Taken by surprise, Eurydice thought desperately. “A priestess of Hecate,” she said, after a long moment of thought.
Caesarion sat upright. “Those do not exactly grow on trees! Most of them practice their magic in deepest secrecy. While everyone in Hellas fears and respects the goddess of magic, there are no official temples to her, and her priesthood, while not exactly banned, is in disrepute.” Again, thanks to Sulla’s damned laws. Why was the man so terrified of magic? Did he think his noted and terrible skin condition was a curse? When it was very likely a disease brought on by his equally noted and lifelong love of whores?
Eurydice nodded, not hearing his thoughts, of course. “But they’re the best practitioners of magic in Hellas, if the most secretive. There’s a small group of sorcerer-philosophers on Crete, too. More philosophers, overall, would help to speak to. Everyone from Aristotle on insists that the element of air is light and dry. Which does not explain why it’s exhausting and heavy to move.” She made a face. “I can’t go to Hellas. I also can’t go to the Great Library of Alexandria and study there for three or four years.”
Caesarion shook his head. “No. I need you here.” He paused. “However, Alexander could go for you. I was planning on sending him to Athens anyway for a few months. Information-gathering. He can gather information for you as easily as for me.” He raised his eyebrows. “Would you mind fetching him for me?”
And suddenly, all the distance was back. Eurydice drew herself up, and nodded politely. “Of course, brother. I’ll see to it at once.”
As she turned and left, she missed his wince at her formal tone.
Out in the courtyard, she managed to retrieve her sandals from where she’d dropped them; they were cold and stiff now, not to mention wet. Sliding her feet into them, she tied the straps back in place, and then spent a moment staring at the icicles in the snow. Yes. I let my temper get the better of me. I can’t let that happen again.
And then she headed upstairs to where Alexander’s room was—two doors down from Caesarion’s, just as hers was, but in the opposite direction. Hearing voices from behind the door, she knew that he had to be here, and not off in the stables, or the kitchen, cadging food from the cook. So she called, “Alexander?” through the wood, and pushed on the handle. Felt the latch on the other side lift, and pushed the door open. And then stood there, her eyes suddenly wide, for on the bed, Alexander and Tiberius were in a naked embrace, the muscles in their bodies knotted and strained, caught mid-motion, faces flushed—and then both of their heads snapped towards the door, apprehension and shock bare in their eyes. “Oh, gods,” Eurydice said, backing away, letting the door slip out of her hand, and averting her eyes hastily. Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? It’s not quite the same thing as what was going on behind those latrines, as seen through the owl’s eyes, but—oh gods, this is my brother. “Oh, gods. I’m so sorry.” She managed to find some form of coherent speech, adding, so quickly that the words tripped over themselves, “Ah. . . Caesarion wanted to speak with you, Alexander.”
“Eurydice, wait—” Her brother’s voice, from the other side of the door, muffled, but urgent.
And then she fled, as fast as her steps could safely take her on the snow-slick tile. No amount of pretty poetry over dinner had really prepared her for reality. Back down the steps, vaguely aware as she hit the atrium that Alexander had made it to the balcony above at last, and was running after her. Across the now-empty atrium, where fresh snowflakes drifted down from the leaden sky. To where relative safety lay, even if Caesarion had given every indication that he intended to treat her like a stranger of late. Through the door, fresh snow tangled and melting in her hair, and Caesarion raised his head, frowning as he did. “I didn’t need him in that much of a hurry—”
Eurydice stared at him, and the words fell out of her mouth without conscious volition. “I didn’t mean to see. I—he and Tiberius—” And now, she’d had enough time to go from pure raw shock to consideration of the ramifications. Oh gods. If anyone finds out—his life in the legions, his career . . . oh, gods, what about Octavia?
Caesarion’s entire expression shifted and he held up both hands, palms out, as if trying to push the words back into her mouth. “Oh, shit.” A brief pause as their gazes locked, and then, with a certain urgency, Caesarion rose from behind his desk, crossed to her, and added, taking her hands, “They were practicing wrestling again, were they?”
