The Dark Lord

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Palatine Hill

The Emperor pressed a short note into his tablet, reed stylus cutting into gray wax. His narrow face was smudged with exhaustion-dark circles under his eyes, a febrile quality to his skin. Anastasia thought he was falling ill. The others in the library were silent, waiting for him to finish. A muted scratching from the back of the room mixed with the tapping sound of fans rotating slowly overhead.

"How long until your flying machines are complete?" Galen put down the reed.

"Another four months." Prince Maxian, equally worn, young face made old by sleeplessness, slouched in a heavy chair opposite his brother. The table between them was strewn with fine Chin porcelain, half-empty cups of wine, bits and pieces of glazed duck, bread rounds, scraps of cheese and half-eaten apples. "But I have installed the fire heart in each steed. The foundry foremen in Florentia can complete the rest of the work without me-at least until my final invocations are required."

"And then?" Galen's expression was pinched. Despite considerable discussion, he was uneasy with these new weapons his brother promised. Mechanical devices-toys, he thought-were Aurelian's passion. The big redheaded horse should be here keeping an eye on Maxian, not in Egypt facing down the Persians. He would love this project: all gears, metal, pneuma and spiritus. "Each… steed… will need a thaumaturge to make it fly?"

"No." The prince sighed, knuckling his eyebrows. "That is what has taken so long. The fire-drake can accept the guidance of anyone-well, anyone the drake is directed to obey. These new ones will not be quite so fast, or so strong as the first one, but they will serve."

"Why aren't they as fast?" Galen squinted. The corner of his left eye was twitching. The Duchess hid a wry expression of compassion. A headache was stealing up on her as well.

Maxian breathed out in a long, irritated hiss. "Because, brother, when I built the first one, I was a student, following the direction of a master… and now, I can't remember everything old Abdmachus told me. At the time I was rushed… I wasn't paying close enough attention." The prince bit angrily at his thumb. "But they are far beyond anything Persia has… these young drakes cannot reach Albania in two days of flight, but they will be able to reach Egypt in four."

"Can they fight? Are they worth two Legions of troops?" The Emperor stared at parchment sheets laid out on the table, obviously tabulating the ever-rising expense of Maxian's project. "We could fit out a dozen heavy galleys for this cost."

"A single fire-drake is worth a dozen galleys." The prince tried to keep his voice level. "A fire-drake can fly against the wind, over storms, even through hail! From such a height, a man can see hundreds of miles, spying the enemy at a great distance. A fire-drake can-"

"I've heard all of this before." Galen glared at his brother. "Very well, press ahead. You'll need more money, I suppose…" He pinched his nose, eyes squeezed shut. When they opened, everything was the same. The Emperor swallowed, tasting something bitter at the back of his throat. "Duchess?"

Anastasia stirred, sitting up straight. She was tired too. "We have done well with the telecast, my lord. The work is draining for the thaumaturges assisting us, but the results are spectacular." She made a wry smile, clasping her hands. "Though the visions do not always show us what we desire to see. Not all the time, at least. First-the comes Alexandros has advanced within sight of Constantinople-and it seems, if we count fire pits and tents aright, the armies of the Avar khagan have decamped. They are probably already back in Moesia by now."

"Really?" Galen sat up straighter himself. "How can you tell?"

Anastasia tried to maintain a neutral expression, but it was very difficult to keep a smirk from her lips. She inclined her head towards Gaius Julius, who was sitting quietly beside the prince, being unobtrusive. "A famous Roman historian once described the encampment practices of the barbarians, finding them as unique to a people-between, say, the noble Carnutes and the savage Belgae-as costume or language. In my experience this holds true for the camps of the Romans-unmistakably orderly when viewed from above-the Persians and even the Avars. A Persian army is encamped within the ruins of Constantinople and Alexandros' without. There are no Avar camps-distinguished, I must say, by admirable efficiency and professionalism, as well as a peculiar ringed shape-within a hundred miles."

The old Roman did not respond. He did not even blink at the gibe.

"And Egypt?" Galen leaned forward, his fingers toying with the reed stylus.

