Hiatus

The author has temporarily put this blog on hold as she devotes all her writing time to finishing her novel, a historical fiction set in fourth-century Egypt.

Jesus Fish (Ichthys)

250 CE, Oxyrhynchus, Egypt

Around mid-afternoon on a tepid January day, Avitus’ city was greeted by the banter of clocking horse hooves. A magistrate under Emperor Decius had arrived in the marketplace atop a magnificent black Parthinian stallion, accompanied by two lictors riding honey-colored Spanish horses, and an entourage of some ten soldiers fortifying their back end. The lictors flaunted identical fasces—rods of bundled birch wood with a bronze blade projecting from its middle— which were carried over their left shoulders as symbols of Rome’s power. They dismounted and stood on either side of the magistrate, whose cream colored toga boasted the distinguished purple hem, impelling the people of Oxyrhynchus to gather around. The magistrate had come to sniff out those of the Christian faith, a religious sect growing in number whose adherents posed a great danger to the strength and stability of the empire.

Gesturing to draw close, the magistrate shouted, “Men, women, and children of Oxyrhynchus, faithful city of the Roman Empire, lend your ear so that I may tell, in a few words, of the constitution of your Imperium, which faces a distressing danger. Perhaps you have already heard about those derelicts who call themselves Christians, rejecting the gods of our forefathers in favor of some charlatan whom they call Christ, who has proclaimed himself the son of god, convincing the gullible with magic, incantations, and incredible stories, and using trickery and deceit to win over feeble minds. These Christians threaten the pax deorum; they will bring ruin to the earth and to our race!” he shouted.

Avitus had learned long ago of the pax deorum, a pact between man and the gods in which they agreed to preserve and protect the heavens and earth in exchange for man’s habitual prayer and sacrifice. To neglect these duties was to solicit the wrath of the gods, precipitating the decline, or even destruction, of humanity. Mimicking the words of their leader and namesake, these Christians were grossly insulting in their insistence that only their god held sway over the universe, and they were dangerous in their impious belief that their god was worthy of worship, but none others.

“Their pestilence is spreading like a cancer to all reaches of the Roman Empire, and it must be stopped,” the magistrate roared. The people of Oxyrhynchus looked around at one another, their eyes overwrought with suspicion, and their mouths overcome with gossip as they fell into the grips of speculation.

“I have come with an edict issued by Emperor Decius to seek out these rabble-rousers. For the safety of the empire, each inhabitant of this city will be required to make a public sacrifice attesting to your loyalty of our ancestral gods,” he said, knowing any Christian would refuse, for their sacred writing had laid down that he who sacrifices to other gods shall be utterly destroyed.

“Those of you who agree will receive certificates that will keep you safe from harm. Those who refuse will be executed—hung by a tree, stoned, or set ablaze,” the magistrate yelled, his words growing bolder as he spoke. “You will have until sundown tomorrow to visit me at the temple of Zeus where you may receive your certificate, or refuse and meet your death. We have men stationed at your city gates, so I advise no one attempt escape,” he said with a growl.

Avitus bowed out from the crowd and walked briskly toward his home, fearing he would soon be forced to forsake his life in the name of the Christian faith. Just outside the marketplace, he passed by a group of men bantering, their concern plainly written in the creases of their brows. Avitus approached them, hoping they could not discern his desperation.

“Good tidings, gentleman,” he said, casually drawing an arc in the sand with his foot. The men looked down to the ground with surprise. The old man standing to his right touched his toe to the sand and drew an arc mirroring his, creating the outline of a simple fish. All present drew a sigh of relief, knowing they were in good company—among Christians.

The fish symbol had been adopted by Christians in the first century, when persecutions against them first began, and was drawn on walls to designate meeting places, or used to distinguish friend from foe, as Avitus had done. The fish had biblical significance—several of Jesus’ twelve Apostles were fisherman; Jesus had commissioned the Apostles to go out and fish for people (Matt 4:19); and Jesus fed the five thousand with two fishes and five loaves (Mark 6:41)—but it also offered Christians a discreet symbol since the fish was also associated with pagan gods, being associated with Aphrodite and Isis, as well as the zodiac sign of Pisces. Christians even made an acronym of the Greek word for fish, ΙΧΘΥΣ (Ichthys): Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior (Ίησοῦς Χριστός, Θεοῦ Υἱός, Σωτήρ).

Avitus and his Christian comrades, choosing not to become martyrs like various of their fellow Christians had, quickly began plotting their escape from execution, planning to leave Oxyrhynchus as soon as the veils of night were drawn. If they could successfully sneak past the guards, they would venture to the countryside where the magistrate and his men would not bother to go. Some planned on purchasing a certificate of sacrifice on the black market, while others would simply wait out the persecution, though this was not the first, nor would it be the last time Christians were sought out and punished.




The Truth of the Matter: All the information given regarding the fish—its pagan associations, biblical significance, and its symbolic adoption and use by the Christians—is true. The information given regarding the persecution of Christians under Emperor Decius, including the requirement of public sacrifice in exchange for a certificate (called a libellus), is also true. Four of these certificates were, in fact, found near Oxyrhynchus, Egypt, dating to 250 CE, when this story takes place. It was also accurate to peg the Roman Empire’s hatred for the Christian faith to the fact that they threatened the pax deorum, though that is but one reason among many that Christians were persecuted in antiquity. The characters in this story are fictional.

