Selene of Alexandria (5 page)

"He just what?"

"He makes me feel strange – like I've never felt before. I can't talk around him; I have trouble breathing, my ears ring. I feel so...so...stupid! Maybe he's bewitched me."

Phillip laughed, hugged her briefly, and then stepped back, holding her at arm's length. "You've been spending too much time with the servants, picking up their superstitious ways. You're fourteen. It's natural you would be attracted to a man, especially one as handsome and powerful as Orestes. Don't worry, little sister, you'll get over it. Things will feel better in the morning."

He turned her around and gave her a little shove toward the door. As she was leaving, she stuck her head back in. "Promise?"

"It's good to have you home again." She ducked out before she heard his reply. Content, she would sleep now and leave the mystery of the Prefect for another day.

Chapter 4

Orestes woke just before sunrise. He always did, no matter how little sleep he had the night before. When on active patrol, he used this predawn time to walk the camp perimeter, check on troop readiness and have a quiet word with the foot soldiers. In his administrative roles, he used this precious private time to exercise and prepare for the day.

He rolled over in bed, sat up and groaned, slightly disoriented by unfamiliar surroundings. The night before, Orestes poured as much drink into potted plants as he had consumed at the banquets, but still his head ached. Abundantius, less circumspect, had consumed all the fine wine the good city fathers presented. Orestes rubbed his cropped head ruefully. His friend had always been able to drink and be cheerfully free of ill effects the next morning.

Orestes shook the cobwebs from his mind and surveyed his sumptuous room with a small frown. The profusion of bright silk hangings, lustrous gilded wood and painted statuary offended his ascetic tastes. He should have known the Alexandrian Prefect's quarters would reflect the Oriental splendor of the Constantinople court. A wealthy benefactor had willed the estate to the Emperor after the destruction of the Ptolemaic palace district during Diocletian's reign.

The mansion, situated south of the agora, crowned a low rise of limestone built up into an artificial hill. From the loggia, one could look over the whole city, yet have easy access to the governmental and commercial heart directly north. Orestes' suite of rooms looked out onto a central garden of neatly clipped bushes and banks of flowers. His personal quarters took up the top floor of the entire east wing.

As Orestes stood, a muscle spasmed in his back. His in-drawn breath hissed as he bent halfway over, hand on a gilded chair. The servant who'd seen him to bed, a scant two hours before, had informed him a slave had been assigned to see to his personal needs. "Demetrius!" he shouted.

The slave – a compact man of uncertain middle age and probable Greek heritage – entered immediately and rushed to Orestes' side. "Master, what is wrong? Should I call a physician?"

Orestes waved him off. "No. My head is the worse for the celebrations and my back rebels against this soft life." He rubbed both hands on his lower back as he straightened and surveyed the room. "Get rid of that nest of cushions masquerading as a bed. I require a platform of cedar, built to half again my length and my arm span wide. Have a mattress made with close woven cotton and stuffed with something solid – straw or feathers, not down."

He made a sweeping gesture with his right hand. "Remove all statues except three of the smallest, all chests and tables except the largest, and that chair." Orestes pointed to an ugly throne-like affair sitting on a raised platform against a wall.

Orestes groaned at the prospect of another round of introductions and insistent importunities. "The Prefect wishes a tour of the baths and a massage before facing the steward."

The one luxury he did approve of in his new home was the gymnasium and baths. All upper class homes had running water, and most had baths, but the majority of the populace frequented public facilities, hundreds of which dotted the city. The more luxurious baths charged fees and were frequented by the city elite.

Demetrius led Orestes through the colonnaded outside passage, past several carved mahogany doors to a narrow staircase in the rear of the complex. Orestes felt the humidity increasing as they descended to a chamber with vaulted ceilings. An exercise pool stretched before him. His footsteps echoed off the stone floor with a wet slapping sound. Two slaves stood at attention beside a bench piled high with thick towels.

Demetrius pointed to a series of doors on the left. "This way we have the cold, warm and hot rooms, all furnished with pools, benches and tables. The attendants are skilled in all the usual services: massage, barbering, hairdressing, skin waxing."

"Is there an exercise yard?"

"Through that door at the end of the room. There is a full complement of weapons and a weapons master could be employed if you wish, Master. The guards use the yard for practice when the Prefect is not in residence."

"Good. Arrange for the best wrestler to work out with me in the mornings. Once a week I'll want a swords master to attend me. My custom is to arise before dawn, exercise and bathe before attending the office."

"Might I suggest the Prefect plan to attend the public baths on occasion? Much important city business is conducted as the city fathers take their ease."

Orestes rubbed the bridge of his nose. He intended to add frequent trips to the public baths to his schedule. The imperial court had been much the same. "That is sound advice. When is the most auspicious time of day to arrive at the baths?"

"After the afternoon council session and before the evening meal."

"I'll enjoy my own facilities this one day." Orestes surveyed the beckoning rooms then started for the one with steam pouring from under the door. "I'll soak in the hot pool, have my massage and finish in the frigidarium." He snapped his fingers at the body slaves. "Attend me."

Orestes lay on a marble table draped with a warm towel of soft combed linen. The material felt silky against his skin. A slave pummeled his sore muscles, kneaded sweet-smelling oil into his skin and scraped off the oil and sweat with a strigil, a small curved knife. Orestes caught a whiff of wintergreen under the heavier scent of sandalwood.

Demetrius stood against the wall, an unobtrusive shadow, sparking Orestes' curiosity. "How came you to this state of servitude, Demetrius?" Orestes asked.

