I must share with you my last days in Alexandria before I can tell you a different tale. For there is more to this story. My journey as a seer truly began when I read the Oracle’s scroll. The day Ariston gave me his translation was also the last day I would see him in Alexandria.
I found him waiting for me in the library, in a reading room that held works on anatomy. He was usually in that chamber.
Ariston had come to Alexandria to study the great works of Herophilus, the physician who founded Alexandria’s school of medicine hundreds of years ago. The library housed all his research. Herophilus had devoted his life to dissecting the human body to gain knowledge of its inner mysteries, and he had written countless texts on the subject. Ariston had been studying Herophilus’ collection so he could take the knowledge back home. Ariston’s father was a renowned physician in Antioch, and Ariston was expected to follow the same path.
Each year thousands like him made the pilgrimage to Alexandria to research and leave their work alongside masters. They were honored to have their names printed in the library’s illustrious registry. The prestige carried weight, even back in their homelands. Soon Ariston’s time in Alexandria would be over. I could not bear to think of life without him.
When I met him in the reading room that day, he gave me such a perplexed look, as if I had suddenly become a mystery to unravel. Then the question in his eyes vanished and he smiled.
We went outside and headed toward the harbor, which had earned Alexandria its reputation for being the grandest port in the world. The market of vendors with wares from faraway regions stretched along the seawall like bands of colored thread. Spices wafted and danced in the air, obscuring the smell of livestock. We passed by stalls where artisans performed their trades and musicians played for coin.
Ariston bought two roasted dates and we strolled south toward the Gate of the Sun. Lake Mareotis glistened in the distance.
I didn’t think the moment could be more perfect, but when I looked over at him, he was staring at me strangely again.
“I finished the translation,” he said after a long pause. “The scroll was written by the Oracle of Wadjet.”
He let this news hover in the air. For a moment I couldn’t speak.
The Oracle of Wadjet existed thousands of years ago. Wadjet was a goddess, one of the earliest deities ever recorded. She had been the daughter of Atum-Ra, the creator Sun God, and as legends went, she had been transformed into a cobra to protect the pharaohs, the land of Egypt, and the all-seeing Eye of Horus. Regarded as the world’s first seer, Wadjet influenced every oracle to come, including the Greek Oracles of Delphi and Dodona over a thousand years later.
Oracles supposedly had a direct connection to the divine, and the Oracle of Wadjet had been a powerful beacon in the ancient world, but her writings and her prophecies had become lost three thousand years ago when Egypt moved its epicenter to Memphis. Ariston’s discovery was beyond incredible. We had found a set of symbols she had used and a scroll written by her hand.
“She wrote the scroll knowing…” He trailed off.
“Knowing what?” I asked. I was filled with trepidation. He had read something in the scroll that changed the way he looked at me.
“It’s not for me to say. Read my translation when you get home.”
Part of me wanted to go home and read it right away. But that would cut short our afternoon together and I didn’t know how much longer Ariston would remain in Alexandria. I had a sinking feeling his time at the library had come to an end.
“You promised to show me your uncle’s newest invention,” I reminded him, trying to dispel the gloom that had settled over us.
“Are you sure you still want to see?”
“Of course I do!”
We tacitly agreed not to discuss the scroll any further. Instead we took off, hand in hand, toward the Royal Quarters and Emporium, where countless temples encompassed the heart of the city. On any one street people could pray to a variety of deities, Zeus and Jupiter, Isis and Osiris, the Jewish god Yahweh, the Persian god Mithra, or Serapis, a god the Ptolemies introduced to bind themselves to the Egyptians and their mysticism.
Too many temples existed, I thought, for any one prayer to possibly reach its destination. In Alexandria every temple relied on a certain number of worshippers, so the competition to gain the attention of a passerby was fierce. Spectacles rivaling the best theatrical shows would erupt outside temple doors throughout the day. Ariston’s uncle, the one he was staying with, was a purveyor of such wonders, and his work was in high demand. Alexandrians loved anything to do with magic, so each temple’s keeper would try to outdo the others with marvels that often revolved around fortune telling.
Ariston’s uncle had just finished building his latest contraption, a magical fish that spewed gold-painted coins from its mouth. Each coin had a fortune carved upon its face.
We arrived just as the mechanical fish was being hoisted into the air, with an aquamarine banner flying behind its fins like an ocean wave.
The device drew a crowd as coins rained from the fish’s mouth, and a sea of hands reached to catch them. Some came flying toward me, glinting in the light. I caught one and squealed with laughter.
Before I could read the fortune, Ariston cupped my face with his hands and kissed me full on the mouth, a stolen kiss, bold and lustful. His arm wrapped around my waist and he pulled me against him. I came alive and claimed him with equal passion.
“Marry me,” he whispered. “Come with me to Antioch. I leave tomorrow.”
I could not speak. How I wanted to shout yes to the crowd, but I could not. I was a girl of eighteen, several years past the usual age of marriage, and now my father and two brothers depended on me to run their household. The thought of abandoning my family was unthinkable. They would never forgive me.
Ariston took my silence for his answer. He dropped his hands and stepped back.
“My father—” I started.
“Don’t.” He stopped me gently. Words would have tarnished the moment even more.
I nodded, too distraught to speak. He had already known my answer, yet he had asked me anyway.
From his robes he pulled out the codex that contained his translation. “Read the Oracle’s scroll and look for me in your magic symbols.” Without another word he turned away and walked toward the library.
I couldn’t fathom that this moment was good-bye. My hands gripped the codex as I watched him go. He turned back to look at me, his face full of longing, and then disappeared into the crowd.
I ran home and wept for hours. When my father and brothers returned I found it difficult to look at them. They had no idea the sacrifice I had made, that I had changed the course of my life for them by not changing it at all. I tried to join in the playful banter at dinner and listen to them recall the day’s events. But my laughter rang false and the wine tasted bitter. My mother had left her sons and husband in my care, and sitting in her chair that night was the first time I resented her for forcing me to take her place.
Later, in my room, I lit my reading lantern and opened Ariston’s translation to find out what a seer from thousands of years ago might have to say. As I read I began to understand why Ariston had looked at me so quizzically.
The Oracle of Wadjet had known my name.