Written in the Ashes

by K. Hollan Van Zandt

  Confined in the earth, the angel pleaded for the sky, trapped in a web of churning darkness.

  Even on her back, the nausea was so extreme that Hannah’s only relief came from sleep. And so the shepherd’s daughter slept. Hypatia felt terrible for her, as did Gideon. They tried every remedy for seasickness any of them had ever heard of, to no avail. Hannah was simply not of the constitution for ocean traveling. Hypatia reassured her that they would consult every doctor in Athens to find a suitable cure for the return voyage. By the third week at sea, Hannah had lost a great deal of weight and slipped into a delirium. Gideon left the wheel to his most able crewmen and sat beside Hannah while Hypatia stoically read to her from Homer and Socrates.

  As miserable as the seasickness was, Hannah felt secretly grateful that she could grieve for Julian and little Suhaila beneath the shroud of nausea without having to speak about her sorrow.

  On the twenty-third day at sea, Gideon steered the ship past several islands and into a glistening cerulean cove. He plunged into the sea and swam with one of the large ropes around his waist so he could secure them to shore. Then he gave the orders for the crew to drop anchor.

  When they arrived on the beach in the early afternoon, Hannah sank to her knees and picked up handfuls of sand, joyous as a child, laughing her relief, immediately well.

  “Where are we?” asked Hypatia, knowing this was not the harbor at Piraeus.

  “Alizar’s secondary residence, Harmonia,” declared Gideon. “We are picking up another passenger.”

  Beyond a thicket of rustling pine, they passed between two immense iron gates supported by stone pillars. Each bore the vineyard’s symbol: two rearing griffins with a chalice set between them, its two halves joined when the gates were closed.

  Four large spotted hounds came running to greet the travelers, bawling loudly, and Hannah reached down to scratch their floppy ears and kiss their heads. Behind a stand of torulosa pine and across fields of orange groves lay the main house, a massive stone villa with two ladders leaning against it where three suntanned men were repairing the roof. They waved when they saw Gideon.

  Peasant women bent beside twisted grape vines paused in their work to greet the travelers. A number of excited children followed them, chattering about how they were digging another well and insisting that they come to meet the new hound puppies. Hannah looked to Gideon with questions in her eyes, and Gideon pointed to a stand of huts between the pines and explained that the servants lived on the premises and tended the land. “We are neighbors, Alizar and I. My family’s land is just beyond that hillock, very near the great temple of Asclepius. We have been the keepers of that land for generations.”

  Before them sat the palatial house which had been built over two hundred years earlier by the same man who planted the vineyard, Alizar’s great-great uncle, Iannis. Each generation had constructed an additional wing, usually for a newly married son and his bride, and added another wine cellar beneath it. The entire main house covered nearly an acre of ground not including the guest quarters, with almost four hundred acres to the entire property. As they approached the main house, a young woman stepped out from the doorway to greet them. Her long black hair was bound on top of her head, and her skin shone like moonlight. In every way she looked as though she belonged in a palace instead of the countryside. Every urn ever painted through the ages had been embossed with her graceful silhouette.

  “Sofia!” called Hypatia to the sloe-eyed woman who bounded out of the house and ran down the path to greet Hypatia in an enormous embrace.

  Gideon leaned down to Hannah and whispered, “Alizar’s daughter, Sofia.”

  After brief introductions, Sofia invited the weary travelers inside for a sumptuous meal of grilled octopus and fish stew with oregano, potatoes, carrots and onions in an egg-lemon broth. There were also wide plates of salted sardines and cured olives, grilled eggplant and fresh bread. Hannah had never tasted a finer meal in all her life, and she was so relieved to be capable of actually digesting it.

  Sofia proved to be every bit as hospitable as her father. She gave Hannah a tour of the house, and expressed her enthusiasm about hearing her sing in Athens. While the two got to know one another, Gideon retreated to have a shower, and Hypatia indulged in a rare afternoon luxury, a nap.

