The Dark Lord

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Palatine Hill, Roma Mater

Galen Atreus, Emperor and princeps of both East and West, entered a lofty-ceilinged room high on the Forum side of the Palace of Tiberius. Large square windows admitted cool northern light, making the marble and tile gleam. A circular fan turned slowly, moved by ropes passing overhead into a nearby room. The Emperor ignored the Praetorians beside the door and strode quickly to a dark mahogany swan-wing chair at the head of the table. He sat and nodded briskly to the men and women already seated. In polite society men would recline on couches and women sit, but the Emperor was far too focused on matters of state to care for social propriety today.

"Good morning," he said, opening a wooden folder on the table in front of him. The packet was filled with parchment sheets covered in small, neat handwriting. Galen's secretaries had risen before dawn and spent a hurried hour as the eastern sky lightened, trying to condense everything about everything onto the square-cut pages. The Emperor grimaced, looking at the first sheet. Persia, he thought glumly. Despite his assured entrance, he felt completely exhausted, bled by thousands of minute, invisible mosquitoes. The Empire had never suffered a shock like the fall of Constantinople-not at Adrianopolis, not at Cannae, not even when fool Crassus threw away six Legions in the Mesopotamian desert.

Why does it fall to me? he thought bleakly. Have I angered the gods?

The Emperor sighed, arranged his papers again and looked up, face hard and mask-like. Everyone else straightened up a little and Galen counted noses to make sure everyone was present. His own brother, Maxian, sat somberly to his right, young face paler than usual above a dark tunic and dark brown robes. Beyond the prince, the elderly and nondescript Gaius was doing a good job of being invisible. Galen's eyes passed over him without pausing. The man did a centurion's work with any project, though he had not proven to be innovative, only dogged past anyone's expectation. The Emperor had not warmed to the bureaucrat-he couldn't say why, really. Normally he valued a hard-working, prudent man above all else-but there was something about Gaius…

In earlier, better times, Gregorius Auricus would have held a chair, speaking and listening for the Senate as he had done for nearly fifty years. Now his duties had fallen to Gaius Julius-his aide and executor for the past year. Galen tried to ignore the absence and made mental note-not for the first time-to ensure someone appropriate assumed the old man's mantle of Speaker in the Senate. The Duchess De'Orelio sat almost opposite, her perfect face framed by demurely coifed curls wound with gold and emerald. A single booklet lay on the table in front of her and the Emperor did not bother to hide a grimace. The chapbook was simply for show-Galen often wondered if there were anything written on the pages inside-for he could not remember the last time she had consulted the book in the course of business. The Duchess relied on her memory, which was prodigious.

Beside the Duchess' cool elegance, looking very much like a plump brown wren trapped on a ledge beside a hawk, sat Empress Martina. Her presence here was both a personal concession from Galen, who had extended her every courtesy and honor, and a political one. Though Galen had assumed the title Avtokrator of the East, reuniting both halves of the Empire for the first time in almost three and a half centuries, there was no way he could administer the rump provinces of the East without the willing support of their remaining governors.

Those men, as numerous letters and private meetings had revealed, considered him not their Emperor, but merely a regent for Martina's son, Heracleonas, who was probably crawling around in the palace gardens with Galen's own child, Theodosius. Galen knew Martina's residence-in-exile was now the natural and expected gathering place for the huge crowd of dispossessed Eastern nobles, their wives, children, and retainers who had fled the fall of Constantinople. Through her, he hoped to gain the assistance and trust of the Eastern nobility. Galen needed their assistance badly and he hoped she understood the desperate nature of their situation.

"We must," Galen said, clearing his throat, "discuss Persia and Egypt. Lady Anastasia, please relate the current state of affairs." He suppressed a twinge of disquiet. Despite years of working with the Duchess, he still felt uncomfortable allowing a woman to hold such a powerful position. She knew things he did not, which bothered the Emperor a great deal. At the same time, he needed her and the sprawling network of agents she commanded.

"Lord and God," Anastasia began, bowing to the Emperor and inclining her head to the others. "Our situation in the East is poor. We have lost the provinces of Lesser Syria, Phoenicia and Judea to these rebels out of the old Greek cities in the Decapolis and their Arab mercenaries. Greater Syria and the city of Antioch have fallen to Persia, as well as portions of Anatolia and, of course, the city of Constantinople itself. Worse, we have suffered the loss of nearly the entire Eastern fleet and the Eastern Legions have been roughly handled not once, but twice by the enemy."

The Duchess paused for an instant and opened her notebook. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw surprise flit across the Emperor's face and she repressed a smile. The others watched her with varying attention-Maxian seemed entirely absent, his attention far away, and Anastasia noted his hair was unwashed and his clothing rumpled. She wondered if he slept at all. The lean old man at his side, unfortunately, was watching her with rapt attention. Anastasia did not find being desired by a dead man a pleasant sensation. However, she did not allow herself to show revulsion. There was business to be done here. At her side, Empress Martina was trying to stay awake and plucking at the hem of her very expensive and rather over-ornamented gown.

