Selene of Alexandria

by Justice, Faith L.

That explained his height and coloring, Selene thought – he was of barbarian stock! "And what of your mother?"

  "She died giving birth to me. My father was Prefect to Londinium. He remarried to a proper Roman lady." A shadow crossed Orestes' face. Selene, unsure if it betokened grief or the wavering light of the lamp, preferred the more romantic explanation.

  "I understand you served in Britannica as well," Calistus said, raising another cup of wine and admiring its deep red color through the translucent glass. "A tragedy for the Western Empire when it lost that colony, but given the current state of barbarian-benighted Rome, it's as well that the troops were recalled. It's impossible to keep order so far away."

  Selene glanced sharply at her father. How unlike him to make such an impolitic remark especially after the Prefect revealed his own barbarian ancestry. She motioned Rebecca over and, under the guise of giving her more directions, asked that her father's drink be well watered.

  Orestes sipped his wine and said in a regretful tone, "I'm not sure Britannica ever was Rome's, Calistus. As with many provinces, their roads may be straight and paved, their harbors bustling, but underneath is a stubborn wildness that yields not to outside influences. Egypt, in a strange way, reminds me of my homeland."

  Selene laughed. "I have heard Britannica is a land of cool mists, magic trees and strange bogs. What about such a country could remind you of our blazing desert and meandering Lady Nile?" She tried to imagine cool wet wilderness, but her experience failed her and she had only hazy notions of reed-filled swamps and familiar crocodiles.

  Orestes looked directly into Selene's eyes. "Both have been conquered but have taken on only the trappings of their conquerors. Britannica pretended to be Roman, but is quickly reverting to petty kingdoms. Egypt absorbed the conquering Greeks with barely a ripple and bowed to Caesar while changing nothing but the names of its gods."

  "Surely in four hundred years there has been change! We are a Christian nation," Selene protested.

  "The Empire has only broken in two, but Christianity is splintered. There are nearly as many sects and cults now as before. The old gods vie with the new and their disruption is stamped on this city. My work here will be quite … challenging."

  Selene, caught in Orestes' intense gaze, turned her sight with difficulty to Archdeacon Timothy as he spoke. "Some would say the troubles in Alexandria are due to malignant demons or the 'disruption of the gods' as you put it. If the truth were told, it is the lack of work and the heavy taxes that leads faction to fight faction. A few men are amassing wealth and power while the ordinary people become ever more burdened."

  "A few men have always held wealth and power, Timothy." Calistus snorted. "There is nothing new in that."

  "But there has always been enough left over to care for the rest." Timothy shook his expressive face. "Soon Alexandria will be no better off than Rome after that Visigoth Alaric sacked it."

  "I have every intention of forestalling such a calamity," Orestes said. "I hope your Patriarch will assist me in this. How is his health? When my secretary inquired about an appointment, he was told Theophilus was indisposed and receiving no visitors."

  "It is but a cold on the chest. The Patriarch works too hard and has become frail of late so the physicians advise him to rest and build his strength. I do my small part as his eyes and legs during this time of confinement."

  "The Archdeacon is being too modest," Calistus interjected. "He is the Patriarch's successor, as have been all Archdeacons."

  Timothy raised an eyebrow. "Not recently. Patriarch Athanasius fostered Theophilus and chose him as successor."

  "The Emperor has seen fit to appoint his own from time to time," added Phillip.

  "Theophilus served in all levels of the church first," Calistus protested and waving his hand dismissively at Phillip, "and the imperial appointments – disasters, one and all!"

  Selene noticed her brother's mouth tighten at his father's correction.

  "I assure you this Emperor will take no hand in the succession," Orestes said.

  "And let us not forget Cyril. Theophilus is grooming his nephew for the Bishopric. No," Timothy shook his head. "My succession is much less than assured."

  "In ten years, Cyril might be ready. A Bishopric is not an empire or business to be handed down from father to son or uncle to nephew." Calistus reached over to pat his friend on the arm. "The clergy would never propose and the people would never affirm a Patriarch so young and inexperienced."

