Written in the Ashes (20 page)

“Alizar, how good of you to come.” Cyril stood up from behind the desk to his full height of five feet six inches, his dark eyes shining with the confidence of a gambler who has won a bet. His thin black hair was clipped shorter than usual, and he had shaved his beard since Alizar had last seen him. Alizar wondered how anyone capable of such malice could put on such pleasant airs, but then he reminded himself that Cyril had probably not left that very room all night. He had the Parabolani to do his unpleasantries for him. Cyril himself had probably spent the evening sipping wine and watching the fires in the Jewish Quarter as if it were all a theatre show.

“Given the circumstances, it seemed I did not have much choice.” Alizar wrested his elbows free from the priests who had brought him, sending a painful twinge through his entire right arm. When the waves had spit them up on the beach, Hannah had pulled the arrow from his shoulder and wrapped the wound with the makeshift bandage she had created of his
tunica
, but the bandage was already soaked through.

Cyril dismissed the Parabolans with a polite nod.

“Alizar, you are an intelligent man. I think we both know you are in a great deal of trouble. I gave you orders to halt your ship, and you disobeyed.”

Alizar attempted to stand taller. “There was nothing I could do to stop my ship, Cyril. I received your missive after it had already sailed.”

Cyril came around his desk and leaned one hip against it, thoughtfully turning a small jar of ink in one hand. “Punish him,” said Cyril to one of the guards, who then punched Alizar in his wounded shoulder.

Alizar crumpled to the floor, his teeth clenched against the pain that spread like blue fire through the whole right side of his body.

Cyril set down the jar and whirled around to pace the room beside a long row of tall windows that overlooked the city’s square, his hands clasped behind his back. “I can charge you with paganism and kill you now, or perhaps treason against the church and have you imprisoned for the rest of your life, but I must say I am disinclined.” Cyril leaned down and got in Alizar’s face. “You see, I believe you and I can make a deal that will let you walk free.”

“Just tell me what you want with me, Cyril,” Alizar growled.

“You will address me as ‘Your Eminence’,” Cyril barked. “And what I want is for you to tell me the truth, namely, that you were persuaded in your actions to sail your ship with the Jewish children on board by Governor Orestes.”

So that was it. Cyril wanted Orestes put on trial, not him. Alizar’s testimony could sentence him. With Orestes eliminated, Cyril would take control of the Alexandrian council, align church and state, and gain complete reign over the city.

Alizar thought a moment. He had to find another bone for this hungry dog to chase. “I fought Orestes on his decision to put Heirax on trial. I attempted to dissuade the governor in his actions and failed.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You have no reason aside from that I give you my word. I want only peace in Alexandria. Bloodshed is bad for business.” Alizar struggled to his feet to face Cyril. Even wounded, he was still an imposing figure. The guards held him firmly.

“Heirax was a fine Christian and a close friend. His death does not sit well with me, or with God. I am a reasonable man, Alizar. Tell me what else Orestes has planned, and I will free you, or you will meet the fate of Heirax yourself. Your choice.”

“I cannot tell you what I know nothing of.”

“Another lie.” Cyril nodded to the guards who buried their fists in Alizar’s gut. “You try my patience, old man. What I know is that Hypatia and Orestes conspire against me, and I want to know the full extent of their plans. If you speak, you will be spared.”

“Your Eminence, so far as I know their common interest is philosophy, not treason against the church.” Alizar staggered to find his feet.

Cyril stopped and looked out the window, suddenly reflective. “As I recall, I captured a servant of yours, Alizar, by the name of Jemir. And to ensure his release, Orestes vowed to publicly denounce the pagan witch of the Great Library. Instead he denounced my church and gained the popular vote in the city with the help of the Jews in order to assure his election to praetorian prefect. You think I do not know this? Do you think me a fool? You will tell me what you know. And you will admit that Orestes ordered that you sail your ship with the Jews on board. May God save your soul!”

Alizar hated to be threatened with God. He personally preferred the sanity of the Goddess, with her beautiful breasts on which to cry all tears of human suffering, though this was neither the time nor place to raise her name. But what was more, as he recalled, Christ was a compassionate individual who espoused to love others. Did these Christians actually read their own text? “I will admit nothing,” he said.

Cyril nodded to the guards, who punched Alizar in the ribs and the shoulder. He fell to his knees and attempted to stand up, but was pummeled back down to the ground by the guard’s elbow. He sprawled there on all fours, managing to look up through his white eyebrows at Cyril.

Finally Cyril spoke. “I have ways of making you speak, Alizar. Call Peter!”

One of the guards left, and a beautiful youth emerged from an adjacent room carrying a small dagger. Then Peter followed, his sandals hissing against the stone floor. Conviction burned in his eyes.

Two gruff Parabolans hoisted Alizar up by the elbows. Ammonius presented the blade to Peter, who took it gladly.

“Kill me if you like,” said Alizar. “I will never assist you.”

“Is that so?” Cyril’s eyes flickered. “I hear your wife is ill. I know how disappointed you would be if anything happened to her. I can promise you a swift death, Alizar, but she will not be so fortunate. Perhaps I should even put her on the breaking wheel and let her suffer as Heirax suffered. But I know you would not want that, so this is your last opportunity to comply.”

Alizar bristled, and a feverish sweat broke out across his brow. Peter set the cold blade against his throat.