"Prince Aurelian's defenses are being tested," Anastasia said, pursing her full lips. Today they were lightly brushed with a dark madder hue. The powders and paints around her eyes were very light, barely disguising puffy skin and incipient wrinkles. Indeed, her clothing was very restrained, even somber. Yet she had discarded the cloak of mourning and a subtle gleam of fine gold shone at her neck and adorned her hair. "The Persians have advanced across the desert of Sinai with great speed. A fleet-actually, two fleets-accompany them. One flotilla of galleys stands offshore at a distance, watching for our own ships. A large number of barges or large rafts are drawn up on the beaches."

"Supplies?" Gaius Julius spoke for the first time. "Water?"

"Yes." The Duchess nodded. "Prince Aurelian built his line of defense to deny an attacker access to fresh water. The swamps, bogs and streams in front of his fortifications have been drained. Yet, the Persians foresaw this-they are shipping barrels of water down from Gazzah on their barges. They will be thirsty, but they will not perish."

Galen nodded, smoothing his hair back. "Unfortunately, they are professionals. Have you found the army that fought at Constantinople?"

"No." Anastasia shrugged. "The telecast can only see one thing at a time. The world is vast. Since we know it does not face Alexandros in Thrace, and cannot have fit on their fleet, I believe the 'missing' army is crossing Anatolia overland, heading back to Persia." She looked at the Emperor, who seemed as displeased as ever. "We think, from what we see, the army before Pelusium is mostly composed of the rebellious Greeks, their Arab allies and new contingents from the east. I think-and this is only a conjecture, my lord-the Persians have emptied their treasury, hiring large numbers of Turks, Sogdians and Indians to supplement their forces."

"Have you informed Aurelian of this?" The reed tapped rapidly on the tabletop.

"We have," Anastasia said, smiling at the absurdity of the situation, "dispatched a courier from Ostia with all this news. With good winds, the ship will be in Pelusium port in three weeks, more likely four. What we see today, he will know in a month. Unless, of course, he learns at spearpoint…"

"Ahhh…" Galen snarled and the reed snapped in half in his fist. "Don't we have any faster way to send him this news?" The Emperor glared at Maxian. "Can a thaumaturge in Rome send a message to one in Pelusium, or Alexandria, today?"

"Yes…" Maxian smirked a little. "A fire-drake could carry the message swiftly!" The prince ducked as another stylus flipped past his head. "Peace, brother! Peace! I believe the Legion thaumaturges have a mechanism of their own, whereby two mages, each known to the other, with matching scrying bowls, can communicate."

"Like the telecast pairs?" Galen raised an eyebrow. "Could we make another telecast? Place one in Egypt with Aurelian? Speak with him as if he stood in this room?"

"That is impossible-" Anastasia began, teeth clenched.

"Wait," Maxian said, raising a hand to interrupt her. A faint smile played upon his lips. Anastasia was suddenly sure the prince had been waiting for this turn in the conversation. "There is something… Gaius, hand me my bag."

The old Roman grunted, lifting up a battered old leather bag still marked with the caduceus of the Asklepion. The prince dug around inside, rustling papers and bits of metal. Then, with a triumphant smile, he drew out a torn, frayed section of papyrus. Part of a diagram was sketched on the paper in faded ink. Anastasia felt a chill steal over her, seeing the delicate way the prince held the ancient page. The design seemed familiar to her. Oh goddess, curse these men with forgetfulness, strike sight from their eyes…

"Yes," Maxian said smugly, smoothing out the papyrus. "Martina found this in a collection of broken, incomplete scrolls sent back to Rome during the time of the Divine Augustus. I've had her going through everything about the ancients we could find, trying to find some mention of that Persian sorcerer. Something useful, you know…" The prince set the scrap of paper on the tabletop, squinting down at lines of ancient symbols. "This caught her eye, the design, the wheels within wheels. It's old Egyptian, almost unreadable, just the part of a page included in another scroll written by one of the notorious Kleopatra's secretaries."

