Written in the Ashes (37 page)

The
Vesta
slipped out of the royal harbor with practiced ease and with far less fanfare than her previous voyage, past the three-tiered lighthouse with its gleaming statue of Poseidon at the crown, and the tremendous statues of Ptolemy and his queen which stood at the harbor’s mouth. She was not a ship to be kept away from the sea for long. Rushing along under full canvas, the women shouted from the bowsprit in delight as the dolphin of Alexandria’s harbor, Apollo, caught a ride at the bow of the ship. The crewmen too cheered at the sight of the dolphin leaping and rolling in the bow waves, an omen of a safe voyage.

After a nap, Hannah awoke in the evening lulled by the creaking of the wood and ropes all around her, and the swaying of the deck. A white ship cat was curled on her legs, fast asleep. When she sat up, it opened a single steely blue eye and then leapt to the floor and vanished through a crack in the door.

Hannah rose quietly, disoriented and drowsy. Her hand felt through her hair for the hairpin her father had given her before she remembered she had lost it. She wondered where the others were, so she staggered out through the same door as the cat.

While she slept the sky had been transformed to an indigo swath; a persimmon slash was all that remained of the sun on the horizon. Hannah looked out to sea as the Egyptian flag above her snapped and fluttered. It was an altogether different world than she had imagined it would be, terrifying and enervating. The nearness of the deep ocean coupled with the sibilant wind brought to the forefront of Hannah’s mind the memory of nearly drowning in the catacombs, and it was on this new terror she was dwelling when Gideon came up the stairs with a plate in his hand.

“Even goddesses require nourishment,” he said, handing her the plate, which held a thick slice of olive bread slathered in honey and ringed with slices of white cheese.

Hannah thanked Gideon and took the bread. “Where is Hypatia?”

Gideon pointed to the bow. “She has been up there all afternoon making adjustments to her astrolabe. She is eager to check it now that the stars are appearing.” He looked at Hannah and a smile escaped him. “Two whales surfaced along side the ship an hour ago. We tried to wake you.”

Hannah gasped, still clutching the railing. “How terrifying.”

“Not at all. Whales have the largest hearts of all creatures. A whale is just an enormous wet puppy, always happy to see a sailor.”

Hannah smiled dimly. “I am afraid I am not used to the sea.”

Gideon reassured her in his slow, soft manner. “The first time I came to Alexandria from Epidavros, I was just a boy. I spent half the voyage bent over the rail, but it got easier every day we were on the water, and soon I was in love with the sea. We are very fortunate to have this weather—the swells are calm for this time of year. And would you believe that Apollo is still at the bow? He never leaves the harbor.”

Hannah let her eyes glide out across the deck to where the virgin philosopher in her long grey
tribon
was tinkering with a round brass instrument in her hands while gesticulating seriously to one of the crew. Hannah was struck by how unusual this sight truly was: a proud woman at the bow of a ship, dressed as only men before her ever had been, explaining the changes she was making to a captain’s most important navigational instrument so they might better understand the stars and how to chart their course. There was a divine luminescence in Hypatia that transcended ordinary beauty, ordinary femininity. She was a star fallen to earth, still pulsing with heaven’s light. “What do you know of her, Gideon?” Hannah asked, tilting her head and resting her elbows on the rail.

“Her life is glamorous and fatiguing; her inescapable responsibilities are beyond what you or I could ever imagine. The events of her early years Alizar once shared with me. Her mother went mad apparently, and had to be sent away when Hypatia was just a girl. Some say the woman killed herself a short time later. Her father, Theon, raised her to be his successor. He was a stoic, a disciplined perfectionist, incredibly talented in his work as a mathematician; he created several important works of commentary on the
Almagest
. He single-handedly opened the doors to Hypatia’s destiny as headmistress of the library.”

Just then, Hypatia spotted Hannah and Gideon up on the deck and waved for them to come down so she could show them her progress on the astrolabe.

