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Vergil rather liked the rain.
It was a comfort in the way its thrum could be heard from all the way inside their home. He liked the way the tiny droplets that pounded against the windows would wash away the dirt that clung to the outer ledge, before they merged into larger streams and collected into small pools that would litter the gaps in between the stepping stones of their garden.
It was on such rainy afternoons that he enjoyed some of his quieter hobbies, ones where the rain became white noise to fill in the gaps of his mind not preoccupied with the task at hand.
Now the Sparda household found themselves holed up inside, rain pelting down relentlessly and sending a steady hum all throughout the house. Early spring days, more dreary than not, held the knowledge that sunnier ones were coming soon, dancing on the horizon yet still just out of reach.
The older twin sat on the floor of his and Dante’s shared bedroom, legs tucked up against his chest and balancing his book upon his knees. Vergil reclined against the edge of his bed, his eyes gliding along the verses as he quietly drank in the voyages of man and godly intervention. He barely spared any glance at his twin and whatever mad thing he decided to entertain himself with.
So far, Dante had been rather fine dealing with the quieter day. While Vergil had seen the rainy day as a blessing, Dante certainly did not share his brother’s sentiments. He had whined on and off the whole day about being confined to the walls of the house, then to their room when their Mother had decided on taking a short nap to rest up in time for dinner, not quite comfortable with the idea of letting her sons run wild in the house without her supervision.
Which left Vergil in charge of not only the house, but of his brother as well. It was not uncommon that their Mother would leave her sons to themselves whilst she hovered nearby. A good way of teaching responsibility, she had said, but Vergil thought that it was also her way of helping the twins get along better. They hadn’t been doing such a good job at that, especially since Father had been gone for a bit longer than they expected. But for now, he thought he was doing a fine enough job at keeping Dante out of trouble.
Then came the words that Vergil dreaded hearing from his twin.
“Vergil, I’m bored.”
The older twin only gave an idle hum and though his posture straightened slightly, he forced himself to not even look up from his book. Dante curled himself into a ball, before stretching out his entire body back out again like a cat and rolling. It seemed that his brother had misjudged the amount of space he had left to roll over on, as he landed on the bedroom floor with a loud thump!
Vergil couldn’t help the snort that slipped out from behind the pages of his poetry. With a groan, the younger twin picked up his head and turned to face his brother. “What do I do?”
Another flick of the page. “Go play with the practice swords you are always lugging about.”
“Can’t… I left them in the rain…” Dante blew out a raspberry in disappointment as he let his arms drop down like an eagle spread on the floor. “Besides, who would I fight against? You’re too busy with reading and Mom’ll get mad if I take away your new book.”
The older twin couldn’t help but let a small, pleased smile crawl onto his face. Their Mother’s newest endeavour in the boys’ education had been to increase their repertoire in literature, specifically the classics. She had seen it quite fitting for their first foray to be the works of their namesakes. Thus, Dante had received a copy of ‘The Divine Comedy’, and Vergil, ‘The Aeneid’. And while the younger brother had initially gloated upon seeing that his book was bigger (“And better!”), his excitement had quickly diminished upon realising that their Mother still expected him to read it all.
Vergil glanced towards his Mother’s gift to his twin: a hardback coloured in bronze, gold lined pages stacked together, with only a light green ribbon ever disturbing the edge. No doubt in his mind that it was a special edition like his, and while their family was certainly quite well-off, such a book would’ve cost their Mother quite a bit of money.
Dante had preferred to use such a gift as a step stool to his bed.
The boy was quick to pick up the book and flick to a random page when their Mother passed by, but for the most part, it lived among all of the mess that swamped his side of the room. Now, it was neglected in a sea of all his playthings, all spilling over from their storage. Vergil couldn’t help but feel offended on the book’s behalf, for such a beautiful thing to be swallowed by such rubbish. Especially considering that he’d be reading the Comedy, right after he finished his own.