  In the early evening, Gideon found Hannah alone on the terrace. She seemed idle, so he suggested she accompany him on a walk to his land just to the south of Harmonia. They strolled between the rows of vines that were only just beginning to sprout the tiniest of green leaves, and out into the old olive orchard that overlooked the sea. Gnarled tree trunks the color of otter pelts vanished into wreaths of delicate leaves that shimmered like thousands of coins strung in the air. Hannah held out her hand to touch the trees as they walked. They were like peaceful deities, the trees. How much history they must have seen. Hippocrates had once studied, dreamed and taught beneath them. Perhaps even Socrates.

  Gideon led her down to the cove, an ocean tongue where porpoises mated and frolicked in the summer. Once there, Gideon tossed flat stones out into the surf while Hannah stroked the cobbled skin of starfish in the tide pools. Several gulls hoping for scraps circled and settled on the sand.

  Hannah noticed the bits of broken pottery that seemed strewn everywhere. “What are these?” she asked.

  “The men come here to dive for octopus,” said Gideon. “The shards are from all the octopus pots. They must break them to get the octopus out.” As he spoke, Hannah imagined the timid, fleshy creatures that slipped into the safety of the jars only to be snatched out of the sea by the hands of hungry men. The deceit seemed so unfair—being offered safety only to be eaten. She reached down and picked up a shard from a broken octopus jar and turned it over in her hands, feeling its sharp edges, its smooth concavity. A remnant of something beautiful. She fondled it as they walked.

  Gideon pointed to the promontory ahead where a beautiful house stood on the hill and nodded to Hannah. This was his home. A single servant tarried in the garden. Gideon explained he would return the following day. “Can you find your way back?”

  Hannah nodded.

  He smiled at her and then there was an awkwardness between them as each stood before the other. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her, but he knew where kisses led. He forced his feet to turn around and walk away, calling to the man toiling on the slope. The servant looked up and waved to him.

  Hannah turned in relief, happy to have an hour to herself.

  The next day would be their last in Harmonia before continuing on to Athens. Hypatia, Hannah and Sofia ate lunch together overlooking the orchard on the sprawling portico. Afterward, Hannah and Sofia spent the rest of the day collecting lavender, twisting oranges from the trees and kissing the hound puppies, whose tiny eyes were sealed shut as they wriggled and suckled against their mother’s belly, hungry mouths latched to swollen nipples.

  “How did the vineyard come to be called Harmonia?” asked Hannah as she braided her long black hair in the sparse light of the winter sun.

  “It was my mother’s name,” said Sofia, her voice delicate as falling snow. They leaned back on the stone benches of the small amphitheatre built in ancient days, overlooking the bay, dogs howling in the distance. “Everyone called her Mona except for my father, who thought it unforgivable to call a girl Mona when her name was really Harmonia, after the daughter of Aphrodite and Ares. I was seven when she died and we moved to Alexandria. This house always reminds me of her. I think her spirit is still here sometimes. It is why I returned here when my brother died, to be near her.” Sofia smiled, her eyes far off in the sky. “I wish I could remember her better.”

  Hannah nodded. “My father passed away recently. Already I am forgetting his face.”

  “It is wonderful then that you have Gideon. He is one of the dearest souls to my heart.”

  Hannah looked surprised, then fingered her bronze slave collar. “
I do not belong to him.”

  “Hannah, I have known Gideon all my life, and I have never seen him look at a woman the way he looks at you. I simply assumed.”

  “I see. In truth it was Tarek who bought me for your father. I do not belong to Gideon at all.”

  “Does your heart feel the same?”

  Hannah thought of Julian, their sacred ritual together in the lighthouse. She thought of Gideon, at the helm of Alizar’s ship. “As long as I am a slave my heart can belong to no one,” she whispered. As soon as the words left her lips, she knew they were true.

  The evening was spent in music and dancing, wine and merriment. Gideon played the drum and Hannah her lyre, and Sofia danced with Hypatia. There were songs and jokes and stories and laughter, and Hannah never remembered a night that made her so happy. When at last the moon went down, Sofia yawned and Gideon stuck his finger in her mouth, which made everyone laugh.

  Hypatia rose. “Come, we should all go to bed so we can get an early start in the morning. Hannah, Gideon, Sofia, good night to you.” Hypatia stood and turned to go, taking half the light in the room with her.