Maxian looked up, grinning, and the exhaustion in his face was gone, swept away by a merry sparkle in his eyes. "But I know a trick." He pressed his palms together over the papyrus, closing his eyes. Then he opened his hands slowly, palm to palm. Wind tugged at Anastasia's hair and a cloud of dust hissed together over the tabletop. Sighing, dust and dirt, even one of the apple cores, leapt between the prince's hands. There was a soft flash and when Anastasia blinked tears away, the sheet of papyrus lay on the tabletop, crisp and new, complete, shining with black ink.

"There," Maxian said, lifting the roll by the corners. Perfectly clear in the center of the paper was an intricate drawing of a device, wheels within wheels, with gears and arcing sections. The Duchess felt very cold, looking upon a well-drawn picture of a telecast. She held her breath, wondering what disastrous secrets were written on the reborn page.

"'In Nemathapi's name,'" the prince read, slowly, puzzling out the hieroglyphs. He squinted, though the symbols were very clear. "'I, Menes, scribe of the-must be kingdom-write these words. Here I have drawn a-um-picture.'" Maxian paused, leaning back. For a moment, watching him, Anastasia was struck by an impression the prince was listening to something. "'A picture of the king's guardian,'" Maxian began again, and now his voice was assured and the translation swift. "'Uraeus, the eye of Horus the Avenger. Even as the god was hewn into pieces by his enemy, so is the eye divided into seven parts.'"

Anastasia controlled herself, keeping from flinching or gasping aloud only by digging her nails into her palm. Surely there would be a line of sharp bruises in the morning. Fragmentary thoughts flashed wildly through her mind, then she quelled them all. Without moving her head, she marked the places of each man in the room. I could kill Galen, she realized with a sick, helpless feeling. But Gaius is already dead and Maxian beyond my power to harm. Then the Praetorians would rush in and my life spill out on the tile.

Oblivious, Maxian continued reading. "'By the king's command, one eye has been sent to Abydos in the south, that his wisdom may oversee all lands under his sway. The other remains here, in Memphis, where all wisdom flows from the king and god and defender, Kha'sekhem, lord of the upper lands and the lower, protector of the earth.'"

The Duchess allowed herself to breathe. Thank you, goddess! Only two!

The prince laid down the papyrus, his head cocked to one side. "Hmm…"

"Too bad," Galen said, finding another stylus and turning back to his ledgers. "The other five are lost, then, and we have one, while the other was destroyed in Constantinople."

"No…" Maxian turned the papyrus over, looking at the design from another angle. "This diagram does not depict our telecast, nor, if memory serves, does it describe its lost companion. See-" His finger traced a line of spiky symbols on one of the outer rings of the device. "These are quite different." Maxian raised an eyebrow, smiling at his brother.

"Where did Emperor Heraclius find his? Where did we find ours?" Galen scowled at Anastasia, who blinked at him in surprise, then marshaled herself. Luckily, Helena had once told her-though the Emperor should have remembered for himself. But he is tired and there are many other, far more pressing concerns to distract him, thank the fates!

"Builders excavating a new foundation for the temple of Zeus Skyfather, in Pergamum, uncovered the device lost in Constantinople. Builders in… Spain, near the Pillars of Hercules, found the one we possess." Anastasia indicated the papyrus with an idle finger. "If the prince's memory serves, then there was at least one more, in the distant past."

"We can find it," Maxian stated, nodding to himself. "Even if the remains are broken or scattered."

"We can?" Gaius Julius said, raising a white eyebrow. "How?"

The prince grinned again. "I know another trick… I can make a talisman, an… echo of the telecast we have here. Someone can go to Egypt with my amulet. If they are close to the sister device, the talisman will guide them. Time-consuming, but Martina believes at least one telecast was in the hands of the Ptolemies. If so, then the device was probably moved to Alexandria."

Anastasia looked to the Emperor, eyebrow raised. "Lord and God, if the prince can make such a talisman, it will be on our fastest ship within hours… a cohort of Praetorians aboard, with reliable guides."

"A ship?" Maxian rose in his chair, looking at the Duchess as if she were a simpleton. "For another telecast, I will go myself! Pegasus will have me in Egypt in two days. A ship, indeed!"

The Duchess' jaw tightened as she bit down on intemperate words. He is the prince, fool girl!

