Selene of Alexandria

by Justice, Faith L.

  "What are your thoughts?"

  "His lack of conviction troubles me." Cyril frowned. "But then, he is newly baptized. Perhaps Bishop Atticus is not as strict in his requirements as you."

  "Many at the court are convenient Christians," Theophilus nodded, "outwardly conforming to Christianity because it is the religion of the Emperor, while maintaining the old ways in thoughts and deeds. But I spoke more of his purpose here in Alexandria than of his belief in God."

  "From his words, he wishes peace." Cyril shrugged. "Doubtless a peaceful, prosperous city would put him in line for further promotions."

  "Yes. He cannot attain his goals without our help. That is why he is so deferential."

  "But you are the Patriarch! How else would he treat the Father of our Church?"

  "I did well in sending you to the desert monks in Nitria for your spiritual education, my son." Theophilus chuckled. "But you have much to learn about dealing with men of power. Orestes is backed by the imperial troops at Nicopolis. We must be subtle in our approach, support the Prefect, put him in our debt until the time is right to rid this city of non-believers. If we push him too early, he might turn against us, as have other Prefects."

  Another paroxysm of coughing doubled over the old man. Coming out of his fit, he noted the drawn look on his nephew's face and reached out a hand, which Cyril clasped in his own. "You have been a good son to me. Better than one from my own body. I regret leaving this task to you at such a tender age."

  "You have time yet to oversee my education, Uncle. God would not take you from me or your people so soon." Cyril leaned forward, earnest eyes raised to his uncle's faded ones.

  Theophilus extricated his hand and patted his nephew's cheek. "My days on this earth are nearly finished and, in so doing, God has set you a trial. You must carry on in my stead. Purge the city of the heretics, Jews and pagans. Lead Orestes to the light."

  The old man coughed again, bright blood showing on a fresh kerchief Cyril supplied. Tears blurred the younger man's eyes. "I will do your bidding, Uncle, for it is also God's."

  "I know you will, my son. Tomorrow we start planning. There are many things I must tell you, many pieces to move on the game board if you are to succeed me."

  Chapter 8

  On the night before Hypatia's public lecture, Selene retired to her room to make preparations. She had taken Nicaeus' third best tunic, ostensibly to repair an embroidered neckband. The bleached linen garment lay, arms outspread, on her bed. Accept for its length, the tunic was not much different from her daily wear – a basic "T" shape decorated with two red and blue embroidered strips from shoulder to hem and two smaller strips banding the edges of the full sleeves. Because of the warm summer weather, she could forego a mantle.

  Sandals proved a problem. Nicaeus' feet had grown large over the last two years. Her own, dainty footwear would be inappropriate for a boy, so she sent Rebecca to the second-hand market to find a suitable pair in stout ox hide.

  Selene seated herself before her bronze mirror and combed her hair. It rippled in silky waves down her back and across her shoulders. She raised sewing shears and cut off a hank just at her left ear. It dropped to the floor in a dusky heap. The remaining hair bounced back in a loose curl.

  "I have the sandals. Is there anything else before you retire, Mistress?"

  Selene started. She had so concentrated on her task; she had not heard Rebecca enter the room.

  Rebecca's gaze darted from the shears to the hair on the floor. Her eyes grew round as she raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a moan. "Oh, Selene! Your beautiful hair!"

  "Rebecca! Just in time to help me. I despaired of being able to cut the back straight."

  The servant girl shook her head in wonderment. "Just what do you think you are doing?" She approached Selene and took the shears.

  "I'm going to disguise myself and attend public lectures tomorrow. I hope to obtain a prominent teacher as my patron. I should be able to go unnoticed among the young boys."

  "And what is to stop me from going right to your father and revealing this foolish plan?"

  Selene looked at her servant in shock. "Rebecca. You would betray me in this? How many times have we kept secrets from Father? No harm has come of it. I will tell him myself once the deed is done and I am approved to study."

  "Those were minor matters – the loss of a coin, climbing a forbidden tree. Those things your father could readily forgive. But this…" Rebecca swept her hand from the shorn lock of hair to the tunic on the bed, "this is against your father's express wishes!"

