Selene of Alexandria

by Justice, Faith L.

  Hierex led her to an austere room beyond the formal offices. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through windows looking onto a garden. The Patriarch sat at a table laden with his dinner. Selene smelled spiced duck, saw crisp greens. Her stomach clenched and she felt vaguely nauseated.

  Cyril turned at her entrance and presented her with a cut glass goblet filled with a blood red wine. "My child, would you have some refreshment?"

  She drank thirstily. The wine exploded in her stomach like Greek fire. Her senses spun. She looked at the Patriarch with suspicion. Would God's appointed shepherd poison one of his flock?

  "Patriarch, could I have some water? The wine seems not to agree with me."

  Cyril nodded in sympathy, but made no move to provide water. "Yes, it does affect some that way when they have been fasting."

  Selene swayed slightly, but he offered no chair. How would the Patriarch react if she fainted? Probably have her dragged back to her cell.

  Selene needed to keep her wits about her, but she was so thirsty! She sipped at the wine and felt her stomach settle, but her head grew fuzzier.

  "Thank you." She held out the half full goblet to Cyril. "I've had enough."

  He took the glass and smiled gently at her. "So, my daughter, are you ready to cast out the demons that torment your soul? Confess to us who initiated you in pagan rites."

  Selene lowered her head and said, in a clear, steady voice, "My soul is stained with imperfections, my life fraught with human frailties, but I have always strove to be a dutiful daughter to my father and my church. I am innocent of the charge of witchcraft. I have never engaged in sorcery, just sound medical practices."

  Cyril looked sorrowful. "I see the devil still has his claws in your soul." He sighed. "I have unhappy news for you, my dear. Your father has been taken gravely ill. He is a most worthy man. I had hoped you would repent and be restored to him in these, his final hours."

  The blood drained from Selene's face.

  Cyril flicked his fingers in a dismissive gesture. "Hierex, take her back. We will give her more time to meditate on her condition."

  She turned to leave.

  "Selene."

  She looked over her shoulder. Cyril's eyes bored into hers. "I caution you not to wait long."

  Hierex escorted her back through the warren. As they approached the dark corridor he said. "If at any time you wish to speak to me, let the matron know. I will come day or night to take your confession."

  Selene stumbled into her cell, numbed by the wine and the news. First Mother Nut, and now her father.

  She didn't know if Cyril lied to pressure her or if her father had indeed relapsed. She didn't know if Phillip had survived his fever. Orestes had failed to save her.

  Selene had never felt so bereft.

  She threw herself on the filthy rushes and cried tears she could ill afford to spare.

  Chapter 36

  Crying cleansed Selene's soul and exhausted her body, loosening the knot of grief in her chest. Quiet sobs eventually turned to peals of laughter. She clasped her hands over her mouth at the raucous sound.

  Was she drunk or mad?

  Since childhood she had raced through life, meeting every challenge without thinking about the consequences. God made her this way. Was she to blame?

  A stubborn core of anger strengthened her spirit. Selene had no regrets; would have done nothing different. The good that came of her actions always outweighed the bad.

  Maybe that was God's lesson in this muddle – to look for the greater good. If so, it was a hard one. She would live with the consequences – this non-life, awaiting the Patriarch's punishment for being herself.

  Was her soul forfeit in defying the Patriarch? The Church taught that communion administered by a corrupt presbyter did not negate the relationship between worshiper and God. Presbyters, bishops and patriarchs were but men. Cyril may claim to know God's will, but Selene had lost faith in his sincerity.

  She had been taught the Patriarch was the father of the church, a holy man doing God's work. Selene didn't believe God wanted her to falsely confess to witchcraft or cravenly betray her teacher. She had only to hold to that one certainty through whatever trials came her way.

  She giggled, having made a peace of sorts between herself and God.

  Selene stared at the thin shaft of light coming through the tiny window; diverted by the dust motes. She had found it harder and harder to concentrate as the days wore on. She had heard that fasting purged the body and clarified the mind, but it only seemed to make her weak and distracted.