Eurydice scanned his face. Trying to understand what he wanted of her. Trying to understand what he knew, or didn’t know. “Wrestling?” she repeated carefully.
“Yes, wrestling,” Caesarion repeated with emphasis, just as the door banged open behind her, and Alexander tumbled through it into the warmth of the study. “Ah, there you are. I was just about to tell Eurydice that you and Tiberius had been studying a variant style of wrestling for some time. Not popular here in Rome, though I understand it’s more practiced in Hellas.” A pause. “You would think,” he added, a note of grim humor entering his voice as he regarded Alexander, “that as often as they practice wrestling, they’d both be better at it.”
Alexander’s mouth, already open to offer explanations, slammed shut with an audible click. Eurydice couldn’t quite look at him; she found, instead, a spot on a nearby wall to study with as much care as she’d ever applied to a spell. And wished she could just disappear entirely; she even cast her mind out, looking for a nearby bird. She found only horses and hounds, which couldn’t offer her the ease of escape that she craved. Perhaps I can turn as invisible as Perseus wearing the helmet of Hades?
And for a moment, all three of them remained absolutely silent, Caesarion and Alexander staring at each other. Finally, Alexander replied, his voice tight, “You would think that, yes.”
“All those late-night practice sessions must start paying off eventually,” Caesarion went on, gently, but relentlessly. Eurydice flicked a single glance at him, still trying to process it all.
“And here I thought we’d kept those sessions quiet,” Alexander replied, his voice surprisingly even. “No sense waking the whole villa.”
“The walls of the house are solid and thick, but the windows, Alexander? The shutters don’t block many sounds.” Caesarion’s eyes narrowed. He knows. He’s telling Alexander that he’s known for a long time. “Now, this particular variant of wrestling,” he added now, swinging Eurydice’s hand lightly in his, reminding her that she hadn’t managed to vanish in spite of every effort to do so, “is not my particular preference.” He looked at her now, as if trying to communicate without words. “But I understand that every man fights in his own way.”
And the set of Alexander’s shoulders eased, infinitesimally. “You might, however,” Caesarion went on politely, now looking at their brother, “look into locking your door, if you’re going to practice in the middle of the day.”
Alexander cleared his throat. “I’d thought the door was locked,” he replied, his voice still tight. “And I generally don’t go in for midday practice sessions. However, with the snow piled up in the streets, we were bored, and ah, a little exercise to chase away the cold seemed a good idea at the time.” No smile. His expression remained blank, and his eyes wary. “I tried to catch Eurydice before she fled across the villa, but—”
Oh, gods. And that tells me that I made a public show twice in the same hour. Fortunately, the atrium was empty. The servants had finished sweeping the snow away before I ran back here.
“Tiberius had you in a pin that you couldn’t quite get out of, did he?” Completely bland tone from Caesarion.
“No,” Alexander’s tone became dour, and Eurydice suspected that if she hadn’t been present, there might have been a few barracks words tossed between the two brothers. “It’s cold out, and I wanted to put a tunic on first.” He paused. “Eurydice—”
She flinched. All her efforts to turn invisible had failed. “I apologize,” she said, her voice so high and breathless, she didn’t recognize it as her own. “I have h
ad a good lesson in courtesy today. I will always ensure that I knock before trying the latch in the future.”
“Sister—” Alexander tried again, and then gave up, to her inexpressible relief. “What did you want to see me about, Caesarion? I’m always at your service.” He took a chair, and Caesarion, his grip like iron, but gentler, moved Eurydice to a chair by his desk, the pressure of his fingers a strong suggestion that she should sit, too.
She did. Eyes fixed on the door behind his desk that led to the peristylium; the door to the atrium lay behind her back.
“Was going to ask you to go to Athens for me. Will take three months, probably. You’d be back before the campaign, if all goes well.”