  "Let us pray this discussion is premature." The Archdeacon raised his goblet in a toast. "To the Patriarch's health!"

  Orestes finished the last of his drink and Selene motioned for a servant to refill his goblet. Orestes put his hand over the mouth of the cup. "No more. This is excellent wine, but I fear I must leave. Tomorrow I have much work to do and I have no wish to make decisions with a sore stuffed head."

  The company rose, rearranging robes and making small talk on the way to the vestibule. Selene accompanied her brother Phillip, clinging tightly to his arm. Calistus held Orestes' elbow as they walked. "Who else are you calling on in these early days?"

  "Other city councilors, the Patriarch when he is well and, of course, Lady Hypatia."

  "A wise choice. Any man of substance who visits our city should wait on Hypatia. She is much respected by the city fathers as well as her fellow philosophers."

  A slave held out Orestes' short military style cape. He shrugged into it, addressing Archdeacon Timothy. "And how fares the Lady Philosopher with the church elders?"

  "Theophilus has only the highest praise for Hypatia's intelligence, wit and good will for this city. Although a pagan, she has remained above the fray." Timothy chuckled. "Indeed, the good Patriarch's only complaint is that he has been unable to convert her. She remains stubbornly convinced that philosophy transcends all religions. And Hypatia, when arguing philosophy, is a most formidable lady. If not for my faith, she could almost convince me."

  Orestes and Phillip clasped forearms in a farewell grip. "Thank you for inviting me to your father's home, my friend." He bowed to Selene and took her hand for a kiss. "And you, gracious Selene. Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice. I hope to see you soon."

  "Thank you for the good company, sir. I most enjoyed your stories." Selene raised shining eyes to his. "I should like to see your island of mists and fierce women warriors."

  Orestes shivered slightly and the light in his eyes turned inward before he dropped her hand. "I believe you will, my dear."

  Timothy captured Orestes' arm. "Well, my good sir, let me accompany you to your quarters. My home is but a bit farther and I would be glad of the companionship."

  Orestes' small escort joined the Prefect and Archdeacon from the anteroom, where they had lounged during the dinner. The company parted murmuring polite good-byes and fond wishes.

  After the company had left, Selene excused herself to oversee the cleanup while the men readied themselves for bed. When she finally made it to her own mattress, Selene collapsed, bone tired. Her earlier euphoria over the flawless evening soured to a black mood. She fell asleep comparing her closely proscribed life to that of the British women Orestes spoke of – leading armies, making decisions, driving chariots – and found her life wanting.

  In her dreams, a tall red-haired woman with tragic green eyes lashed four black horses across a battlefield littered with the dead of her clan. By the time the warrior woman reached the end of the field she became Hypatia, resplendent in scholar's white, expertly guiding her horses and chariot through the crowded streets of Alexandria.

  Selene smiled in her sleep.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning Selene groggily groped for fading dreams as Rebecca prepared her for mid-week church services. No cosmetics, jewelry, or fancy clothes today; the presbyter castigated any woman exhibiting her wealth and status at the services. Selene donned her most comfortable sandals, knowing she would be standing for a considerable length of time. The whole family gathe
red in the vestibule, exited to the street and paraded to the local church with all their neighbors.

  The Church of St. Athanasius, built by Theophilus in honor of his foster father the previous Patriarch, stood with open brass doors, welcoming the worshipers into cool dark stillness from the heat of the streets. Selene loved the church with its high vaulted ceilings. It was a small jewel of its kind; with beautiful painted murals of the Ascension in the nave and ivory inlaid screens sheltering the sanctuary. Intricately embroidered silk altar clothes glowed white in the dim light.

  The current Patriarch built nine churches during his twenty-seven years as bishop, sparking some of his critics to call him a litholater. Calistus had once told Selene a story about the divine guidance that led the Patriarch to such extravagant actions. It seems there had been a marble slab inscribed with three thetas. The slab had a further inscription which promised: 'Whosoever shall interpret these three thetas shall receive what is underneath this stone.' Theophilus said that the thetas stood for 'Theos, Theodosius, and Theophilus.' Under the slab, he found a treasure which he immediately spent on church construction. Calistus had laughed and remarked, "The Patriarch has sparked much controversy during his tenure, but he is always supported by the construction guilds."