"Word has reached us," she continued, "of the enemy fleet-captained, we believe, by Palmyrene and Arab merchants-leaving Constantinople." She touched a sheet of parchment in the notebook with the tip of a well-manicured fingernail. "A ship friendly to us sighted the enemy fleet bearing east from Rhodes under full sail. I believe-and this, Lord and God, is only a guess-the fleet is aiming to make landfall at Caesarea Maritima, on the coast of Judea. It is quite likely the fleet is carrying those Arab and Decapolis contingents who fought at Constantinople home again."

"Not the Persians?" Galen leaned forward, narrow chin on his fist. "If this is so, where is the Persian army itself? Where is the Boar?"

"Luckily," Anastasia responded, "the Persian attack on Constantinople, like the campaign three years ago, is really only a very large raid. Despite crossing the breadth of Anatolia, they have not actually conquered the Roman provinces between the Persian frontier and the Eastern Capital. However, there are no Roman armies to keep them from moving freely through those lands. Indeed, reports from the larger coastal cities of Pergamum, Ephesus and Myra report no Persian or Decapolis threat at all!"

The Duchess turned to Martina, who was slouching in her chair. "Your husband's empire, dear, is still greatly intact. We, however, cannot rest easy-the Persians are sure to occupy as much as they can, as soon as they have the troops and time to do so."

Anastasia looked back at the Emperor. "My lord, we have received letters indicating the comes Alexandros has reached Perinthus on the Thracian coast, where the remains of the Imperial armies have gathered. He intends to muster those formations still infused with fighting spirit and to press towards Constantinople. I understand he seeks to forestall any further Persian advance into Thrace and to observe the deployments of the enemy for himself.

"When he has done so, we will know where the Persian army lies. Then, I believe, we will be able to tell where the next blow will fall."

Galen grunted, shaking his head in disagreement. "They will strike at Egypt," he said.

"Their forces in the desert before Pelusium are weak," Anastasia noted. "A dispatch ship has come from your noble brother, indicating a raid was made into the defenses at the edge of the delta and easily turned back."

"Those are only scouts," Galen said, scowling at the Duchess. "Do we know anything about the leadership of these Arabs and Greeks? Do we know if they are firm allies of Persia or only of convenience? Indeed-do we know what they want?"

Anastasia hid a sigh behind a pleasant smile and shook her head delicately. "We do not, my lord. But-my apologies, Martina-I believe the spark of the rebellion in Judea and the Decapolis came from the… poor use… of Palmyra in the war against Chrosoes. Queen Zenobia and her city were widely respected in the area, and she had many allies and friends among the Arab tribes, particularly the Tanukh. We have no proof-we do not even know who is in command of the rebellious army-but I suspect they are Palmyrene nobles and they are very angry."

The Emperor nodded, his face drawn and closed. He seemed to be looking back into memory and he did not like what he saw.

"So," he said, after a moment, "we are still fighting smoke. What about the Persians?"

"There, my lord, I can tell you a little more. By good fortune, there are merchants friendly to the Empire plying the Indian trade in the Mare Ethraeyum and they often visit the Persian port of Charax at the mouth of the Tigris and the Euphrates. By these means, greatly delayed, we have learned two daughters, Azarmidukht and Purandokht, survived the lamentable Chrosoes King of Kings. Both are young, of marriageable age, and unwed. Their mother, I must report, was the Empress Maria, Chrosoes' first wife. Apparently, in the chaos following the sack of Ctesiphon, the two princesses fled to Ecbatana in the Persian highlands and declared a new government.

"Now, our agents relate they found little support initially but then two things happened-first, a man named Rustam appeared, claiming to be Chrosoes' younger brother. Second, our old friend Shahr-Baraz arrived at the city, in the company of the remnants of the Persian Imperial guard. Reports of his death at Kerenos River, it would seem, were premature."

Anastasia spread her hands slightly, palms up. "What happened next is confused-there were reports Shahr-Baraz married Princess Azarmidukht, but when an official proclamation was made, the Boar was King of Kings and protector of the two princesses. I think the general decided the two girls were worth more to him as marriage tokens than as wives. We have heard nothing to indicate the princesses have, in fact, been married off. The mysterious Rustam has disappeared. He may have been murdered by Shahr-Baraz."

Maxian stirred, head rising and he focused on Anastasia. The Duchess felt a queer prickling sensation wash over her and struggled to keep from shivering. The prince looked to his brother for a moment, then back at the Duchess. "What about the dark man? Have you heard anything about this 'power' who fights on their side?"

"My lord Maxian," Anastasia replied, bowing to him, "we have received many rumors, but you of all our sources, have seen him most closely. Can you tell us anything about him?"