  Sofia rose and smiled at Hannah, leaving her alone in the room with Gideon, the candlelight playing on their faces, the fabric of their clothing. Whether it was the wine or the warmth in the fire, Hannah found herself smiling at Gideon, grateful to see him there, a faithful friend. He may be brash, but Alizar trusted him.

  For a moment he looked pained, and then he suddenly leaned forward, cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her on the lips, lingering there as if tasting the wine.

  Hannah withdrew and lowered her eyes, then turned away. She had not wished his kiss. “Go back to your ship,” she said.

  And the words lit a fire in him.

  The next morning at dawn they sailed for the harbor of Piraeus with its temple to Athena of Sunium on the peak of the promontory; they anchored in the mooring lines just off the coast.

  Gideon hired a driver to take them up the long road to Athens, which was guarded by high walls to keep out raiders. They passed the famous grave of Menander and a broad stone cenotaph of Euripides, and by afternoon, reached the fabled arches of the ancient city gates.

  Athens.

  Hannah sat tall as the donkey jerked the cart forward, marveling at the warm stone city set above a crystal sea. Forever in her mind she would see that first moment: the starkness of the stunning architecture and how it formed a regal backdrop for the simple merchants that passed by with their loads of hay and chickens, their children and wives on the front seat of their carts.

  Athens offered change from all that was familiar.

  Athens offered beauty as unselfishly as a child.

  She was an undoubtedly feminine city, although she was a nest of contradictions much like the goddess Athena for which she was named; proud yet delicate, beautiful yet untouchable.

  The travelers enjoyed a light meal that evening in a local taverna run by a heavyset man with such thick dark hair it looked as though a skunk had curled up on his head, its tail hanging down beneath his chin to form a beard. He refilled the empty cups for his guests all through the night as he eavesdropped on their conversations.

  The four sat together at a large wooden table beneath a curved window that looked out onto the street, where a light winter rain wet the stone cobbles. They could hear chariots and horses clopping past as the drivers called out to friends or screamed at beggars to be gone with the animated joviality of the Greeks.

  “Tomorrow afternoon we go to the Library of Hadrian in the Roman Agora and meet Zophocles,” Hypatia announced. “That will give us the morning to visit the Akropolis.”

  “Lovely,” said Sofia.

  “When is your lecture?” Hannah asked, soaking a piece of bread in a pool of olive oil set in a green ceramic dish on the table.

  “The day after tomorrow, I believe,” said Hypatia. As she spoke, the taverna owner brought bowls of six different kinds of olives to the table, lingered a moment to ask if they needed anything, and then rushed off to fetch their orders of spice-stewed lamb and cabbage rolls, the latter for Hypatia, who insisted on a purely vegetarian diet. “We should all be well-rested by then. Zophocles is expecting an audience of nearly two-thousand.”

  “Two-thousand?” asked Hannah, her pupils expanding.

  Hypatia winked. “They will love you just as we do,” she said.

  23

  Hannah felt more at ease in her new surroundings than she had expected she would. Athens was not only a beautiful city, but one well-accustomed to a wide variety of people walking the streets; it was a very safe city as well, full of parks and trees and pleasant little shrub brushes where tortoises hid for shade. There was an even sharper degree of classicism than in Alexandria, so some of the populace walked with airs of dignity that gave everyone on the street a view up both nostrils, while others walked in rags with a lilting sway in the hips that suggested there was nothing in life to be taken seriously, even poverty. The peasant women, followed by gaggles of enthusiastic children, sold smooth white eggs from woven baskets. Peasant men screamed at their donkeys when they were not screaming at their wives. Here and there, a pair of soldiers would promenade around a corner, holding hands and laughing before disappearing into a taverna.

  Gideon ventured off to visit friends, leaving the women to climb the declivitous hill from the Roman agora in the Plaka toward the Akropolis. Hannah noticed that the sparse sandy earth beneath her feet felt and looked familiar. Something about the color and angle of the hills that swept up from the harbor had the feel of Sinai. Even the same pines and olive trees that dotted the slopes of her childhood home stood stretching their limbs into the pale aquamarine sky above the mighty temples on the shore of Greece. This reassured Hannah, and gave her a good feeling about the journey.