As Vergil tried to refocus his attention back onto the words on his page, Dante began to click his tongue in time to the ticking of the clock on the wall, his hair rustling against the floor as his head tilted side to side.
His eye twitched. “Dante, stop that now.”
The clicking stopped for a moment, long enough for a snort to come from the corner, just behind the pages. “Why?”
The older twin chewed the inside of his cheek, the urge to scream at his brother barely contained. “Because it’s annoying and I’m trying to read.”
“But, then I don’t have anything else to do.”
“Then…! Read your own book!” Vergil’s grip on the book tightened a hair, the pages distorting slightly under the force of his fingertips.
“I already tried that! But it was too boring, and not-Dante kept talking about some ‘Beatrice’ girl, or–! Or, saying how much he loves you!” The younger twin lifted his arms up from the floor and began what Vergil could only imagine to be another game, like trying to catch specks of dust floating around him.
“He’s not talking about me, Dante, he’s talking about Vergilius, the poet. You would know that if you actually tried harder at reading it!”
Dante ignored his brother, in favour of picking at a spot of dirt under his nail, arms still suspended above him. “Can I read yours? Mom says it’s about war and heroes and stuff.”
Vergil snorted, not even bothering to lift his gaze beyond the top of his book. “Like you could even sit through it, anyway. There’s more journeying and sailing about than there is any battle.”
His twin perked up, picking his head up from the floor by just an inch. “But… There is some battle?”
“That was not the point I was tryi—”
“Answer the question!”
Vergil sighed. “I haven’t finished it yet, but there’s quite a bit of battle in Book II–”
Suddenly, Dante rolled over onto his stomach, kicking his legs up in the air. “Awesome! Read me Book II, then.”
“I’m not reading to you, Dante. We’re seven now, read it yourself.”
The younger twin pushed himself up into a kneel before his brother, shuffling in closer. “You won’t let me touch your book! How can I read it myself if I can’t even hold it?!” He made a swipe at the book, to which Vergil simply shifted away, shielding the poetry with a hiss.
“Stop it, Dante!”
“Please, Vergil! I promise I’ll listen! I won’t make jokes about it either!”
He briefly considered saying no, relishing the image of Dante’s face crumpling up into misery. It would be justice, after his twin had so often forced him out of his own reading time, just to play whatever new game he’d thought up.
But the idea of having to deal with the ensuing tantrum did not stir much excitement in him. There was no doubt that Dante would throw an even bigger fuss than he already was now, throwing his toys at his brother before the two of them eventually fell into another brawl. And then, he’d have to deal with their Mother’s chastisement for causing so much trouble, even when she was meant to be resting…
His teeth ground against each other as the edge of his nails dug slightly into where he was gripping his book. In the end, it seemed that Dante would win. For now.
“Fine.”
Immediately, the pleading look on Dante’s face vanished, a wide grin taking its place. He leapt up from his spot on the floor, before collapsing right by his brother’s side. Slight purrs began rumbling out from his throat as he pushed his body up against Vergil’s, the older twin barely able to wriggle out of his grasp to keep his grip on the book. Dante only giggled as he scooted into the space he forced Vergil out of.
With a sigh, the older twin slotted the navy ribbon into the page he last read, before thumbing the paper sheets earlier in the book back open, until he was greeted with the Fall of Troy. Dante craned his neck over to stare at the page as Vergil cleared his throat and began to read.
“‘They all fell silent, gazing at Father Aeneas, and he began to speak…’” Vergil rattled on, his voice rising and falling over syllables. As he continued, Dante’s hand drifted down to the cuff of his shorts, playing with a thread that had worked itself free from the rest of the seams.
Irritation began to dance at the ends of Vergil’s nerves, sparking like a live wire when Dante planted his head against his shoulder and blew a sigh onto his cheek. “Are you even listening?”
“Where’s the battle?”
“What?”