The prince scowled at her, pressing both palms over his eyes in exhaustion. Then he clasped his hands and said: "Though our enemy might seem to be a man of middling height, long hair, Persian features and complexion, there is something entirely inhuman about the creature. It is like… like the man is only a shell hiding darkness… and cold, he seemed colder than ice, or frost."

"Is our enemy a god?" The Duchess' tone made the question seem perfectly reasonable.

Maxian looked up, his eyes desolate. "I have never seen a god, Duchess, but this man might make himself one, over our corpses. I fought the Persian to a draw, so his power is not infinite. I suppose…" He paused, thinking. "It may be the cold spirit was first invoked by a human sorcerer and the summoned power now rules the body, yet is still restricted by its human shell."

"Can you kill him?" Anastasia cocked her head to one side, violet eyes intent on the young man. "Can we kill him? Can he be harmed by the spear, the knife, a scorpion stone?"

"I don't know." Maxian shook his head in dismay. "He felt pain and suffering from my blows. But sorcerers can be difficult to kill."

The prince's eyes narrowed as he said this, meeting Anastasia's eyes with a frank, cold look.

"You should," he said, speaking to her-and only to her, she realized with a chill-"leave such things to me. I have some thoughts as to how his power can be contained."

"Not destroyed?" Galen sat up straight, staring at his brother.

"I'm not sure he can be destroyed," Maxian replied wearily. "If a summoned power entered this world, and now inhabits-controls-this man, it could be entirely outside of death and even life. It may be the power cannot be destroyed, in which case our best hope is to trap and contain him. In this way, we may preserve ourselves, the state and the people from further harm."

Anastasia suddenly remembered something-a fragment heard on Thira long ago-and brought a hand to her mouth to cover a flinch. Neither the Emperor nor his brother noticed, though Gaius Julius' pale old eyes flickered to her, then away. The Duchess made a discrete cough, then forced her hand back down to her lap. Fear percolated inside her like water rising in a field screw, inching higher and higher with each turn of the handle. Could this be? Could the Serpent have returned? No… that is impossible! My worries about the telecast are clouding my thoughts with old legends.

Galen, meanwhile, was staring at Maxian with a rather sour expression. "What happens if we destroy the man?"

"In that case," Maxian said, slowly, "I believe the power will only retreat and begin looking for a new host to occupy. There are surely many men of low character in the world, some with power and some without, whom it might entice, thereby finding a new servant."

"Very well. We will discuss this further when we know more. Duchess, are we sure the Persians and the rebellious Greeks have separated their armies?"

"Sure? No, my lord, we are not sure. But it is very likely the fighting men of the Decapolis took ship with their fleet and are returning to Judea. It is possible, though I think it unlikely, a portion of the Persian army moved with them. Surely, they will not abandon Constantinople, not after seizing a bridgehead in Thrace. This leaves us with two opposing armies-one in the north and one in the south."

Galen nodded, thin lips compressed into a tight slash. "And their fleet is still loose."

"Yes, my lord."

"Gaius Julius, what Legions and fleets can we move East?"

The older man sat up, blinking away pleasant daydreams, but his hands were quick and selected a wooden folder from the pile in front of him without hesitation. He opened the folder, though Anastasia didn't think he read anything from the pages. Like her, he used the moment of action to marshal his thoughts and compose himself.

"Lord and God," he began, "our situation is rather parlous. We have already stripped the Legions in the west of every spare man. The Legions raised last year have been poorly handled in Thrace or are already in Egypt under your brother's command. Those formations remaining in the West are hard-pressed to cover the frontier or to maintain order in the provinces."

Gaius sighed and everyone at the table could see his weariness. Anastasia's nose wrinkled up, but she made no comment. Everyone was stretched thin.

"A letter was dispatched," Gaius continued, "to the Gothic reik several months ago, requesting he raise a Gothic Legion to assist the Empire. That force was raised and one portion of it is now in Thrace, under the command of the comes Alexandros. The other portion, under the command of Prince Ermanerich, has been engaged in an unexpected campaign along the Danuvius against the Gepids and their Draculis overlords."

The Emperor grimaced and rubbed the side of his head. "And?"

Gaius Julius shrugged. "The matter is still in doubt. I imagine the success of the Avar khagans in the Balkans has inspired the Draculis, and other tribes beyond the frontier, to test our strength. Reports have come from Noricum as well, indicating the Bulgars and Franks in Germania are growing restive."

Galen looked to Anastasia, his face tight. "Duchess? Will Noricum be attacked?"

Anastasia blinked, though she kept control of her expression. Noricum was a roughly rectangular-and the only remaining Roman-province on the further side of the Rhenus and the Danuvius. Rich and prosperous, the region was exposed to attack from north, east and west. Only the southern Alpine border was safe from raids. I have no idea what passes for thought in the minds of Duke Frigard or the Bulgar khan! How does he expect… The Duchess felt cold. Of course the Emperor expected her to know-hadn't she always known before?