Evil Eye

Circa 200 BCE, Rome, Italy

Marius was a notorious boxer. Spectators gazed upon him as if he were a god, some admiring his height, some his girth, but all in agreement that the rippling beneath his skin—a product of a bulging musculature—was a fantastical sight to behold. Still, his record was not without blemish. When matches were fought with cestuses—ox-hide gloves loaded with iron knots and nails—strength mattered less than a methodical swing. On one calamitous day, as Marius was bringing his fist around to bear on his opponents cheek, his arm was met with the torrential blow of a cestus that snapped his humerus bone clear in half.

With a damaged arm hanging limp at his side, Marius was unable to console his pregnant wife, Tullia, with a warm embrace as she cried hysterically for his pain, and their loss of income. A physician set Marius’ bones back into their correct position with a bone lever, and all would have been well by the birth of their first child, except the bones were improperly set, leaving Marius’ arm mangled, darting sideways in a disgusting manner. That was the end of Marius’ boxing career, and the beginning of a life of anger, resentment, and envy.

The day his son was born was to be one of great jubilation, but instead, Tullia forbade Marius from looking upon his child. For it was said that Marius possessed an evil eye.

“The glance of your eye may have an injurious effect, and this we cannot risk!” she insisted, hiding her newborn in a throng of blankets. She feared her son’s physical perfection would stir jealousy within her husband. “You know well that his young being—yet of weak and tender constitution—can be easily harmed by an invidious glance.”

It was well known, in Rome and throughout the civilized world, that when a man looks at what is excellent with an envious eye, a malignant influence darts out from his pupils and infects the air. The infected air penetrates the victim, being drawn in through the nose and mouth, and pollutes his body, causing potent injury or death.

“But we have strung a dozen amulets around his neck!” Marius pleaded. “The head of Jupiter, an eye, crocodile, swan, serpent, thunderbolt, phallus, lion—each one possessing its own protective quality. These will shield him in case envy is stirred within the inner recesses of my being,” he petitioned, but Tullia would not allow him a single look at his son.

Driven temporarily mad by his predicament, Marius rushed into their bedroom and rummaged though his wife’s jewelry box until he held two beautiful brooches in either hand. Unclasping their pins, he thrust one in each eye, feeling neither pain nor regret as the pins pierced his pupils—only relief. Rendering himself blind, Marius grinned, knowing he would soon be able to hold his newborn son.



The Truth of the Matter: The earliest known reference to the evil eye occurs on Sumerian clay tablets dating to the third millennium BCE. The evil eye was feared by numerous cultures in antiquity, including the Assyrians, Jews, Egyptians, and Muslims. During the Hellenistic and Roman periods, belief in the evil eye was widespread, and was cited by such authors as Aristophanes, Plutarch, and Plato. Within this story, the characters are fictional, but the information related regarding the evil eye is factual.

The Pyramids of Giza

Circa 350 CE, Memphis, Egypt

After trekking northward for three days, Ahmose neared the Nile Delta. It would be several months until the river indulged in its annual overflow, which coincided with the resplendent rise of Sirius in June, and several more months until the flood’s peak in September when murky, mineral-rich water engulfed and impregnated the river’s banks. But he could easily discern where the Nile Valley began—a stark line, which the flood rendered the year before, that offset the russet, rocky desert from dark, virile soil. Ahmose walked due east, wrestling with the weariness eager to creep into the marrow of his bones, until the sands of time coerced him to a propitious place, the edge of the Nile River.

In the distance, Ahmose could see the great pyramids, their polished white limestone casting off a powerful solar luminescence trumped only by the sun itself, to whom the pyramids, with their sun-ray shape and sunbeam gleam, paid homage.

“Praise the gods!” he said, falling to his knees and bowing to the earth.

Four days prior, Ahmose had been called in a dream from his hometown of Arsinoe in the Egyptian desert to the pyramids near the Nile Delta. On that night, a deep sleep had overcome him, like a midst covering the earth, and while in the folds of slumber, the god Orion, the great huntsman, had come to him. Ahmose had seen Orion once before, as a young boy, when Orion instructed him in the art of bow hunting, a craft which Ahmose excelled in, having become a celebrated antelope hunter among his townsmen. This time, however, Orion’s appearance was of a very different nature.

“Go north to the great pyramids, for it is there that your ultimate catch will be harnessed,” Orion had said.

Ahmose had learned of Orion’s connection to the ancient pyramids from his father who had spoken in wild gestures of a legend regarding three colossal pyramids situated near the Nile Delta. The three great pyramids, he had said, were an earthly reproduction of a stellar constellation—the constellation of Orion, god of hunting, also associated with death and the afterlife. The pyramids matched the three stars in Orion’s belt, both in alignment and proportion. They were a perfect imitation of their celestial counterpart, he had said.