Dante sighed again, looking up to face his brother. “You said there was a battle! But everyone here is just talking, on and on! And…” His eyes darted away for a moment, before they returned back to Vergil’s gaze. “Why are you speaking like that?”
A flash of anger lanced through the older twin, his teeth gnashing together. Of course, he could always trust his little brother to get distracted, always focusing on the wrong things! Vergil had to question how Dante even learned anything, given that his mind always needed for things to be going a mile a minute.
“You don’t expect to rush into the battle without some context, do you? That’s why you don’t understand anything! And I’m speaking like this because that’s how it would’ve been performed at the time!” Vergil blew out a sigh through his nose, barely catching the way his twin flinched, his lips tightening. “If you keep on asking silly questions, then I’ll just stop reading!”
That seemed to snap Dante back to his attention. His eyes blew wide as he frantically cried out. “No! No, please!”
“Then, listen.”
Dante gave a slight whine, but settled back in much more quietly, allowing for Vergil to carry on his oration, just a bit faster than what he had been doing previously. It would do him well to hurry onto the more dynamic parts of the book–Hopefully the more thrilling action of battle would sustain his brother’s attention.
But it seemed that the older twin did not have to venture too far forward, as the speech of the priest Laocoon caught his brother’s interest.
“‘Do you believe the enemies have sailed away? Or do you think
Any gift from the Greeks are free of treachery? Is this Ulysses’s reputation?
Either there are Greeks in hiding, concealed by this wood,
Or this machine has been built against our walls,
Spy on our homes, and fall on the city from above,
Or some other trick is hidden: Trojans, don’t trust this Horse.
Whatever it is, I’m afraid of Greeks, even those bearing gifts.’”
A slight gasp brought Vergil out of his performance, as he turned to face a wide-eyed Dante, almost bouncing in his spot on the floor. “I’ve heard of that Horse before! The Trojan Horse, right?”
“That’s right. A trick against the Trojans, concocted by Odysseus and Diomedes, to allow for their men to infiltrate the city.” Vergil supposed he was pulling something of a Trojan Horse against his brother now: In trying to entertain him enough for a rainy afternoon, Dante was learning quite a bit of ancient history.
His brother frowned. “And… Who’s Odysseus?”
“The King of Ithaca. Virgil calls him Ulysses because he was a Roman, so he used his Latin name.”
“And Diomedes?”
“The King of Argos, a great warrior and even greater in mind. He and Odysseus were rather crafty all throughout the Iliad.”
Once again, his words seemed to trigger a thought in Dante, the younger boy grabbing onto his brother’s arm. “I’ve seen you reading that in the library with Dad! I wanted to come over and join you but… I fell asleep…”
“That was some time ago…” Indeed, the memory of the older twin, much smaller and perched atop his Father’s lap, bracketed by his strong arms, seemed like a distant dream now. “Perhaps it would be good to revisit it, now that I know much more about the characters and setting.”
“I wanna read it with you and Dad when he comes back!”
Vergil gave a light hum as his eyes danced onto the next line. Oddly, he didn’t seem to find the thought of the three of them reading together too objectionable. Just so long as the only ones doing the reading were himself or their Father.
“‘So saying he hurled his great spear, with extreme force,
At the creature’s side, and into the frame of the curved belly.
The spear struck quivering, and as the womb quivered
The hollow caverns boomed and gave out a groan.’”
Dante frowned, pulling back slightly. “Why would a Horse make that sound?”
Vergil huffed. “Isn’t it obvious? It was a trick—there were Greeks hiding inside the entire time! Laocoon knew and wanted all the others to see that.”
“Did it work?”
“Well, we’ll just have to keep reading to find out.”
The boys picked through the lines of Sinon’s trickery and Laocoon’s slaughter at the hands of the gods. Dante listened with his chin braced on his knees, periodically interrupting his brother’s narration to ask even more questions (“If nobody believes her when she’s telling the truth, what about lying? If she lies, would the people believe her then?”).
