“Juba!” said Tiberius. Only Livia’s hands on his shoulders seemed to prevent him from rushing into the room.
Juba smiled in honest happiness to see young Tiberius—he’d always liked the boy, even if he did find him prone to a melancholy that he suspected was due to his mother being forced to divorce his father in order to marry Octavian. “Tiberius,” he said. “It is good to see you. And you, as well, my lady.”
Livia nodded graciously, then turned her eyes to her husband. Something clearly passed between them, as she nodded ever so slightly and started to turn Tiberius away to make room for the servant with the dishes. “As Quintus said, Juba and your father are busy,” she said. “You can catch up on his adventures later.”
Juba saw the boy’s eyes take in the Trident for a moment and widen a little with curiosity before he began trying to protest the departure. It was a feeble effort, though, and he allowed his mother’s strong hands to lead him off. Quintus shot Juba a quick look of encouragement before he, too, bowed and hurried off in their wake, no doubt planning to help entertain and distract the boy.
The servant with the trays of food stepped forward. “Your dinner, Imperator,” he said. When the man’s eyes lowered in deference to Octavian, he spotted the spilled wine at once. Juba noticed that the man swallowed hard. “My lord, was there a problem—?”
Octavian let out a quick, superficial laugh. “No, no. The wine was fine. Just an accident. Can you see to it later?” The servant nodded dumbly, clearly wondering why the Imperator would let the stain sit. “We just don’t want to be disturbed right now,” Octavian said. “I’ll take the food.”
There were several bows as the slave handed in a tray and a jug of water. Octavian carefully balanced it all so that no one needed to enter the room. Then, with a quiet word to the legionnaire standing guard, he closed the door.
There was another table, not far from the door, and Juba watched as his stepbrother unceremoniously emptied his arms upon it. “I assume you’re not hungry, either?” he asked over his shoulder.
“No,” Juba said. “I’m fine.”
Octavian nodded, but he didn’t shift from his position for perhaps a minute. Juba sat quietly, glad that someone else was lost in thought for a time.
At last, Octavian straightened up and stretched his neck from side to side, cracking it. Then he returned and sat down in his chair, his eyes on the object still set between them. “Poseidon’s Trident,” he said.
“Or Neptune’s, if you prefer,” Juba said. “But it’s even more complicated than that.”
Octavian’s eyebrow raised, but he said nothing.
Juba had practiced his next words so often in his mind that they came out easily. “This is Poseidon’s Trident,” he said, absently noting how easily he shifted into the tone of a teacher, even in the face of his powerful older stepbrother. “But that’s not all it is. It’s also Mercury’s wand. And Moses’ staff. And Nehushtan. And perhaps even more than that. I still don’t know all the possibilities.”
Octavian’s jaw clenched slightly as he stared at the younger man. “Moses is a Jewish god, no? And I don’t know this Nehushtan. Explain.”
“They both have to do with the Jews. Moses was a Jewish leader. Not a god, but a powerful man nonetheless. He led his people from Egypt to Judea—so their stories go—and he was said to have possessed a powerful staff blessed by the god of the Jews. It’s said among their writings that with his staff he could strike a rock and make it give water.”
“The same is said of Neptune and Poseidon,” Octavian said quietly. “He did as much in Greece.”
“Exactly so,” Juba said, nodding vigorously. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about. We accept that Neptune and Poseidon are the same god, yet I wonder if the gods and legends of other peoples are not the same, too.”
“Go on.”
“Well, it’s also said that Moses, with his staff, parted the Red Sea in order for his people to escape Egypt. He controlled the waters with it.”
Octavian had the same kind of thoughtful look on his face that Juba fondly remembered from his youth. “So these stories of Moses are stories of Neptune by another name. Or, perhaps, if both are real, then this man somehow got the god’s weapon. What of Nehushtan?”
“At one point the god of the Jews afflicted them with poisonous snakes,” Juba said. “Strange tale. The god then told Moses to affix a bronze serpent to a staff and use it to cure those who were faithful to him. They called it Nehushtan.” Juba’s fingers hovered over the Trident, tracing the broken line of the bronze snake there. “It means ‘brazen serpent’ in their tongue.”
The corner of Octavian’s mouth lifted. “Twisted snakes. Like Mercury’s wand,” he said. “How did you find it?”
“I was searching the old Numidian libraries, and I started to learn about the old religion of the Jews, of which I know far too little. They worship only one father-god now, like our Jupiter, but I don’t think it was always so. I think they once worshiped a mother goddess, too, like our Juno. Her name was Asherah. I think she was the same as that which is worshiped in Numidia as Astarte. Anyway, it was among the priests of Asherah that I began to put it all together. And they directed me to an old temple of their faith with many relics. And there I found it.”
To Juba’s relief Octavian didn’t follow any line of questioning about how he’d acquired it from them. “Who knows?” he asked.
“There are two of us now,” Juba said.
“Good,” Octavian said. He stood, took a few paces back and forth in front of the table. “Good.”
Juba didn’t reply, letting Octavian pace. Less than a minute passed before there was another light knock on the door.
“The Senate?” Juba asked.
Octavian ignored the query, but he finally stopped pacing. “How well can you control it?” he asked.
Juba had known this particular question was coming, but it was the one thing he’d never decided exactly how he would answer. Unlike some of what he had just said, he opted for plain truth. “You’ve seen it. I can feel that it’s capable of more, but I’ve been unable to practice while keeping the secret. I need money for space and privacy, for supplies.”
“Then you’ll have it,” Octavian said. “This could be a great weapon in the fight to come, my brother. My personal guard will attend you. We’ll give you rooms out at father’s villa, and whatever gold you need is yours. Just practice. Get stronger.”
Juba swallowed hard when his stepbrother looked back toward the door and the legionnaires who were no doubt waiting outside to take him to the Senate. Juba hadn’t realized until just this moment how worried he was that Octavian would claim the Trident for himself. “I will,” he said.
The Imperator of Rome threw him a smile, then turned and walked toward the door, his stride seeming more confident with every step. As he reached for the latch, he looked back. “We’ll talk later,” he said. “After we’re at war.”
* * *
Only when Juba was safely alone did he let his hands begin to shake. “I’m only sixteen,” he whispered to the empty room. He was old enough to begin military training, but this was something greater by far.
It seemed so preposterous, so improbable. For all his pride, for all his intellect, for all the privileges that Octavian had just accorded him, for all the innate power in the object that sat before him on the table, Juba still felt like a child playing games in the world of men.
And so much was happening so quickly.
He crossed his arms to quell their shaking and stood up, making his way over to Octavian’s table of maps once again.