Selene of Alexandria

by Justice, Faith L.

  Hypatia found it ironic that so many congregations chose her bright young men as bishops. Her training prepared her students well for lives of service and contemplation. Scattered across the Empire, her protégés showed their brilliance but were no longer young. Dear Synesius still wrote often to gossip about their wide-flung friends, ask her advice on his writings or implore her to help some young country noble with her influence.

  This letter worried Hypatia. Synesius sounded ill and unhappy. The last of his three boys died recently and he grieved excessively. He complained of growing old alone and reminisced about the "golden years" of his studies in Alexandria, almost twenty years earlier. It made Hypatia feel ancient, that her students aged. Her pen wasn't as steady as in the past. There were spots on the back of her hand. When had they appeared? It seemed such a short time ago...

  A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. "Hypatia, may I attend you?"

  Her initial annoyance at being interrupted dissipated as she recognized the voice. "Orestes, you're back!"

  The Prefect opened the door, carrying a tray of spiced wine and sesame honey cakes. "I made the best time I could when I heard the news of Theophilus' decline." He set the tray on a low table. "I intercepted your servant." Orestes indicated the honey cakes. "I never suspected you favored such sweet treats."

  Hypatia laughed and patted the couch next to her. "It's my one and only vice. I've purged my life of excess, but when I am troubled I crave sweets." She shrugged. "It gives me something to live for – correcting this last imperfection." She looked sharply at Orestes. He seemed worn and troubled, his clothes dusty from the journey. "You didn't come to hear an old woman prattle about honey cakes. From your appearance, you came here directly. Do you bring news?"

  "Cyril is now Bishop of the See of Mark and Patriarch of Alexandria."

  Hypatia folded her hands in her lap and sat still. "That means difficult times for you."

  "Possibly." Orestes poured wine into two goblets and raised his own, drinking deeply. "Cyril is young for his post, but youth can be molded."

  "Youth can be most passionate, stiff-necked and jealous of its prerogatives, as well." She glanced at the letter in her hands. "I've had many years of experience with the young men who attend me."

  Orestes chewed a honey cake absently. "What do you know of Cyril?"

  "He never studied with me. His followers call for consolidating the Christians and ridding the city of its pagans and Jews. Cyril is in a precarious position, coming from such a contested election. He needs to heed his supporters and reward their loyalty. We will miss Theophilus."

  "I'm puzzled by your regard for Theophilus. He was harsh and autocratic. I've heard him referred to as 'The Pharaoh of the Alexandrine Church.' He fomented riots, closed the pagan temples, and drove the pagan priests from the city. How could you stand aside and let that happen?"

  "Theophilus brought peace after decades of troubles." Hypatia sipped her wine. "You've attended my lectures. I don't teach religion. I teach philosophy – a way of life, not a way of worship. I believe in one god, not the multitudinous personalities worshipped by the ancient Greeks, Romans or Egyptians. I believe in the need to strive personally to know God, the same as the Christian church. After all, 'I am the Word' – God as Logos – is a Greek concept.

  "Theophilus and I had many discussions on this point. We came from the same philosophical rootstock, but branched in different directions. I believe only a chosen few have the strength of character and intellectual capacity to know God. He believed all could know God through Christ's redemption, baptism and faith. We respected each other's opinions. The priests of Serapis were dogmatists in their own right, refusing to acknowledge others' beliefs. Their polytheism and cultic practices were more inimical to my way of thinking than any Christian sect."

  Orestes shook his head. "Does Cyril respect you and your choices? If he is intolerant, this city could erupt in violence. You might be in danger."

  "Cyril is not his uncle. Some say he seeks power not for God's sake, but his own. He might even complicate my life. However, I am a part of this city. I have wielded influence since before Cyril was born. Do not fear for me, my dear friend. Rather let us wait. The new Patriarch may yet prove amiable."

  They lifted their goblets in a spontaneous toast. "To a better tomorrow!" Orestes proclaimed.