With a few exceptions (he would prefer to never debate his brother again on what counted as lying), Vergil quickly answered them before they dove into the fires and the Fall of Troy.
“‘Frantically I seize weapons: not because there is much use
For weapons, but my spirit burns to gather men for battle
And race to the citadel with my friends: madness and anger
Hurl my mind headlong, and I think it beautiful to die fighting.’”
The younger twin frowned. “Didn’t Hector just tell him to run away?
“Yes. Aeneas didn’t listen.” Vergil’s finger rubbed hard against the edge of the cover. Like how you don’t listen either.
Dante’s lips twisted into a slight pout. “I don’t like Aeneas. He sounds really stupid.”
Vergil sighed, even if he couldn’t help but agree with his brother’s assessment. “He is. But I think that’s what sets him apart from the other epic heroes–He’s more aligned with the ideals of a Roman epic hero, instead of a Greek one.”
“Why? What’s the difference?”
The older twin couldn’t help the grin that began to stretch across his face. He’d once found himself in a similar position, asking the same whilst perched on his Father’s lap. Now, it was his turn to be the teacher. “The Greek epic hero is devoted to the pursuit of individual glory. He only thinks of becoming the strongest amongst others. Conversely, the Roman hero embodies the ideal of Pietas, or a devotion to the family, the gods and the Empire. Aeneas is the archetype for the Roman hero, as well as the first.”
Dante scratched his chin. “So he cares for more than just himself? Isn’t that, like, basic hero stuff?”
“Not for the Greeks, it seems. He considers the welfare of the city before himself. The lives of his men, or brothers in arms, too. I think that makes him more—”
Dante’s voice cut in just over his brother’s words.
“Like us!”
“—human.”
Both boys whipped their heads to the other, each finding a perfect mirror of his own shocked face. They held their gaze for a moment, before Dante broke away with a giggle, one that Vergil couldn’t help but return with a quiet chuckle. It seemed that his brother had the same thought he had and blurted it out before he could forget.
It might have been the most thoughtful thing his brother had said that afternoon. Nay, his entire lifetime.
Vergil liked to think that his little brother had picked it up from him.
As their giggles died away, they continued on.
“‘Then the Danaans, gathering from all sides,
Groaning with anger at the girl being pulled away from them, rush us,
Ajax the fiercest, the two Atrides, all the Greek host:
Just as, when a storm has broken, conflicting winds clash at some time or other,
The west, the south and the east thrilling in the horses of Dawn:
The forest roars, brine-wet Nereus rages with his trident,
And stirs the waters from their deepest depths.’”
“That’s awesome! All those forces going up against each other?! They’re all just like—” Dante smashed his fist against his flattened palm, before making an exploding sound.
Briefly, Vergil recalled the stories their Father had told them about the various demons that reigned in Hell on occasion. Perhaps the ancient poet had been inspired by whispers of the creatures that clawed their way to the Human world, and wove them into his tale.
The older twin hummed slightly. “I do rather like Virgil’s descriptions. I think this harsher depiction of the god Nereus and the tricolon crescendo helps to emphasise—”
“Blah blah, Shakespeare! Get back to reading!” Dante snickered as he brought his free hand up, the snapping of his fingers to his thumb making a talking hand puppet.
The older boy shot a glare at his brother, lips pressing into a thin line. “What happened to not making any jokes?”
Dante snorted and rolled his eyes, but nonetheless mimed zipping his mouth shut. Vergil knew that it would be very little time before his lips came undone and he made another joke.
When did Dante mellow out like this? Sure, he still found ways to poke at the story, silly jokes at his brother’s expense and debates about the usage of double negatives against divine curses. But compared to how they had started, Vergil thought they were doing well with passing the time together.
“‘In front of the courtyard itself, in the very doorway of the palace,
Pyrrhus exults, glittering with the sheen of bronze weapons:
As when a snake, fed on poisonous herbs, in the light,
That cold winter has held, swollen, under the ground,
Now, renewed, gleaming with youth, with its skin sloughed,
Ripples its slimy back, lifts its front high towards the sun,
And darts its triple-forked tongue from its mouth.’”
