One of the praetorians pressed the Trident into Juba’s hands. The metal-enwrapped staff gleamed against the background gray of storm and sea: the three sharp arrow points, the wide central casing, the twisting, sinuous snakes—everything but the chillingly black stone. Juba held it distantly, his hands wrapped around the polished wood of its staff.
Octavian stepped behind him, wrapped his own hands over his adopted brother’s shoulders. He gripped the bones there tightly, making Juba wince as he was turned toward the sea, toward the water and the ships beyond. “Do it,” the newest Caesar whispered. “We’ll storm what remains. We’ll have our victory. Rome will have its victory. No one can blame us for this war when they know that the gods themselves support us, when they see that the gods have turned against Antony and destroyed him. Feel it, brother. Now. For Rome. Destroy them all.”
Octavian’s hands squeezed so hard into his skin that Juba had to close his eyes against the pain, close his eyes against the horror that was about to unfold.
Down into the stillness he sank: deep down within himself, away from the nightmare and the helplessness. Down, out of the storm and into the black quiet, where he felt, behind the shadowed silence, the pulsing beat of his heart and the desire to one day be free.
Juba’s hands moved to the metal. The metal grew warm.
Then he opened his eyes, and the screaming began.
18
A MEETING OF MINDS
ALEXANDRIA, 31 BCE
Caesarion, sitting with his back to the door, was in the middle of explaining to Didymus how little time they might have before Rome’s armies arrived at the gates of Alexandria when he heard Khenti’s voice outside, speaking his half-sister’s name.
Holding up his hand to keep Didymus from saying anything more himself, Caesarion stood and moved quietly to the door, listening in as the guardchief scolded Selene as best a man of such relative status could.
Caesarion sighed, shaking his head a little to himself. Selene had always been headstrong. Far more than her brothers. Philadelphus was probably too young for much mischief at this point, but there was certainly a difference between Selene and her twin brother, Helios. Perhaps it was due to the boy’s seemingly constant bouts with illness, but he’d never been the kind of child to fight authority. Selene, though … Selene felt it was her right, if not her duty, to push back against anything that threatened to hold her down. She was like their mother, Caesarion supposed. For good and ill.
It was impressive that she’d made her way to the Library. He had to give her credit for that. If it were not for Khenti’s well-trained palace guards—far better trained than they’d been a year ago under Khenti’s executed predecessor—she truly would have made it here alone.
Caesarion winced as he heard Khenti telling the girl how the world meant her harm, and how it was time she understood the fact. It was true, even if he wished it were not. He’d tried too hard to keep his half-siblings in the dark about the realities they were facing. Of course they didn’t understand his urgency about keeping them on Antirhodos. They didn’t know how desperate the war was, how unpopular they might be with the people. They knew nothing about the forces that were arrayed against them.
Khenti knocked on the door three times, then paused before adding two more. A signal of no danger at the door.
Caesarion took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts, before he moved the bolt on the door and opened it to the hallway. He didn’t pretend to be surprised to see Selene standing there, Kemse’s shawl around her head and shoulders doing surprisingly little to cover her royally groomed skin and hair, her sea-green dress of rich linen, her expensive sandals, her scents of perfume and oils—and her face reddened with shame.
“Thank you, Khenti,” he said, not addressing Selene and allowing her to squirm for a bit longer. “You’ve seen to contacting Kemse?”
“Yes, Lord Horus.”
Caesarion winced again, but he didn’t bother to correct Khenti for once more attributing the god-name to him. Such habits were hard to break, he knew. And what was worship of the gods if not a habit? “Very good,” he said, finally looking down to his half-sister. “Been wandering the city this morning, Selene?”
Selene pulled off the shawl with a small huff before she walked into the room, her still-narrow hips managing a sway not unlike her mother’s as she entered Didymus’ office. Though still a girl, she was beginning to blossom. Sibling or not, he could recognize that. She would be an extraordinarily beautiful woman in the years to come. And then she’d be ready for some royal marriage—if any of them actually lived long enough for it.
