The Shards of Heaven (36 page)

“Your family,” Didymus said. “I knew your father was connected to something.”

“Yes,” Jacob said. “Our family. Which makes it more difficult to tell you that during the reign of King Hezekiah, almost seven hundred years ago, we failed. The object Octavian knows as the Trident of Poseidon was called by our people Nehushtan back then: the brazen serpent rod of Moses. People had begun to look to it for healing, as the stories said it had healed their ancestors.”

“The stories of your people are lies?” Pullo interrupted.

“Not lies. Half-remembered truths, Titus Pullo,” Hannah said. “There's a difference.”

Pullo exchanged a glance with Vorenus, whose eyes were glaring at him to be silent. “I see,” the big man said.

Jacob did not seem distracted by the interruption. “Hezekiah was a true believer in the stories of the Ark: that it not only housed the tablets of the Law given to Moses by God, but that God Himself came to earth to sit upon the Ark and pass judgment through His priests, a distant memory of the fact that the Shards were wrought from the throne of God. Hezekiah believed in the Ark, and he saw the honor given to Nehushtan as an abomination. On one of the great feast days he strode into the Temple, as was his custom, and after honoring the Ark he took the Trident and tried to destroy it.”

“Is that possible?” Caesarion asked, trying not to betray the interest in his voice.

“To destroy the Trident itself, yes,” Jacob said.

“It's only wood and metal, after all,” Hannah agreed. “It is fashioned from the hands of men. He did damage it heavily. But mortal hands cannot unmake the Shard itself, the black stone that actually gives it its power.”

“What happened then?” Didymus asked, the look on his face reminding Caesarion of an anxious cat awaiting its meal. Caesarion imagined the scholar's glee as he incorporated each new piece of information into his already encyclopedic mind.

“Too late to preserve the Trident itself, we still had to protect the Shard,” Jacob said. “The guardians split up, with half the family removing the Second Shard from the Temple and fleeing Jerusalem with it.”

“How did it get into the hands of this man Juba?” Didymus asked. “Where was it taken?”

“It traveled first to Babylon, though what happened to it next we do not know. We could not maintain contact with them long.”

“Your half of the family stayed with the Ark.”

In response, Jacob lifted from his shirt a thin silver chain. Hanging upon the necklace was a delicate pendant showing the symbol of a triangle, point down within a perfect circle bisected by a line across its bottom third. “We are the keepers of the Ark,” he said.

One by one, the other figures in the room lifted silver chains from around their necks, too, all revealing the same pendant. Hannah was last. “All of us,” she said. “And from that day to this we have not failed. From Jerusalem to Elephantine in the time of Manasseh, from Elephantine to Kush in the time of Nebuchadnezzar, and from Kush to here in the time of Alexander, we have kept the Ark safe. We have not failed. And we will not fail now.”

“With our help,” Caesarion said.

Hannah smiled, and Caesarion's breath caught at the sight. “Yes,” she said.

“In the land of Kush, just beyond the borders of Egypt,” Didymus muttered. He caught Hannah's eye and raised an eyebrow. “That's not far from the land of Sheba.”

As before, it was Jacob who nodded and answered. “The Ark was safe there for almost two hundred years.”

Didymus made a slight gasp. “Until Alexander the Great invaded Egypt! Of course!”

The others looked at the scholar, whose smile was near to splitting his ecstatic face. “I don't understand,” Caesarion said.

Didymus blinked for a moment, as if watching the pieces fall into place behind his eyes. “When Alexander came up the Nile, the king and queen of Kush met him with an army.”

“King Nastasen and Queen Sakhmakh,” Jacob said.

“Yes. And for reasons no one has ever understood, the invincible Alexander turned away. He instead came here, to Alexandria, and founded the city.” Didymus paused, as if that was all that needed to be said. He only continued when Caesarion still looked confused. “Don't you see? Nastasen and Sakhmakh must have had the Ark. Alexander knew he couldn't win!” Didymus looked back at Jacob for confirmation.