"Maxian, are you ready to fight the dark man?" Galen was watching them both, fist to his mouth, eyes narrowed. "If you go to Egypt on your steed of iron, he cannot help but know you are there."

"How?" Maxian turned on his brother, almost sneering. "We fly by night, we keep to the desert… the Persian army is trapped before Pelusium. They will not be able to interfere. He cannot fly over them!"

"Duchess," the Emperor said, watching Maxian with a cold expression. "Explain the situation in Egypt to my brother."

Anastasia bit the inside of her lip, tasted blood, then smiled formally. "Caesar Maxian, our situation in Egypt is precarious. The province has only recently come into Western hands. There is friction between the civil government-still Eastern-and our army. Caesar Aurelian's attention is wholly focused on holding the Persians out, and-to be blunt-there are factions within Egypt who would welcome Persian rule in the place of Rome. Also, these Greek rebels out of the Decapolis have many friends behind Aurelian's barrier. The cities of Petra and Palmyra had-have-enormous trading concerns in Egypt, substantial investments, agents in every port and town."

"She means," Gaius Julius said, leaning towards the prince, "once you enter Egypt, you will be noticed. The cities, the towns, are thick with Persian informants and sympathizers."

"We will not enter the cities," Maxian said, exasperated. "The ancient ruins are avoided by living men-and the telecast will be in a ruin, not the forum of Heliopolis! Gales, please, I can be to Egypt and back in a week, two at the most. I will find the telecast and deliver it to Aurelian. Think of the advantage we'll have then!" He turned to the Duchess, face eager. "Another eye to watch the enemy! We'll be able to converse instantly… if need be, I can mate the two as I did before, letting Aurelian step back across the Mare Internum as if he were in his apartments on the Palatine!"

Anastasia felt her face warm, her skin prickle, her heart race. The prince smiled, urging her to agree. Flustered, she closed her eyes, blocking out his limpid brown stare. "Wait," she said, raising a hand. She put the tips of her fingers to her forehead. A sense of vertigo ebbed and she felt her heart slow from a sprint to a walk.

Breathe, a voice echoed out of the past. Center yourself, focus yourself. You are one, indivisible, infinite… The Hunter's prayer filled her mind and she felt the strange sensation fade away. She opened her eyes, studiously looking only to the Emperor. Galen raised an eyebrow.

"Lord and God, what the prince says is true," the Duchess said, measuring her words. "His iron servant is swift and can carry him across many leagues. His powers are great and finding the telecast in Egypt-if one still exists-may be easy for him. But Egypt is vast and there are many ruins. I fear this search will take time, perhaps little, perhaps much."

"And in that time?" Galen met her eyes, shaking his head minutely.

"In that time, Lord and God, the Persians discover the prince is in Egypt. They may even discover we possess a flying machine."

"So?" Maxian interjected, irritation plain in his voice. "What if they do?"

"Then, Caesar, they will try and capture or kill you." Anastasia did not meet the prince's gaze. "But you are very strong. I doubt they will be able to succeed."

The prince made a sharp huh! sound and looked to his brother again. "Gales?"

"You are not going," the Emperor said, giving Maxian a quelling look. "I do not think you are ready to fight this creature again, not one on one. When that day comes, I want every advantage to be in our hand. We must know this thing's name, its strength, its motive. We will fight on ground of our choosing and we will win."

"Madness-" Maxian stood up abruptly, though Gaius Julius made a faint-hearted effort to catch his arm. "Then send your ship-which will take weeks to reach Egypt-and have your legionaries grub in the dirt-more weeks will pass-and then, then you find the device and who can make it work? I can! And I will be here, in Rome, cooling my heels in the baths or at the races!"

"We have weeks," Galen said, expression hardening as the prince's voice grew more strident. "We have months. Armies-Persian or Roman-do not leap leagues in a day. Aurelian will hold Egypt until the Nile rises, and then where will the Persians be? Unable to advance for months more, while they wait for the river to fall. By then we will know where the main Persian army is, and how things stand in Thrace and Constantinople. These troubles in Britain will be resolved. Our new fleet will be gathered, the Gothic Legion ready to move by sea wherever we need. You…" Galen stabbed a finger at his brother, "will have finished your fire-drakes and if the gods favor us, we will know the intention and true strength of the enemy."

