Aries Fire (13 page)

The tall, broad figure in the shadow of the archway stepped forward. His silhouette appeared older than his thirty-nine-year-old features. A modest blue cap partially hid a vestige hairline. Waxed pallor spoke of long hours in dark places.  He slid his forefinger across the travertine marble border of the tufa blocks that held up the two-story building. He sighed deeply and rubbed his first finger against his thumb. Pale, grey eyes observed the young man. He smoothed his unwrinkled cassock.  Before dismissing the young man, he said in a disquietingly deep voice, “What’s your name, boy?”

“Gaius, Your Grace. Gaius Tullius,” said the boy as he slowly looked up at the tall figure.

“You’ve a pretty face, boy. Very pretty.”

The young man lowered his eyes. He held in his breath and his horror. The figure brushed him aside, strode past him down the damp corridor toward the heavy wooden doors, pushed through them with ease and entered the deacon’s office. The smell of pungent incense hung in the air.

“Ah, Cyril,” said Deacon Leo as he sat behind his modest gilded desk and high-back wooden chair. Leo maintained a youthful and pleasant appearance for his thirty-four years. A casually shaved head bore remnants of hair, somewhat prematurely grey. Three tiny upward wrinkles bordered bright green eyes. Leo’s eyes smiled even if his lips turned downward in deep, contemplative moments. Many commented on how his skin glowed an almost holy golden hue. Leo’s fit appearance gave an impression of one who would live for centuries without struggle.

Deacon Leo wore his white cassock in honor of the Holy See, Pope Innocent, who was to honor him with a short communion later that day. For one so young, Leo moved quickly through the political, religious ranks with disarming charm and reverence. Leo, although relatively modest in stature, exuded confidence and always appeared taller than his actual height. Arms rested casually on the arms of the chair. Cyril noted how the design and delicate gold inlay accentuated Leo’s hands.

“Your Grace,” Bishop Cyril said as he bowed.

“Please, Bishop, sit down and let us not stand on formality. It is I who ought to bow to your authority,” he said, yet did not stand.

He gestured for Cyril to sit on the red silk chair opposite him. Cyril complied, aptly flipping his cloak over the back of the chair. Cyril looked up at the wooden cross beams with yet more colorful frescoes decorating the walls. The room was one of four offices surrounding a central courtyard. All of which annexed the apse of the basilica. Cyril glanced to his left and saw an attendant standing like a marble statue in the corner.

“It is I who ought to have an office such as this, Leo,” Cyril said bluntly.

“Come, my friend. Have some wine. You must be weary from your long journey.” Leo motioned for his attendant to pour the wine.

“I’m just now perusing the responsum from the Rabbinical Synod in Jerusalem,” said Leo.

“The Jews, the Jews,” Cyril muttered with disdain.

The deacon waved his attendant away. As the doors closed with a faint creak, Leo turned to Cyril.

“We will trust in God’s strength to be our strength. The end of the pagan faction is underway and no longer a threat, Dear Bishop,” Leo changed the subject reticently. “Orestes is surprisingly more persuasive a politician than we thought. No doubt the late female philosopher thwarted your reconciliation with Orestes. And the family?” Leo questioned Cyril as if he already knew the answer.

Leo held a penetrating look at Cyril. His great talent for passively asserting his authority did not affect Cyril in the way he expected.

“Orestes has no power over me.” Cyril said. “And that woman and her family are no longer a concern. Let your mind be free of them,” he added dully, holding his anxiety in silence.

Cyril stared at Leo with equal intensity for a moment. Cyril watched Leo lower his eyes to turn a single page over onto a pile. The page crinkled slightly.  Leo leaned back in his chair; hands folded quietly across his stomach.

“Your position in Alexandria is made because of this office, dear Bishop. You were consecrated successor to your uncle, the late Bishop Theophilus, because of this office. There are many who would, if allowed, seek to remove you from your See in Alexandria. Yours is not an easy position, Cyril. Your blatant, violent approach to spreading and maintaining the true word of God is often offensive to the Holy See. You are a devout Christian, Cyril, but you must…”

“I must do what is necessary to cleanse the land of heresy,” Cyril interjected with annoyance. He hated being lectured to by any man, especially one younger in age and lower in status.

Leo considered him for a moment.

“Yes, of course. But perhaps it would be wise to be a bit more diplomatic regarding your approach. Let us not doubt the power behind this desk.”