As the darkening sky burst into stars, they gathered together beneath the sails sharing a flagon of watered-down wine. Hypatia stood, leaning on a rope as she examined the sky with her astrolabe, while Hannah reclined along the midline of the deck where the rocking of the ship was less severe. The wind was cold but gentle for the season, the sky clear as a vase full of diamonds.

“Let your captain have a turn,” said Gideon, taking the astrolabe from Hypatia. He turned the clever instrument over in his hands and explained to Hannah the stationary position of the pole star as relative to the Earth’s axis while he made calibrations to discern the ship’s latitude.

Unfamiliar with the language of stars, Hannah set to watching the dark sea. She had hoped that the trip to Athens would help her forget Julian, but so far it had only thrust him to the very forefront of her mind. She felt thankful for the company of Gideon and Hypatia. She knew the journey ahead would be long. She felt grateful for every day that would distance her from the feeling of Julian’s embrace.

So.

The following morning, and every hour of every day thereafter, Hannah was wracked by a seasickness so severe that she could not rise from the berth. The entire world rocked and swayed and turned around her; nowhere was there a stable point on which to fix her eyes, and she could keep not a scrap of food down.

Confined in the earth, the angel pleaded for the sky, trapped in a web of churning darkness.

Even on her back, the nausea was so extreme that Hannah’s only relief came from sleep. And so the shepherd’s daughter slept. Hypatia felt terrible for her, as did Gideon. They tried every remedy for seasickness any of them had ever heard of, to no avail. Hannah was simply not of the constitution for ocean traveling. Hypatia reassured her that they would consult every doctor in Athens to find a suitable cure for the return voyage. By the third week at sea, Hannah had lost a great deal of weight and slipped into a delirium. Gideon left the wheel to his most able crewmen and sat beside Hannah while Hypatia stoically read to her from Homer and Socrates.

As miserable as the seasickness was, Hannah felt secretly grateful that she could grieve for Julian and little Suhaila beneath the shroud of nausea without having to speak about her sorrow.

On the twenty-third day at sea, Gideon steered the ship past several islands and into a glistening cerulean cove. He plunged into the sea and swam with one of the large ropes around his waist so he could secure them to shore. Then he gave the orders for the crew to drop anchor.

When they arrived on the beach in the early afternoon, Hannah sank to her knees and picked up handfuls of sand, joyous as a child, laughing her relief, immediately well.

“Where are we?” asked Hypatia, knowing this was not the harbor at Piraeus.

“Alizar’s secondary residence, Harmonia,” declared Gideon. “We are picking up another passenger.”

Beyond a thicket of rustling pine, they passed between two immense iron gates supported by stone pillars. Each bore the vineyard’s symbol: two rearing griffins with a chalice set between them, its two halves joined when the gates were closed.

Four large spotted hounds came running to greet the travelers, bawling loudly, and Hannah reached down to scratch their floppy ears and kiss their heads. Behind a stand of torulosa pine and across fields of orange groves lay the main house, a massive stone villa with two ladders leaning against it where three suntanned men were repairing the roof. They waved when they saw Gideon.

Peasant women bent beside twisted grape vines paused in their work to greet the travelers. A number of excited children followed them, chattering about how they were digging another well and insisting that they come to meet the new hound puppies. Hannah looked to Gideon with questions in her eyes, and Gideon pointed to a stand of huts between the pines and explained that the servants lived on the premises and tended the land. “We are neighbors, Alizar and I. My family’s land is just beyond that hillock, very near the great temple of Asclepius. We have been the keepers of that land for generations.”

Before them sat the palatial house which had been built over two hundred years earlier by the same man who planted the vineyard, Alizar’s great-great uncle, Iannis. Each generation had constructed an additional wing, usually for a newly married son and his bride, and added another wine cellar beneath it. The entire main house covered nearly an acre of ground not including the guest quarters, with almost four hundred acres to the entire property. As they approached the main house, a young woman stepped out from the doorway to greet them. Her long black hair was bound on top of her head, and her skin shone like moonlight. In every way she looked as though she belonged in a palace instead of the countryside. Every urn ever painted through the ages had been embossed with her graceful silhouette.