Maxian's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, fists on the tabletop. "What happens if the Persian sorcerer comes against Aurelian now, today, with full force? Will you hold me back then?"

"I will," Galen snapped, a flush rising in his face. "Aurelian can hold Egypt!"

"Like Constantinople held?" Maxian shouted. "You are a fool; you have no idea what powers are at play here!"

"Enough of this," Galen said, his voice very cold. "My decision is made."

The Emperor stared at Maxian, his face like granite, until-after a very long moment-the younger man looked away. "Securing another telecast is not critical, but it would be a boon. Duchess, send your ship and someone discreet and efficient. Maxian, you will make this talisman. I pray we find success, but this is a diversion from our real task."

The prince stared at the floor. Anastasia could see a vein pulse in his neck.

"Maxian?" Galen stood up, absently tugging his heavy tunic straight. "Aurelian will be fine. He is an able commander and well served by brave men."

Maxian did not answer. Galen watched him for a moment, then turned back to Anastasia and Gaius Julius. "You know what to do. Be quick about it."

"Yes, Lord and God," they said, bowing. The Emperor gathered up his notebooks. Maxian continued to stare at the floor, grinding one fist into the other. Galen waved the Duchess and Gaius out of the room. They left quickly, avoiding looking at the two brothers.

In the hallway, Anastasia motioned to the Praetorians to close the heavy, bronze embossed doors. The guardsmen did so, though no sound had issued from the room.

"Very wise," Gaius Julius said, sotto voce. He seemed pensive. "Do you need anything?"

"For what?" Anastasia's eyebrow arched in suspicion. She drew the cloak across her chest automatically. Just being this close to the ancient made her feel queasy.

"For this 'quiet' expedition to Egypt." He seemed very serious. "You've your own ships, I know, but if you need men, supplies, guides, money-let me know."

"Why would you help me?" Anastasia lifted the cowl of her cloak, settling it over her hair. The high-piled, ornamented coiffure was striking, but also inconvenient and heavy.

"I think the boy is right," Gaius said, still speaking quietly, as if they were two friends at a dinner party, sharing some confidence. Anastasia realized, with a start, the old man was worried. "The Emperor is tired, stretched thin. We need the speed these devices offer. The speed to know, the speed to react. Such a thing could be the difference between victory and defeat."

"They may not be there anymore," the Duchess said, warming-against her better judgment-to the twinkling-eyed old man. "Thousands of years stand between Pharaoh Kha'sekhem and ourselves. Time for many misfortunes to befall such a device."

"I know." Gaius Julius managed a half-smile, still worried. He looked back at the closed door. "But such a prize…"

Yes, Anastasia thought, bowing politely and turning away. But not one you will ever have!

The Duchess frowned, stepping down from the litter, a brace of handsome young men kneeling on either side to help her descend. Her courtyard was crowded with two large, overly ornate litters, an even dozen bearers lounging in the shade of her vine-covered walls stuffing themselves with bread rolls and sausage and a clutch of Praetorian guardsmen drinking her wine. She dismissed her own litter with an irritated wave, then turned to enter the Villa of Swans.

"Mistress!" Betia was at her side, a quiet ghost suddenly made flesh. Anastasia glared down at her maid. The little blond girl was dressed in a too-short tunic with bare feet, and her face glowed with perspiration. "The-"

"Empress Helena is here," the Duchess said, disgusted to see the Praetorians eating a picnic lunch in her foyer-eating from her silver plates and cups! "With her usual circus troupe…"

"Yes, mistress," Betia said, hiding behind the Duchess as Anastasia swept across the courtyard and into her home. "They arrived only a little while ago, with the two little princes."

"She's in the garden, I suppose." The Duchess paused, waiting for her servants to appear in the dimly-lit hallway. They did, taking her traveling cloak, her lace stole, the veil, removing her walking shoes. Betia knelt, fitting slippers to her feet. Anastasia felt a little better. The house was cool, where the streets of Rome in midday were swelteringly hot.

"No, mistress," Betia said. "The Empress is down in the gymnasium, watching Thyatis and Mithridates spar."

