Written in the Ashes (6 page)

Hannah listened raptly and tried to understand this lyrical language of Alizar’s house. She wanted to know more. “What of Tarek?”

Jemir dabbed at the droplets of wine that sprinkled the dome of his belly. “An Egyptian. His mother was once a servant in the house, like you and I. She was a frail woman whose cheeks drooped like the jowls of a mean dog.” He lowered his voice. “Tarek calls Alizar ‘father’, but there is no blood relation. His mother came into the house already with child. Then she tried to insist the boy was Alizar’s. This did not go over well with anyone but Tarek.”

“What happened to her?”

“She left for the fish market when Tarek was a small boy and was never seen again. Alizar’s daughter, Sofia, who was perhaps ten years old at the time, despised the woman. She suspected that Tarek’s mother fabricated the entire story so that Tarek as the eldest boy in the house would be in line for an inheritance, since Alizar’s only son, Theon, was only two months younger than Tarek at the time.”

“Alizar has children?”

“Yes. Sofia is the only child now. Her half brother, Theon, was a remarkable gymnast, and had been accepted to compete as an Olympian. He died in a tragic fall from the roof last year when he and Tarek were playing a game. He was fifteen.” Jemir’s eyes darkened.

Hannah studied Jemir’s face. “Do you think Tarek was responsible?”

Jemir sighed. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Alizar believes him innocent, as Tarek was devastated by Theon’s death. They were practically brothers.”

“And Sofia?”

“She is convinced Tarek killed him. After Theon’s death she left Alexandria and has not returned.”

“She left? Where did she go?”

“Sofia lives in Epidavros outside of Athens at Alizar’s other vineyard. She swore she would not speak to her father again as long as Tarek lives under his roof. But no one took it worse than Naomi, Theon’s mother, Alizar’s wife.”

“His wife?” asked Hannah.

“Yes.” Jemir wiped the red stain from his mustache. “She sleeps at the top of the stairs.”

Hannah’s eyes came alive as she put the pieces together.

“What is it?” Jemir asked.

Hannah shook her head and tried to mask her joy at learning who the woman was that she attended to day after day. “Nothing.” She did not want anyone to know she had found Alizar’s wife. Alizar had been lenient with her about escaping. She did not want to try his patience.

“Jemir?” Alizar called from the courtyard. “Can you bring the coffee?”

“I will get it,” said Hannah. She had hoped they would ask for coffee, as she loved the potent scent of it. She sometimes carried a coffee bean tucked up under her headscarf all through the day so that she could pull it out and inhale the rich aroma. She dashed out into the courtyard with the tray and a wide smile.

“Alizar,” said Orestes, “wherever did you find this charming slave?”

Alizar chewed his food and washed it down with a sip of wine. “She is called Hannah. Apparently, she had family in the desert. A father, I understand. She came here quite by accident.”

An Abba.

Hannah set the teacups on the table before Orestes and his wife, her hands shaking so dramatically at the mention of her father that the cups clattered in their saucers. As she poured the Turkish coffee for Alizar, she found it impossible to hold the spout in one place, and it splashed across the table into his lap.

Alizar shoved his chair back from the table with a howl, and then quick laughter.

“Aye!” Hannah set the teapot down and quickly untied her waist scarf to mop up the spill. Alizar lifted his napkin and began dabbing at his groin and thigh.

Orestes ignored the incident entirely, so intrigued was he by the beautiful young girl. “She is a Jew?”

Hannah glanced at Alizar, her eyes frantic as she mopped up the coffee, and Alizar set a hand on her wrist. “Stop,” he said. “I will take care of it. Go inside.”

Hannah bowed her head and ran into the kitchen. She feared this man who stood a full head higher than her father, his taut muscles so well defined he might have modeled for a chart of anatomy, yet he surely had to be a grandfather ten times over. But what struck Hannah most was not Alizar’s appearance at all, but his voice. If a mountain could speak, it would sound like Alizar. If all the sonorous waves of the sea broke the shore at once, they could not compete with the resonance in his chest. She wanted to wrap herself in his voice, for it was surely the strongest armor in the world.

