"Since the Prefect had the Patriarch's henchman arrested, the parabolans have been even more active." Rebecca laughed bitterly. "Cyril means to have a Christian town one way or the other. He organizes food for the hungry with one hand and sends militant monks to destroy our homes and livelihoods with the other. Our people won't stand idly by and let that happen." Rebecca looked around at the fast emptying streets. "We must get out of here." She grabbed Selene's hand and ran down a side alley.
Selene heard faint shouts. She looked back to see a small mob of men with knives, sticks and even one pitchfork pass the entrance to the alley; their faces grim.
"Where are we going?"
Rebecca peeked around a corner then waved her forward. "I know a way to avoid the main streets, but we'll have to do some climbing."
Selene covered her concern with a grin.
They reached the corner of a two-story building. Rebecca pulled a ladder from a lean-to and Selene helped her push it in place. They pulled their robes between their knees and tucked the hems into their belts, making pantaloons of their tunics and freeing their legs to scramble up the ladder. Potsherds littered the flat roof.
"This way." Rebecca led off. Selene followed closely; wondering what childish escapades provided Rebecca with knowledge of these rooftops. They crossed several buildings, some of which had people on top watching the streets. Boys piled stones at the edge of the roofs. Older people, seeing they were young women, turned back to the street. At one point Selene smelled smoke. Rebecca sniffed the air, judged the direction of the passing breeze from flapping laundry, and led off in another direction.
After several minutes, they approached a high wall enclosing a private compound. Rebecca looked over the side of the roof. "I think it's safe to come down here. The main road to the market is two buildings over." A twisted willow tree grew close to the wall. Rebecca leaned out and grasped a thin branch with both hands. She turned to Selene. "This is something my brothers taught me, but I haven't done it in years. The branch is too thin to hold my weight, but should lower me close enough to the ground to drop without injury. Stand back. When I release it, the branch will whip up. When I reach the ground, I'll get a ladder."
"Nonsense. If you can do it, so can I."
"Selene, just this once will you do as you're told? You're heavier than I am. The branch might break."
Selene reluctantly agreed to wait.
Rebecca jumped away from the roof, the branch flinging her out and down. Just as Selene heard an ominous crack, Rebecca let go and dropped several feet to land awkwardly. She let out a hiss of pain and limped to another of the ubiquitous lean-tos to look for a ladder. The branch hung down, attached by only a thin skin of bark.
Rebecca found a ladder and leaned it against the side of the building. Selene scrambled down. "Are you all right?"
"I think it's just sprained." Rebecca rubbed her ankle. "It twisted under me when I dropped."
"Let me look at it."
Rebecca sat on a rock under the tree while Selene rotated her foot. "Does this hurt?"
Rebecca flinched. "Yes, that hurts! What are you doing?"
"Checking for broken bones. I didn't feel any scraping. Let me wrap it so we can get home." Selene ripped some rags from the old shawl and tightly wrapped the rapidly swelling ankle. "That ought to hold us until we can get some cold cloths on it. Let me help you up."
Selene put her shoulder under the shorter woman's arm and helped her to her feet. Rebecca grunted with pain. "I'm not sure I can make it."
"You need only get to the market. I can hire a litter there." She patted her pouch. "Remember? I came prepared to pay a price. I didn't think it would be service to an Egyptian witch or a run for my life across the rooftops of Alexandria."
Selene unwrapped the bandages and poked gently at the purpling ankle. Rebecca winced. "Put your foot in this water. The coolness should ease the swelling." Rebecca, sitting on the edge of Selene's bed, slid her foot into a bucket of cold water. She sighed in relief.
Selene propped her servant up with cushions and went for a cup of wine with a drop of poppy tincture. When she came back she quietly observed Rebecca's drawn face, pale and pinched with pain. Selene realized how much she regarded the young woman who had cared for her these last several years. Rebecca filled an empty space in Selene's soul, the place reserved for sister and friend.
"Here, this should ease your pain." She held the cup to Rebecca's lips and let her take small sips.