“Finally! Some proper action!” Dante pumped a fist in the air before he shuffled in even closer to his brother. Vergil was sure that his brother was using him as a cushion just as much as he was using him as entertainment. But for as embarrassing as it was to admit aloud, their closeness to each other was something that the older twin didn’t hate.
Vergil shifted in his place on the floor, pushing his knees away from his chest slightly and allowing for his brother’s arm to snake over his waist. “Did the fall of Aeneas’ men not please you enough, Dante?”
His younger brother rolled his eyes. “This is different!”
“‘So the old man spoke, and threw his ineffectual spear without strength,
Which immediately spun from the clanging bronze and hung uselessly
From the surface of the shield’s boss.’”
Vergil’s eyes flickered over to his twin, his eyes blown wide as he leant in closer to the book. At his older brother’s pause, Dante gave a quick jab to his ribs, eyes never straying from the page. “Keep going!”
The older twin gave his own jab back.
“‘Pyrrhus spoke to him: “Then you will relate these events,
and will go as a messenger to my father, to Peleus’s son:
Remember to tell him of degenerate Pyrrhus, and of my sad actions:
Now die.” Saying this he dragged him, trembling,
and slithering in the pool of his son’s blood, to the very altar,
And twined his left hand in his hair, raising the flashing sword in his right,
And buried it to the hilt in his side.’”
“Can we fight like Pyrrhus and Priam tomorrow?” Dante turned to glance around their room, hair flicking wildly as he scanned the room. “We can use our own swords instead of the practice ones!”
Of course, he could trust his brother to always bring back the task at hand to their play-training. Perhaps it would be fun to reenact the final battle, to hear their sister blades sing as the devil-wrought steel clashed. Though, their skill in battle was certainly more that of equals, much fairer compared to a fresh-blooded warrior and a senile old man.
Vergil scoffed. “Only if I get to be Pyrrhus.”
“No fair! You’re the older brother, so you gotta be the old man!”
The older twin scowled at the sheer arrogance of such a statement. “Then it wouldn’t be very accurate to the poem, because I’d win.”
Dante suddenly sat up straight, almost knocking the top of his head into his brother’s chin. “No, you wouldn’t!”
“Yes, I would.”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Mhm.”
Dante spluttered slightly, half-formed words tumbling out before he thrust a finger straight at his brother’s chest. “Then—Then! We’ll battle first! And then, we’ll get to decide who’s Pyrrhus!”
The older twin batted the hand away. “That’s not how battle works, Dante—”
His brother slapped his own chest before miming himself swinging a sword into Vergil’s neck, a huge grin stretching back over his face. “You’ll see! I’ll cut your head off and then you won’t be able to tell me what works and what doesn’t!”
Vergil smirked back. “Then, who would read you poetry?”
His words seemed to throw Dante off, as he shrunk back slightly, brow furrowing. The older twin wondered how it had turned out like this, that his brother was now interested enough in poetry to truly consider an alternative to his usually brutish ways.
“Hmm… Maybe I’ll leave your head on, then. I’ll just… I’ll cut off your legs so you can’t run away!” The younger twin tried to keep a serious face, no doubt trying to imitate the ferocity of the Greek warrior. But it didn’t last too long, the mere silence and a lift of Vergil’s brow making Dante break, falling into fits of giggles.
And though Vergil tried to resist, clamp his lips together and swallow down the choking laughter trying to work its way out, he gave in and let a few quiet chuckles escape. His mind wandered back to the start of their reading, how desperately he wished for his brother to simply leave him alone. Now, coming up to the end of the second Book, he felt like he could spend the rest of the day like this.
As Creusa’s ghost breathed her last wish and Aeneas carried his Father into the mountains, Vergil turned the page over and into the next Book.