"Lord and God," she said, keeping her voice even. "Reports from beyond the Danuvius are sparse, though our strength in Noricum is drawn down… If Ermanerich defeats the Draculis soundly, then the other tribes will mind their manners. If he fails, or is openly defeated, they will become bolder."

"Very well." Galen made a dismissive gesture. "Gaius, what of Gaul and Britain?"

"More troubles, my lord," the old Roman said. "The Frankish lords in Gaul are upset by the confiscation of the coward Dagobert's estates and possessions. He was well regarded among them-it seems they do not believe he abandoned his command, or fled from battle."

"What do they think?" Open anger flooded the Emperor's face. The abject failure of the Frankish lord Dagobert struck him hard-Galen had trusted the man and promoted his career.

"They think, my lord," Gaius said, keeping his voice very calm, "he was pushed aside so a Goth could command the army in the East. They think comes Alexandros stood higher in your favor than did Dagobert. The matter is complicated by Dagobert still being at large… he may even be back in Gaul, now, and I doubt he will admit to defeat and flight!"

The Emperor raised a thin eyebrow, and his eyes narrowed and swiveled towards Anastasia. "Duchess? Have your agents found our missing general?"

The cold tickling in Anastasia's stomach got worse, and the impression of mounting irritation in the Emperor grated on her nerves.

"No, my lord." Her own eyes narrowed, seeing an almost indefinable smugness on Gaius Julius' face. "The Empire's eyes are in every port, every city, every temple. But he has not surfaced since fleeing the port of Perinthus in a commandeered Imperial galley. I have heard these rumors he returned to Gaul, but he has not appeared in public, and he did not contest the seizure of his lands and estates."

"Where else would he go?" Gaius Julius leaned forward, expressing professional interest. "The Goths and the Franks hate each other with a passion, so he won't have found refuge in the East. Italia would be equally hostile to him… this leaves only Spain and Gaul."

"Unless he is dead." Anastasia's voice was cool. "But I fear he has survived, and is in hiding."

"Would you like help finding him?" Gaius Julius smiled, though he did not show his teeth. "I have some acquaintances among the merchant class who could keep an eye out for him."

Yes, Anastasia thought bitterly, you are thick with the lords of crime and the underworld… and through them with every grain hauler, merchant ship, bordello and gambling den in Italy. "That is very kind, Gaius Julius, but my own informants are already on the hunt."

"Of course." Gaius settled back in his chair. Nothing about him suggested anything but well-meaning intentions and a desire to perform his duties with dispatch and efficiency. "So, Lord and God, even Gaul is unsettled while this matter remains unresolved. Now, when the Duchess' men find our wayward general, and he is brought to trial, and confesses his cowardice before his peers-then public sentiment will swing in our favor. But until then-and, Duchess, I hope you find him soon-Gaul is of concern to us."

"And Britain?" Galen continued to sit stiffly upright in his chair, but his frown grew deeper with each word. "I have seen the monthly reports-the efforts to dislodge the Scandians have failed?"

"Yes," Gaius admitted and Anastasia took a pinch of solace from the glum look on his face. "A collection of local militia, Imperial troops and auxiliaries from Germany made an effort three months ago to drive the Scandians out of their enclave at Branodunium. Unfortunately, the Imperial officer in command of the expedition-a veteran named Uthar-was ambushed and killed by Scandian raiders while observing the defenses of the port. His second-in-command failed to press the enemy vigorously. So things remain as they were."

"That is not acceptable," Galen snapped, right hand clenching unconsciously into a fist. "Find another general, a competent one, and dispatch him to clean up this mess."

Gaius Julius nodded, but-wisely-said nothing. The Emperor stared out one of the windows for a moment, his expression forbidding. Anastasia waited patiently, as did the others. Beside her, Martina started to fidget and the Duchess touched her hand softly, shaking her head in warning. Out of the corner of her eye, Anastasia saw a sour look cross the young Empress' face, but the girl hunched her shoulders and stopped tapping her foot against the table leg.

After a seemingly endless moment, Galen's nostrils flared and his breath hissed out. Pursing his lips, he looked around the table. The Emperor did not seem pleased. "We have no reserves to send Aurelian in Egypt, until either Ermanerich settles this Draculis matter, or Alexandros reclaims Constantinople from the Persians. My brother will have to make do with what he has."

Gaius Julius and Anastasia nodded, reluctantly. The Emperor's expression did not improve.

"Lord and God?" Anastasia's throat felt tight, but remaining silent would not improve her situation. Risk was necessary, as was forward motion. "We are stretched thin, and faced with many challenges. Despite the best efforts of our networks of agents and informers, we still know too little about the dispositions and maneuvers of our enemies. Therefore…"

She paused, feeling her stomach roil. An acid taste bit her tongue. What did I just say to Thyatis? What would she say to me, now? She stifled a bitter laugh, then managed to continue speaking: "Princeps, may I have use of the device that sits in the Imperial Library?"

