“That’s because of the poor paper,” I explained.

I took her pen and knife, sharpened and carefully split the point for her.

“Don’t press so hard on the paper,” I said, “or you’ll get a blot at once.

If you’re not too rough, it’s quite easy to write even on bad paper.” She gave me a sudden smile, like lightning in dark stormy clouds.

Her strong features, wide mouth and slanting eyes looked suddenly lovely, such as I could never have believed before.

When I remained standing, staring at her, she grimaced, stuck her tongue out and snapped, “Take your book and go away and read, since you think it’s such fun.”

But she still kept disturbing me, coming over and asking me to sharpen her pen again, so that my fingers were soon as black as hers. The ink was so lumpy anyhow that she cursed her inkstand several times.

At midday she took out a bundle, opened it and began to eat greedily, tearing off long strips of bread and taking huge bites out of a country cheese.

When she noticed my look of disapproval, she began to make excuses. “I know perfectly well you’re not allowed to eat in the library,” she said, “but I can’t help that. If I go out, I get pushed about and strange men follow me and say shameless things because I’m alone.”

She paused and then, with her eyes lowered, she added, “My slave is coming to fetch me in the evening when the library closes.”

But I soon realized that she did not even have a slave. Her meal was simple and she presumably had no money for pens and paper which was why she had commantled me so haughtily to fetch her a pen. I felt baffled, for I did not wish to offend her in any way. But I also felt hungry when I saw her eating.

I must have swallowed, for her voice suddenly softened. “Poor boy,” she said. “You must be hungry too.”

She generously broke the bread in half and also handed me her round cheese so that we could bite from it in turn, and the meal ended before it had really had time to begin. When one is young everything tastes good. So I praised her bread.

“That was real country bread and the cheese was a fresh country cheese, too. You can’t get those in Rome every day.”

 

 

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She was pleased with my praise.

“I live outside the walls,” she said. “If you know where Gaius’ circus is and the burial ground and the oracle, then it’s in that direction, behind Vatican.”

But she still would not tell me her name. We went on with our reading. She wrote and mumblingly repeated by heart several old texts which Claudius had written about in his book on the holy scripts of the Etruscans. I read one part after another and memorized everything about the wars and warships of the city of Caere. In the evening the room grew dark as the shadow of Palatine fell over the window. The sky had also clouded over, “We mustn’t ruin our eyes,” I said finally. “Tomorrow is another day, but I’m already tired of this moldy old history. You, who are an educated woman, would be able to help me and note down briefly what is in the parts I haven’t read, or at least what the most important things in them are. My father has property near Caere, so he’ll probably question me on everything Emperor Claudius says about the history of Caere. Please don’t be offended at the suggestion, but I feel like having some hot sausage to eat. I know a place and would like to invite you, if you will help me.”

She frowned, rose and looked at me so closely that I could feel her warm breath on my face.

“Don’t you really know who I am?” she asked suspiciously, and then went on at once: “No, you don’t know me, and you meant no harm. You’re just a boy.”

“I’m just about to receive the mantoga,” I said, offended. “The matter has been held up because of a number of family circumstances. You’re not much older than I am. And I’m taller than you.”

“My dear child,” she teased, “I’m already twenty and an old woman compared to you. I’m certainly stronger than you. Aren’t you afraid of going out with a strange woman?”

But she swiftly stuffed the scrolls willy-nilly back into their slots, collected her belongings, smoothed her clothes and eagerly prepared to leave, as if she were afraid I might regret my offer. To my surprise, she stopped in front of the statue of Emperor Claudius and spat on it before I could stop her. When she noticed my horror, she laughed loudly and spat again. She was indeed badly brought up.

Without hesitating, she thrust her arm into mine and dragged me with her so that I could feel how strong she was. She had not boasted for nothing. She haughtily said good-bye to the librarian who came to see that we had not hidden any scrolls beneath our clothes. He did not examine us very thoroughly however, as suspicious librarians sometimes do.

 

 

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