  The light disappeared with a suddenness that made Selene catch her breath. She sighed, lay back on the moldering rushes and tried to sleep. Memories of the Patriarch's laden table tortured her thoughts. The mute woman brought no food or water.

  Selene slipped into dreams of God as a spouting fountain in which she danced naked. The cool water rinsed the filth from her skin and the worries from her mind.

  The slight click of a key in the lock awakened Selene. Torchlight flickered through a gradually widening crack as her door opened. She sat up and blinked. The mute woman motioned for Selene to follow. When Selene started to speak, the woman put a finger to her lips warning silence.

  Selene scrambled out of the cell. The woman handed over a torch and keys and mimed ascending the stairs; running away. Selene hesitated, wanting to believe, but suspecting a trap. What if Cyril provided this opportunity only to prove her deceit?

  Plots and hidden motives. Trusting no one. Selene shook her head. That way was madness.

  She mouthed to the mute, "What about you?"

  The woman gave her some strips torn from the hem of her robe. Selene tied the woman's hands tightly behind her back. She hoped it wasn't too uncomfortable.

  At the top of the stairs, Selene unlocked the door and looked out. Silence smothered the corridor. Thinking she would fare better in darkness, Selene doused the torch in a bucket of sand by the opening.

  She took a dozen steps before bumping into a solid body. A large, soft hand covered Selene's mouth stifling her cry. An arm crushed her against coarse robes draping a stringy chest and sagging belly, while a voice hissed in her ear. "A friend sent me. I'm going to remove my hand. Stay quiet."

  The man dropped his hand from her mouth, grasped her wrist and led her into the dim light of another corridor. Selene's savior was one of the ubiquitous lay clerks the Bishopric required to keep up with paperwork. Short, with ink-stained fingers common to his profession and red nose common to those with an excessive love of wine, Selene believed him the most beautiful man on earth.

  He thrust a voluminous robe at her. She pulled it over her head to effectively hide her filthy clothes. She draped a fold over her hair to shadow her face. They moved down the hall through several levels, passing only a male servant tending the lamps and a woman carrying a tray.

  The woman looked at them curiously. "The latrines are this way, Brother Samuel," the clerk said in low but distinct tones as they passed her. "I hope your trip back to Cyrene tomorrow is a pleasant one."

  They turned a corner and passed out of the building into a moonlit garden surrounded by a stone wall. The clerk inspected the garden for late night visitors then hurried her to a low door shadowed by vines. "Someone will meet you on the other side."

  Selene grabbed his hands. "I don't know how to thank you. I don't even know your name!"

  "It's better you not know, Mistress, and no need to thank me." He patted a small purse hanging from his belt. "I've been thanked already."

  "May God be with you." Selene ducked through the door.

  Her new contact, dressed as a parabolan and carrying a cudgel materialized from the shadows. "This way, Lady."

  He looked at the three-quarter's moon approaching its zenith and frowned.

  They walked abreast for several blocks. At the corners, she stood in shadows, while he looked down the cross streets. Selene, alert to any sound, started when she heard voices. At the next corner a patr
ol of parabolans caroused past them. They seemed drunk. Her escort flattened Selene against the wall with an outstretched arm. Her heart rose to her throat as one of the men broke off from the pack and headed in their direction.

  "Where you going, Menas?" one of his fellows shouted after him.

  "I gotta piss." Menas wobbled toward the wall and relieved himself, sighing with pleasure. Something in the shadows – a flutter of robe, a glint of light – caught his wandering attention. He quickly covered himself and strode toward them crying out, "Who goes there?"

  Her escort whispered, "Forgive me, Lady," and enveloped her in a passionate embrace. His stubbled chin scraped Selene's face and his breath smelled of onions, but she returned the kiss with all the art she could muster.

  Menas grasped her escort and spun him around. "I said, 'Who goes there?'"

  "A fellow parabolan, minding his own business. Why don't you mind yours?"

  Four of Menas' companions ambled over. "What's you got, Menas?" When they saw Selene tucked close to her escort's side, they hooted, "Rousting lovers, now?" Then, to her escort, "Looks dangerous. Do you need any help?"