The Emperor frowned, brows furrowing, but then his face cleared and he looked at her with frank approval. "An excellent idea," he said. "With such long eyes you will be able to fill in the gaps in our too-poor knowledge of the enemy."

Anastasia inclined her head in thanks and out of the corner of her eye, saw Gaius Julius' lips twitch and then a disagreeable expression settle over his face. Ha! Gloated Anastasia, he didn't think of the power the telecast might grant, to those willing to use the duradarshan to its fullest.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, smiling at the Emperor. "We will not stint our labors. It is my hope that, by means of such swift and immediate news, we may be able to derive the work of many Legions from those few we own."

"Good." The weight on the Emperor seemed to have lifted, a little. "Good. Now-yes, Maxian?"

The prince stirred himself and Anastasia thought his attention had been far away, as if roused from some waking dream. Maxian rubbed his eyes and focused, slowly, on his brother.

"Before the Duchess has her way with the telecast," the prince said, "I think we should use the device to find the Persian sorcerer. We must devise a means of defeating him if we are to win."

Galen frowned, shaking his head. "Are you ready to face him? The matter of the Persian fleet and the disposition of their armies is far more urgent."

"How can that be?" Maxian sat up straight in his chair, staring at his brother in concern. "While the sorcerer is free to act against us, the Empire is in immediate danger! This creature is more powerful than armies, deadlier than fleets!"

"Is he?" Galen returned Maxian's puzzled expression with his own. "The Persian mage is only one man, true? He cannot hold cities, or provinces, or exact taxes or tribute by himself. While Shahr-Baraz has a fleet and powerful armies, we are in danger, whether this sorcerer is present or no."

"What?" Maxian's face screwed up in astonishment. "Don't you grasp his power?"

The Emperor's eyes narrowed and Anastasia shrank back a little in her chair. The others drew away from the prince as well, but Maxian did not seem to notice.

"This Persian," the prince continued, voice rising, "shattered the walls of Constantinople-the most formidable city in the entire Empire! He smashed the Eastern fleet to kindling! He nearly killed me, never having faced me before in a test of wills."

"Yet," Galen interjected, his voice cold, "you fought him to a draw, all unprepared. Yet, when he broke down the walls of the Eastern Capital, it was Persian soldiers who entered the city, who hold the city. If he scattered the Eastern fleet, it was the Greek rebels who benefited."

"Foolishness!" Maxian broke in, interrupting his brother. "We cannot ignore him!"

"I am not proposing we ignore this Persian," Galen snapped. "We cannot focus upon him as our sole enemy. If we do, then his compatriot the Boar will tear out our gut. The Persian sorcerer is a tool and he can be forestalled, he can be distracted, your presence can neutralize him. He is one part of a larger puzzle. The Persians and the Greeks are the other pieces and they must be accounted for as well."

"You don't understand…" Maxian looked away, slumping back in his chair again.

"I do," Galen said, softening his voice. "This is not a single combat between you and the Persian sorcerer. This is a war between empires. The outcome of a single battle will not turn the balance between Rome and Persia. The victor… the victor will be the empire whose will to fight endures. Exhaustion, not valor, will decide the matter."

The Emperor looked around the table, his visage grim. "Rome will endure. We have suffered worse before and won through. We will do so again. Now, here is my desire: Anastasia, you and your clerks will have immediate and full access to the telecast. You must find the Persians and detail their formations to me. Further, you must discern if these other threats-on the Danube, in Germany, in Gaul, in Britain-are worthy of my immediate attention. Gaius Julius: you carry a heavy load with Gregorius dead. I must ask you to shoulder it a little longer, until the Senate elects someone to replace him. From you, I desire an accounting of every ship, every soldier, every farm, every amphora of oil, every bushel of wheat, every yard of cloth in the empire."

The old Roman grimaced, playing with one of his notebooks. Anastasia was afraid the same sick, grim look was creeping into her face as well. Gaius Julius looked up, staring at the Emperor with a troubled expression. "My lord, you think rationing will be necessary?"

Galen met his eyes with an unflinching look, his face cold and remote. "If Egypt is lost, then Rome cannot feed herself, not without strict regulation. We will be prepared. Maxian…"

The prince was staring into emptiness, head cocked to one side.

"Maxian!" The Emperor raised his voice slightly and the prince turned, brow furrowed. Galen swallowed a sigh and the timbre of his voice changed. He bent close to his brother. "I need you to be able to defeat this Persian sorcerer, but I must balance many demands. You and the Duchess will share the telecast-but, pray the gods, do not attempt to deal with this enemy without consulting me!"