Cyril took a seat at his desk and leaned back in the chair with his hands folded over his chest. “Kill him,” he said.

At those words, Alizar lifted his knee and brought his heel down as hard as he could on Peter’s naked toes. There was a sickening crack and Peter dropped the knife instantly. Behind him, the beautiful youth, Ammonius, collected the knife and swept it through the air where it collided with Alizar’s hand as he attempted to defend his face; a thumb fell to the floor.

In the ensuing panic, Alizar managed to steal the knife with his good hand from the young boy, who was unskilled at fighting. “Do what you like to me, but if you touch my wife I will see this knife run from your bowels to your throat, do we understand one another?” Alizar held the knife aloft.

Cyril leaned back in his chair. “If you do not die today, then you will die tomorrow.”

Just then, Peter attempted to apprehend Alizar, but missed as Alizar stepped aside. The other Parabolans surrounded Cyril to protect him. This left the door unguarded and Alizar saw his chance.

Alizar flew out the door, slamming it behind him and kicking a large wooden bench before it to block it. Then he turned and limped down the passageways of the church, dripping blood behind him. He rushed through the halls until he found the back door that let out into the garden. He passed several priests strolling peacefully together who saw him and jumped aside, leaving a clear run for the gate.

Alizar caught the latch and found it was not locked. Once in the street, gasping for breath, he looked back twice over his good shoulder as he sidled past the church’s sidewall with its rows of peaceful irises all in bloom. He did not stop until he arrived out of breath at the little green door that led to his atrium. He opened it, and collapsed on the floor.

13  

When Hannah left Alizar on the beach, she ran to get Jemir and Tarek. There had been no sign of the Parabolani. When she returned with the men of the house, Alizar was gone.

Hannah was asleep in the kitchen when she heard the front door open. Jemir, Tarek and Leitah also heard it and ran to the atrium. They found Alizar in a pool of his own blood, unconscious.

“Hannah, run for the doctor,” said Jemir. “Take the grey stallion, hurry!”

Hannah ran to the stable and grabbed one of the bridles from the wall, and caught the spritely stallion by offering him an apple. Then she hoisted herself up, grabbed a clutch of mane, and pressed her heels into his sides. The stallion lurched forward, and she galloped towards the library, praying it was not too late.

So.

The poets of the Museion suggested it was the tears of all the Roman women in the city that brought the flood that year. The waters of the Nile, as though lifting up to cradle the heavy hearts of the people, spilled from her banks and overflowed the floodplain. All the entrances to the catacombs were sealed with stone doors to prevent leakage as nature ran her course.

Then came the most welcome miracle of all, clouds. Prayers that rose into the air on the smoke of temple joss sticks were met by storms that snuffed out the remaining fires in the Jewish Quarter, adding to the feeling that the city was, in effect, crying. Besides, sunlight would have been an insult. Dark skies were more suited to grief.

Everyone waited to see if Alizar would live or die.

As the days wore on, Hannah walked silently beside Leitah through the empty marketplaces assisting those families in need. Even Tarek joined them on occasion. The city seemed deserted by all but flies and rats as the remaining people gathered indoors, in temples or in their flats, to mourn the tragedy.

In the end, over a hundred and fifty thousand Jews had been exiled into the wilderness of the desert, while another thirty thousand had been slain, their bodies buried in the massive necropolis beside Lake Mareotis by those friends and family who had survived and remained behind to pick through the unclaimed bodies in search of a familiar ring on a hand or some other identifying mark.

Hannah found her only solace in helping people. Her anxiety and sadness abated a little more at every house where a woman needed a hand with the wood for her kettle fire, or a baby required changing, or an extra arm to lift stones from the rubble of a fallen room was appreciated. Hannah was able to lose her own concerns in the concerns of others; for the first time in months, she stopped thinking of her father and whether or not he was alive, forgetting even her precarious life of slavery. None of that mattered for now.

Beautiful memorial shrines appeared overnight beside the charred and ruined synagogues and in the
agora
, so that those who lost their lives in death or exile could be remembered and cherished. But the shrines were increasingly vandalized, and so the remaining Jewish men kept watch beside the memorials to defend the dead. Hannah dropped a flower on each shrine when she passed.

Like many cities once occupied by Rome, Alexandria had a short memory for the many tragedies that had befallen her. Synesius had once explained that even the fury of Caracalla, who had once killed every boy in the city, had been forgotten. So it was that merchants became anxious for business to resume, and children could not be kept indoors forever. After eight weeks of mourning, the people realized that they would have to put their grief behind them and carry on with work whether they felt like it or not. Such was the power of necessity.

And so it was that when the rains finally ceased and the populace began the arduous task of forgetting what can never be forgotten, something unusual occurred.

Strangely, it seemed the stray cats of Alexandria had multiplied their numbers by the thousands and were suddenly a formidable presence in every pocket of the city. Lily white, ginger, brindle-striped, calico and black as the space between the stars, they roamed freely, marking their territories with pungent urine and shitting in the lush church gardens where they were chased by outraged priests. At night their stentorious cries were so inexhaustible that the populace of Alexandria became completely sleep-deprived and short-tempered. Politicians with bloodshot eyes arrived late for government meetings, soldiers grew too weary to lift their weapons, and frustrated mothers burned their stews as babes cried into the night.