Within each pyramid were burial chambers where ancient Egyptian royalty from the age of the pharaoh’s, thousands of years before Ahmose’s time, were laid to rest. From these chambers, airshafts extended leading to the pyramids’ exterior, and these shafts pointed directly toward the constellation of Orion, his father had said. The souls of the royal deceased would ultimately travel through these shafts, being projected directly toward Orion and into the afterlife on a straight path, easy and free of perils, unlike the fate all other souls who would need to embark on a dangerous journey through the underworld to get to the afterlife. The pyramids, his father had said, were not simply splendid tombs, but machines designed to aid the pharaoh’s journey to the distant stars. They were created to serve as the pharaoh’s gateway to the afterlife.

By the time night fell, Ahmose had journeyed to the base of the largest of the three pyramids. There he leaned in silence against its massive limestone blocks, staring up at the constellation of Orion, lying in wait for some further message or instruction. As Orion’s belt came into perfect alignment with the three pyramids, they seemed to shine brighter, so bright, in fact, that the entire plateau became illuminated by starlight. It was at that moment that Ahmose spotted a young woman, her wide hips and narrow waist accentuated by the silky black tresses running down to the small of her back, looking up at Orion with the same wonder in her eyes. When she caught sight of Ahmose, their gazes becoming locked upon one another, he immediately knew that she was the “ultimate catch” that Orion, the great huntsman, had been referring to.



The Truth of the Matter: The Orion correlation theory, which posits that the three greatest pyramids in the Giza complex were intentionally designed and built to correspond to the three stars in the belt of the Orion constellation, is a hypothesis in pyramidology first presented in the late 1980s. This story’s explanation of the reason for this correlation is true. The characters in this story are fictional.

Spartan

Circa 400 BCE, Sparta, Greece

Atreus danced for hours to the sound of jingling cymbals and castanets on his wedding day. He had just turned thirty years of age, and the time had come for him to marry. It was, in fact, mandated by the state.

Atreus’ bride had been captured by her bridesmaid and, in line with tradition, her head shaved bare to the scalp, a rite of passage signaling her entry into a new life. She was then dressed in menswear—a simple cloak of linen and a pair of oversized, open-toed sandals with a red tongue—before being laid down upon a bare mattress in a dark room.

“I wish you luck,” her bridesmaid whispered. “May the greatest of pleasures greet you this eve,” she said, giggling upon exit.

Atreus looked forward to visiting his new bride, whose belt he would unfasten with great pleasure. He would visit her with the same enthusiasm time and time again, for it was an escape from his austere and rigid mode of being—an escape from the Spartan way of life.

Atreus was reared from birth in the ways of self-discipline, like all men of Sparta. Once emerging from his mother’s womb, he was bathed in wine. He showed himself to be a strong child, not protesting like a weakling as two of his siblings had done; both were thrown into the chasm on Mount Taygetos with all other newborns of the feeble variety, as per the orders of the city’s elders. Atreus had been accepted into society where he would be meticulously cultivated into a Spartan citizen and soldier so that others across the Greek-speaking world might one day know his name; in this way, all men of Sparta were raised—as fighters and survivors.

At age seven, Atreus began his military training, leaving his home to live in a communal mess where youth underwent constant military drills—running, jumping, and weapons training of all kinds—and studied reading, writing, music, and dance. He was also taught to endure hunger and thirst, pain and hardship, fatigue and sleep deprivation.

Atreus was made to walk without shoes, bathe in the cold waters of the river Eurotas, and wore the same piece of cloth every day, receiving a new one from the state once a year, by which time every boy’s garment was ripped and worn thin. He slept on top of a mat of straw and reed cut from the riverbanks, without a blanket or headrest, and was often given broth in meager portions as his main meal. He was encouraged to steal food to help fill his belly, the state believing theft, and the stealth it required, to be a military exercise. Though if he were caught, Atreus would be punished, made to endure a harsh flogging, which he would be forced to suffer in silence lest he be beat again.

At age twenty, Atreus and his mess hall mates each entered a club, comprised of fifteen members, where emphasis was placed on cultivating a sense of brotherhood—reliance upon another. Thanks to his militaristic prowess, Atreus was accepted into the club Krypteia, which trained in the summer, winter, and spring months for combat in the months of autumn during which time his club declared war on the state’s helot population.

In the autumn, the state sent Atreus and his brothers out to the countryside where the helots—members of the slave population—lived, and were given a mere dagger to supplement their skills and cunning. They were instructed to kill any helot they encountered at night, advised to take food and any other useful furnishings, particularly clothing and potential weaponry, to help them survive the killing season. Atreus showed he was willing to kill, even at such a young age, proving to the Spartan leadership that he was worthy of joining their ranks.

Atreus had looked forward to his thirtieth birthday since childhood, for then he would be wed. When he first caught site of his bride, the light cascading down upon her when he open the door to her room, he was pleased. Almost every day of his wedded life, except at times of war, he would delight in an afternoon romp with his bride. Yet, as the sky dimmed each night, he would rush back to his barracks where, up until the ripe age of sixty, he was required to eat and sleep. Such was the Spartan way of life.



The Truth of the Matter: The fictional elements in this story are its characters.