The Greek teacher rose and bowed from behind his cluttered desk. “My lady Selene,” he said as Caesarion shut the door and rebolted it.
“Didymus,” Selene said, smiling and dropping all pretenses to walk quickly around the obstacles of the room to wrap her arms around his down-leaning neck.
“It’s been too long,” he said. The scholar hugged her back, but Caesarion could see the pain in his eyes, the look of uncertainty: Didymus still hadn’t forgiven himself for his long-ago betrayal of the family.
Selene, too, seemed uncertain despite her enthusiasm, Caesarion noticed. Her embrace of the scholar was more stilted than it had once been. His own fault, he thought. He’d not involved her in things as he should have. He’d coddled her like the little girl she was fast outgrowing, and even she was becoming aware of it now. Khenti was right. It was wake-up time, like it or not. Caesarion cleared a stool for her near his own chair after they pulled apart. “You should sit down and rest for a minute, Selene,” he said. “You’ve been walking a lot today.”
Selene hoisted herself up. Caesarion stayed standing, and Didymus did the same.
“I suppose you heard we were just talking about the war,” Caesarion said. “I’d been telling Didymus about the latest news from the north and my plans.”
Selene’s face lit up. “There’s news?”
“There is, Selene. But I don’t know that you should stay to hear it.”
Selene’s eyes flashed with hurt. “Why not?”
“Well, you did just sneak away, against my orders, trying to spy on us,” Caesarion said, trying to sound stern. “That doesn’t make you quite trustworthy, does it?”
Selene started to say something in anger, then caught herself and clenched her jaw on the emotion.
“Caesarion is right,” Didymus said. “We must have secrecy over what we discuss here.”
“I can be trusted,” Selene said, her hurt feelings just barely straining her voice. “Just no one’s ever let me prove it.”
Caesarion knew she was right. As Khenti said: it was past time that she understood the dangers she faced. But, even so, could she be trusted? Especially after today?
“Besides,” she said, looking down at her dress and smoothing it with her hands, “I’ve never told anyone what I know about you.”
“About me?” Caesarion asked, surprised.
“No,” Selene said. Her voice was quiet and eyes still downcast. “About Didymus. About back in Rome.”
Didymus crumpled down into his chair, a look on his face as if he’d been kicked in the gut.
After a few moments of silence, Caesarion managed to gasp out, “How—?”
“I heard it. With Didymus and that man. I didn’t hear much, but I heard that. I’ve known, and I didn’t tell.”
“Oh, Selene,” Didymus said. “I don’t know what to say.”
When Selene at last looked up at him, her eyes were wet but her face stoic. “There’s nothing to say. It can’t be changed. And it doesn’t matter now: you refused to betray us again.” She took a deep breath, turned her bright eyes to Caesarion. “I’ve never told anyone. Not even Helios. I can be trusted.”
Caesarion was uncertain what more he could say. He looked over to Didymus for a sign, but the Greek scholar’s face was sunken, as if he’d fallen back into himself. “I’m sorry we never told you,” he finally said.
“I un
derstand why, though,” Selene said. “I just … I think I’m old enough now.”
“You are,” Caesarion agreed, hoping it was true. He sat down, letting out a long sigh as he did so. He rubbed at his eyes for a moment to clear his thoughts. Then, realizing there was no easy way to begin, he laid out the facts: “The news from the north, as I was telling Didymus, is dire. Our army has been trapped by Octavian at a place called Actium, in Greece, with no clear way out. Our men are starving to death, riddled by disease, and defecting to Rome in large numbers. It’s probably only a matter of time until they’re defeated.”
Whatever smile of success Selene had upon her face went out like a light, and for a few seconds she blinked too often as Caesarion watched her. Quickly, though, her face moved to a stoic impassivity, just as their mother had taught them to do in times of emotion. Gods and goddesses weren’t meant to feel emotion, after all. It wouldn’t do for the public image. “Surely my father—” she started to say.
Caesarion shook his head. “Not this time.”
The girl swallowed hard, gave the slightest nod. “And what now?”