  Hypatia smiled. Orestes had his own rigidities, but a hidden pool of passion lurked beneath his cool exterior and a sharp intelligence informed his conversation. She gloried in his company. There were still a few bright young men in the city, and in her life.

  In the chapel at the Bishop's quarters, Cyril knelt in simple white robes to receive the sacrament that would make him priest, bishop and Patriarch. It was fitting that the first food to pass his lips since his uncle's death was the body of Christ; the first drink, the blood of Christ.

  The Archpresbyter intoned, "These are the things thou must hold and teach, for this is the Faith of the Catholic and Apostolic Church, to which all Orthodox Bishops throughout the West and East adhere. We believe in One God the Father Almighty, Maker of all things both visible and invisible; and in One Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Only-Begotten, begot of the Father, that is of the Essence of the Father, God of God, Light of Light, Very God of Very God, Begotten not made, consubstantial with the Father, through Whom all things were made, both that are in heaven and that are on earth, Who for us men and for our salvation came down and was made flesh and made man, suffered and rose on the third day, went up into the Heavens, cometh to judge quick and dead; and in the Holy Ghost."

  The Archpresbyter continued in a like vein for nearly an hour. Cyril let the words roll through him, igniting his passion. He was acutely aware of the press of bodies, the sour smell of unwashed flesh mixed with perfumed candles, the feel of the rough cloth between his knees and the marble floor. Cyril looked to the altar, covered with embroidered silk showing the twelve apostles. Heavy gold candlesticks and an ancient scroll containing the new gospels rested beside the jewel-encrusted wineglass and gold platter holding the host.

  When prompted, he raised his head and said huskily, "I believe with my whole heart that which the Church teaches, and as Bishop will defend it with my body, striking down blasphemers and rooting out heresy wherever it may be found. I pledge myself, soul and body, heart and mind to spread the Word of God and attest to its Truth. I will lead this flock in righteousness to prepare a heaven on earth for our Most Blessed Christ's return. In His Name, I will do these things. Amen."

  Cyril rose. The Archpresbyter draped him with the purple robes of a Bishop, a gold embroidered chasuble, and the chain containing the key to the Church treasury. Next he handed Cyril a gold-headed staff, the Bishop's seal, and, finally, placed the heavy ceremonial Bishop's crown on the new Patriarch's head.

  Cyril raised his head proudly. The ceremonial vestments felt comfortable – right. He led the mixed crowd of church leaders and abbots from the desert monasteries in prayers and songs. The new Patriarch looked over his flock with profound satisfaction. They were his to command and to care for. He would fulfill his promise to his uncle and make their church the most revered in all Christendom.

  No civil or religious authority could stop him.

  Chapter 16

  Selene pulled the dark veil from her head and shook the rain from her cloak. The whole populace had processed past the city walls to accompany the Patriarch's body to its last resting-place, within the martyrium of St. Mark. The very skies seemed to mourn the great man's passing. October storms pounded the coast with a vengeance, closing the harbor, drenching mourners with the tears of God.

  Selene found it hard to believe he was gone. Patriarch Theophilus had been a force in the city since before her birth. She grew up listening to his sermons, hearing her father argue with council members about his policies. He was the church in Alexandria, the Patriarch who battled for the soul and well being of his flock.

  Rumors claimed that the corpse remain
ed uncorrupted, exuding the sweet smell of flowers even after lying three days in the meeting rooms where the clergy wrangled over the succession. One desert abbot touched the body and was instantly cured of a painful skin affliction. Selene wished she could examine such a marvel. In her experience, dead flesh rotted quickly unless preserved and skin rashes took many days to heal – if they healed at all. Many laid claim to such miracles, but she had never seen one herself.

  Nicaeus and Antonius came out of the rain into the foyer, water streaming from their dark hair. Phillip helped her father, who looked well today. Orestes trailed the sodden parade, accompanied by Antonius' father, Lysis. Servants took their cloaks and quickly mopped water from the heated tiles. The ingenious Roman hypocaust system of hot air pipes under the floor kept the house warm on those occasional cold wet days.