A frown in Alexander’s voice. “I’ve been putting together intelligence assets for you here. If I leave in the middle of that, everyone I’ve turned into a contact might wind up being bought by someone else before I solidify my hold on them.”
“This is intelligence work, too,” Caesarion told him. “There are a number of refugees, noble and otherwise, from Illyria in Hellas. Some of them are undoubtedly spies for the Servilii. Some of them are probably buying supplies and weapons for the rebels. Recruiting from the disaffected in Hellas, too, to swell their numbers. Others are fence-sitters who’re waiting to see who wins. Others are on our side, and have information about the province that they can’t get to us. That’s the main reason I wanted you to go. And Tiberius, too, since he grew up in Hellas. He might know people there that he doesn’t even realize he knows, and he’s got a good eye for military assets.”
Alexander nodded; Eurydice could see it out of the corner of her eye. “That’s the main reason, you say. What else would I be doing while there?”
“Looking for priests of Hecate who might be willing to travel to Rome—trustworthy ones, if such a thing exists,” Caesarion replied dryly. “Philosophers who specialize in—what was it you said, Eurydice?”
“Democritus’ theory of atoms,” she replied, her mouth dry.
“That, yes.” Caesarion regarded Alexander. “Also, I probably don’t need to remind you that discretion in this will be key. Particularly regarding the priests of Hecate. They do not have a good reputation in the least. And there’s no way to hide that you’re of the Julii, so I’ll send some men of the Tenth with you as bodyguards. There are quite a few nobles of Rome who enjoy visits to Hellas, so you have to maintain certain standards of behavior while there—”
“I’m not one for public wrestling exhibitions, if that’s what you mean.” Alexander’s tone was exquisitely dry. “And Mother’s helpful words about what can be done with seed left with strangers has quite put me off brothels, besides as excellent places to find information. Which is a pity, since I quite enjoyed my visits to them.”
Eurydice closed her eyes and wished she’d never gotten out of bed this morning. Caesarion had been like a god growing up—usually not there, but when present, as potent as lightning. Bringing everyone together, smiling. Carrying her on his back when she’d been very small—but, in truth, he must have been then, younger than she was now. And then gone again, usually for months on end. Tucked in front of their father on the back of a horse for the whole of this campaign or that, with a pedagogue or two to ensure he’d be educated in matters other than war. Alexander and she, closest in age of all their siblings, had been the ones who’d grown up together. He’d pulled on her hair and she’d shoved him into mud puddles in the atrium. She’d thought she knew him as well as she did herself. And now . . . he’d become a complete stranger.
“Eurydice?” Caesarion’s voice was impatient, and she realized that he’d said her name several times. “Don’t go off with the birds.”
“I wasn’t,” she replied quietly, opening her eyes and looking straight ahead. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t attending.”
“That’s all right. Alexander wants you to do something for him while he’s gone.”
She nodded silently.
“As I was saying, the Senate and the people of Rome should thank all the gods that Caesarion was first-born and not me,” Alexander said mildly. “Because, given access to your gifts, Eurydice, I’d put them to use. And more than during campaign season.”
She regarded him out of the corner of her eye. “What do you want me to do?” she asked, her voice almost inaudible.
“What I won’t be here to do, and what your birds are better at doing than any human being,” he told her bluntly. “Be our eyes. Take an owl to the houses of every patrician, each night, and write down who’s meeting with whom.”
“I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Eurydice noted dully. “All it will be is a list of people having dinner parties.”
“But that list will show us who’s meeting with whom. Also, you can look for people stockpiling weapons. Food-stores. Pitch, for all I know.” Alexander’s voice became urgent. “This is important. It could save our lives.”
“It’s also completely unethical,” she told him, her voice stronger for a moment. “And when do you want me to do this? While I’m entertaining Caesarion’s guests, myself? Almost everyone eats at similar hours. Or should I spy for you during the six hours I have in which to sleep each night, in the hopes that I’ll see conspirators writing messages in letters this high,” she held her fingers six inches apart, “declaring that they intend to overthrow Caesarion and restore the Republic?”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d used a tone this bitterly sarcastic, but disappointment and confusion had lodged under her breastbone, and wouldn’t go away.
