Finally, the man finished and left. I waited a while longer to be sure, then sat up and gathered my things. I drew my cloak tightly around me to hide my travel-worn gown. I could not risk changing into the fresh clothes I had in my bag. Instead, I combed my hair into a Greek knot, making a thick bun at the bottom of my neck, and strategically decorated it with golden adornments. I removed my favorite wesekh collar from my jewelry pouch. The gold and lapis shimmered where my cloak opened at my neck. Then I doused myself with my mother’s most expensive perfume made from spikenard, a prized root from the Himalayas. The aroma conjured a certain sense of status, and there would be no mistaking its spicy musk. Now I looked more like a librarian’s daughter than a homeless waif.
After carefully sneaking from my hiding place, I toured the reading rooms. The spikenard successfully masked my odor from a week at sea. I set my face in a regal look and acted so entitled that no one questioned me.
Behind my facade, I studied each scholar, searching for a familiar face. After strolling for hours, I finally gave up. I bought more food at the market and returned to the book depository.
I did this for three days.
Like a scampering mouse, I grew more and more desperate. I had no home, no family. I had simply left one library for another—and what existed beyond these walls terrified me.
When I awoke on the fourth day, I clearly remembered my dream from the night before. I did not question its meaning. Instead, I packed my belongings and left the depository for good.
And there, in the last alcove, I found Illias sitting just as he had been in my dream.
*
Illias was one of the head librarians in Antioch. He looked frailer than when I had seen him last. His back was now curved and stooped with age, and his hands shook as his fingers guided his eyes to the next line of text. He had stayed at our home for several months on his last trip to Alexandria eight years ago. I could only hope he remembered me.
I approached him discreetly and hovered next to his stool. “Excuse me, sir?” He looked up and squinted at me. “I don’t know if you remember me, I’m—”
“Come closer, girl. Speak up!”
I leaned in until I was practically on top of him. “I’m Ionna Callas, Phileas’ daughter from Alexandria—”
“Ionna? Dear girl!” His face lit up. “I didn’t recognize you.” He stood in excitement. “What North Wind blew you to Antioch? Where’s Phileas?”
He looked behind me, expecting to find my father. For a moment I had trouble speaking. He saw my distress and his smile vanished. “Oh dear. Oh dear.” He led me to his stool and helped me sit.
Sequestered in the private alcove, I told him the whole story. He had heard about Caesar’s fire, but he did not know my father had died. He listened without a word, though his eyes grew bright.
When I finished, he patted my hand. “You will come live with us. My wife, Aella, will be overjoyed to have a girl in the house again.” His generous offer surprised me, but I did not demur. I was too overcome with relief.
Illias gathered his scrolls and led me outside, where his servant waited with a donkey-led carriage. A wreath of dangling ribbons decorated the donkey’s hair like a strange rainbow on display.
I stared at the spectacle, unable to hide my astonishment.
“My wife’s doing,” Illias explained with a defeated wave of his hand as we climbed onto the seats.
The carriage traveled south along the colonnade and then on to Daphne five miles south of the city. We passed exquisite fountains, public parks, and sculptures all along the road.
“I’m getting too old to walk to town, but I refuse to give up the trips and stay at home. To do so would be a fate worse than Hades,” he said with an amused smile. “Aella wanted a grand carriage—a huge expense. I said no so she punishes me by decorating the donkey’s hair.” He looked over at me. “Wait until she gets ahold of you.”
My eyebrows rose. “Your daughters are no longer there?” I remembered that he had three girls not much older than me.
“Lucky birds flew the nest, all married and with their husbands. Aella needs someone to shower with attention. You’ll do fine.” He sounded so pleased; my apprehension grew.
The carriage left the main road and entered an enchanted-looking forest with leaves as green as emeralds. Never had I seen such a grove. Illias explained how every tree in Daphne was considered sacred and it was unlawful to cut them down. Apollo had pursued the nymph Daphne through this countryside, and now the forest bore her name. In the legend, Daphne had turned into a beautiful laurel tree, and those evergreens stretched as far as my eyes could see.
I caught my first glimpse of the Temple of Apollo towering in the distance above the tree line and I gasped.
“The Jewel of Antioch,” Illias said proudly. “Many a ruler has traveled here to consult the Oracle, though not as much anymore. Now people come to the bazaar at the temple to buy charms and blessings from the vendors … and other entertainments.” He glanced at me. “It’s not safe for a woman to go alone.”
“What are those tents?” I pointed to the outskirts of the market where rows of tents had been erected.
“Those are the dream chambers,” he said.
“Like Saqqara!” I exclaimed, growing excited.
In Egypt we had Saqqara, the City of Dreams, at the necropolis in Memphis, a place where seekers could sleep in chambers and dream the answers to their questions. Dream interpreters could be hired to sit with the patrons and explain the signs.
“Perhaps I could go to the chambers too?” I asked hopefully. The power of dreams had begun to preoccupy me. I wondered if I needed to practice the art of dreaming to understand Wadjet’s message.
Illias raised his bushy eyebrows and looked at me. I could tell he was wondering why I wanted to undergo such an experience.
“I read Hippocrates’ treatise on dreaming,” I said, trying to explain my interest.
He laughed, clearly tickled. “Ah, you are Phileas’ daughter!”
It was true. I had read Hippocrates along with many other teachings on the ancient practices of Asklepian dream questing. Dreams were considered messages from the heavens, divine wisdom imparted to guide our lives. To try to understand the world of dreams was a serious endeavor. After I was settled, I decided, perhaps I should undertake my own journey.
The road soon turned along a sloping hill and descended into a lush valley. I could hear a trickling stream nearby.
“Here we are.” Illias pointed past two statues of Apollo and Daphne sitting on either side of a tiled pathway. The elaborate statues were colorfully painted and seemed better suited for a festival parade. “A bit audacious, these two,” Illias said as we passed them, “but Aella could not be dissuaded.”
We traveled down a path studded with flowers that ended at an enchanting villa in the center of an orchard. The house had a sculptured fountain of Aphrodite in repose with two swans spouting water over her head.
I heard high-pitched, girlish singing coming from inside the house.
Illias smiled with a tolerance born either from years of weariness or love. “Come out, o’ goddess,” he announced. “We have a visitor.”
The door opened and out flitted one of the loveliest creatures I had ever seen.
Her hair was a dazzling golden-white and the long tresses had been teased into a cascade of curls and braids and laced with flowers and jewels. I had never seen such an intricate hairstyle. She circled around me like a dancing muse.