“We were talking of Rome,” Didymus said.
Selene’s eyes lit up, and she leaned forward. “I was just thinking about Rome,” she said.
Helios huffed. “I bet you weren’t thinking about Hannibal’s tactics.”
Selene glared, started to say something, but Didymus cut her off. “More snapping and you’re both off to bed.” His pale blue eyes fixed on each of the two children in turn until they both lowered their gazes and relaxed their shoulders. “Good,” he said. “So. Why were you thinking about Rome, Selene?”
“That’s what they’re talking about, isn’t it? In the council chambers? That’s what Mother said.”
“I suppose she did,” Didymus agreed. “I suppose they are.”
“It must be a very nice place,” Selene said, her voice quiet.
Helios smiled deviously. “Selene loves Rome. She wants to be a Roman.”
“I do not!” Selene startled herself with how loud her voice was in the quiet space.
Didymus motioned for her to lower her voice, shot a glare at Helios. “Rome is a city of wonders,” he said. “It’s true. But to be Roman isn’t everything.”
“You’re not Roman,” Helios said. “You’re Greek.”
Selene wasn’t sure if Helios was being mean or being nice. It bothered her sometimes that she could have such trouble reading her own twin. Didymus, for his part, just nodded. “I am. But I’ve spent a lot of time in Rome. And I’ve known many Romans in my time. Rome isn’t so glorious, and its people not so pure, as they may seem in dreams.”
Selene furrowed her brow. “But Father…”
“We make ideals out of our memories,” Didymus said, raising thin fingers to rub at his eyes. “Antony—your father—imagines a city that doesn’t really exist. We’re all this way. I remember a Greece far greater than it is. If you left Alexandria, you’d recall it with far more fondness than you have for it now. Rome? Rome is a place where no one can be trusted. Where nothing is what it seems.” His eyes were on the flickering brazier between them. “And not just Rome. The world is like that, children. Sooner or later, we all learn it.”
Everyone was silent for a few moments, and Selene found herself watching her brother. Like their Greek teacher, he was staring down at the glowing brass. Her twin had always been more sickly than she was—weaker, thinner, more prone to illness—but tonight he looked almost normal, she decided. The shadows under his eyes seemed less dark, and his cheeks appeared less hollow. When his eyes rose, he saw her, too, and he actually smiled. “Except us,” he said. There was a kind of pride in his voice. He looked over to their teacher. “And you.”
Didymus looked up from the light and smiled tiredly. His pale eyes took in them both. “You are indeed some of the best, most honest people I’ve ever met,” he said. “Rome would be fortunate to have any of you.”
Selene imagined being queen of Rome for a moment before she shook the silliness of the thought away: if any of them would rule Rome, it would be their elder half-brother, Caesarion. He was, after all, Caesar’s son. If they won the war to come, it would be he who ruled the streets of her dreams. “Do you think we’ll win, Didymus?”
“Win? We’re not even at war yet.”
Selene frowned, but it was Helios who spoke. “We will be.”
Didymus shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. It isn’t for us to decide.”
Selene had once overheard some of the servants talking about what had happened to the king of Gaul after he’d been defeated by Julius Caesar. “What’s a Triumph?”
Didymus’ eyebrows raised. “A Triumph? Where did you hear about that?”
“I heard that’s what Caesar did to Vercingetorix.”
Didymus chewed on his lip for a moment, thinking. “It’s a parade in Rome, meant to honor a military commander for a great victory.”
Selene’s eyes narrowed. “They take the defeated king on it, too?”
“Yes.”
“What happens to him?”
“Children, I—”
“Vercingetorix was publicly strangled during the Triumph, Selene,” Helios said quietly. “So was Jugurtha after the fall of Numidia.”
Didymus glared at the boy, but he didn’t disagree.
“She needs to know,” Helios whispered.
“Strangled?” Visions of their father and Caesarion suddenly flashed into Selene’s mind. “But why—”
“Not always,” Didymus said quickly. “And not everyone. The kings of Numidia and Gaul, it’s true. But it isn’t always that way. And it’s not something we need to be concerned about. We’re not at war yet.” He tried to smile. “Besides, you’re too young to think on such things. Both of you.”
“It’s not fair,” Selene whispered. Young or not, girl or not, it wasn’t as if she’d be spared the results. So why wouldn’t anyone let her take part?
“No, I suppose it is not,” Didymus admitted. “But no one here is bound for a Triumph, anyway. If it comes to war, Antony and Caesarion will win. And we’ll be safe here in Alexandria. Rome is a place of danger, but not Egypt. There’s no place more secure. Our dear Vorenus sees to that.”
The mention of Vorenus cast a moment of happiness into the gloom. “I think it’s neat Vorenus knew Caesar,” Helios said hopefully.
Didymus agreed, his long thin hair bouncing in the flickering light. “I’ll tell you what. Caesarion and I found something about that today in our readings. If you’ll promise to go right to sleep afterward, we can go look at it.”
Helios yawned, then coughed lightly. Selene hoped he wasn’t getting sick again. “Not me,” he said. “I’m tired. Can I see it tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Didymus said. “Of course.” He stood, slowly, groaning as if against the weight of age. “I’ll wish you a restful night, then, Helios. Selene? Let’s take you back to your room.”
“Can’t I see it now?”
“You promise to go to sleep afterward?”
Selene nodded vigorously, excited to know something before her brother did. “I will. Promise.”
“Fine. You’ll have to walk slow with me, though. My legs are more accustomed to sedation than yours, I’m afraid.”
Selene retrieved the teacher’s staff, and they walked together down the hall in silence, taking care not to disturb those in sleep. Selene walked respectfully behind him, her mind a confused swirl of Roman gold and blood, glories and triumphs.
So lost was she in her thoughts that she walked into Didymus when he stopped at his door. He looked down at her with a sigh, shaking his head, but she could see the hint of amusement in his eyes. Selene bowed her head apologetically, took two steps backward to give him plenty of space. Didymus appeared to think about saying something but opted to maintain the silence of the hallways and instead just rolled his eyes before reaching out with his left hand and opening the door.
He’d shuffled halfway inside, moving his staff from his right hand to his left so he could hold the door open for her, when someone spoke from within. “Do not cry out, librarian,” the voice said.
Didymus froze in place for a long heartbeat. Then his right hand, now free, slowly lowered until it was near Selene’s level, palm downward, fingers outstretched in a sign to be silent and still. “Who’s there?” he asked. “What are you looking for?”
“You,” said the voice. It was a man. Someone Selene was sure she didn’t recognize. His voice sounded Roman, like Pullo’s, but even rougher. “Please, come in. I’ve been expecting you.”
Selene, confused, watched as Didymus started to move, even slower than he usually did. His eyes never turned in her direction, but his thin-fingered hand twitched at her.