Written in the Ashes

by K. Hollan Van Zandt

  Alizar did not look up. “That is your business now,” he said.

  Tarek swallowed audibly as he realized that Alizar was serious. “But I am sorry,” he said. “I am sorry for what happened. Surely you realize that.”

  “I realize that your apology comes because you do not find my decision agreeable to you, and you would like to alter it. And I am deeply disappointed that you feel nothing for anyone other than yourself, Tarek.” Alizar turned his back and set his hands on the window ledge. “You are not my son.”

  “But I do not know what to do,” Tarek whimpered.

  Alizar unsheathed his sword. “An extraordinary gift. Use it wisely. Now, get out of my house. And should you ever return, I will run you through in the name of Zeus.”

  Tarek slowly backed out of the room and fled down the steps.

  Alizar waited until he heard the footsteps on the stairs receding, and then he sheathed his sword.

  How could it have come to this?

  But then Alizar remembered his grandson asleep downstairs, a little infant completely unaware of the broken world beyond his mother’s breast, and a smile flickered briefly across his lips before it faded, as the effort to be joyful was simply too difficult to sustain.

  40

  Five days after the spring equinox, beneath the shade of the sprawling fig tree in Alizar’s courtyard, the women of the house gathered to drink in the fresh air, even if the spring they had hoped for was still shrouded in a grey gown above them. The courtyard fountain sang musically, spouting a stream of water into the limpid pool of lotus flowers and golden fish while unseen larks and finches twittered in the newly leafed high branches of the fig tree. The delicious scent of fresh grass and spring blossoms filled the air. Hannah stood by the courtyard gate, tickling the muzzle of the grey stallion who had stuck his head over the fence for some affection while Alaya splashed her feet in the fountain. Sofia, relaxing on a divan in the shade, sewed the finishing touches on a pair of tiny satin slippers for baby Ali, asleep in her arms.

  Hannah kissed the stallion’s nose and walked across the courtyard to sit on the low wall beside her lyre. As her fingers traced the delicate curve of the instrument she let out a sigh of gratitude-tinged sorrow that she had brought it to Alizar’s the week before the fire. It was the only piece of Hypatia she had left. Alizar had announced that morning that they he would sail for Athens within the month. He was going back to Greece permanently so that he could attend to the vineyards in Harmonia, and had invited Gideon and Hannah to join he and the rest of his staff. There was so much in Alexandria that Hannah was not ready to leave behind, yet those things were all mostly memories now. Alizar had already sold his vineyard beside Lake Mareotis, though the price he received was far lower than he might have gotten in the years before the drought. Hannah felt reluctant to go, but then there was also Alaya to consider. Hannah wanted to spare her daughter any further loss of friends. They had already lost their home, all their clothes and possessions burned in the fire. Thankfully, Alizar had been kind enough to take them all in. His house had never been so crowded as Hannah, Alaya, Gideon and Sofia had all taken up residence. Alaya seemed to adore the attention, but she often asked for Tarek who, in spite of everything, Hannah missed. She had to admit that a life in Alexandria would be miserable for her daughter without friends and family. Hannah watched Alaya playing in the fountain and smiled. Soon it would be time to teach her about the rhythm of the moon and the seasons. How she would have loved to show her daughter the old olive tree on the hill in Sinai where she had tended the sheep and the goats in her father’s pasture, where as a child she had come to befriend the moon. She wished Alaya could see the ewes giving birth in the soft green pastures of spring, and taste the clear water of the streams that ran down the rocky crags of the mountain.

  There was so much to consider, and time was so short.

  Hannah took the lyre in her arms and began to play softly, humming one of the melodies she had written for Naomi years ago, if only to still the nuisance of the flies.

  The music woke little Ali, who began to cry. Sofia sleepily parted the fabric of her dress and brought his mouth to her breast so he could suckle her nipple and be soothed. Then she yawned and stretched her legs. Poor Sofia had not smiled since Synesius had died. Her beauty was a relic of vanished happiness.

  As Hannah finished the song, Sofia readjusted the babe in her arms and kissed his fingers. “Has anyone seen my father?”