Alexander sucked in a breath at her words, and snapped back, “Someone needs to do this, and I won’t be here to collect reports from people who may or may not be lying to me about what they’ve seen. Because I’ll be in Hellas, at least in part as a service to you.” That statement cut. “At least with your birds, I’ll know that you’ve seen the truth, and I know that you would never lie about what you’ve seen—”
“But I might misunderstand what I see,” Eurydice countered, and then held up a hand. “Fine. For what good it will do, I will do as you ask.” She turned her face away entirely.
“You have to write it all down,” Alexander pressed. “Just the way I do. If you rely on your memory, you’ll never see patterns. And bring what you write to Mother, at least for the time being. She’s helping me to find those patterns—”
“I said that I will do this for you.” Eurydice looked at Caesarion directly. “May I go now?”
He nodded, and Eurydice stood and left the room. Not running. Not fleeing. She simply returned to her own room and lay down on the bed. And cast out her mind as far as she could, finally finding a hungry hawk on the outskirts of town. And rode thermals with it, diving to catch a hungry rabbit as it dug its way out of the snow to look for grass and leaves.
It was much better than thinking about how appallingly she’d managed to destroy her day. Stupid, stupid, stupid child, she raged at herself, and then forced herself to stay with the hawk as it fed, tearing flesh from bone.
____________________
Alexander watched her go, and then, bracing himself internally, turned back towards Caesarion. He didn’t doubt in the least that Caesarion’s anger had been tempered by their sister’s presence. Except he’s known. He’s known, probably all along, and he’s a lot better at keeping secrets than I ever thought he was. “Is there anything else?” he asked keeping his voice as level as possible.
Caesarion glanced up from the notes he was scrawling on a wax tablet. “Since you’ll be leaving in the next few days, I’d advise making up with Eurydice before you go,” he replied. “Sea travel is dangerous. Don’t leave things unsaid or unsettled between you. You should also present yourself to Octavia and say a formal farewell to your betrothed.”
Alexander grimaced at being reminded of his social obligation to the eleven-year-old he was slated to marry as a political sop to please Agrippa and distant branches of the Julii family, and to hush the mutters from those of Octavian�
�s supporters who weren’t in open rebellion at the moment. “I’d have done the latter anyway,” he replied. “I know where my duties lie.”
Caesarion’s red eyes caught and held his. “I know that you do,” his brother replied. “And I appreciate that. But fix this with Eurydice. The two of you need to be able to work together. As you yourself pointed out . . . she can help you with your information gathering as no one else in Rome.” He paused. “Oh, and when you get back, for the campaigning season? You’ll be pleased to know that I’m putting you and Tiberius with the Seventh.”
“Not the Tenth?” Alexander’s eyes widened.
“I’d put you with the Tenth if I thought I needed to keep my eyes on you every minute of the day. I trust you,” Caesarion told his brother, setting down his stylus. “Don’t make me regret that trust.”
Alexander swallowed, his throat aching. “I won’t,” he promised, standing. “Dinner’s not for another few hours?”
“No company tonight. Everyone who’d arrive by litter has already sent messages about how they don’t relish the notion of their bearers slipping and them being tumbled out of the litter to the ground.” Caesarion gave him a wry look. “Just a little family dinner. Might have the youngsters down from the nursery to join us. Eurydice has mentioned that Selene is feeling . . . left out. Perhaps that will help.”
Most of the rooms on the upper floor of a Roman villa were tiny, and called cubicula. Some were for reading, sewing, or storage, but many were bedrooms, with little space in them for more than a sleeping couch and a chest for belongings. Alexander returned to his own small living space now, himself, finding Tiberius still inside, sitting on the bed, a look of singular dread on his face. “Still here?” he asked softly, closing the door behind him and checking the lock carefully.
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