  "Father has never forbidden me to cut my hair or walk to the agora or attend lectures." Selene raised her chin to a defiant angle. Rebecca just looked at her with a sorrowful expression. Selene turned back to the mirror and crossed her arms over her chest, but Rebecca's accusing image still showed over her shoulder.

  She slumped.

  "You're right. Father never said I could do any of those things." She raised her eyes to plead with Rebecca's reflected ones. "I want to be a physician. I need a patron, Rebecca, someone who can convince my father to let me follow this dream."

  "You were never one to shrink from a difficult task." Rebecca sighed and laid her hands lightly on Selene's shoulders. "But I think you underestimate your influence with your father. He loves you deeply. Why not approach him?"

  Selene shook her partially shorn head. "In this, he will not indulge me. His very love will tell him to keep me safe at home until he can find a suitable husband." She reached up and covered Rebecca's hand. "I truly believe this is the best way."

  "Do you have a patron in mind?"

  "Lady Hypatia."

  "The foremost philosopher in our city?" Rebecca shook her head. "I fear you have set yourself not just a difficult task, but an impossible one."

  "I can do it, Rebecca, with your help." Selene turned again to plead with her servant. "Help me be a boy tomorrow and all will be well. I know it."

  With a look of resignation, Rebecca picked up the shorn lock of hair. "How do you intend to keep this a secret from Calistus? Don't you think he will notice at first meal tomorrow?"

  Selene frowned. "Maybe I could wear a scarf or veil?"

  "Indoors? I think your father will be suspicious."

  "Tell my father..." Selene drooped against the cosmetics stand with a limp hand to her forehead and half-closed eyes, "...that I am indisposed. Ill. Afflicted with my moon time." She "recovered," giggling with relief. "That should stop all questions."

  "Perhaps." Rebecca tugged at her lower lip while she surveyed Selene's ragged locks. "I'll braid your hair before we cut it and use the braids to dress your hair while it is growing out. With pins, ribbons and veils, we might be able to make you look presentable. Or I can take your hair to a good wig maker?"

  "No. I'm sure you'll do fine with braids and pins." Selene inspected the first cut in the mirror. "Will you do the back?"

  A few moments later, four thick braids of hair coiled on the wash stand and Selene ran her hands through closely cropped curls. "My head feels lighter. What do you think, Rebecca? Do I look like a boy?"

  Rebecca looked her over critically. "A fine-boned one, yes, if no one looks too closely."

  "Good. After the servants leave for the market, I will slip out the back and proceed from there." Selene took Rebecca's hands in her own. "Thank you. This will work out. You'll see."

  "I hope so, Mistress. For your sake and mine. Sleep well and I'll wake you in the morning. Perhaps by then, you will have returned to your senses."

  Selene felt exposed and vulnerable in her brother's tunic. It fell midway down her calf and startled her whenever the hem flapped on her legs. She wore brief tunics while running, but her public attire always enveloped her from head to foot. Even more discomfiting was the lack of company. Only scandalous women appeared in public unaccompanied by mother or servants.

  She pushed at the fabric around her waist and readjusted her belt trying unsuccessfully to cover more of her legs. Reali
zing her inward unease might be reflected in her appearance, Selene tried to relax. She focused her senses outward. There seemed to be a general flow in the direction of the agora. Once she was beyond the quiet neighborhood of her home, her nervousness transformed to anticipation and a delicious feeling of freedom. She could do as she pleased and there was no one to say her "nay." Tomorrow she would be Selene again, but for today, she was an unknown boy, free to explore the city.

  Selene drifted with the current, taking in the smell of frying fish and the sound of merchants hawking their wares as she moved through the marketplace adjacent to the agora. The sun shone high overhead, so she bought a fig leaf stuffed with mashed beans and roasted garlic for a copper coin. She scooped the aromatic paste into her mouth with her fingers, licked the remains from the fig leaf and discarded it on the street.

