Cleopatra's Moon by Shecter Vicky Alvear

Author:Shecter, Vicky Alvear [Shecter, Vicky Alvear]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780545389372
Publisher: Scholastic Books
Published: 2011-07-31T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

We looked at the bent old man who had spoken.

“Aba, do you recognize these children?” the rabbi asked, putting down his scroll.

“My son, you know I never forget a face!” the old man said. He examined us carefully. “I prayed they spared you and that it was not another bunch of lies,” he mumbled. He looked at Ptolly and said more loudly, “You, I do not know.”

“I do not know you either!” Ptolly said. “What is this place?”

“You are in a bet ha-midrash, the place of learning in a Hebrew temple.”

“A synagogue?” Ptolly asked.

“Very good,” said the old man. “How did you know?”

“That man who helped us called him ‘rabbi,’“ Ptolly said, pointing to the bearded man, who seemed a younger, more vibrant version of the old man. “Are you a rabbi too? Many of our people in Alexandria are Jewish.”

The man laughed and clapped his hands. “It is true, then? You are the Royal Children of Egypt?”

“Yes,” I said, “but who are —”

“Gods!” muttered Alexandros. He turned to me. “Don’t you remember when Euphronius took us to the Jewish Quarter to learn from the rabbi there?” He nodded as if to say, I think that’s him.

“But that was so long ago!” A lifetime. And I could not, for the life of me, remember his name. My heart raced at the improbability of seeing him again. Was this the work of Isis? What if this sweet-looking old man was one of the agents Amunet had told me to watch for? After all, he had been in Alexandria and was now in Rome, just like us. And … and it would be a better cover to have us work through a follower of the Hebrew religion than a follower of Isis, wouldn’t it?

“Tell me,” the old man asked. “How is my old friend Euphronius doing?”

Alexandros and I exchanged looks. In truth, we did not know. We feared he had been crucified with all the others.

“Ah,” the old man said wearily. “I am so very sorry.”

“But what are you doing in Rome?” I asked.

“I insisted my father leave Alexandria and come to live with me here,” said the younger rabbi. “When we heard … when Antonius was defeated at Actium, I worried for Aba’s safety in such unsettled times.”

“I did not want to leave,” grumbled the old man. “I do not like this Rome….”

“So you have no message from the Lady Amunet’s agents?” I asked. “No instructions for us?”

Alexandros looked at me. We hadn’t talked much about what Amunet had said or her plans for us. Whenever I tried, he grew angry, calling me foolish for thinking we could ever survive defying Rome. When plans were underway, I hoped, he would feel differently.

The old rabbi shrugged. “I know no Lady Amunet or her agents, as you put it.”

“She was the High Priestess of Isis in Alexandria,” I said.

Again he shook his head. “Oh, but how I do miss our lovely city,” he sighed. “In Alexandria, there was beauty and learning and tolerance.

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