  The women passed most of the morning marveling at the stone gods and goddesses of the Akropolis, then made their way back down the vast steps into the city toward the Library of Hadrian. Hypatia was making such haste that the other women could not keep up. “Hypatia!” Sofia called out, taking the hem of her himation in both hands to run. Hypatia did not look back; pigeons on the steps scattered before her.

  Hannah and Sofia caught up to her at the Gate of Athena Archegetis, a row of four ornate Doric columns of Pentelic marble in the west leading into the Roman Agora. “I have dreamed of seeing her all my life. The Horologion of Andronikos, designed by Andronikos of Kyrrhos. The Tower of the Winds. Come,” said Hypatia. Like an excited child she took the hands of her friends and dashed across the cobbles toward the octagonal tower at the very heart of the Plaka.

  Hypatia led them past the bronze statues of Hermes and Poseidon, and the lovely Athena of Parian marble without a glance, the tower before her drawing her in. The women all but burst through the door. Inside the tower loomed a massive water clock twenty feet in height, measuring the hours of the day and night with water that poured down from a spring within the heart of the Akropolis. Smaller gears beside the clock turned to show the position of the planets and the stars.

  “Why, it is a giant version of your Celestial Clock of Archimedes!” declared Hannah.

  “Yes it is,” said a jolly red-cheeked, round-bellied praetor strolling up to the where the women stood. He raised his hand to Hypatia with a smile. “You must be Hypatia of Alexandria. I am Zophocles. Welcome to Athens.”

  After introductions and a round of pleasant discourse, they began to plan the lecture at the library. Zophocles proved to be a true host. He wanted to ensure their every comfort. But his tongue snagged when he learned that Hannah would be singing. “Your slave has a gift for song, then? How lucky you are. She must be very valuable indeed.”

  Hypatia looked to Hannah, who lowered her eyes in shame. She would never be seen as a woman, only as a slave in any land she traveled.

  “She is talented, you will see,” declared Hyp
atia.

  The women wound back through the Plaka streets that curved beneath the hill of the Akropolis. Hannah paused beside a large splashing fountain to catch her breath and take a sip of water. Hypatia watched her in quiet concern. Hannah had not regained her energy from the seasickness and seemed to be withering before them. “Hannah, are you well?” Hypatia asked, taking a seat beside her.

  Hannah nodded. “I am tired. The journey was harder on me than I realized.”

  “You should go back to the inn and rest; gather your strength for this evening. Take the whole afternoon. I will have a meal brought up for you.”

  “Thank you, Hypatia. I could use some time to practice.”

  “Practice can wait, Hannah. Rest.”

  So.

  That evening Hypatia’s lecture on the evolution of the calendar, the water clock, and the Celestial Clock of Archimedes was received with tremendous interest by the patrons of the Library of Hadrian. A significant number of obsequious senators, philosophers, teachers, rhetors and magistrates spilled into the Odeum till the crush of bodies had filled every available space and oxygen was in much demand. All those present were eager to behold the Celestial Clock of Archimedes. Hannah opened the lecture with her songs in the wide hall decorated with gold leaf and acanthus designs carved along the doors. She delighted in the marvelous acoustics of the marble building. Her voice had evolved from a shepherd’s flute into a stunning and sophisticated instrument that baffled everyone who heard her. Hannah found the massive crowd warmer and less intimidating than she imagined. Both she and Hypatia received enthusiastic standing ovations. Afterward, Hypatia was rushed by dozens of men who wanted to ask her questions about the clock, the Great Library of Alexandria and her renowned father, Theon of Alexandria. Some challenged her, most fawned over her. Many asked to buy her beautiful slave.

  Hannah took the opportunity to join Sofia and Gideon in the library gardens where they could enjoy some fresh air and sip fine Athenian wine. Spring had come early to Greece. The already mild winter was departing rapidly to make room for the tightly bound buds of daffodils and irises that were eagerly pressing up through the soft soil. Sofia remarked on the scent of jasmine in the night air and Hannah paused to drink it in, eyes closed, a smile lifting their eyes. Sofia adjusted the folds of her pale orange himation, repositioned the elegant brass fibula, and sat gracefully upon the step, leaning her back against a column with a sigh. Hannah strolled out onto the cobbles past the long rows of columns, each flanked by impressive marble statues of the Egyptian Ptolemies, and toward a small temple glowing in the lavender moonlight.