  A public fountain in the shade of a tree, gushed water from the mouth of a demon into a trough embedded with seashells. Before the Romans introduced inexpensive concrete, such mundane objects as troughs were laboriously chipped from stone in treeless Egypt. Selene joined a line of women with jars and stuck her face in the flow for a drink and a cleansing splash of water. The warm sun quickly dried her face and damp hair. She ran her hands through her short tresses, amazed at the ease of its care.

  She reluctantly left the anonymity of the marketplace and entered the agora. The huge square was only moderately crowded. The viewing stand for the Prefect's investiture had been taken down days ago and the streets swept clean. Selene stayed to the left. She wanted to avoid the law courts and city offices where pronouncements were posted and friends of her father were likely to congregate.

  She headed for a complex of buildings containing lecture halls, baths and a small theater sandwiched between the agora and the ruined palace district. The men she encountered paid her no attention. The crowd was a shifting mosaic of light colored robes, punctuated by the glint of polished armor or the occasional brown or black of a strolling monk. One approached her now.

  At the sight, Selene stiffened then relaxed. The monk was unarmed, but who knew about the next one? She rubbed her head in unconscious imitation of Antonius when telling his tale of cracked pates. Selene surveyed those closest to her and edged toward a band of youths. They cut through the crowd to the main north-south thoroughfare, the Street of the Soma. The Great Alexander's body had been removed from his magnificent tomb and the building destroyed centuries ago, but the street still bore its name. The secret of his final burial place had been lost with the ages. The boys headed out of the agora, leaving Selene in the shade of a stoa plotting her next move.

  "Selene! What, by all that's holy, are you doing here? And dressed like that!" A young man's fingers dug into her arm. She looked up into Antonius' concerned dark eyes. They grew wider in shock. "What did you do to your hair?" he nearly shrieked. Several people turned their way with curious looks.

  "Shush." Selene shook off his hand and rubbed her arm. She would have bruises as well as short hair to explain the next day. "Tell the whole city and disgrace me, will you?"

  Antonius' face turned several shades redder than normal. "What are you up to? Don't you know it's dangerous for women to travel in the city alone, especially in these times? I should take you straight home."

  "Antonius, please don't take me back." She clutched his arm. "I just wanted to hear Hypatia speak. Just once. I promise I won't do this again." She looked up at him through her lashes. "Besides, with you here, I'm not alone."

  Antonius gave her a skeptical smile. "Just this once? Well, why don't we find Nicaeus? He can decide what to do with you."

  Selene relaxed slightly. Antonius linked arms with her in the way of students. They followed the sheltered stoa around the periphery of the square to the eastern exit then headed south. They left behind the somber atmosphere of the agora afflicted with the weighty issues of government and law and entered a more carefree environment.

  Selene tried to look at everything at once without seeming to. Boys, both younger and older than she, hurried along the streets carrying wax slates or lounged under shaded stoas talking with friends. The occasional older man passed by in white scholar's robes, sometimes accompanied by students, sometimes with a colleague. They passed a silent theater and several loud taverns, young men spilling from the doorway, laughter wafting over the walled courtyard.

  As they came opposite a public bath, four boys swept past, jostling Antonius and shoving Selene to her knees as they pelted down the street toward an intersection. Antonius pulled Selene to her feet and yanked her into a doorway. A much larger number of students – she guessed about a dozen – followed closely on the heels of the others, shouting taunts and waving sticks at the fleeing youths.

  "I told you this wasn't safe! Those were philoponoi chasing those other students. I recognized their badges."

  "The 'zealous ones'? Why would they attack other students?"

  "The students being chased are pagans. The philoponoi have been more zealous than ever since the pagan students managed to slip their float into the Prefect's investiture procession. They seemed to have taken that action as a personal affront." Antonius grabbed her arm and tugged her around. "I'm taking you home."

  The blood had drained from Selene's face but now came back with a rush.

  "I'm not a pagan and have nothing to fear." She yanked her arm away. "I am not going home. I've come so far and I'll see this through."