  Selene took Calistus' arm to help him to the triclinium for the funeral banquet. As they moved through the corridors, Selene imagined Orestes' eyes following her every move. Her heart pounded. She turned her head when they reached the dining area and found not emerald eyes boring into hers, but the soft brown ones of Antonius. He blushed and looked away. Selene touched her hair and twitched at her robes, which clung damply to her body, hoping nothing was amiss. Perhaps she could get a glimpse of herself in a silver platter.

  She didn't want to embarrass herself in front of her guests and especially not Orestes. Her body, which usually felt so natural, betrayed her around the Prefect. She blushed, stammered, and felt at her most awkward. For his part, Orestes always acted correctly toward her and never encouraged her feelings. Selene cursed herself roundly for a fool and tried to keep her mind on the business at hand.

  She settled her father on a comfortable couch and ordered the servants to bring food and drink. "My apologies for the fare, Prefect. It's simple, but there's plenty for all who wish it."

  "I'm sure it will be most delicious, Lady Selene. How go your studies? It's been five months, has it not?"

  To her profound annoyance, she blushed. Why did he still have such an effect on her? She looked up into his startling green eyes, lowered her lids, and said softly, "They go well. Thank you for your concern."

  "I feel some obligation and would like to be informed of your progress."

  "You don't want her talking about her studies during a meal," Nicaeus broke in. "Just thinking about what she keeps in those jars in her room is enough to put me off eating."

  Orestes gave Selene an inquiring smile.

  "Just a few specimens Master Haroun loaned me." She glanced at her father. "I'm studying the heart and have several examples from a number of animals."

  Antonius joined the conversation. "In my experience, the human heart is rather fragile."

  "Oh, not at all! The heart is a remarkable organ. Tough. Made up of muscles, like your arm or leg, with the most ingenious valves to let the blood flow, like the irrigation gates on canals..."

  "I warned you not to get her started!" Nicaeus laughed. "Now we'll be subjected to gory stories all through dinner."

  "Anatomy is not a suitable topic for dinner conversation, my dear," Calistus gently admonished his daughter. "Perhaps another time,"

  "Of course, Father." Selene glared at Nicaeus, but he had already turned to talk to Antonius. Selene signaled the waiting servants to bring in the food. They filled wine goblets and passed among the reclining figures with platters which the guests picked over and transferred to plates. First they made the rounds with grapes, dates, figs and black olives. Next lamb and lentils followed by cold pheasant stuffed with wild rice and redolent with garlic, then salads dressed with vinegar and oil. The meal finished with sharp goat cheese spread on thick brown bread, sesame cakes and sweet red wine.

  Selene watched carefully for the guests' reactions to the fare, anxious that they be satisfied. Except for Nicaeus, they seemed little interested in the feast, tucking away the food with hardly a glance or comment. Conversation drifted from Nicaeus' impending departure for the army to tales of Orestes' travels in the hinterland, finally settling on the aftermath of the Patriarch's death.

  "How are the people taking Cyril's election?" Orestes asked.

  "The council supports Cyril," Calistus said, "but then he was most…helpful…to several key members."

  Orestes raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

  "A scurvy monk came by with a sack of gold coins, a 'gift' from Cyril." Calistus took a sip of wine. "I sent him packing, but I'm sure others were appreciative. 'Gift,' indeed!"

  Lysis flushed and frowned into his cup before speaking up. "I believe the other Christian sects fear Cyril. He comes from the Nitrian tradition. They are notoriously intolerant of differences in doctrine. Some Origenist acquaintances of mine speak of leaving the city."

  "The commons favor Cyril," Phillip chimed in. "During my...uh...business about the city, I've heard much talk about Cyril's piety and charity." Selene noticed a glance between Orestes and Phillip, and listened for what was not being said as much as what was. "Rough elements in the taverns support Cyril and seem prone to riot on his behalf."

  Calistus glared over his cup. "You have time to frequent taverns, my son? Perhaps I should give you more responsibility at home."