Cyril threw a cold, hard stare at Leo.

“What we do,” Leo said, “is to humbly adhere to the Will of God and His rightful doctrine,” he paused. “We are patient as Divine timing is revealed to us.”

“And what I do is to humbly protect you,” Cyril said sharply.

The room echoed with Cyril’s words.  Tension hung heavily in the room. Leo bowed his head somewhat to abate Cyril’s aggression.

“The Lord be praised,” Leo responded.

Cyril nodded his head in agreement. He gulped his wine and gently put the goblet onto the desk.

“There are rumors concerning Nestorius, a cleric in Antioch, that are quite disturbing,” Leo said.

Cyril decided against pushing the matter of his political privileges any further.

“Go on,” Cyril said.

“It would seem that this cleric has a strong belief that our Beloved Virgin Mary is a mere woman and therefore cannot be called the Theotokos.”

Theotokos, Bearer of God, was a discordant matter amongst the church statesmen and representatives. Some believed that Mary, Jesus’ mother, was more than a woman. Mary was the deliverer of the Christ, some claimed, the one true Son of God. As such, she could only have been more than mere flesh.

Provoked by the deacon’s statement, Cyril’s body tensed. Leo ultimately knew exactly how to manipulate the direction of Cyril’s psyche. It was a silent game Leo played to orchestrate his environment. Leo needed to win in every situation and was patient with his control.

Cyril felt strongly about this subject. His treaties regarding what he called, De Trinitas, The Trinity: the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, were finding more and more favor amid highly positioned Archbishops, Archdeacons, and the office of the Pope, the Holy See.

The subject of Jesus’ humanity versus his Divinity was an emotionally controversial topic amongst all theologians.

Cyril adopted the term, ‘Trinity’ and was determined to solidify this definition thereby bringing an end to the confusion of Jesus’ human nature. Cyril believed that Jesus Christ was truly God and truly human. Jesus was no ordinary man. He had direct communion with the Divine Spirit. No other man could claim this. In Cyril’s mind, humanity would do well to hold the Trinity as the model for salvation.

The subject of the Virgin Mary and whether or not she truly was the Theotokos greatly affected the validity of his argument, as well as his political positioning inside the body of the Christian Church.

Cyril had little patience for the growing number of religious sects who claimed to know St. Peter’s nature of Christ, God, and Jesus. To Cyril, any who attempted to preach their own religion were evil blasphemers who deserved nothing less than condemnation and annihilation.

“This Nestorius, is he commissioned by the church?”

“Not quite, but in these days of rapid advancement, it would not be a surprise. He has many allies. He’s a cleric under the training of Bishop Theodore of Mopsuestia. Theodore has progressed in his career of late. He now leads the Antiochene School of hermeneutics.”

Cyril groaned an all but audible sound.

“Bible text interpretation is left to an outspoken cleric in training?” Cyril was disgusted. “Pelagius and his war on sin and Divine Grace has plagued us as it is. Humanity has no more control over its salvation than I have over what frescoes are affixed to your walls,” he said, his hands flying up in exasperation. “And now we suffer the mental afflictions of a cleric? What does Emperor Honorius say of this?”

“The Emperor is distracted most days with the guard against the Huns.  Their numbers are growing, a concern for us all.  The talk is he readies himself for war.  We cannot rely upon him just now.”

“And Deacon Celestine? What concerns does he have?

“Celestine is in accord with our position,” Leo said.

“Pelagius must be silenced,” Cyril said.

“Pelagius has fled to Jerusalem, and although Celestine’s duties detain him in Milan, rest easy Cyril. Celestine will not permit Pelagius to roam freely. Of this I am certain. Do not concern yourself with Pelagius,” Leo paused to pour more wine into his goblet.

“We must now keep watch on Nestorius, Cyril, and the Huns.” Leo used the word, we, when referring to Cyril.

“You speak as an Emperor, Leo,” he said.

Leo laughed aloud and brought the cup to his mouth.

“And all too much like the pope,” Cyril glared.

Leo looked up; an eyebrow rose slightly, but he showed no other sign of emotion.

Chapter Six  

Higher Education and super novas

Or Uranus conjunct Jupiter in the 9th

S
EIRA SAT MOTIONLESS
in a stone bath. Soaked skin perfumed with oiled water. She stared at a droplet as it ran down the side of her shoulder and disappeared into the bath pool.