Caesarion started to say something, then decided against it. What to tell her? That Antony and Cleopatra, if they lived, would probably be captured, paraded through Rome in a Triumph? And if not captured, pursued home in frightful defeat to await their doom here? Caesarion knew that he himself would be a dead man if he fell into Octavian’s arms—as Caesar’s blood child he was, after all, the greatest threat to Octavian’s ambitions—but what would await Antony’s children? Would they die, too? Or would Octavian marry them into his family, subsuming the threat? To whom would Selene go? Who would claim this beautiful little girl, raping her in a victory bed that was too terrible for Caesarion to imagine?
“We don’t know,” Didymus said, breaking Caesarion’s dark thoughts with a weak but steady voice. “Peace with Octavian? More war? We don’t know. We need to be prepared for anything.”
Selene nodded, her jaw clenching again despite her stoic face. For a long minute no one spoke, and her gaze seemed to be far away. “It must be kept quiet,” she said at last, talking to no one in particular.
“Yes,” Caesarion said. “We cannot have panic. Even if they are defeated—today? tomorrow? we don’t know when—we’ll send word to the citizens of victory. There will be rumors—we can’t prevent that—but it will buy us some time. Meanwhile I’m redoubling the work on the walls and defenses.” He sighed. “It’s all we can do right now.”
Didymus agreed, seeming to recover his wits. “Anything more would look like desperation, which you cannot afford.”
“But this isn’t why you’re here,” Selene said to Caesarion. “It was Didymus who called you with news, wasn’t it?”
Didymus smiled grimly. “You always were clever,” he said.
“Too clever sometimes,” Caesarion said, trying his best to smile, too. “I believe Didymus had some news for us, too. News from his latest travels?” He tilted his head toward their Greek teacher, giving him permission to speak freely.
“Of course,” Didymus said, but he then appeared unsure where to begin.
“The man sent after Didymus a year ago had a letter from Rome,” Caesarion started, noticing but ignoring Selene’s shiver at the memory of that night. “Only it wasn’t from Octavian. It was from a man named Juba, a Numidian adopted into Caesar’s own family. He wanted Didymus to give him the Scrolls of Thoth.”
“Scrolls of Thoth?”
“Yes,” Didymus said, his voice sounding stronger as he entered the conversation on familiar turf. “A legendary book of the god Thoth, into which he poured the knowledge and power of the gods themselves. It doesn’t exist.”
Caesarion raised an eyebrow, uncertain if he felt relief or not. “Oh? You know this for a fact now?”
Didymus nodded, but his eyes were troubled. “Well, it doesn’t exist in the way Juba is thinking. Not on earth, anyway.”
“I don’t understand,” Caesarion said.
“Nor do I,” Selene agreed.
“Well, it’s … complicated,” Didymus said. “I don’t really understand it all myself. Not the way I’d like to. But I’ll explain what I can, as I can. And I’ve asked another scholar to come to the Library this morning to join us. I think he’ll be able to shed some, ah, unique light on the facts of the matter. He actually should have been here by now. He’s coming from the Jewish Quarter.”
Selene took in her breath abruptly. “Oh,” she said. “I think I met him.”
“Really?” The Greek scholar looked surprised. “He’s here?”
Caesarion, shaking away the urge to wonder at how his half-sister had come to know an important Jewish scholar, rose and went to the door, opening it quietly. Khenti melted out of the shadows in response. Caesarion kept his voice low out of instinct. “There’s a Jewish scholar in the Library,” he said. “He’s supposed to come see Didymus.”
“Yes. He came with young Selene, my lord.”
He really needed to find out how that happened. She was indeed full of surprises today. “Can you see that he comes to join us?”
“At once, sir,” Khenti said, bowing before he strode quickly down the hall.
Caesarion shut the door, turned back to the room. Selene, he noticed, seemed to be blushing slightly. “So you came to the Library with this scholar?”
The girl’s face reddened a bit more. “I met him outside,” she said. “He said he was coming here, and so we came in together.”
“Begging your pardon, lady Selene,” Didymus said, “but you need to be wary of the company you keep beyond the palace.”
Selene huffed and rolled her eyes. “I was fine. He reminded me of you,” she said, looking over to Caesarion.