“A true scholar,” the Jew said. “But there's more to it. The only reason we allowed Nastasen and Sakhmakh to carry the Ark with them to meet Alexander is that we knew he would recognize it for what it was.”

“He'd learned about the Shards?” Caesarion asked. “How?”

“He had one,” Hannah answered.

For a few moments, silence settled over the room. It was finally Pullo who spoke. “The Trident?”

“No,” Jacob replied. “Another entirely. The Aegis of Zeus.”

“Jupiter's armor?” Vorenus asked.

“That's right,” Jacob said. “A relatively weak artifact, but useful in that it kept him alive despite wounds that would've killed other men—though it did cause certain changes to his personality.”

“Where is it now?” Didymus asked.

“Here,” Hannah said. “In Alexander's tomb, as it has been since he died. None has known its power, and we've never wanted to bring attention to it by moving it.”

“Wait,” Pullo said. “How many Shards are there?”

Jacob shrugged. “We don't know. At least four.”

Vorenus shivered. From what he'd told them of the Trident in action, Caesarion could imagine why. “Four? What else?”

“The Palladium of Troy,” Jacob said. “It can control wind. It was carried away from Troy by a Greek named Odysseus, though he could not use it. Where it is now we don't know.”

“So what of the Ark?” Caesarion asked. “That's why we're here. It's the most powerful Shard, right?”

“The most powerful we know about,” Hannah said.

Jacob nodded. “Together with Alexander and the king and queen of Kush, we came to an agreement. Alexander would turn back and not go beyond the borders of Egypt. In return, we would use the Ark to help him realize his dream of creating this city that would bear his name: Alexandria.”

“I don't understand,” Caesarion said after a moment. “Why would you help him? Surely with the Ark's power you could have defeated him.”

“Defeating him was never our goal, Pharaoh. We only want to protect the Shard, and Alexander gave us the chance—we thought—to protect it permanently, to cease moving it.”

“Building the new city, you could build a new temple for the Ark,” Didymus spoke quietly.

“Yes,” Hannah said.

Caesarion nodded. “A Third Temple.”

“We built a new home for the Ark in Alexandria,” Jacob said, “and it has rested here, undisturbed, ever since.” He glanced over toward his sister. “From the day it came to Alexandria until this, only one person has had the knowledge of its exact location.”

“So why move it?” Didymus asked. “Wherever it is, surely it is well hidden and will be safe.”

“Octavian's man found out about the Second Shard,” Jacob said. “Now he searches for the First. You yourselves found out much of the truth, with little effort. Given more time, and Octavian's resources, it would only be a matter of time until he did the same.”

“And that's assuming Octavian doesn't just raze the city,” Caesarion whispered, the vision of Alexandria in flames managing to push Hannah's image from his mind.

“Yes, but why us?” Vorenus asked. “Why Caesarion?”

Caesarion looked up at the mention of his name, saw that Hannah was staring at him again. “Because only you can help us move it,” she said.

 

23

T
HE
L
IBRARIAN
'
S
C
HOICE

ALEXANDRIA, 30 BCE

His mind swirling with too many thoughts, too much new information, Didymus moved away from the main table as the others began discussing their plans to remove the Ark of the Covenant from Alexandria. He sat down at another table, closer to the shadows and the hooded Jewish guards there.

The Ark. The First Shard.

It was here in this temple, Didymus thought. It had to be. The Serapeum had been built by Ptolemy III atop an older acropolis, less than a century after his grandfather, Ptolemy I—Alexander the Great's finest general and closest friend—had first revealed the existence of the god Serapis, an Osiris-Apis-Hades hybrid that could be equally worshiped by Alexandria's Egyptian and Greek inhabitants. Even before he knew of the Shards and the fact of the one God, Didymus had suspected that Ptolemy's divine revelations were nothing more than good administrative policy: a ruler's job was much easier if those he ruled could all honor the same deity, especially if that deity was one that had supposedly given favor to the ruler. Ptolemy had known that Serapis was a lie. Now Didymus wondered if he knew, too, that the acropolis on which his grandson would ultimately build this temple housed perhaps the most powerful object in creation: the Ark of the Covenant.

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.”