Maxian's lips, drawn into a tight line, relaxed a little and he shook his head in a nervous tic "Gales, I understand. Don't worry, I won't try anything rash. I just… this sorcerer is the real enemy; I can feel it. If we defeat him, we defeat Persia." Maxian coughed and Anastasia realized he was trying to muster a laugh. "I need to find out who, or what, he is. So-that will be my task, along with the work at Fiorentina-one fitting the custos, don't you think?"

"Yes." Galen tried to smile warmly, but could only manage a shadow of good humor. "Let us know what we face, before we give battle." The Emperor turned back to the others. "That is good advice for all of us… we face a bitter struggle. Let us know what strength we own and what strength is in our enemies' hand."

Galen stood, and his movements were stiff and slow. He gathered up his folder and nodded to them all. "Good day, my friends. May the gods grant us victory."

Everyone rose, bowing as the Emperor strode out of the room.

"Empress? Is something troubling you?" Gaius Julius bowed slightly to the young Greek woman. Martina was slouched deep in her chair, scowling at the doorway. Such obvious bile did not improve her round features.

"What do you want from me?" Martina's light green eyes narrowed suspiciously, her lip curling slightly. "Don't you already have a position, wealth, power?"

"Ah…" Gaius smiled affably. "Empress, I am not blind. Does the Emperor's plan displease you?"

"Am I allowed to be displeased?" Martina made a sharp flinging motion with her hands. She bared her teeth, though Gaius suspected she didn't realize how feral it made her look. "I'm supposed to sit quietly, perhaps nod approvingly when he acknowledges my presence! How delightful!"

"Empress…" Gaius shook his head slowly, casting a brief look over his shoulder. The Emperor had stopped in the hallway, deep in conversation with the Duchess De'Orelio. A brace of guardsmen loitered around them, looking studiously away from the pair, ignoring their discussion. Interesting, Gaius thought. I'll have to find Motrius a new toy-then he'll let me know what they were talking about…

The old Roman turned back to Martina, who was glaring at the wall while she tore tiny seed pearls, one by one, from the hem of her gown. The old Roman placed himself between Galen and the Empress. "You are unhappy with the way you've been treated?"

Martina looked up and her nostrils flared. Heavy makeup disguised, but did not completely hide, dark smudges under puffy eyes. "I am grateful, Master Gaius, for being saved from the ruin of my city. I give thanks to the Gods each day my son lives. I live in a palace-attended by servants of all kinds, guarded by the Praetorians-and my son spends his days playing with Emperor Galen's son. What more could I ask?"

Gaius hid a grin at the venom in the woman's voice. He thought, for a brief instant, of how things stood between himself and the prince, between the prince and his brother. A constellation of impulses ran riot in his thoughts and he weighed them all in turn, sorting swiftly through long memories. Possibilities presented themselves and were discarded. Others rose into consideration, then fell. One avenue revealed itself to him, filled with all manner of delights and riches. He considered an Eastern Empire restored, ruled by a wise Regent and a young, pliable Empress, in the name of a young king with many years to pass before he came into his patrimony. Very fine, he thought. But I will abstain. It is not time to be greedy, not yet.

His face still genial, open, approachable, Gaius let sympathy show, his eyes crinkling up. "Ah, Empress, if bread were enough to satisfy our souls, if circuses stilled desire, then Rome would be the most content of cities. You mustn't hate Emperor Galen-he is doing his best for you and for your son. But he is a man plagued with worries, faced with crises on every hand. I assure you, Empress, he does not covet your son's inheritance. In the fullness of time, after the Persians are driven back, you will dwell in Constantinople again and your son will sit on his father's throne."

"Will he?" Martina's expression darkened dangerously. "When? Can you name a day?"

"No." Gaius Julius shook his head sadly. "Many years may pass before that transpires. This war may be long and difficult, a struggle of decades."

"Decades…" The Empress' hands clenched, ripping the cloth bunched between them. Her eyes were fixed over Gaius' shoulder. "What will be left, then? Each day new edicts and writs go forth from his offices, signed with his name, to set taxation, to raise troops, to appoint judges and praetors-in my son's domain! In ten years, who will remember Heracleonas is Emperor of the East? Who will remember his father?"

Who will remember you? Gaius Julius thought in amusement. No one. Another exiled queen, without lands or treasure, reduced to living on the whim of a distracted Emperor…

"My lady," he said aloud, "listen to me. I have spent many years in the service of Rome. More years, in truth, than you have lived. I have seen many things. I have risen high and I have fallen low. You must have patience, and you must not set yourself against the Emperor. He is your friend. He is your son's protector and guardian. What you must do, if you wish to see young Heracleonas sit upon his father's throne, is help."

"What could I possibly do?" Martina forced her fist open and shredded bits of cloth drifted to the floor. "I have nothing, no friends, no power, no armies. Why would I want to help them?" She pointed with a round chin at the Emperor and the Duchess, who were still standing at the far end of the hallway.

"I was not speaking specifically of the Duchess De'Orelio and Emperor Galen."