A blank mask settled over the slave's face. "It's a common enough tale. My widowed father drank heavily and ran up debts against his shipping business. A run of bad weather and spoiled cargo ruined us. My sister and I were seized and sold into slavery to pay the debts. My father died shortly after of a wasting disease of the liver."

"And your sister?"

Small lines of bitterness puckered the corners of Demetrius' eyes as he replied in a low, flat voice, "She was put to work in a brothel. She died a year later in childbirth, as did the babe."

"I was a student of history and languages. The former for my pleasure. The latter to be useful to my father in his business."

Orestes had observed Demetrius during the morning, carefully testing his abilities as a body servant and his knowledge of the estate. His tone toward his master was always deferential, his advice well considered. Demetrius took no notes, but made quiet requests of waiting servants. The others accorded the slave a level of respect not usually offered to one of his rank. Orestes did not doubt his every wish would be dealt with efficiently and to his satisfaction, but hoped Demetrius might prove of even higher worth in another capacity.

"Based on your study of history, what do you recommend I do first as Prefect?"

Demetrius blanched and bowed his head. "I would not presume to advise you, Master."

"Come, man," Orestes said with some impatience. "You have already given me excellent advice. I am new to this city and require people I can trust to give me assistance."

"I'm a slave."

"Precisely. As a slave, you go places I cannot. You hear things I do not. You do not have the same interests as the nobles or councilmen who try to influence me. I need someone to balance their views."

"My first advice is to take your time finding advisors. You know nothing of me. You do not know if I am wise or trustworthy."

"By your very words, you prove both." Orestes smiled. "Most men would cut off a finger to be a privy advisor to the Prefect. What else would you advise?"

Demetrius squared his shoulders. "A close relationship with Patriarch Theophilus. He is the spiritual leader of this city, and most influential. You can to do little without his approval. Hypatia, the Lady Philosopher, is also an able advisor. Her wisdom has guided several of the Prefects, although the last gave her words little heed."

Orestes sat up as the body slave toweled off the remaining oil. "Any others?"

"Many to be wary of, a few to listen to." Demetrius frowned in concentration. "I will make a list for your perusal. I also advise a tour of the province and as many public appearances as you can. The people need to know their governor and feel they can appeal to you."

"My private life will become the stuff of gossips and dinner conversation."

"As it would anyway. Your history is already making the rounds of the salons, Master. If the gossips do not get something new to talk about soon, they will make up their own stories."

"Very well." Orestes dropped his feet to the floor. "Let's go to the frigidarium. A cold dip should be just the thing to prepare me for the day."

"At your pleasure, Master." Demetrius bowed low.

Later, after disappointing the hairdresser ("I've worn short hair all my life"), the barber ("I know beards are fashionable, but I like to be clean shaven") and the cook ("Water to drink in the morning, bread and soup at midday, simple fare for dinner"), Orestes retired to his office.

On the way, Demetrius commented softly, "The staff is most eager to serve you in any way, Master. They feel your refusal to use their services is a reflection on their abilities."

"You mean they fear they will be dismissed."

Demetrius shrugged. "If the Prefect has no need for a service, it is logical to conclude the Prefect has no need for the servant."

"I have no time or inclination to indulge in the elaborate rituals of a nobleman. However, I will be entertaining many local and foreign guests, who will require the services of a skilled staff. The cook will yet get to dazzle me with his art." Orestes rubbed his smooth-shaven jaw. "Arrange for suitable gifts to be distributed to the staff in honor of my arrival, and assure them of their positions."

"Yes, Master." As they approached a mahogany door, Demetrius informed him, "Isidore, the steward, awaits you in your office."

One corner of Orestes' mouth quirked upward. "The first in a long line of appointments, I suppose. I hope it is an auspicious one."

They entered the room, Orestes in the lead. An officious little man, whose thin beard failed to cover the blemishes from some past disease, rose to greet them. The man's sallow skin was not enhanced by the garish yellow-orange of his robes. "I hope everything is to your satisfaction, Augustal Prefect." Isidore minced forward, hands fluttering. "Would you care to inspect the grounds now?"

"I've seen what I want of the estate. I've left instructions with Demetrius for ordering my quarters and my schedule. Give him all due assistance."

Startled, Isidore cast a suspicious glance toward Demetrius. "Your Excellency will need assistants. I've taken the liberty of recommending three young men for the position of personal secretary. They come from the best families and await your pleasure, Sir."

Orestes put on a polite smile. Isidore might just be overly efficient and trying to please the new Prefect, but more likely he was taking gifts from the fathers or patrons of the young men. Many would give good money to know what business the Prefect conducted in private, what decrees would be made and when. "Thank you, good Isidore. As I am new to this city, I would not give offence by elevating one family above another by taking a son into my employ."

Isidore hid his disappointment with a bow. "As you wish, Excellency. Should I seek others more to your liking?"

Orestes turned to his body servant. "Demetrius, you read and write, do you not?"

"Yes, Master. I speak, read and write Greek and Latin. I also speak the local Egyptian dialect fluently and know some Hebrew."

Isidore's head bobbed. His eyes grew round with consternation. "But…"

"Good." Orestes interrupted. "Until I can better assess my situation and choose for myself, Demetrius will be my personal secretary." He ushered the steward out of the office with a firm hand on his back. "Thank you again, Isidore. I expect regular reports from you on the running of the household. I would see the accounts tomorrow, and once a quarter hereafter."

After the door shut on the outraged Isidore, Orestes surveyed his office. This room was more to his liking. It had a functional lived-in look, though still ornate. A massive table with legs carved in the shapes of fish dominated the room. Orestes feet sank into a rich carpet woven in greens and blues as he approached the table. He ran his hand appreciatively over the highly polished surface inlaid with various types of wood and ivory showing scenes from life along the Nile.