  “He is still hermetically sealed in his tower,” said Hannah, gesturing up at the roof. “What do you suppose he is doing?”

  “Who knows?” said Sofia. “He has not opened the door but twice since Hypatia’s funeral.”

  “He is making a chow-ice,” Alaya announced.

  “A chalice?” asked the women.

  “Alaya, what do you mean?” asked Hannah. “Is this another one of your stories about India?”

  “He is making it for the em-por. He told me.” Alaya looked over her shoulder at her mother while dangling her toes in the fountain. She had been the only one to enter Alizar’s workshop in the tower, so no one could verify if she was in fact telling the truth.

  “Are you sure, Alaya?” asked Hannah.

  “Yes, Mama.”

  So.

  The whole story unraveled that evening when the household sat down to eat and a loud, official-sounding knock rattled the green door at the front of the house. Jemir rose to answer it.

  “It is an imperial messenger,” said Jemir, returning to the room.

  Sofia dabbed the corners of her mouth and frowned. “I will see him.” She passed her babe to Hannah.

  After a few moments she returned from the entryway with an elegant parchment letter bearing the royal seal of the Imperial Court. “It is from Emperor Theodosius the Second,” she said, so full of disbelief that it sounded as if her words were made of pure air.

  Alaya bounced on Gideon’s lap. “Open it! Open it!”

  “I cannot do that, Alaya,” said Sofia. “It is for my father.”

  Everyone at the table exchanged curious looks as Sofia leaned the letter against a candelabra, the imperial gold seal gleaming in the candlelight. The missive was so beautiful that no one dared to speak. They all simply stared at it as if it would open itself.

  That was when Alizar appeared in the doorway, his hound beside him, loyal as a shadow in good light. “I heard we had a messenger,” he said as if he had been there all along.

  Everyone looked up in surprise.

  “A letter from the em-por,” announced Alaya.

  “Thank you, Alaya,” he said as he strode up to the table and lifted the parchment. He turned the large letter over in his hands to examine the seal. “Ah, so it is. Well, shall we read it?”

  Heads bobbed emphatically around the table.

  Alizar smiled playfully, delighted to be keeping everyone in such suspense. He purposefully drew out the moment, slowly slitting the seal with a butter knife and then clearing his throat several times before reading.

  His Majesty Emperor Theodosius II has granted your request for audience and anticipates your arrival in Constantinople upon the seventh month of Julius in the year of our Lord 416. A slip in the royal harbor has been arranged for your ship, and a court guard will accompany you to the palace for your much anticipated presentation.

  The document was signed by a eunuch named Lysippus, the personal correspondent of the royal court.

  The dining table erupted with questions.

  Alizar smiled and said, “Perhaps you would like to see for yourselves. Come up to the tower after supper.” Alizar exited dramatically, his long blue robes swishing in the hall like a rustle of papyrus reeds along the Nile.

  Their plates still laden with food, everyone rose and followed him.

  Alaya led the train up the stairs to the large wooden door marked by the caduceus.
r />   It was open.

  Alizar was seated at his worktable, smiling when they arrived. They entered singly through the door. First Alaya and Hannah, then Gideon, Jemir and Sofia.

  The sight they beheld stunned them all.

  There in the center of Alizar’s worktable stood an enormous chalice of impeccable workmanship: a gleaming bowl carved from one solid piece of lapis lazuli, the stem formed of two serpents intertwined around the trunk of a massive tree with gnarled roots that formed a heavy base to support the significant weight of the chalice. Serpentine branches cradled the lapis bowl that glowed like the blue canopy of the evening sky, tiny golden flecks speckling its rim like stars while lovely whorls of white swirled between them like clouds traversing the heavens.

  No one could speak.

  The chalice seemed brought to earth from the dreamy realm of the gods, as nothing so beautiful could possibly have been created by mortal hands.