Confusion spread on Didymus’ face, gradually twisting into a look of fright. “He looked like Caesarion? That’s not—”
Khenti’s knock at the door cut off the scholar, who froze, half-leaned over his desk, staring at Caesarion with concern. Selene just appeared flushed.
Caesarion held out a hand to still the scholar—not that it was necessary, given his position—and then moved to open the door from behind it, so that he stood between the door and the girl and could put his whole body into a push against the wood if needed. Trying to appear relaxed for Selene’s sake—there might be nothing afoot, after all—he unobtrusively patted his side to reassure himself of the little blade there. Then, nodding to Didymus, he opened the door and looked around it.
Khenti was there, looking rock-solid as ever. With him was a young man about Caesarion’s own height and age, dressed in simple robes. He was, Caesarion could see, clearly a Jew: sparsely bearded, but with long curled locks of hair hanging from his temples. In his hands he held a simple cloth-wrap hat, and he was smiling. “Pharaoh,” he said, bowing. “It’s pleasant to see you so far from the palaces.”
Caesarion, seeing no danger, opened the door enough to let the young man enter. Khenti followed, stepping to the side just after he entered, to stand beside the door as Caesarion shut it. The guardchief was clearly uncertain about the newcomer.
Didymus, still standing at his desk, appeared more confused than ever, but before any of them could speak, the young Jew had turned to Selene and bowed again. “My lady Selene,” he said.
Selene’s upper lip tucked in slightly in a pout. “You knew who I was, Jacob?”
The man grinned but didn’t reply, straightening to stand before Didymus. “I’m sorry my father could not come in reply to your letter,” he said, drawing a summons from his robes and handing it to the flustered scholar. “He’s ill, and he sent me in his stead.”
Didymus took the letter, opened it, saw that it was indeed the one he’d sent. “Joachim is your father?”
“He is. My name is Jacob.”
“I see,” Didymus said. He blinked, seeming to remember himself. There was a second chair, like Caesarion’s, tucked away in the corner of the little office, and the scholar gestured to it. “Please, do sit
down. We were just getting started.”
Caesarion moved his own seat closer to Selene’s stool to make room for Jacob as he pulled the extra chair out and into position in front of the scholar’s desk. Khenti remained standing, quickly fading into the woodwork.
When he sat down, Jacob had a pleasant smile on his face, as if remembering a joke. “To what do we humble Jews owe the pleasure of being called to a meeting of such powerful folk? Something to do with the impending defeat of our beloved ruler at Actium?”
Didymus seemed much more in control of himself as they all settled into their seats, only the twitch of his eyebrow betraying his surprise that the young Jew was so well informed of the situation to the north. “Only partially,” the scholar said. “Your father holds a well-deserved reputation as the finest living Jewish scholar in Alexandria. A student of history, I know. I wanted his particular experience to confirm, and perhaps clarify, a few bits of, ah, unique history we were going to discuss today.”
“I see,” Jacob said, his voice serious despite the hint of bemusement on his face. “Well, I shall do what I can in his place. He’s taught me well, I assure you. Perhaps only my younger sister knows my father’s work better than I.” He looked over to Selene and Caesarion, winking gently at the girl. “One never suspects how much they truly know, of course.”
Selene laughed lightly, and Caesarion felt that what tension had been in the room had melted away. He decided he liked Jacob, young though the man was.
Didymus leaned back in his chair. Caesarion, too, settled into his seat, noticing that Selene, still pouting a little that she’d been so easily identified on her morning’s travels, did the same. “Octavian, as you know, will probably defeat our armies sooner rather than later,” Didymus said. “While this is a concern for us all, it isn’t directly the matter at hand. What brings us together is the fact that a man at Octavian’s side, a Numidian named Juba, is trying to acquire the Scrolls of Thoth. Do you know them?”
From the corner of his eye Caesarion thought he saw the smile on Jacob’s face flicker for a moment. “I do. An old legend. The pagan god Thoth was supposed to have put his powers into them. They’re not real, you know.”
The Shards of Heaven Page 20