"You should go back to your father, Mistress." Rebecca pushed the cup away. "I can sit here for a while then go to my quarters."
"His body servant tends him. I expect Mother Nut's remedy to take some time to work." Selene extended the cup again. "And there's no need to call me 'Mistress' in private, Rebecca. You've been a better friend than most of the girls my father sees fit to have me associate with, although I haven't been a very good friend to you." She shook her head. "Getting you in trouble with my father, putting us in danger. I would like to do something for you. What would you wish of me? Name it."
"I wish only that you remain as you are. Warm hearted and clear-eyed."
"That's a wish for me, not for you. I could give you money, help your family. Why ask for so little?"
"I have learned to keep my hopes small so they will more likely come true." Rebecca patted Selene's cheek. "In this case, your determination to apprentice with Mother Nut will do more for me than a pile of coins. My religion teaches a life well lived is one spent in service, caring for one's family, engaging in acts of kindness toward the poor and studying the wisdom of God."
"That is little different from Christian teachings."
"Jesus was a Jew, was he not?" Rebecca smiled at Selene's stunned expression. "He was a great teacher, a most learned rabbi. Isn't it fitting the religion carrying his name be based on our best traditions? Besides money is fleeting and God's judgment cannot be bought."
"But with more coin, you could better care for your family or give it away to those poorer." Selene grinned at having caught Rebecca in a philosophical dilemma.
"True, but if you discharged your debt with money, what would be our relationship? Mistress and servant." Rebecca smiled gently. "You called me 'friend.' The obligations of mutual regard bind us close. Accepting money for acts of service or friendship breaks those bonds of affection."
"I would far rather call you 'friend' than 'servant'," Selene said. "Consider my offer in that light. Call upon me at any time for any service."
Rebecca looked up through pain-filled eyes. "Given the times I see ahead, I might redeem your pledge, but not today." She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn and promptly fell asleep.
Selene lifted her friend's foot from the water, dried it and covered her with a blanket. Rebecca's face relaxed in sleep, the pain smoothed from her brow.
Selene gathered bedding to make a pallet and trudged to her father's room. Phillip sat in a chair by the bed, an account book lying open in his lap. As she entered the room he observed her servant's garb and shook his head. Selene had forgotten to change and blushed to her roots.
"I don't even want to know." He rose, stretched and yawned. "At least not tonight."
"I'll stay with Father." She arranged her bedding on the floor. "You get some sleep."
Phillip hugged her on his way out and whispered hoarsely, "Call me if anything changes. I'll post a servant outside the door."
Selene sat for several moments, holding her father's hand. Calistus' unconscious face twitched and flickered with pain. Selene, unaccustomed to personal prayer, bowed her head and bargained with God for the life of her father.
Chapter 22
"Prefect, thank you for your invitation, but we feel no more can be accomplished while armed monks roam the streets." Jesep and the small Jewish contingent rose to leave the conference. "We've suffered their incursions for three months. Until the Patriarch sends them out of the city, or you lock them up, we will continue to defend ourselves."
Cy
ril sat at the table looking like the proverbial Nile crocodile.
Orestes stood as well. "Please reconsider. Both sides must talk or we can reach no resolution."
"We've enough of talk. We want action." Jesep's face hardened. He pointed to the Patriarch. "Stop him or there will be blood in the streets."
Cyril rose. "Be warned. If you harm any Christians, I will not be able to control my people. They are already incensed over the treatment of Teacher Hierex, which they attribute to false Jewish accusations."
Orestes stepped between the two men. "If the city guards find armed citizens on either side, they will be banished from the city. Do you both understand? I will tolerate this situation no longer. Disarm your people and return to your churches and temples."
"Understood, Lord Prefect, but we will not tolerate the loss of Jewish life or property. If you cannot control these people, we will." The Jews bowed and left.
Orestes turned to the young Patriarch. "I thought you agreed with the nobles of this city to keep the peace."