  He gave them a broad wink. "Thanks for the offer, but I can handle this duty myself." He gave Selene another sloppy kiss, much to the delight of their audience.

  "Sure you don't need help? How about sharing the duty?"

  "Goodnight, boys!" He put his arm about Selene's trembling shoulders and escorted her in the opposite direction. Around the corner, Selene's knees gave way. He lowered her against a rough plastered wall.

  "I'm sorry about the kisses, Lady."

  "We do what we have to." Selene croaked. "Could I have some water?"

  "Only a little farther and you'll have all you can drink."

  Selene rose and they continued another two blocks to a small limestone kiosk decorated with murals depicting water carriers. Her escort opened a door in the kiosk and entered. Selene ducked after him. The air was cool and heavy with moisture. She heard water lapping on stone. They followed a spiral staircase down to a cavern with a vaulted ceiling supported by pillars. Water filled the cavern within inches of a platform where the stairs ended. A small boat was tethered to a ring sunk into the wall. There was one torch, and the water stretched beyond the light.

  "What is this place?" Her voice echoed from the dank shadows.

  "The cisterns. Alexander had the city honeycombed with them, in case of siege. They provide water to most of the private homes."

  "I thought we got our water from the lake. How big is this place?" Selene asked.

  "This is one of the smaller ones. They're all connected by underground canals and pipes." He set aside his cudgel and reached for the rope to pull the boat closer.

  Selene knelt on the mossy stone and scooped water into her mouth. The cool liquid coursed down her throat. After she had her fill, she scrubbed her face with a wet hem. She didn't feel clean, and her skin itched with insect bites, but she felt more like herself. She looked up to see her escort sitting patiently in the boat, oars in one hand, torch in another.

  "I'm sorry to keep you waiting." Selene settled herself in the bow facing the man. "Where are we going?"

  He handed her the torch and grinned, showing a gold tooth. "To a friends'."

  Up to now, she had avoided thinking about the agent of her escape. Had her father arranged this? Was Phillip back? She supposed she would find out soon. In exhaustion, Selene closed her eyes and listened to the water. The sound soothed her raw nerves.

  They continued to a conduit wide enough to accommodate the boat, but had to duck for safe passage. After several minutes they entered yet another enormous reservoir divided by stone columns, like a drowned temple.

  The man seemed certain of his destination, so Selene did not burden him with her doubts. At one point, she nearly dozed off and dropped the torch into the water. Only her companion's sharp cry saved them from plunging into darkness.

  "I'm so sorry!" Fear coursed along her nerves, banishing sleep. "That won't happen again."

  "If it does, don't worry." He grinned. "I know these cisterns better'n my mother's face. I can find my way in light or dark."

  Selene was not inclined to test her guide's prowess.

  "We're nearly there, Lady, just beyond that pillar."

  She looked over her shoulder. Another platform materialized out of the dark. He guided the boat to the dock. Selene stepped out. He tied the boat to another ring, took the torch and led her up stairs carved in the side of the wall. They came up in another kiosk at the bottom of a substantial hill crowned by the Prefect's residence. Selene filled her lungs with the smell of sweet honeysuckle and the briny tang of the sea.

  Demetrius waited for them. He gave the man a purse and her escort disappeared into the watery underground with only a quick bow.

  "This way, Lady," Demetrius pointed up the hill to the Prefect's compound. Selene tripped on her long robe. He put a steadying hand under her elbow. "Are you well?"

  Selene nearly sobbed, "I am now. Do you know of my father and brother?"

  Demetrius shook his head. "No word of your brother, but I did hear your father is doing poorly. I'm sorry, Lady."

  Her heart sank. She had hoped Cyril's information had been a ruse.

  "Do you know who is attending him?"

  "Thales. He has a good reputation."

  "Yes, he is a good physician, but I would care for Father myself."

  "I understand, Lady, but that won't be possible. Master will explain all when you've bathed and rested."