"Who then?" Martina looked directly at Gaius for the first time.

"You should help him." The old Roman gestured with his head, indicating Prince Maxian, still sitting at the big table, his expression distant, forefinger pressed against his lower lip.

"Maxian?" The Empress' expression softened and Gaius felt a stab of delight in his crafty old heart. "I can't help him either. He's like a god…" Martina broke into soft verse, some old words that she remembered from stories of her childhood. "…down from the mountain's rocky crags, Poseidon stormed with giant, lightning strides-and looming peaks and tall timber quaked, beneath immortal feet as the sea lord surged…"

Oh, my, a poetess, Gaius thought, riding hard on his expression, keeping it kind and just a little distant. What vistas unfold now! "Empress, Maxian is not a god. He is not the lord of earthquakes. He is a young man carrying an enormous burden. Now, if I remember correctly, you are a historian?"

"I was." The Empress pouted a little, which made her round cheeks blush. "All of my books, my writing, everything was destroyed. Why does that matter?"

"I assure you," Gaius said, entirely truthfully, "the libraries of Rome are without equal. Consider the prince's dilemma now-he must find a way to defeat this Persian mage-and he is only one man. I have dabbled a little in history myself-written a few small dissertations on obscure subjects-but he will need to delve into all that we know of Persia and the east, seeking to find some clue to the provenance of this enemy. Is our foe wholly new? Have the Persians raised such a power before? How can it be stopped? You can help him."

"I suppose." Martina shrank back a little. "But he's so busy all the time…"

"There is a great deal of work to be done." Gaius beamed. "He'll be very glad of your wise assistance. Just… let him know. He's really a very approachable young man."

Martina bit her lip, dithering, but Gaius stepped away, barely restraining a grin. He hoped the prince would have the wit to be nice to the girl.

So straight flies Cupid's arrow, he thought smugly. Alexandros will be pleased to rule green Macedon again.

"My lord?" Anastasia hurried, one fine-boned hand holding up her skirts. The Emperor turned to face her, his expression distant. At his sign, the Praetorians parted, allowing the Duchess into a circle of iron-armored chests and flowing red cloaks. "May I have a moment? There is something you need to know."

One of Galen's eyebrows rose and the weariness hiding behind his mask-like expression was plain. "What is it?"

Anastasia brushed dark, glossy curls out of her face as she looked back over one shoulder. The others were still in the meeting room, leaving the corridor empty. "Lord and God, may we speak in private?" She indicated an alcove, flanked by towering marble gladiators and potted palms.

"Do you have a knife?" Galen cocked his head to one side.

The Duchess recoiled slightly at the suggestion, a hand rising to cover her breast. "No!"

Galen's lips twitched into a half-smile. "Imperial humor, my lady. Very well."

The Praetorians parted again, shifting into a line blocking the alcove from the rest of the corridor. The Emperor leaned against a wall, fine, thin hair hanging limply over his brow and crossed his arms, staring morbidly at the Duchess. "Another plot?" he asked in a resigned tone.

"No, my lord," Anastasia said, suddenly reluctant to continue. The impulse to speak was fading as quickly as it had sprung into being. Now she felt a little foolish. "Do you remember the accusations I made last year, against the prince?"

Galen leaned forward a little, trying to catch her soft voice. Anastasia cursed her recklessness. Too late now… "When I accused your brother of trafficking with spirits, with raising the dead to do his bidding?"

"Yes." The Emperor motioned for her to continue.

"Master Gaius Julius, to whom you entrust so much," she said, keeping her voice low, "is one of his… experiments."

Galen's head rose in surprise, and both eyebrows crept up under his bangs. "He is?"

"Yes, Master Gaius is… my lord, he is Gaius Julius Caesar, formerly dictator of Rome."

"What?" Galen laughed aloud, thin shoulders shaking. His face split into a wide grin and he stood up straight. "The famous… the Caesar?" He laughed again, his face brightening, exhaustion shedding from him like leaves from fall trees. "Really? It's really him?"

"Yes," Anastasia answered dubiously, drawing away from the Emperor.

"That is marvelous!" Galen looked down the hallway. The man in question was standing in the doorway of their meeting room, talking affably with Empress Martina. "The scholar? The playwright? No wonder he has such a flair for the games!" The Emperor rubbed his chin, still grinning. "How delightful!"

"My lord!" Anastasia was alarmed and dared place her hand on his arm. "This is Julius Caesar we are taking about! A man who never once in his life set aside the pursuit of power, of the throne, or all the power he could gather into his own hands! Do you realize he will take Gregorius Auricus' place in the Senate, if you do not take immediate steps to prevent him? He will plot, bribe, inveigle, scheme and spy until his power rivals your own!"

