Didymus closed his eyes for a moment, imagining what it would be like to be so close to such an artifact. It was one thing, after all, to study such an object—and he had, indeed, read all he could about the Ark once he knew it was the object of Juba’s desires—but it was something quite different to see it, to touch it.
No, he corrected himself. Not touch it. The stories of the Jews were very specific about what happened when those who were unworthy touched the Ark.
And Didymus had no doubt that he was unworthy. Though he might spend his whole life trying to atone for the mistakes of his youth, he could never undo them.
He opened his eyes and looked around at the rows of scroll-filled shelves surrounding him in the dark. Many of the temple’s old passageways and rooms had been used to hold the overflow of thousands of books for which there was no room in the Great Library. A generation earlier, when fires set in the harbor by Caesar had spread to the Museum and actually consumed part of the beloved Great Library itself, it was from copying these hidden stores that the rebuilt shelves were replenished.
How many times had he himself come here, looking for a scroll not yet duplicated? How many times had he been in this very room, wandering this way and that, unaware of how close he stood to such power?
Because it had to be here. It had to be close. There was no reason to meet here otherwise.
Shaking away his own amazement at the past, Didymus tried to focus in on what was going on in the present. They all knew Octavian would take the city, and at the very least he’d search hard for the Ark, torturing whomever he needed to in order to find the information he needed. He’d found out so much already, after all. Even more likely, he would put the city to the torch while he did the torturing. Only later would he search the smoldering remains for it. The Shard itself, after all, could not be harmed. Easier to burn down what stood in the way than to try to look for the secret chambers in which it would be hidden. Fire. It’s what his adopted father would have done. It’s what his adopted father had done when cornered in Alexandria so many years earlier. Alexandria would burn again. And this time the Great Library, and these holdings here, would burn with it.
Didymus felt suddenly nauseated and stood up to try to clear his mind of the vision of books in flame. He walked back over to the main table, where Caesarion, Jacob, and the girl, Hannah, sat in deep discussion about the Ark, surrounded by the others.
“So if we don’t move it, Octavian won’t ever be stopped,” Jacob was saying.
“Then why not use it to stop him?” Vorenus said.
Caesarion looked up from his seat with clear hope in his eyes. “Of course. An object of such power—”
“Cannot possibly be wielded by you,” Hannah said. “Not by any of us. It would destroy you. It would destroy me. And even if you could control it, what would you do then? Kill Octavian and claim Rome? You have a right to it. But why stop there? With the Ark you could become a conqueror. Is that your desire, Pharaoh?”
As she spoke Didymus saw it all unfolding in his mind: the power, the possibility. Caesarion was a good man. Surely he would try to be a good and just ruler, and for a long time he no doubt would be. Yet the scholar in Didymus knew that no man was untouched by power. Even those seeking redemption for the many wrought devastation on the few. In the tense silence that had befallen them all, he stepped forward. “With the Ark you could create a greater realm than Alexander ever did,” he said, his voice quiet in the lamp-lit chamber. “But remember that even he chose to set it aside.”
Caesarion turned to look at him, and Didymus could see his inner struggle in the taut lines of his face, the wideness of his eyes. The world was at his fingertips. How many had faced such temptation? How many could possibly deny it? He opened his mouth as if to speak, but before the words could come Hannah spoke again. “It’s God’s weapon, Caesarion. Not ours.”
It was the first time Didymus had heard the girl say Caesarion’s name, and he saw the young man blink as if the word had broken a spell. The boy who might have ruled the world let out his breath with a sigh and a nod. “I’m no conqueror,” he said. He looked over to Vorenus with a smile. “You know I don’t want to rule other men.”
Vorenus gave the curt nod of a military man receiving an order. Didymus wondered at the irony of it even as the room seemed to exhale. After all, wasn’t a lack of desire to rule perhaps the finest characteristic to have in a ruler?
“But I don’t understand how we can move it,” Caesarion continued, turning back to Hannah. “You mentioned a ship, but no vessel can get out of the city. Especially not a royal one. Not just by land are we besieged.”
“It’s not just any ship we want,” Hannah said. Didymus noticed again how sure of herself the girl was. He wondered how long she’d been a leader among this sacred company.
“What then?” Caesarion asked.
In reply, Hannah turned to Vorenus. “He knows.”
Vorenus looked confused for a moment before realization swept across his face like the beam from a far-off light. “The trireme,” he said, wonder in his voice. “The one we used to escape Actium. It’s one of Octavian’s own vessels.”
“As soon as the city falls,” Jacob said, “Octavian’s ships will enter the Great Harbor that they only now blockade. There will be chaos. If one of his ships slips out, under the bridges of the Heptastadion and out to the sea beyond, no one will notice. There’s no better time for moving the Ark than in the chaos.”
“And this trireme,” Caesarion asked no one in particular, “it’s in the royal harbor?”
Both Jacob and Hannah nodded.
“You could order it released,” Vorenus said to Caesarion. “We only need to get the Ark to the palace, to have it ready.”
Didymus watched as Caesarion worked things over in his mind. He didn’t doubt that the young man was thinking, too, of how he could get his family out of the city the same way. “No,” he said at last. “We can’t leave from the palace. Anything leaving the royal harbor will be searched, Roman-built or not. We need to bring the trireme to the Ark.”
A single pair of hurried footsteps abruptly echoed in the hall, and one of the hooded guards strode into the pool of light around the tables, walking directly to Hannah’s side. As he whispered in her ear, the girl’s gaze flicked over to Caesarion. She took a deep breath when the guard finished. “Go,” she said to him. “See to the others.”
“What is it?” Caesarion asked.
“Antony is dead,” she said, voice calm and unflinching.
“Dead?” Caesarion croaked. “I … we saw him, not hours ago.”
Hannah nodded, and to Didymus the gesture appeared warmly kind, like that of a mother agreeing with her child that the world was not what either of them would like it to be. “He fell on his own sword. I’m sorry.”
“The city will fall,” Pullo said, his eyes widening as if he was surprised to have spoken the thought aloud.
“So it will,” Jacob said. He stared at Caesarion, the lack of any trace of a smile on his face making him appear disturbingly intent. “Octavian’s men will be in the city soon, if they’re not already. No more stories. The time to act is upon us.”
Caesarion looked down at the table, eyes narrowing.
“The trireme,” Jacob said. His voice was urgent. “We need it. The Ark must be protected.”
Caesarion’s head moved up and down absently. Didymus thought he saw the young man’s lips moving.
Jacob’s shoulders trembled with what appeared to be pent-up rage, and Hannah reached out a hand to grip his arm. “Pharaoh,” she whispered. “Please…”
“Khenti,” Caesarion said, his head whipping up, eyes clear and voice strong.
The Egyptian guardchief, always rigid, somehow stood even straighter. “Sir.”