Free The Cairo Codex by Linda Lambert Page B

trip that would have taken an hour by car. On a good day. In spite of the growing anti-Westernism among Cairenes, this morning the people in the Metro seemed friendly toward Justine. Yet before that thought could fade, she sensed a critical stare from three young men standing toward the back of the car. She pulled her scarf up over her long hair and turned away.
    Stepping out of the Metro at Mars Girgius, she descended the stairs alongside Roman fortifications and the Coptic Museum courtyard. Massive round sandstone fortifications formed huge labyrinths that circled inside each other. Two thousand years ago, the Nile had lapped up against these shores, and the delta—which now began north of Cairo—had fanned out to Alexandria. For four hundred years, the Romans had found it important to build where they could keep an eye on the river and desert trade routes.
    The last time Justine had visited Old Cairo, her mother had explained to her why so many religious groups considered this ground sacred. Legend had it that the Holy Family had stayed here during their flight from Palestine. It was believed that this was where baby Moses had been found in the reed basket, and where he later collected the Children of Israel to begin the fateful march to the Red Sea. It was also rumored, although with less confidence, that St. George of dragon fame had been tortured in the catacombs below the Ben Ezre Synagogue before being sent back to Palestine for his beheading.
    Bypassing the Hanging Church built atop one of the Roman forts, where a small group of tourists listened to a German guide, Justine continued east on Mars Girgius. Stepping down onto the flight of stairs leading under the towering clay arch in the wall surrounding Old Cairo, she proceeded along a narrow cobblestone corridor past the St. George nunnery and a large antiquities shop, closed on Sunday. A few locals brushed shoulders with her as she walked. Muslims on their way to work; Copts readying for church. The narrowness of the alleys felt claustrophobic, their shadows cloaking the occasional beggar crouched silently in a corner. After several turns, she spied St. Sergius just ahead. Ducking under a low-hanging wall, she entered an even narrower passageway that was filthy with debris. Would she ever stop being surprised by such neglect of historic places?
    Five more steps and she entered the sanctuary of the fifth-century St. Sergius Church, supposedly named after one of two martyred Roman soldiers, Sergius and Bacchus. Justine, however, preferred to think that the church was named for Pope Sergius I. It was he who, determined to stir the faith of the people of Rome, had initiated all-night candlelit processions through the city for the Virgin Mary on feast days.
    Her thoughts raced back to her earlier visit here with her mother—the day she’d become captivated by the life of Mary. Her mother had suggested it was the Egyptian goddess Isis—Theotokos, the Mother of God—who had created the context in which Mary and Jesus could be so easily accepted, worshiped. The magical qualities Isis possessed had spread throughout the Greek and Roman world. People were drawn to her tenacity in saving and resurrecting her husband, her ethereal qualities, and her devotion to her son, Horus. At that time, any god worth his or her salt was born of a virgin mother, Lucrezia had explained. Although powerful and all-knowing, Isis was most often depicted as holding and nursing her son. Her maternal tenderness, coupled with such strength, was irresistible. Thus the scene had been set for Mary and Jesus to come along.
    “Isis and Mary were even portrayed alike—long, ringleted hair falling luxuriantly, a crown of flowers, a mirror emitting a divine light. It was easy for many to transfer their loyalties, especially in Egypt,” her mother had said, sitting on these very steps and pointing toward the paintings. Where had her father been? Justine tried to remember. Off on his dig at Saqqara,