  Today, as they ascended the steps, Selene saw the sub-deacons greeting people and showing them inside. They kept out scoffers and those denied the sacraments as penance. One deacon engaged in a vociferous argument with a well-dressed man over whether it had been three or four weeks since his penance was imposed. The deacon motioned with his arm and two burly gatekeepers came down the steps and not-too-gently escorted the well-dressed man away. Inside, Selene and her family journeyed to the front of the church to stand with others of their rank.

  An hour later, Selene shuffled from foot to foot. The marble floor was beautiful but hard on the legs and back. Her attempts to offer her discomfort to God as penance for her sins failed to bring any relief. Selene glanced at her father. He didn't seem to be in any distress. A small stir rippled through the congregation as a deacon removed a crying child, but settled as the presbyter made an announcement.

  "Pray with me for the recovery of our beloved Reader." Readers, the lowest rank of the church orders, read the gospels to the congregation. Selene brightened; maybe the presbyter would dispense with that part of the service. Her hopes were dashed when the presbyter continued, "Please welcome the Patriarch's nephew Cyril who will read the gospel of St. Luke."

  Small groups of men and women started for the doorway, as was their want during the reading. Many people left to talk with neighbors and friends during the service and returned later for the sermon and blessings. One presbyter was known for leaving the church when the gospels were read so he could "go with his flock" and learn the latest gossip.

  Selene forgot her minor pains. Having heard her father and his guests discuss Theophilus' nephew the night before, she listened with renewed interest. Having a guest reader could be a treat – or not – depending on the reader's skills. She watched a slight young man with a curly beard and sloped shoulders ascend the steps to the Bishop's chair. Cyril, taller than most men, surveyed the congregation with piercing black eyes.

  Once he started reading, the exodus stopped and some even returned to their spots. Selene found Cyril a superb rhetorician. His voice seemed too deep to come from his skinny chest. He cast his fervor over the crowd like a net, drawing them closer, entangling them in his passion for the words he read.

  A palpable restlessness rippled through the crowd when Cyril finished. The people wanted more. Instead the presbyter took the chair and railed against the latest heresy from Antioch on the nature of Christ and the divinity of Mary. Some Antiochines evidently refused to call Mary "Mother of God," substituting "Mother of Jesus" in their sermons.

  Selene stretched her aching back and stifled a moan. She compared the presbyter's admonitions to the thought problems her math tutor set her – interesting intellectual exercises but of little value in the real world. Her indifference made her feel vaguely guilty because Selene knew people such as her father thrived on intellectual disputation. She could understand nursing people, providing food for the hungry and shelter for those without, but she failed to see the importance of how people referred to the Virgin Mary. Deeds not words were the essence of Selene's faith.

  The presbyter rose from the Bishop's chair to lead the congregation in prayer. "Thank the Lord," Selene muttered. She lifted her arms, palms facing out, head bowed in an imitation of Christ on the cross. The rest of the worshipers did likewise then broke into a beautiful rhythmic chant. Selene could feel her spirit lift to the sound of the psalm set to music. The beauty of the words and intricacy of the rhythms made her body ache to express the sound in passionate motion, not stand in static obeisance.

  After the presbyter delivered his final blessing, the congregation stirred. Selene spotted her friend Honoria with her mother and sisters. They resembled a flock of peahens – short, plump and twittery – heads bobbed and hands shaped the air as they conversed. It was well that Honoria's father was one of the richest men in the city. Honoria was the oldest of seven daughters for whom he must provide dowries.

  Selene turned to her father. "May I walk with Honoria a while?"

  Calistus surveyed the crowd flowing toward the door of the church and spotted a small knot of church elders congregating in a corner. "Yes, go ahead, child. Nicaeus can escort you and your friend home."

  Selene caught the sour look on her brother's face, but he did not dare protest.