Galen nodded, still smiling, but now his expression shaded into something like melancholy. "I know. You know…" He paused, tugging at his lip. "He has seemed so familiar for so long, I'm amazed I didn't grasp the fact myself. But who would think to see the dead live again? This is an age of wonders…"

"My lord!" Anastasia hissed in alarm. "He is not a curiosity to be displayed at a garden party!"

"I know." Galen was unaccountably sad. His good humor vanished, leaving a bleak expression. "But Duchess, he is a fine poet, a playwright of repute, a cunning statesman, a fine administrator, even a beloved and victorious general. He was the best of us."

"And the worst!" Anastasia tilted her head, trying to catch Galen's eye. Grief crept into the Emperor's face, and the Duchess was startled to see his eyes shining with incipient tears.

"And the worst…" Galen mastered himself, blinking. "How can such a man be trusted, once he tasted a heady Imperial vintage? He should be imprisoned or strangled. Certainly not left to run riot in the Senate, or walk the streets speaking with whom he chooses. Not left free to serve the State, or to pen witticisms in his spare time, or write histories, or… do anything the things I would love to see spring from his mind and hand." The Emperor shook his head.

Anastasia cursed herself-why tell Galen this now? She could have just seen to the quiet, discreet removal of the dead man. Then all this would be moot and a viper plucked from the bosom of the Empire. She felt a creeping sense of dread, as if she had unwittingly made a terrible mistake. "My lord…"

Galen covered her hand with his own, shaking his head. Melancholy distilled in his eyes. His brief joy was gone. "You did the right thing, Anastasia. I will decide what to do with the esteemed Gaius Julius. That, if nothing else, is my duty."

"Um… Prince Maxian?"

A soft, tentative voice penetrated the prince's thoughts and he made a brushing motion near his ear. Faint whispering faded away and he looked up into the leaf-colored eyes of a worried young woman. Her hair was elaborately coifed and curled, sparkling with tiny golden pins. A heavy embroidered stole lay over white shoulders, gleaming with pearls and Indian rubies.

"Hello, Martina," Maxian said. He became aware of sitting in a chair. The ghosts in the room dissolved bit by bit, slowly disintegrating until their translucent bodies shone like glass and then were entirely gone. The marble walls and painted ceilings reasserted themselves and the prince found himself alone with the young Empress. "Is something wrong?"

Martina looked poorly with circles under her eyes and a sallow complexion to her round face. "Have you fallen ill?" The prince took her hand and was surprised at how cold she felt. He frowned, concentrating. "No… your humors are in balance… but you must sleep more. You're tired."

"Oh." Martina sat down abruptly, her eyes wide. "I felt that!"

"Yes." Maxian smiled, "sometimes you can feel the power as it passes through you. Was it unpleasant?"

"Oh no," she said, blushing furiously. "I didn't mind."

"Good. How is your son?"

"He's well," Martina said, staring at the floor.

Maxian realized he was still holding her hand. He let go and sat up straight in the chair. "I'm glad. I'm sorry we couldn't save more of your people…" He grimaced, thinking of the devastation he had seen during the brief time he was in Constantinople. "It won't happen again."

"I'm sure it won't… my lord," Martina said in a rush. "Master Gaius said you needed help with some historical research and I'm a historian and perhaps I could help if that's not too much trouble."

"But aren't you…" Maxian stopped before he said busy. He looked around for Gaius Julius. The old Roman was nowhere to be seen. He looked back at the girl, giving her his full attention. She was still looking at the floor and he could feel her nervousness in the air like the half-heard chime of a temple bell. What is there for you to do? he mused, considering her. Ghost images of the Empress unfolded in his sight-laughing, afraid, cowering in the basement room under the palace in Constantinople, clutching her baby to her-then disappeared as he willed them away. Alone in exile, living on the mercy of others, directionless… bored.

"You're a historian?" he said, curious. "What kind of histories do you write? Can you read Greek or Persian?"

"I can," Martina said, smiling. She dabbed at her eyelashes, smudging charcoal powder on her cheek. "I was writing a history of Constantinople, from its founding by Queen Medea as Byzantium in ancient times to the present day… Heraclius approved, he thought it would keep me out of trouble."

"Medea of Colchis founded the city?" Maxian was surprised. He'd never thought of the woman as anything but a character in a play. "I thought colonists from Corinth made the first settlement."

"Rubbish!" Martina's face changed, her shyness falling away. "I've seen the founding stone of the city myself-and Medea is listed as Queen, under the aegis of her patron, the goddess Hecate. You can ignore Eusebius-he had no idea what he was talking about."

"You read old Greek too?" Maxian grinned. He did not relish the thought of plowing through mountains of Achean scrolls, searching for some vague fragment that might bear upon the current matter. Someone to help him would be very welcome indeed.

"Yes," Martina smiled back. "Being an Empress is usually very dull. It would be nice to do something useful for a change."

"Then you can help me," he said, pleased. "I must go up to Fiorentina tomorrow, to oversee some projects. If you'd like to come along, I'll show you what we've gathered."