  Antonius clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. Selene felt her opportunity slipping away. She had counted on his sense of public decorum. No well brought-up boy would dare cause a scene by hauling a girl screaming through the streets – harmony and moderation were the mark of their class. But the resolve in his face boded ill for her plans. Antonius just might ignore convention if he felt she were in true danger.

  A knot of unshed tears tightened her throat. She put a hand on his arm and said softly. "Please, Antonius, it was a minor clash. Just boys chasing each other. The streets are calm now." She looked up at him with glittering eyes. "You don't believe I would chance my father's disapproval on a whim, do you? I want this so much. Haven't you ever felt like that? Wanted something so badly, that life without it would be ashes and dust?"

  His face softened and his eyes took on a haggard look. "Yes, I've felt that way." He looked around the street, sighed and linked arms with her again. "The lecture halls are this way. Maybe we can catch up with Nicaeus there."

  They crossed the street and went around the corner from the baths. Two halls sat side-by-side sharing a solid wall and a flat roof. Tall windows provided air and light to the interior. They entered the building through an off-center opening. Four tiers of stone seats set stepwise against the side and rear walls. Hypatia sat on a double-height seat in the center rear of the room. The space at the front and down the length of the hall between the seats was empty. There seemed to be about forty students, but the tiers could accommodate three or four times that number.

  Selene plucked at Antonius' sleeve and whispered. "I want to sit close."

  They edged to the back of the hall; taking seats on the bottom row about one quarter of the way past Hypatia's left hand. This was the closest Selene had ever been to the great lady. She had always seen her from a distance; heard her voice carry across crowds. Now she could see the laugh lines at the corners of Hypatia's eyes. Dramatic streaks of white hair flared from her temples, striping the tidy bun at the nape of her neck.

  The students stilled as Hypatia called, "Come to order."

  Selene listened closely. Hypatia might have an old woman's face, but her voice vibrated with life – a clear alto. Selene, realizing she had been holding her breath, let out a long sigh.

  "We've studied the ancients and their philosophy. Today we will discuss the modern thinkers, in particular, Plotinus. Our subject today is the nature of beauty and its relationship to the soul. What is it that attracts the eye? Color? Symmetry?"

  Hypatia looked toward a boy seated to her right almost
directly across from Selene. He lowered his face, as if he afraid of being called upon.

  "Agrippa?"

  All heads turned as Agrippa stood to declaim. Selene saw why he tried to hide his face. A large birthmark marred his right cheek, spreading like red wine splashed from forehead to neck. The kitchen servants would call it the mark of a demon. Selene wondered if Hypatia had intended a special message for the afflicted boy through her choice of topic.

  Agrippa cleared his throat and started in a near whisper that gradually became louder. "Many declare that the symmetry of parts delights the eye; that the beautiful thing is essentially symmetrical, patterned. Yet Plotinus points out that using this criterion excludes color, the sunlight, the stars at night or a lump of gold. Faces are symmetrical, yet can be accounted beautiful or ugly." His hand crept up to the birthmark. Agrippa looked around self-consciously then abruptly sat down.

  "Thank you, Agrippa," Hypatia said in kindly tones. "So beauty is more than symmetry. Is beauty eternal?"

  Her piercing gaze settled on Selene, who rose to her feet as if compelled. Selene, vaguely aware of Antonius' frantic whisper and tug on her robes, ignored him as she took a breath and dropped her voice several tones.

  "Beauty cannot be eternal for natural processes ensure decay. The flower wilts, skin and limbs wither. Even man-made art chips, weathers and falls to ruin," Selene answered confidently.

  Hypatia's lips pursed as she tapped her chin with one finger. "And your name is?"

  "Sele...uh...Selonius, Honored Teacher." Selene bowed, in part to hide a blush.

  "Those things of and made by man, do indeed fall into decay. But what of those things of and made by God? The stars? The soul? Are they not eternal and therefore eternally beautiful?"

  "The stars sometimes fall from the sky, so they can not be eternal. As for the soul?" Selene shrugged. "The presbyters tell us it is eternal, but I have no way of knowing its beauty."