He reached for a paper on his desk and read. "'The Jews of this day are even worse than their fathers. Through their rejection of Christ, the Jews have shown themselves the most deranged of all men, senseless, blind, uncomprehending, demented, foolish God haters, killers of the Lord, unbelievers and irreligious…Their synagogue is a leprous house which perpetuates their monstrous impiety.'"
Orestes slammed the paper on his desk. "This festal letter hardly supports amicable relations between the Christian and Jewish communities."
"The nobles did urge me to less inflammatory remarks. I could not, in good conscience, oblige them. The Jews are an abomination and must be removed from our city."
"Jews are Roman citizens, protected by imperial edicts." Orestes held his voice even with difficulty. "Their religion and Patriarch in Jerusalem are recognized by the Emperor."
"Imperial edicts change monthly. A new one concerning the Jews – or the appointment of a new Prefect – could be speeding its way as we speak." Cyril gathered his papers. "I heard from friends at court that the Emperor's sister, the Lady Pulcheria, is to be declared Regent and Augusta. Have you heard any such rumor?"
Orestes turned a neutral face to the Bishop. "Indeed. The public announcement will be made shortly, when her commemorative statue arrives from Constantinople."
"Most interesting. She is young for the post of Regent – just fifteen, isn't she? But the church could not ask for a more passionate adherent. I look forward to her inaugural." Cyril packed his papers in a leather pouch and paused at the door. "Good day, Prefect."
"Good day, Patriarch."
After Cyril left, Orestes slumped in his chair.
Demetrius detached himself from the shadows. "Another impasse, Master?"
"Yes. The nobles have failed in their efforts to sway Cyril. The Jews will stay armed as long as the parabolans roam the streets. The parabolans claim they are protecting Christians from Jewish attacks. Putting guards in the middle might calm things for a space, but the cause of violence and mistrust is obdurate leadership. Only an act of God will change either side, and I do not believe in political miracles."
Demetrius poured his master some wine. "The Lady Pulcheria's ascension to Augusta complicates things considerably."
Orestes took a sip. "My patron Anthemius is dismissed as Regent and Pulcheria will take the post herself. She's vowed to remain a virgin and dedicate her life to caring for her brother's empire. She surrounds herself with priests and seeks their advice on all matters." Orestes smiled. "I have heard the Patriarch of Constantinople does not see eye-to-eye with our own dear Bishop. In the long view, this shift in power might not be as much to Cyril's favor as he would like to believe." His smile deserted him. "But we might not have time for the long view."
"You could abandon the Jews and side with Cyril. At your command, they could be expelled from the city, peace restored."
"I've considered that course." Orestes ran his hand through his short-cropped hair. "The Jews hold positions of power in city government and mercantile interests, as well as provide skilled labor. They are a political balance to Cyril. Without the Jews, the Patriarch will run this city. I can't allow that."
"Surely, Augusta Pulcheria will not tolerate disruption due to riot and destruction to the flow of grain that feeds Constantinople?"
"I don't know." Orestes tucked his fist under his chin. "If Cyril is any example, she might be so blind as to starve her people for her faith. I only hope her transition to power takes long enough for me to bring order out of this chaos. Once the city is stabilized, I doubt Pulcheria will interfere directly." Orestes looked out the window at the bright sunshine. "I believe I'll get out of these stuffy rooms and see for myself the mood of the city."
"I'll get your cloak." Demetrius bowed. "Might I be so bold as to suggest a visit to Lady Hypatia? She might be of assistance in sorting out these difficulties."
"An excellent suggestion, Demetrius. Cancel my appointments for the afternoon. I will eat my evening meal out. I'm not sure when I'll be back."
"Should you take a larger escort, Master?"
"No more than my customary. The pot is only simmering. It needs a specific incident to start boiling over. Let's deploy the guards before that happens."
"How does your father, my child?" Mother Nut asked Selene as she ducked through the door.
"Much better, Mother. He sits up in the solarium, and feeds himself." Selene hung her shawl over the back of a sturdy wood chair and surveyed the tidy hut with satisfaction. One of the first things she and Rebecca did on returning was to thoroughly clean the place. If the Romans had contributed one good quality to civilization it was an appreciation, bordering on obsession, with hygiene – both public and private.