  Everyone gathered around the table to get a closer look. Alaya bounced until Gideon lifted her up in his arms to see it. Hannah looked on in awe, as the chalice was large enough that Sofia’s baby could be lain within it with still enough room for a blanket. Sofia, who was secretly disappointed that her father could have kept such an enormous secret from her, was the only one brave enough to touch it as she gently glided one finger along the glossy lip of the chalice where the gilded letters of a Latin inscription read: ut supra ut infra, ut infra ut supra. Hannah recognized the alchemist’s riddle from a stanza in the Emerald Tablet. A wise thinker would be led to the secret the chalice contained. Sofia caressed the stone thoughtfully. “How on earth did you…I mean…did you make this, Papa?” She looked to her father, who seemed quite pleased with himself.

  “An alchemist never divulges his secrets,” he said with a wink. “I will tell you, though, that the Chalice of Sofia, as I have named it, serves a very special purpose. Behold.” Alizar leaned forward and cradled the chalice in his arms, gently turning it upside-down on the table. Then he placed both hands on the large gold base and gave a mighty twist, and much to everyone’s surprise, it began to turn.

  With several more twists, the base came free of the stem, revealing it to be hollow. Alizar reached the fingers of one hand into the brass stem and pulled out two small papyrus scrolls that he handed to Gideon to unroll.

  Gideon passed Alaya to Hannah and then slowly unrolled the scrolls and spread them on the table for everyone to see, fixing the corners with several small stones.

  “Look, a map, Mama,” said Alaya. “And a bird.”

  The second of the two scrolls bore an etching of the ibis-headed god Thoth at the fore, and looked like a set of laws, as they were numbered.

  “Yes, my love,” said Hannah as she stroked her daughter’s hair.

  “Gideon?” said Alizar, inviting him to explain.

  “It must be the map of all the places we have hidden the manuscripts from the Great Library,” said Gideon thoughtfully as he traced the contours of the map with one finger. “Cyprus, Crete, Nag Hammadi, Malta, Antioch, Patmos, Delfi, Cappodocia…it is all here.” He looked up at Alizar, who nodded that he was correct.

  “Every document we saved from the library has been sealed in clay jars and buried in the ground in these locations. This is one of two maps that I made to reveal them,” Alizar explained.

  “Where is the other one?” asked Sofia.

  “I will take it to Harmonia and have it walled into the hearth,” announced Alizar. “It was my final promise to Hypatia.”

  “And this one you will give to the emperor?” asked Hannah.

  Alizar smiled, so happy. “Yes, to Emperor Theodosius the Second and his sister, Pulcheria.”

  “That is madness,” said Gideon. “Well done.”

  “But what is this other scroll?” asked Hannah, stroking the etching of Thoth.

  “It is an etching I made of the Emerald Tablet rejoined,” declared Alizar.

  Hannah wanted to ask him to translate it for her, but then thought again. The magical script was perfect as it was, unknown to her. She did not need every mystery revealed. This one could live in her heart, exactly as it was.

  Alizar smiled as if he read her thoughts.

  “Will you be telling the young emperor what the chalice conceals?” asked Jemir.

  Alizar licked his lips, as though the decision had been a hard one for him. “The chalice and its secret will be safest in the royal palace until one day, many years from now I assume, someone discovers what it contains.” Then Alizar rolled up the maps and the etching of the Emerald Tablet and tucked them back into the stem, twisting the base to seal it.

  “Astonishing,” said Sofia.

  “Unbelievable, really,” said Gideon.

  “And you made the chalice yourself?” asked Hannah, revisiting Sofia’s earlier question.

  Alizar did not answer, but smiled the artist’s loving smile for his creation as he righted the chalice on the table. “The Vesta will sail for Greece at the month’s end,” he said, “and then from Athens to Constantinople.”

  Sofia nodded. “I am proud of you, Papa,” she said.

  Hannah took Alaya from Gideon and propped her on her hip.

  “Have you decided if you will be coming with us?” asked Sofia to Hannah, reaching to take her son in her arms as he began to fuss for her breast.

  Hannah passed the babe to Sofia, then looked at Gideon.

  “We have not yet discussed our plans,” said Hannah.