Kiki made short, deep inhalations into the back of her throat. Seira felt comforted by this.

“What are you doing?” she asked Kiki.

“Breathing,” she replied. “What are you doing?”

Seira laughed. Kiki had a direct manner that humored Seira in such a way, she felt strangely consoled.

“I’m breathing, too,” she whispered.

Kiki sponged Seira’s back briskly.  Fish scales sloughed off into the water and it tingled her skin, turning it pink.  Kiki leaned over to pick up a clay pitcher of cool, fresh water. She poured it down Seira’s back. Thoughts trickled into Seira’s mind and brought her to the present moment.

“You’re a wise woman, yet you bathe me. Do you not have servants to do such things?” she asked earnestly.

“You are my new servant,” Kiki mused.

“You talk in riddles, woman,” Seira said.

“Is not life a riddle?”

“I suppose it is.”

“And?” Kiki asked. “Do you not have answers?”

“No.” Seira said. “I don’t even know the questions to ask.”

Kiki threw her head back and laughed loudly. She leaned in and grasped Seira’s naked shoulders firmly.  Seira felt reassured somehow.

“Let me see your palm,” Kiki said.

Seira lifted her hand automatically and showed it to Kiki. The old woman examined it carefully.

“Hmm,” she said.

Seira frowned. Kiki turned her palm left and right to catch the light.

“Ah,” she said.

“Oh, what?” Seira said slightly annoyed.

“You have the mark.”

Seira looked into her own palm and frowned. Her curiosity was piqued.

“We can fix this,” said the old woman.

“Fix what?”

Seira yanked her hand away and plopped it into the water and sat on it.

“The things you see come too fast. They hurt your head, no?”

Seira threw Kiki an astonished look then lifted her palm again and reexamined it. Kiki grinned and poured fresh water over Seira’s shoulders.

Seira let her hands lie in the water and watched the ripples as she thought about Kiki teaching her mother. She rejected the idea. 

“You…knew my mother?”

“Hmm.”

“How old was she when you… knew her?”

“Your mother was twelve. Very smart,” she said, smoothing out the sponge against Seira’s skin.

Neither of them felt the need to talk for a while.

Seira finally glimpsed in all directions.

“Why is there no one else in this bathhouse?”

Kiki didn’t respond. She sat back on her heels and wiped her hands dry with a clean cloth. Kiki stood to stretch her small body.  A jovial voice echoed from across the room in the all but empty bath chamber.

“I’m here or didn’t you hear my clumsy footing?” he said.

Seira reeled.  Shaking arms lifted and covered naked breasts. Kiki perfunctorily held a towel out to Seira.

“Who are you?” Seira yelped.

The man neared and Seira stood and grabbed the towel.  When she saw the man walk around the pillar she screamed, stumbled, splashed backwards, and fell into the bath. 

“Will you stop?” Kiki bent down to lift Seira’s lanky arms.

Kiki looked up at the man.  His thin, golden-brown, muscular shoulders shrugged in apologies for Seira’s behavior.

“She’s a nervous one, this one.”

The man wore a long white and grey, striped robe. Two long, black curls dangled in front of apricot shaped ears. A long, thin nose flared two hollow nostrils.  Grayish brown shadows bathed large, round, gentle eyes.

“You are a Jew!” Seira shouted.

The sound of her own voice, so loud, silenced her.

Why am I screaming? she wondered.

He leaned forward.   Long, white fingers mysteriously produced a kippah that slid easily over his bald crown.

“Tis’ I,” he said, pointing to his skullcap. “The Jew.” 

He looked up from his bow and smiled. Huge white teeth shone from his mouth.

Seira had known many Jews and felt utterly childish and embarrassed at her reaction.  She clung tightly to keep the sopping towel.

“I, I,” she stammered. “I am so sorry,” Seira looked about for a place to sit and appear regal.

Or for clothes to wear, she thought.

“You’re sorry?  That I am a Jew?” he asked. “It’s truly not as bad as the plague, to some, but truth be said, life is fickle… as are emotions.” His entire face wrinkled when he laughed.

“No, oh, no.  Ah, please forgive me,” Seira stopped suddenly when Kiki grabbed her face.

“Oww.”

Seira wanted to slap the old woman but an odd feeling stopped her.