me,” Hannah said. “Please let go.”
Tarek saw the pain in her eyes and he promptly let go. “I am sorry,” he said. And then he turned and disappeared into the crush of bodies that were all jammed together above the only ladder, waiting for a turn to descend.
When they reached the street, Tarek took off running. Gideon snatched the chance to spend time with Hannah, and led her away to the winner’s circle to see she was properly entertained. Alizar greeted them with a warm hug when he saw them approach, happy to see Gideon had returned. Then he went off to greet other friends and check on his horses, leaving Gideon and Hannah free to wander. Hannah told him of all the concerts she had given in the Great Library for Hypatia since he had been away, and of her studies with Synesius. He listened with interest, asking her questions about what she was learning.
As they walked arm in arm through the street, weaving in and out of the onlookers, they managed to find all the participants from the race, saying hello and rubbing the foreheads of the sweaty horses, but they did not find Hypatia.
“She must have gone back to the library.” Gideon shrugged. “She probably wanted to leave before the festival of Osiris begins. I understand she despises the debauchery.”
“The festival of Osiris?” No one had mentioned anything about a festival to Hannah.
“Oh,” Gideon corrected himself. “The Festival of Light—that is what the Christians have us calling it now. It used to be the day we celebrated Osiris coming back to life to make love to Isis so she could conceive Horus. For the first two days we celebrated Osiris’s death with wine and masks and loads of sex, and then on the third day when the god was reborn, the hierophant would erect a long pole in the ground to represent his enormous cock.” Gideon smiled triumphantly, and Hannah saw the cavalier captain she had met that first night. She punched him in the arm playfully, which he relished, catching her hand in his and kissing her palm. His eyes looked up at her bronze slave collar as he released her hand. It had lost its polish and looked like part of her now, which concerned him, for he knew it was not in her spirit to be kept.
“So how did you come to our city, Hannah?”
“I am from Sinai. My father and I kept goats,” she corrected herself, “keep goats.”
“He does not know what happened to you?”
She nodded. “He must know. It is I who does not know what happened to him.”
“What about your mother? Where is she?”
“I never knew her,” said Hannah, lowering her eyes. “I am told she died giving birth to me.”
“The same was true of my mother,” Gideon said as he waved away an Egyptian boy selling three white doves in a large metal cage. “My father raised me in Epidavros, which is how I met Alizar.”
Gideon sensed Hannah’s sorrow and took her hand again, interlacing their fingers together. “I think you and your father will find each other again. Life is long, Hannah. Do not give up hope.”
Hannah nodded, tears welling in her eyes.
How the angel loved her then.
15
As dusk fell on Alexandria that evening, the city underwent a celestial transformation. All the walls, low and high, were adorned with glowing lanterns that burned all through the night, spilling amber light through the streets so that faces, tunicas, fountains, the eyes of stray cats reflected the golden glow.
Vendors stayed open all through the night to hawk their wares while the pubs down on the wharf were visited by sailors, politicians, and merchants in lavish costumes carrying amphorae of wine and singing old sailor tunes. Some people wore masks in honor of Osiris, but more and more every year people were going without them, not wanting to be associated with any pagan traditions, no matter how personally revered, for fear of being killed by the Christians.
Street acrobats gathered attentive audiences as they flipped from each other’s shoulders and folded themselves into clay pots in feats of flexibility while their children held out plates. Magicians circulated through the crowd, amusing some with coin tricks and stealing coins from others. Fire-eaters lit torches with flaming tongues. Some houses were shuttered and black, others bubbled with music and wine, while in the darkness above the street, thieves crept across the rooftops hoping to discover an unlocked transom in a house where the residents were out.
Every year Alizar hosted a celebration on the first night of the Festival of Light. Usually the party was a large one, with friends visiting from all corners of the city, but this year he decided to keep the gathering small, only inviting a few close friends and family. He simply was not in the mood for a celebration. Naomi was gone and there were too many friends who had left the city either in exile, or to avoid what was looking politically like a dim future for Alexandria.
Hannah and Jemir kept bumping into each other in the kitchen as they readied plates of sardines, olive paste, crackers and figs. “You should go out, Hannah, and see the lights. I have everything ready here.” Jemir steadied a tray of stuffed dolmas on his palm.
“No, it is Shabbat tonight,” Hannah protested. “I must finish my work before sundown and then say prayers.”
“You would not have to work if you came out with me.” Tarek stuck his head into the kitchen.
Hannah eyed him suspiciously. “Jemir has too much to handle by himself for now, and I still need to make the challah. The sun has nearly set.” Hannah began kneading a lump of dough on the table. As she spoke she reached into a small bowl and took out a pinch of flour to sprinkle over the top.
Tarek collapsed on the pile of pillows in the corner. “There is a very famous musician from Memphis playing at the taverna tonight,” he said. He was attempting to grow a beard, and although it was sprouting in thin patches, he stroked it with pride. Hannah presumed he was growing it to look older, but unfortunately it had the opposite effect. Still, he had put on a fine olive grey tunica with a wide leather belt that fit him quite well, even if he was sprawled across the cushions like a dog.
Hannah set three lengths of rounded dough on a large wooden paddle, braided it, and dusted her hands together over the table.
“Have you heard of Garzya of Cyprus?” Tarek propped his head up on his elbow, waiting for her reaction, hoping
to entice her. “He plays the kanun.”
The Egyptian harp. Hannah had never heard one, although she had been longing to ever since she learned of it: the most difficult instrument in all the Mediterranean to master, played with finger picks on all ten fingers and the harp set horizontally on a table. The Egyptians likened the kanun to the body of a lover as it was not played, but tickled, caressed and stroked languidly into song.
When Tarek saw the light in Hannah’s eyes he knew he was defeating her resistance. “Come with me.”
Hannah weighed her choices. Tarek had been kind recently, much like he had been to her when he first bought her and tried to make her well. But he was two people sharing a set of bones. One, punishing and cruel, she hated, and the other, vulnerable and sweet, she owed her life. And she longed to hear the kanun. Going out would not be working. She could say her prayers before she left. Her father would never approve, but then, she was the only Jew in Alizar’s house. No one else noticed her observances. And truly, she would rather have spent the evening with Gideon, but he had work aboard the ship and would not be available. She nodded to Tarek. “I will go.”
Tarek smiled triumphantly. “Meet me in front of the taverna on the wharf in an hour. The owner is a friend of mine. He will give me a fine table.”
As Hannah set out from Alizar’s house, Jemir tapped her on the shoulder and dropped several copper coins in to her palm. “Enjoy yourself,” he said.
Written in the Ashes Page 16