“Not a bad plan,” Agrippa said, with the slightest hint of approval in his voice, like an artist studying another’s work. “The wind will be north to south. Antony surely hopes to burst against it with a hard row, then roll up our own north flank, pushing us south against Leucas. It’s not a bad plan at all, given what they have to work with.”
A knowing smile had been working its way across Octavian’s mouth. “Then Agrippa and I shall command our north flank,” he said. “The south is yours, Marcus Lurius. And to you goes the center, Lucius Arruntius.” Two of the commanders nodded, seemed to puff up a bit. “Agrippa will work out the rest of the placements, but we must have a mind to our overall strategy.”
Lucius frowned. “Strategy, my lord? It is a naval engagement. Ranged weapons once they can reach: archers, ballistae, flame pots. Once we close in, we ram them as best we can manage, then board and fight.” He looked around the table, saw approving nods from the other generals. “Right?”
Octavian, still smiling, sat down in his chair and steepled his fingers to his lips. Delius at last sat, too. “That is traditional, yes,” Octavian said. “But have you a better idea, Juba?”
All eyes turned to the forgotten seventeen-year-old at the table, none kind. Juba swallowed hard, shocked to be thrust to the center of attention. He wanted to shrink down and disappear. “I … I don’t know—”
“No, you don’t,” Lucius said. “How could you—”
“I think you do,” Octavian said, ignoring Lucius. “Indeed, we talked about just this, I recall. Not two weeks after we put to sea. You told me you thought it best not to engage in such a situation.”
“Not to engage?” Lucius guffawed, but the few who joined him did so nervously. Delius just stared.
When Octavian still looked expectant, Juba at last managed to gather himself. “Lord Delius,” he said, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack, “am I right that Antony has lost too many men to outfit his full fleet?”
Delius agreed. “He’ll likely burn the rest tonight. A few dozen, perhaps.”
Agrippa leaned out and made a few adjustments to the pieces on the map.
“And Antony’s men are weak, are they not? Lack of food and good water? There’s talk of much bad air in the camp.”
Delius nodded once more.
“Then, no, I don’t think we should engage them,” Juba said.
Lucius looked incredulous. “But they’ll be even weaker than we thought! We’ll have more ships, stronger men—”
“I don’t think that’s the boy’s point,” Agrippa said, still staring at the map and ignoring Lucius’ animosity. “Antony’s right flank, the one he himself will command, must row against the wind to reach us. His men are already weak. The farther we make him row, the more tired they’ll be. If we back off, we’ll have more time to riddle his decks.”
“And have ours riddled, too,” Lucius added, frowning.
“More than that,” Juba said, feeling a growing confidence. “It’s no secret that Antony’s Egyptian ships are bigger, better than ours.”
Several of the commanders seemed instinctively ready to defend their Roman-built craft over those of their foreign counterparts, but Agrippa was already once again agreeing. “Without question. Say what you will about that Egyptian witch, but she’s rich.”
Octavian laughed, and most of the commanders joined in, glad for the break in tension. Delius smiled, too, but noted that Octavian’s ships were smaller and faster.
“Antony has raw power, we have maneuverability and endurance,” Juba said. “Let’s use our advantage on sea, just as we have here on land.”
No one objected to Juba’s characterization of their current strategy as a model to be followed, a silence that he took for a begrudging admission that his plan to choke Antony out had been a success. The affirmation, small though it was, gave Juba something to hold on to even as the thought of a battle on the waves—where the Trident would be most effective, most likely to be used—gnawed at his despairing soul.
“What do you think?” Octavian said abruptly, addressing Delius.
Delius was staring at Juba, who found it difficult to meet the older man’s gaze. “I think you have even more strength than Antony can know,” he said.
“Ah,” said Octavian, smiling and clapping Juba suddenly on the back. “You have no idea.”
15
THE GREAT LIBRARY
ALEXANDRIA, 31 BCE
By the time Selene had hurried across the wide plaza where the two great streets of Alexandria met, the sun was nearing mid-morning. Whether from the warmth of its rays or her physical distance from the mausoleum and the body and armor of Alexander, the girl had managed to put the feeling of cold behind her even before she entered the sprawling complex of the Museum. A series of buildings dedicated to the Muses, the complex had been a place of wonder for Selene even before she knew about the glories of the Great Library: the complex was filled with a staggering array of theaters, temples, observatories, lecture halls, dining halls, living quarters, and a broad walkway where scholars and artists from around the world conversed as they strolled. A place where study and sculpture, song and painting came together to erupt in the flowering of human possibility, the Museum was, for a young girl of Selene’s wide curiosities, a place of dreams.
And that was before she was allowed to see the Great Library.
Built of white marble and stone, the Library sat in the middle of the Museum like the physical embodiment of the flowering within the complex: a six-sided, multitiered building crowned with a magnificent cupola that was itself mounted by a gleaming gold statue of a man holding aloft a scroll, opened to the heavens. Just the sight of it stirred her soul when she was Philadelphus’ age. Now that she was older and knew what was within those six walls, under that exquisite dome, she had even more cause for thrill as her feet carried her through the gardens and pathways of the grounds toward its imposing shape.
Scrolls. Such simple things. She’d laughed about it when Didymus had first told them about the Library: so much care for some papyrus harvested from Lake Mareotis, carefully prepared and rolled into long sheets, then covered with writing. So silly. But she’d soon learned the power of the knowledge in those scrolls, and in the collection in her city. The Great Library, it was said, had been started by one of Aristotle’s students at the very birth of Alexandria, and it had early on incorporated Aristotle’s own library. Fitting, everyone thought, given that the philosopher had been Alexander’s tutor in Greece. The growing wealth of Alexandria funneled into the institution, and the generations of rulers had given the librarians as much support as they could manage. Didymus had described to her and Helios how ships entering the harbor were searched for writings of any kind, which were summarily seized and taken to a series of warehouses nearer the docks. There the scrolls were read by young scholars, and any worth adding to the collection were transferred to scriptoria, where trained scribes efficiently copied them out. Only then were the texts returned to their original owners. Thus, their Greek teacher explained, the Great Library had quickly become the largest repository of knowledge in the world, so big that its collection couldn’t be housed in one building. In addition to the buildings on the docks, the city’s scrolls were also held in some of the catacombs in the city and in the small library behind the walls of the royal palace on Lochias, where the children took most of their lessons. It was on hearing, during one of their lessons, that the Royal Library paled in comparison to the central collection held at the Great Library in the Museum that Selene had first demanded to be taken to see the building that loomed before her this morning. It had not disappointed then, and it would not disappoint now, she was sure.