Thus it was that Hypatia discovered the hills, the valleys, the sacred pools, the riotously loud markets, the quiet places of worship, the narrow lanes and dark, hidden alleyways of Jerusalem not in pleasurable solitude but in the company of a fourteen-year-old girl. The early surprise was that she found herself not at all unhappy with the exchange.
Passing swiftly through the Upper Market, Kleopatra showed an easy familiarity with the city’s angular back streets and blossomed in the role of leader and guide. She led at a fast pace, taking random turns to left and right, up slopes, down hills, a sharp back-turn here, a long, lazy arc there, keeping always in the shade, so that whoever was behind them — there was someone, Hypatia could feel a presence and thought she knew who it was — could not readily follow.
They passed down steep alleys and along streets where the mud-brick houses reached four storeys or more and leaned over almost to touch one another above the street. They passed through small, open squares where the sun flooded in, and lit the bricks to gold. In Rome or Corinth or Caesarea, they would have housed a fountain in the shape of a dolphin or a satyr. Here they played host to a stall where a woman or a girl or a youth sold melons, or dates, or peaches.
Elsewhere, they skirted round courtyards in which middle-aged men in dark robes sat in a semicircle and debated points of law and religion, and in between all of these, in the markets that clogged every free area, they threaded through throngs of men, women and children, who eyed them with a degree of loathing Hypatia had rarely encountered.
Kleopatra ignored them all; her clear Greek etched out the architecture and the politics, but not the immediate press of people.
‘This street leads to the Temple. Only priests live here, but you can tell who’s out of favour, for those close with the High Priest have the north side, sheltered from the sun, and those he hates are moved to the south side, and bake through the day.
‘Over there is the street of the knife-grinders. The priests buy most of them; they kill a million lambs for the Passover so they need dozens of knives and replace them monthly.
‘That’s the Hasmonean palace. Would you not want to live there, with all those beautiful round towers, rather than the square edges of my great-grandfather’s?
‘This is the lower city. The best markets are here. To your left are the silk merchants. Did you ever see colours like that?’
‘In Alexandria, possibly.’ Hypatia turned slowly, looking about. No one was behind, and had not been for the past three blocks. ‘But not so many in one place. Alexandria has one great market spread over acres of land, not dozens of small, close stalls cramped into a hundred different markets as you have here.’
‘I’ve never been anywhere except here and Caesarea.’ Kleopatra had lost the imperious stance of the palace steps. Here, her face was wide with a child’s curiosity. ‘Tell me about Alexandria. No — just tell me about Isis. Tell me where you trained as the Chosen, what you did, all of it.’
‘I can’t tell you all of it. About some parts, I am sworn to secrecy.’
‘Tell me what you can.’
It wasn’t possible to give a lifetime’s teaching in an afternoon, but it was still a day for god-held moments, not to be ignored. Hypatia let the god guide her voice and Kleopatra, listening, asked intelligent questions that led the conversation along unexpected avenues, so that by the time they reached the far edge of the lower city Hypatia had agreed to take her to the Oracle of the Sibyls in the Temple of Truth when her business in Berenice’s court was over.
‘That won’t be soon, though,’ she said. ‘I may have to stay for the rest of the year.’ And then, ‘Someone’s behind us again.’
‘Let’s go.’ Kleopatra caught hold of her elbow. ‘This way.’ They passed left and right and right again down a dark and steeply sloping passage and came out into the heady scents of a small fruit market. A beggar spat at them as they passed. Kleopatra rolled her eyes. ‘Ignore him.’
‘If I took notice of everyone who spat at us,’ Hypatia said, ‘we’d still be in the upper city. These people hate us, and they don’t even know who we are.’
‘If they knew you were the Chosen of Isis, they’d stone you to death in the street.’
Ducking under a saffron-yellow awning, Kleopatra bought a net full of peaches, and handed the fruit to Hypatia. In her lightly accented Greek, she said, ‘For my aunt, a gift from her niece.’ And more quietly. ‘Are we safe yet?’
‘I’m not sure. Keep moving. And keep talking so I can look around. Tell me why so many people wear blue here, when further back, near the valley, it was yellow?’
Kleopatra set off at a brisk pace. ‘It’s to do with factions and their hatred of each other. Yellow is for the War Party, led by Menachem, grandson of the Galilean who led the zealots out of Galilee and died fighting to rid the land of Romans. His people think they can do all their grandfathers did, but better. They rule the land around the valleys and they’re pledged to destroy the king and his family.’ She said this as if they were distant people, seen perhaps twice in a lifetime.
She went on. ‘Blue is for the Peace Party. Those who wear it are pledged to rid Israel of Rome by peaceful means, by prayer and diplomacy. They’re led by Gideon, known as the Peacemaker. The War Party want his death almost as much as they want the king’s. Menachem is the only one holding them in check. He says they’re not ready to fight yet, that they risk annihilation if they act too soon.’
They passed under an arch. A crowd of blue-clad women stepped aside, hard-eyed. The blue was not all one colour; some were paler than dawn sky, washed almost to white, some were the deep blue of woad traded from the far side of the empire, some were stained with berry juice and almost black. A prick at the back of Hypatia’s neck said someone was following still, but she, who could see through the heart of men’s souls, could see nothing.
Kleopatra was deep in one-sided conversation, following her own inner line of thought.
‘It’s all the fault of Ananias, the High Priest. The Hebrew god is jealous of the other gods which means his people have no choice of worship. They pray to be rid of Rome and Rome stays, therefore the Hebrews believe that the invaders have been sent as a punishment for their poor behaviour. If they hate us, it’s only because they hate themselves more.’
‘Did someone tell you that?’ Hypatia asked. They turned right into a narrow alleyway and had to pass a throng this time of men and youths marked by patches of hidden yellow, a fleck on a neckerchief here, a thread through an armband there. They parted to let the women go by.
‘Who would tell me?’ Kleopatra gave a short laugh. ‘Men have been stoned for saying such things.’
‘What makes you think you’re safe?’
‘Nobody listens to a girl. I can say what I like as long as I’m careful who I say it to. Hyrcanus knows what I think, but he won’t tell anyone.’
‘He might tell Iksahra,’ Hypatia said, absently. She scanned the market, trying to see what did not fit.
Kleopatra shrugged. ‘Maybe. But she hates everyone also. Was she the one behind us earlier?’
‘Possibly. One of them.’ Hypatia was turning circles now, trying to see through the blue-clad crowd that followed as they passed out of the narrow alley and into yet another teeming market square. ‘I think there are two, maybe three. The question is whether they are together or apart.’
‘Really?’ Caught by the new urgency in her tone, Kleopatra said, ‘If we run, we could lose them. We could go left here and across the square and-’
‘No, wait.’ Hypatia caught the girl’s arm. ‘Not everyone who follows is an enemy.’ She turned the girl round so that she could hold her shoulders and look down into her eyes. ‘Do you trust me?’
‘Yes.’
Hypatia read no hesitation in her face. Truly the afternoon had wrought miracles. ‘In that case, will you stay here for a moment? I won’t be long.’