“That… That’s it?” Dante frowned, his brows furrowing. He flicked the page back and peered closer at the blank space at the end of the verse, as if there were more words hidden there that he simply hadn’t spotted yet.
“Well, that’s the end of Book II. Troy has fallen and now Aeneas will guide the survivors to found a great new city. There’s much more after that cove—” Vergil’s eyes caught the expectant look sparkling in his brother’s eyes. “What is it, Dante?”
The younger twin’s gaze darted away, his fingers fiddling with the navy ribbon sticking out of the bottom of the book. “Can… Can you read the next part?”
Vergil’s eyes widened.
Maybe Dante can read a little bit of the Iliad with me and Father…
A tiny smile crept on Vergil’s lips, his ears lightly dusting with pink. “It might be a bit confusing, coming off of Book II without any knowledge of what previously occurred in Book I. You see, the Battle of Troy was a story from the past told by Aeneas to the court of Queen Dido…”
Vergil spoke on, Dante drinking in his words and explanations. They huddled in closer, delighting in the epic whilst the storm outside melted into the whispers of the wind. Perhaps his brother would forget the story by nightfall, he’d most likely forget most of it after they got up from their spot on the floor.
But for now, the two of them would enjoy the tale of battle and men, and Dante would delight in the story that Vergil’s voice sang.
Eva awoke from her rest only a few hours later. Whilst the nap had been a pleasant reprieve in raising a pair of twin boys, it was high time for her to return to the land of the wakeful and make a start on their family dinner. Life at the home did not cease, especially with two little half-devils.
As she paced down the corridor upstairs, she noted that the soft pattering of the rain against the window, the roaring of rain from the afternoon now reduced to a silent drizzle. Eva couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief—with any luck, the soil she just planted the flower bulbs in wouldn’t be too washed out and the ground was dry enough, in time for her sons to play outside again.
But in the wake of the drizzle, a silence now haunted the corridors of the upstairs, something that had become quite unfamiliar for a few years now. The floorboards creaked slightly underneath her, too loud.
Something was wrong.
As her legs carried her faster than before, a part of her now couldn’t help but feel guilty for taking the afternoon off. It was a silly thought, but thinking back on it now, it was rather unfair to leave Vergil in charge of the house and his brother, especially given the repeated spats the boys had with each other. Her hands rose up to grasp a lock of her hair, twisting and worrying the end around her fingers as the quiet extending down the corridor grew ever larger.
Her worry grew and coiled around her stomach until she finally arrived at the door of her sons’ room. Steeling herself with a breath, Eva gave a gentle knock to the heavy wooden door. “Vergil? Dante? Are you alright in there…?”
No answer.
Her heart stuttered in her chest. Something must have gone wrong.
She forced her shaking hand onto the handle and pushed the door open, the hinges squeaking lightly. “Boys…?”
Eva’s eyes widened at the sight before her, a slight gasp escaping her lips. “Oh…”
Curled up against the height of Vergil’s bed, two half-devil boys slept nestled against each other. Dante rested his head against the crook of Vergil’s neck, an arm slung over his brother’s waist. Vergil had leant his head upon his twin as well, a few small tendrils of his hair having spilt out from his usual slicked back style. Grasped in his hands, was her husband’s copy of the Aeneid, the very same one her son had stalwartly read for the past few weeks. The boys drew quiet breaths in unison against the patter of rain, as the only light, their nightlight in the corner, hallowed both of their silvery-white heads in a bronze glow.
The fear that had clung to her just a few moments prior began to dissipate, weakening with every moment she took in her sons’ sleeping forms. With featherlight steps, Eva drew back from the threshold of the door into the corridor again. She pulled the door back shut before making her way downstairs to the kitchen, her heart the lightest it had been since Sparda’s departure. As the image floated back into her mind, she stifled a giggle, even though she had long passed the boys’ room and was already tying her apron on.
Perhaps, she could finish that chocolate cake off in time for dinner.