  Selene arched a weary eyebrow. "I actually get to make myself presentable for the Prefect? Every time he sees me, I look worse than a street urchin. Why should this interview be any different?"

  "Because my master wishes you to receive every comfort while you are his guest."

  She chuckled derisively. "The Prefect's hospitality will surely be more gracious than the Patriarch's."

  "You may judge for yourself, Lady." Demetrius ushered her into a suite of rooms that glistened in soft lamplight. Selene absently noted the magnificent floor mosaics and delicate murals, but what drew her attention was steam coming from a marble tub flanked by a tray of food and wine.

  "I'm afraid there are no servants to care for you. Master wished to keep your presence a secret." He bowed. "There are clean clothes on the bed. I will return shortly to see to any other needs."

  "Of course. Thank you, Demetrius, for all you've done."

  "It has been my will as well as my duty, Lady." He bowed again and left.

  Selene couldn't decide whether to start with the food or the bath, so she did both at once. After a hot soak and a meal of fruit and cold pigeon, she donned a light robe and fell asleep, exhausted, on the soft bed.

  She didn't hear Demetrius arrive to remove her tray.

  Selene awoke with a startled cry, thrashing in the bed linens. She sat up, took in her surroundings, and lay back on the cushions with a sigh of relief. A delicious feeling of security swept through her body, lulling her senses. She fell back to sleep.

  The second time she awoke to the warble of a water clock announcing late morning. Selene got out of bed. Her filthy clothes had been removed, and clean – if exotic – robes laid out. She found her jewelry on an intricately carved dresser with a pink marble top, along with the various implements of a lady's toilet. She explored the jars and boxes, discovering a full array of cosmetics, lotions and perfumes, as well as ivory-backed brushes and tortoise shell combs. A large silver mirror adorned the wall over the dresser.

  She sat on a silk cushioned stool at the toiletry table and examined her face in the mirror. Sleep and food had gone a long way to repairing the ravages of her confinement. She opened a jar and sniffed. Oil of Lilies! Wildly expensive because it took a thousand Madonna lilies to make a single batch. Selene smoothed the ointment over her face and arms, glorying in the delicate perfume.

  Selene wandered about the room. It had a distinctly feminine feel, from the pinks and corals of the mosa
ics to the flowers displayed in frothy sprays in enameled Indian vases. She heard no servants or street noises; saw no one in the small formal garden just outside her window. The clothes she discovered in chests were the bright colors and sheer fabrics an actress or courtesan might wear. And the statuary had a distinctly erotic style, not blatant as the Indian brass dealer's wares, but an old-fashioned style depicting nude youths and maidens in romantic scenes.

  Orestes had refused to ally himself with any local family through marriage, but seemed not to have lacked feminine companionship. A wave of jealousy surprised Selene. In the absence of any encouragement, she had put aside her feelings for Orestes. Now they came thundering back confused with her gratitude for her release. Perhaps Orestes did take a personal interest in her. Maybe Antonius, in his jealousy, saw something she hadn't.

  Selene ruefully shook her head. That was impossible. Orestes must have gone to such lengths to free her for her father's sake – or her brother's.

  That conclusion left her feeling bereft.

  She moved to the full-length window, arms outstretched, lifted her head to the sun and closed her eyes, drinking in the warmth, trying to fill the empty spaces in her soul.

  Orestes strode down the hall ahead of Demetrius, who carried a heavy tray. He knocked softly at the door with his foot, but heard no voice or motion. He feared she still slept but he needed to speak to her now, before his duties took him out for the afternoon. He opened the door. The anteroom stood empty. He proceeded to the bedroom and stopped in the doorway, transfixed.

  Selene stood in the sunlight, head and arms uplifted as if poised for flight. The sun sifted through her linen shift, sharply outlining her youthful body. Her muscles played under the fabric, rippling as she strained toward the healing sun, lean angles rounded at hip and breast. Her dark curly hair cascaded down her back, her face and throat bathed in golden light. Looking closely, Orestes saw traces of her ordeal, dark bruises around the eyes; hollowness to the cheeks.