  “Oh? I expected you and Gideon would sail ahead of us,” said Alizar. “Orestes has given him a marvelous ship and the Celestial Clock of Archimedes to take along to Greece. It is tragic, but I need to find a new captain now that mine has a superior vessel.”

  Hannah eyed Gideon. “Why do I not know of this?”

  The others in the room looked away as the tension grew, as if turning their heads would make them less present.

  Gideon uncrossed his arms, squared his shoulders, and walked to the door without a backward glance. His steps echoed loudly on the stairs as if etching his feelings in footprints.

  Hannah looked through the door after him. “Gideon?”

  41

  Hannah paced the wharf, her grey woolen shawl pulled tightly around her body, her hands tucked up under the sleeves. “Gideon, please come down and talk to me.”

  Gideon leaned over the bow, his muscular hands busy untangling a line. “My ship sails at dawn tomorrow, Hannah. I am sorry. I do not have time for talk.” He smiled at her and kicked a flying fish off the bow and into the water with a plunk. An osprey perched on the rigging instantly spied the opportunity and swept down to grasp the fish in its talons, returning to the mast to devour the prize in triumph.

  Hannah sighed, frustrated. Why would he not speak to her? “But Gideon,” she called up to the ship. “Please, just for a moment.”

  Again his face appeared over the edge, his dark eyes even darker, his tone as dead as the fish in the osprey’s claws. “No. Go home to Alizar. And to Julian.”

  Hannah let out a guttural howl. “I have not even seen Julian since the night of the fire, Gideon. You know that as well as I. Just come down and speak to me.” Hannah tipped her chin toward him. “You are to be my husband. Please!”

  Gideon secured the untangled manila line to a hook on the deck with three swift turns and threw the length overboard. “But you will see him,” he said.

  “Look, if you will not speak to me then I am coming up.” Hannah strode down the dock to the gangplank. But as she neared it, Gideon appeared, and drew the long board up onto the deck. “It is in need of repair. I would not want a lady to be injured,” he said.

  Hannah shook her head and rolled her eyes. As if he expected her to believe such nonsense. “Gideon, this is childish of you, and rude.”

  “Go back to Alizar’s, Hannah,” said Gideon flatly. “M
y ship sails at dawn. If you want to discuss matters, then you are welcome to be aboard it. If not, with my apologies, I have work to finish.” And he turned his back to her, and called out to one of his crew.

  Hannah waited for a long time there, alone on the dock with the fog drifting in wisps around her body, the cold seeping through her bones. Then she turned, and walked all the way back to Alizar’s with her fists clenched, angry at Gideon’s unfounded jealousy.

  Without a thought to where she was going, Hannah climbed the stairs to the tower where the others had been and stopped at the closed door. She let her fist float in the air above the caduceus, and then she lowered it and turned away, and walked halfway down the steps. Then she turned and walked up again. Then down.

  Up.

  Down.

  Then up.

  Here her journey had begun. Here at the steps, sweeping. Here where she had discovered Alizar’s wife, Naomi, pale and asleep behind the door.

  Downstairs the baby wailed as if just awakening, and Hannah could hear Sofia croon to him. Voices of love.

  Hannah turned back to the door, and this time, she let her knuckles graze the wood.

  “Come,” said Alizar.

  Hannah pushed the door and stepped inside. “Alizar, I am sorry to disturb you,” Hannah began, but she lifted her head to see that no one was in the room. Strange. She was certain she had heard him.

  That was when she noticed that the stairs to the roof had been lowered, a square patch of sky at the top.

  Of course, the roof.

  Hannah lifted the edge of her lavender himation embroidered with a lotus hem and ran up the stairs, beginning her speech again. “Alizar, I am sorry to disturb you, but I just wanted—” Her breath fell short at the last word she uttered, for there before her, framed by the orange disk of the sun, stood Alizar and another man she would have known anywhere.

  Julian.

  Alizar nodded to her, his eyes full of some deep, unnamed pain. Before Hannah could fully understand why, he excused himself. “I was just telling Master Junkar that there is a scroll downstairs that I want him to look at. I will go see if I can find it.” He bowed his head and swept past her, his long blue robe swishing down the stairs.