“Yes, governor,” said Alizar, returning to his chair. “I do not know her story. She attempted to escape not long ago, and so the poor thing must believe her family is still alive.”

“She is very dutiful,” ventured Phoebe, attempting to be punctilious, though she really seethed with jealousy at her husband’s keen interest in the girl. She concealed her emotion tactfully with a nervous gesture of repeatedly tucking the blue
taenia
in her silver hair behind one of her ears.

“Yes, quite,” said Orestes, his eyes merry with desire. “Might I buy her off of you, Alizar?”

Alizar shook his head.

“Just name your price.” Orestes shook his purse in his hand and placed five gold coins on the table.

Alizar looked back to the open doorway of the kitchen where Hannah stood in silhouette, bent over, her face in her hands. Then the door closed. “No,” he said resolutely. “The girl is not for sale. I am sorry.”

“But what will you do with her?” asked Orestes. “You told me last month you had too many servants to feed. What if the drought continues? Do us a favor,” he glanced at Phoebe. “We could use a girl like her.”

Phoebe shifted uncomfortably. For the governor to haggle over the girl in front of his wife seemed cruel to Alizar, even if it was common. Alizar smiled and ended the discussion. “Ask me again in a season and see if I have changed my mind. For now I will keep her.” Phoebe looked relieved as Alizar changed the subject and Orestes reluctantly put his coins away. “Speak of Cyril. Tell me, have you made any progress with the Emperor in disbanding his Parabolani?”

“None I am afraid.”

“Orestes, I fear for the library.”

“Yes,” said Orestes gravely, setting down his cup. “So do I. As praetorian prefect I could do far more to protect the treasures of our city, so I have decided to run in the next election. Once I preside over all of Egypt I believe I will have the leverage I need to gather an army and end Cyril’s tirade. Hypatia even seems to think I will win.”

“Then here is to your victory!” Alizar raised his glass, and they all drank deeply.

The candles burned low, and they each took places on divans to recline and recite poetry. Orestes noted the planet Jupiter perched directly above them in the sky and commented on its auspicious placement as they inhaled sweet hashish from Alizar’s finest hookah.

Phoebe did not agree with the men that the tide of hatred toward the pagans in the city was changing. She knew in her bones that they were all still in danger. She turned the conversation from joyful banter toward a more serious matter. “Did you hear? Hypatia received a death threat.”

“Another?” Alizar shook his head. “Orestes, pray, why did you not tell me of this?”

Orestes shrugged. “Hypatia knew it would cause alarm, so she told no one.”

“But she told you,” said Alizar.

“We were in the library that day,” said Phoebe.

“Well, what happened?” asked Alizar.

“Cyril’s men cut off Isaiah’s arms, lit him on fire, and dropped the lad at the Caesarium gate with a letter tied to a stone before him, demanding that Hypatia turn over the stacks of the library to the church,” said Phoebe.

“The coward,” acknowledged Orestes, now entirely sauced, his eyes glowing red as hot coals.

Alizar nodded. “And what was Hypatia’s response?”

“You know how foolish Hypatia can be. I believe she cursed him,” said Phoebe.

Alizar nodded. “She will never succumb to threats. They merely strengthen her resolve to defend the library.” He turned a ripe pomegranate in his hand. “And mine.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Orestes. “And mine.” He smiled triumphantly at his wife and his friend and downed the last of the wine in his
rython
.

That night, Hannah lay curled on her side in her bed of stable straw beside Leitah, who was already asleep. She listened to the market cats in heat as they mewed their prurient cries into the night. Her belly cramped with her monthly blood. Though uncomfortable, she rejoiced there had not been a baby after the slave traders. At least that fear was over. Now she only felt the silent ache in her heart, a prison door where the sky had been.

