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But still.
I didn’t know why, but something about this structure drew me back, again and again. I’d had the same feeling when I’d begun examining images ofPriam’s Treasure—objects stolen out of Turkey that were supposed to belong to King Priam, father of Paris, kidnapper of the famous Helen of Troy.
Like those treasures, the Lighthouse at Alexandria called to me. Something important was here. Something that would guide me.
Placing my hand over my heart, I tried to feel it beat. I imagined it raced with excitement, though I couldn’t feel it.
I spent another hour scouring the Arabic text, searching for things that might illuminate the little I’d found. Finally, head pounding and stomach beginning to growl, I closed the book.
I glanced behind me. The library was filling up again with students who had finished their meals and needed to get in extra studying. It was a good time to leave, but I wasn’t quite ready.
Opening another tab on my computer, I called up my class roster.
There.
Pollux Dioscuri.
So he was registered. But this was recent. The time stamp next to his name showed he’d enrolled only a few hours ago, almost as soon as he’d left my office.
Cracking my knuckles, I typed his name into the search bar.
There.
He was a physiotherapist. I didn’t know what that meant, but a quick search showed it was the equivalent of an American physical therapist. I also found he was a coach on the polo team here at Oxford.
Thatwas interesting. A man his size? He must have to ride an enormous horse. I choked, because of course as soon as I thought about his size, my mind went to a completely inappropriate place.
Enough, Leo. Be professional.
I searched a little more—but only because of professional interest. I typed his name into a few social media sites, but the only time he came up was in reference to his polo team. And there were no photographs. Even the team photo was missing him.
What had interested him in my class? What did a polo coach and a physical therapist care about ancient history?
As an employee at the university, he had a university email. It wouldn’t be out of line for me to message him. After all, he’d been the one to approach me. He’d opened the door as far as I was concerned.
“Why does a polo coach want to learn about the Trojan War?”
No.That was snobby and insulting. It sounded like I thought athletes were dumb, and I didn’t.
“Found you.”
I hit the delete key over and over. Way too stalker-ish.
I was thinking too hard.
“Did you know that Castor and Pollux, the twin brothers to Helen of Troy, were known as the Dioscuri? When you research them, sometimes they’re just called that. The Dioscuri. But they’re always written about together. It’s funny that’s your last name, too. Don’t tell me you have a twin named Castor, that’d be crazy.” My fingers hovered over the keys for a second. “They were known for being incredible horsemen, so that’s something else you have in common, since you are a polo coach.” That would totally give away the stalking-slash-searching I had done, but I mentally shrugged.
“They were warriors who didn’t get as much attention as Achilles, or Hector, but I always found them fascinating, too. Especially because they had such a close bond. I never had a sibling, but I remember reading about Pollux’s heartbreak when his brother died. Zeus was supposed to be Pollux’s father, and when Castor died, Zeus offered to bring Pollux to Mt. Olympus, where he could live with the gods or share half his immortality with his brother. Guess what Pollux chose? I think I’d have done the same. If I loved someone as much as Pollux loved his brother, I’d rather spend a mortal life with him than moody gods.”
Where was I even going with this? “Since you registered for my class, here’s your first assignment: What does it mean to give away half your immortality? Cite your sources.”
I pressed send and immediately regretted it. What a weird, off-putting, utterly dumbass thing to write. What the hell did he care about his namesake? It wasn’t like I went around emailing Jennifers about the origin of their names.
I didn’t know what came over me, but there was nothing to do about it now. Choosing to distract myself, rather than fixate on my awkwardness, I went back to work.
Hector
“Papa?”