"Good!" the old woman lisped through sparse teeth. "In a few weeks he'll be walking. Don't let him do too much. Make him listen to his body. It will tell him when to rest."
"What have we today, Mother?" Selene enjoyed her thrice weekly visits with the old woman. Between nursing her father and continuing her studies at the Museum, she had had little time at first, but soon made more. Mother Nut's tutelage seemed every bit as valuable as, and imminently more practical, than her formal studies. Selene brought a skill in simple surgeries to Nut's patients, and in return learned far more about plants, minerals and midwifery than she thought possible. Most of the herbals at the Museum told only what sickness a plant could be used to treat. Mother Nut showed her which part of the plant to use, how to prepare it, and in what proportions to administer the remedy.
"I want to make up some medicine for the sweating sickness. The season is near and we must be ready. Then we will visit some families who have asked me to come by."
Selene perused a shelf with dozens of neatly labeled bottles and packets. It had taken her weeks to match Mother Nut's colloquial names with the Latin names of the herbs in Auxentius' books. "What will you need, Mother, and how much?"
"Manroot and treewort. Bring what you find on the shelf. You have them so well organized, I can't find anything."
Selene brought the ingredients to the table. Mother Nut frowned at the small quantities. "Well, there's nothing for it. We'll make up what we can and get more later. Grind these together, three portions to one." The old woman handed Selene a stone bowl and pestle. "Be sure to use only the best."
Selene carefully inspected and discarded any herbs with spots on the leaves or other sign of malformation, then ground the medicine. "How fine do you want the grind, Mother?"
"It must dissolve in wine or water without silting the bottom of the cup."
They worked in silence for several minutes until Selene had filled one third of a stone jar.
"Now divide the powder so." Mother Nut used a knife to separate a pile of powder the size of the end of her smallest finger out of the larger portion, scraped it onto a piece of paper, folded and twisted it into a single dose packet. She watched Selene deftly add to the growing pile of twisted packets and nodded
. "Good. We'll need five times that for the season." She looked at Selene slyly. "Can you obtain more supplies, my child?"
Selene smiled to herself. Mother Nut did not demand gold for her tutelage, but she did not hesitate to have Selene supply herbs and minerals. "Yes, Mother. I'll buy some in the market tomorrow and bring it day after next."
Nut patted Selene's cheek with an arthritic claw. "Good girl. You will save many lives. May your Christian God bless you." The old woman looked over her pharmacopoeia then packed a small pouch with herbs and trinkets. "Come. Let's see how our patients are doing."
Selene shouldered a heavy bag of surgical instruments and took the older woman's arm to offer support. Half a block down they entered a tall dwelling and ascended to the top floor where the poorest families lived, frequently several to a room. The building smelled of rancid fat, unwashed bodies and urine.
Mother Nut pushed back a ragged blanket that served as a door. A woman, with a baby in a sling, bathed the face of a man moaning on a thin pallet in the corner. A crone tended a small brazier. Several children of various ages and stages of undress screeched as they chased one another around the room.
The woman with the baby looked up as the tenor of the children's screams changed in response to Selene and Mother Nut's presence. "Thank Isis you're here. Poimen is worse." She turned back to the moaning man. Selene noticed the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh as they approached. The man seemed fairly young but his face and neck swelled grotesquely on the left side. He tossed and mumbled in delirium.
Both Mother Nut and Selene examined the man. Selene noted a blackened tooth, foul breath and swollen tissues around the tooth. Red and yellow streaks ran down the side of his neck.
"What do you recommend?" Mother Nut asked.
"Pull the tooth, drain the abscess and pack the wound with feverfew." Selene privately did not give Poimen much chance for recovery. Tooth wear and loss were common among the poor, due to the wretched quality of the bread distributed on the dole. Fine sand adulterated the flour during the grinding process which, over time, wore down teeth and allowed abscesses.
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