  Orestes interceded with a chuckle. "Let me beg your indulgence, Calistus. Phillip has been my eyes and ears in places I dare not be seen. He does significant service in making sure I know the mood of the people."

  "Drinking in the service of the Empire." Calistus' eyes narrowed at his son. "Do you find it suitable work?"

  "When I can drink our good Egyptian beer, it is not so onerous a chore." Phillip pursed his lips. "However the vinegar they serve in the guards' taverns is vile."

  "Why, the wine we serve our guardsmen is the very nectar of the gods." Orestes laughed. "At least, that's what we tell them."

  "If that's what the gods drank, no wonder they died out!"

  Selene noted Rebecca briefly hesitate when Phillip mentioned his exploits. Between her duties and his, Selene had seen little of her brother these past few months. Engrossed in her studies, Selene had not picked up on the plots and intrigues in her own household.

  That would change.

  Calistus daubed his mouth with a linen cloth. "The quality of tavern wine aside, the aftermath of the Bishop's election seems clear. With one or two notable exceptions, the whole city acclaimed Cyril's elevation to Patriarch."

  "The Jewish students speak of blood in the streets." Nicaeus looked troubled. "They are preparing for attacks."

  Selene threw a murderous glance at her brother. With such news, Father might restrict her to the house indefinitely.

  "Such an outcome is for me to prevent," Orestes said. "Abundantius loaned me a troop of his soldiers until we can convince the desert monks to return to their homes." Orestes rose and gestured to a servant holding a washing bowl. "I must be on my way. There are many plans I have yet to put in place. Phillip, perhaps you could accompany me?"

  "Of course." Phillip rose. "I'll roust your escort from the kitchen."

  "Thank you, my friend." Orestes bowed over Selene's hand. "Thank you again, Lady Selene, for a pleasurable evening on short notice."

  Selene murmured something polite. Her heart thumped so loud, she feared Orestes would hear.

  After overseeing the cleanup and her father's comfort, Selene retired to her room. Rebecca showed up shortly for the nightly ministrations. Her servant's brief loss made Rebecca all the more precious to Selene. She had little time for friends now that she studied at the Museum, and missed female companionship. After removing her cosmetics and changing into her sleeping robe, Selene relaxed while Rebecca combed her short hair. It was at that awkward stage of growth, too long to be fashionable for a man and too short to be adorned properly as a woman's.

  "So what is between you and Phillip?" Selene asked casually.

  Rebecca hesitated. "What makes you think anything is between us, Mistress?"

  "Oh, Rebecca! You needn't keep secrets from me. If I asked, P
hillip would tell me in an instant."

  "Then ask him."

  Selene turned to look directly at the older girl. "Rebecca. We have gone through much together. Please, I am deeply concerned for my brother."

  "Your brother is a man grown. He can fend for himself. I might ask the same question of you."

  "What question?"

  "What is between you and Master Antonius?"

  Selene laughed. "What makes you ask that? He is betrothed to Honoria. Antonius is like another brother to me. He even accompanies me from classes if Nicaeus is late."

  "I saw how he watched you all evening. Hungry. He couldn't get enough of you. Sad, too. Like the sight hurt."

  "You are mistaken, Rebecca. Antonius has been troubled lately, but it has nothing to do with me. I overheard Lysis ask my father some weeks ago for a loan to pay his corn tax."

  Rebecca put away the comb and picked up the discarded robes.

  "You didn't answer my question," Selene accused. "What's going on with you and my brother? How does he know your family so well?"

  Rebecca rolled her eyes. "He asked me for help in gathering information. I told him the best places to meet people in our neighborhood, and introduced him to my brothers when they came back from their voyage."

  "Is he putting himself in any danger?"

  "My brothers will vouch for him in our community." Rebecca patted her shoulder. "Believe me; he is as safe as I can make him."

  Selene reached up to cover Rebecca's hand. "Thank you, for caring for us all. I don't know what I would do without you."

  Phillip and Orestes relaxed in the Prefect's private quarters, enjoying a warm cup of wine. Demetrius discreetly provided for his master and guest.