  Calistus took her other brother's arm. "Phillip, come with me. I want to introduce you to some people you should know. Maybe we can talk the deacons into providing a few benches for the older members, eh? My bones aren't what they used to be." He clapped his son on the shoulder and guided him toward the men, who seemed in deep debate.

  Nicaeus trailed behind as Selene approached her friend's family. The tallest of the round sisters bounced over to her. "Selene! I was hoping we would meet!" Honoria rose on tiptoe to kiss Selene's cheek then tucked her arm under her own. "What a lovely gown. That shade of green suits you. Did you find the material at the Syrian's booth in the market? He has the loveliest things..."

  Selene listened to her friend chatter about her clothes, last night's heavenly dessert and her youngest sister's annoying habit of leaving sticky hand prints all over anyone who picked her up. As they left the dark coolness of the church for the reflected brightness of the colonnades, Selene looked over her shoulder at Nicaeus and motioned him closer. "You needn't stay with us all the way home. We'll be perfectly safe."

  "But Father said…"

  "I won't tell if you won't." Selene motioned to a group of three young men hovering by the steps. Antonius smiled at her and she waved back. "Go with your friends."

  "You could invite Antonius to join us on the walk home." Honoria smiled up a Nicaeus and fluttered her eyelashes.

  "I'm sure Antonius would be delighted to join you on a stroll." Nicaeus bowed over Honoria's hand converting a look of pure glee to one of appropriate regret. "But I know for a fact, he is otherwise engaged today, as am I." He looked over his shoulder, saw no sign of Calistus, then admonished Selene, "Be sure to walk straight home."

  Nicaeus headed toward the other boys.

  As he left, Honoria pinched Selene. "Ow! What was that for?" Selene rubbed her bruised flesh.

  "That was for letting your brother and Antonius get away. They could have escorted us home. You know I rarely have the opportunity to be in his company."

  Selene took Honoria's arm and steered her down the colonnaded street toward their homes several blocks from the church. She asked gently, "Is Antonius still your choice for a husband?"

  "Of all the matches father has proposed, he is the only one I would gladly accept. Father is obsessed with allying with a political power and a councilor's son would be a more than suitable son-in-law." Honoria hesitated. "Father feels the sting of being new to his we
alth, but in this case it works to my advantage." Her eyelids drooped and a soft smile lit her face. "Antonius is well favored and, I believe, kind. I think I could be happy with him." Her eyes widened. "Does he talk about me to you or Nicaeus?"

  Selene hesitated, not wanting to hurt her friend by repeating unkind remarks, but unwilling to give false hope. "Antonius does not know you, Honoria. He has nothing on which to base either affection or aversion." She squeezed her friend's hand. "I'm sure when he gets to know you that he will find you as fine a friend as I do – kind, loving, and sweet-tempered."

  "Do you think so?" Honoria shook off her dreaminess and raked Selene with an appraising eye. "What of you, my dear? Does your father fancy you as wife to the Prefect or has he another match in mind?"

  "The Prefect? Orestes?" Selene looked at her friend in astonishment. "Where on earth did you hear that?"

  "Everyone knows the Prefect is looking for a wife to cement his appointment here." Honoria smiled slyly. "Why else do you think your father would invite the Prefect to your home, if not to show you off?"

  Selene shivered in the heat. She didn't want to be married, did she? Selene decided to deflect the subject.

  "What else do 'they' say about the Prefect?"

  "That he's tall and straight, like a cedar tree. That he rides a horse so well he is taken for a centaur. And…" Honoria surveyed their immediate surroundings and satisfied, whispered, "…his green eyes can bewitch any woman."

  "Is that all?" Selene laughed. "Did they not mention that he breathes fire, can understand your unspoken thoughts and sleeps on a bed of iron spikes?"

  "Oh, Selene, don't be such a tease." Honoria withdrew her arm and stamped her foot. Selene laughed and tucked her friend's arm back under hers. "I'm sorry, Honoria. I am constantly amazed at how rumors spread. Didn't your father tell you about Orestes?"

  "You know my father never talks to me about anything important."

  "Why hasn't Ision proposed you as a match for the Prefect?"