“Sofia!” called Hypatia to the sloe-eyed woman who bounded out of the house and ran down the path to greet Hypatia in an enormous embrace.

Gideon leaned down to Hannah and whispered, “Alizar’s daughter, Sofia.”

After brief introductions, Sofia invited the weary travelers inside for a sumptuous meal of grilled octopus and fish stew with oregano, potatoes, carrots and onions in an egg-lemon broth. There were also wide plates of salted sardines and cured olives, grilled eggplant and fresh bread. Hannah had never tasted a finer meal in all her life, and she was so relieved to be capable of actually digesting it.

Sofia proved to be every bit as hospitable as her father. She gave Hannah a tour of the house, and expressed her enthusiasm about hearing her sing in Athens. While the two got to know one another, Gideon retreated to have a shower, and Hypatia indulged in a rare afternoon luxury, a nap.

In the early evening, Gideon found Hannah alone on the terrace. She seemed idle, so he suggested she accompany him on a walk to his land just to the south of Harmonia. They strolled between the rows of vines that were only just beginning to sprout the tiniest of green leaves, and out into the old olive orchard that overlooked the sea. Gnarled tree trunks the color of otter pelts vanished into wreaths of delicate leaves that shimmered like thousands of coins strung in the air. Hannah held out her hand to touch the trees as they walked. They were like peaceful deities, the trees. How much history they must have seen. Hippocrates had once studied, dreamed and taught beneath them. Perhaps even Socrates.

Gideon led her down to the cove, an ocean tongue where porpoises mated and frolicked in the summer. Once there, Gideon tossed flat stones out into the surf while Hannah stroked the cobbled skin of starfish in the tide pools. Several gulls hoping for scraps circled and settled on the sand.

Hannah noticed the bits of broken pottery that seemed strewn everywhere. “What are these?” she asked.

“The men come here to dive for octopus,” said Gideon. “The shards are from all the octopus pots. They must break them to get the octopus out.” As he spoke, Hannah imagined the timid, fleshy creatures that slipped into the safety of the jars only to be snatched out of the sea by the hands of hungry men. The deceit seemed so unfair—being offered safety only to be eaten. She reached down and picked up a shard from a broken octopus jar and turned it over in her hands, feeling its sharp edges, its smooth concavity. A remnant of something beautiful. She fondled it as they walked.

Gideon pointed to the promontory ahead where a beautiful house stood on the hill and nodded to Hannah. This was his home. A single servant tarried in the garden. Gideon explained he would return the following day. “Can you find your way back?”

Hannah nodded.

He smiled at her and then there was an awkwardness between them as each stood before the other. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her, but he knew where kisses led. He forced his feet to turn around and walk away, calling to the man toiling on the slope. The servant looked up and waved to him.

Hannah turned in relief, happy to have an hour to herself.

The next day would be their last in Harmonia before continuing on to Athens. Hypatia, Hannah and Sofia ate lunch together overlooking the orchard on the sprawling portico. Afterward, Hannah and Sofia spent the rest of the day collecting lavender, twisting oranges from the trees and kissing the hound puppies, whose tiny eyes were sealed shut as they wriggled and suckled against their mother’s belly, hungry mouths latched to swollen nipples.

“How did the vineyard come to be called Harmonia?” asked Hannah as she braided her long black hair in the sparse light of the winter sun.

“It was my mother’s name,” said Sofia, her voice delicate as falling snow. They leaned back on the stone benches of the small amphitheatre built in ancient days, overlooking the bay, dogs howling in the distance. “Everyone called her Mona except for my father, who thought it unforgivable to call a girl Mona when her name was really Harmonia, after the daughter of Aphrodite and Ares. I was seven when she died and we moved to Alexandria. This house always reminds me of her. I think her spirit is still here sometimes. It is why I returned here when my brother died, to be near her.” Sofia smiled, her eyes far off in the sky. “I wish I could remember her better.”