She lifted her hand to her head and withdrew the silver hairpin. Somehow the slave traders had not seen it there, or surely they would have taken that, too. Lavenous, she ran her fingers over the curves of the sleeping swan, the twin pins that emerged from its belly like elongated legs. It was the only thing that remained of her father in her life until they could be reunited. Precious gift. She pressed it to her lips in the darkness and then returned it to her hair.

Her circumstances were maddening. Hannah could see that while the drought wore on and reports of the dead came over the walls, she was clothed and fed and slept on a warm bed of straw. Even though she wanted to escape, she was frightened. Everyone knew a slave’s collar in the city. She would be punished again, perhaps killed. What good would she be to her father if she were dead? She had always felt so powerful climbing the steep cliffs of Sinai, as capable with the herd as any man. She considered stealing Tarek’s clothes and a knife; she could pull a burnoose across her face and walk the roads. It could work if she managed to get out of Alexandria. But what then?

By candlelight Hannah traced twin triangles overlapping, one above, one beneath, just above her pillow. Then she whispered the
Shema
, her hand above her eyes. Sacred prayer.

And though her heart knew little peace, her sanctified whispers carried her to sleep.

So.

Morning.

Hannah hummed softly, carrying a basket of wet linen sheets on her head as she walked through the white marble halls of the house, past the glistening
impluvium
in the atrium that reflected the enormous stone statue of Hermes, his steely eyes fixed upon the heavens, and down the bougainvillea arbor toward the clothesline. When she had secured the last sheet, Alizar appeared. “Hannah, please come see me.”

Hannah bit her lower lip and nodded. This was about the coffee incident she was certain, or worse, what if he had discovered she was secretly sitting with his wife? A hot bile rose in her throat. He would beat her, she was certain, or sell her. Thoughts flew through her mind like raindrops scattered in a flurry. What if he sold her to someone wicked who whipped her or locked her up or made her bear endless children? What if he sent her away on a ship? Each fate seemed more terrible than the last. Hannah gathered the empty reed basket into her trembling hands, set it on her head and went into the house.

“Come,” said Alizar, standing between his loyal red hounds, their tongues lolling against his robes as he rubbed their ears.

He led Hannah across the lower hall toward a south-facing balcony, which overlooked the stable yard and the alleyway that led to Canopic Way. Although the day had only just begun, the sun was already warming the flat stones of the balcony beneath Hannah’s bare feet. The hounds sprawled along the wall and closed their eyes. In the street below, traders were setting up their tents. Alizar pointed out the town barber who always took the best spot beside the fountain, his popularity owed to the Alexandrian style of wearing the face smooth as an egg like its founder—a fashion Alizar had never subscribed to. He showed her the scribe who would take dictations for a
siliqua
, and the cosmetic dealers—plump, cheery women who painted the eyes and lips of the women walking by. Beside the grain merchant’s tent, an orange cat was bent over a dead chicken, lapping up the blood as white feathers wafted down the street like dandelion seeds.

Hannah knelt before him, trembling. “I understand if you want to get rid of me.”

Alizar pulled her up. “I am not going to sell you off. Spilling coffee is not a crime, at least not in my house.” He lifted an empty cup and poured black coffee from a ceramic pot painted with traditional Greek scenes of Dionysus and his nymphs. He sipped slowly, and then lifted one eyebrow and pierced Hannah with his ice blue eyes. “I understand you have met my wife.”

Hannah threw herself at his mercy. “I am sorry. She was so peaceful there, and so beautiful, and I was curious. Curiosity is a fault with me. My father has always said it.”

Alizar settled himself on a divan in the shade and invited Hannah to sit in a chair beside him. “Yes, you are a curious girl, but that is not a crime as I understand it either. I do not appreciate you going against my wishes to stay out of the room, but I am willing to forgive it. Tell me about your father, Hannah, and your family.”

Hannah breathed a sigh of relief, and sat cautiously in the chair beside Alizar, who waited for her to speak. “My father is a king,” said Hannah finally, filled with longing for her Abba at the thought of his name. “A king of shepherds. I never knew my mother. She died giving birth to me just after I was named.”