"What? Where are the boys?" Anastasia held out her arms, so Betia and another maid could dress her in a filmy, flower-embroidered silk half-jacket. "Aren't they a little young to be watching the gladiators?"

Betia smiled, her little oval face brightening. "They are in the garden, mistress, with the Empress' maid Kore to watch over them."

"Hmm." The Duchess waved away a young boy with a carafe of wine and a thin-shelled porcelain cup. "There is no rest for the wicked today."

Helena was eating grapes, reclining in a wicker chair among the pillars at the edge of the gymnasium floor. Like Anastasia, the Empress had shed most of her heavy, formal going-out wear, leaving the dark-haired woman in a gown the color of young aspen leaves, which set off the gold circling her wrists and throat.

"You're comfortable, I see." The Duchess lowered herself into a matching chair. Betia was already bringing another cup and more wine. It was cool and dim in the colonnade. No torches or lanterns were lit, the only illumination falling from high windows piercing the clerestory above the fighting floor. "Your men are well fed too."

Helena replied with a lazy smile, her cheeks bulging with grapes. "Mmph!"

"You look like a chipmunk," Anastasia said grumpily. She sipped the wine, then both eyebrows rose and she gave Betia a slit-eyed glare. "This is an excellent vintage! Are those thugs upstairs drinking the same?"

"No, mistress," Betia said, making herself very small and kneeling beside the chair. "Most of them wanted honey mead or wheaten beer."

"Huh. Barbarians!" Anastasia took another drink. She felt relieved to sit down.

A harsh, deep shout drew her attention to the sand. Thyatis, stripped down to breast-band and loincloth, was attacking, lean arms and legs flashing. The giant African, Mithridates, his wounded arm free of its bandages at last, was on the defense. The redheaded woman spun hard on her heel, leg lashing out. The African blocked, huge palm slapping aside the heel arrowing for his head. Thyatis bounced back, falling into a half-crouch. Mithridates advanced, bare feet sliding in the firm sand. He lunged, punching, massive fist blurring in the air. Thyatis weaved aside, flashed a kick at his stomach. He turned, catching the blow on rippling abdominals. A deep thwap sound hung in the air. The African snatched for the extended leg. Thyatis sprang up in the air, another ringing shout belling out, her heel snapping around at his head.

Mithridates threw himself back, rolling across the sand. Thyatis dropped lightly to the ground, landing on both feet and one hand. Her skin gleamed with sweat, but her breath was even and unhurried.

"Well done," Anastasia called out, clapping politely. Both of the fighters turned towards her, Thyatis brushing mid-length red-gold hair from her face. "Come and sit, I have business to discuss."

"Business?" Helena swallowed the last of the grapes and dabbed the side of her mouth with a cloth. "Should I go? Ooh… is it a secret?"

The Duchess made a point of ignoring the Empress, smiling at Thyatis as the younger woman sat down on the step between the colonnade and the sand. "You feel strong?"

"Yes," Thyatis said, running lean fingers over fresh scars along her stomach and side. "The arrow wound has knit clean."

"And you?" Anastasia lifted her chin to Mithridates. The African towered over all three women, but he seemed uneasy, standing a good distance away. "How is your leg?"

"Good," Mithridates rumbled, ducking his head. "That Gaul knew his business." He flexed his knee, muscles rippling under glossy mahogany skin. "Straight and true."

Anastasia nodded, pleased. She felt a brief glimmer of hope. "Something has come up, daughter. I need you, and Mithridates here-if you will help-to go to Egypt. You'll leave within the week, I think."

"Egypt?" Thyatis raised a pale gold eyebrow. She stood, shaking out her limbs. Nervous energy radiated from the young woman and she shifted her balance from foot to foot. The Duchess watched her expression change from interest to impatience to haunted memory in the space of two heartbeats. "The Caesar Aurelian is in trouble? Persian spies?" Thyatis tried to grin. She couldn't manage, settling for a grimace instead. "Someone needing to be made less… troublesome?"

"Sit down," Anastasia said softly. "You're making me dizzy. Mithridates, come over here where you can hear. I don't want to shout. Betia…"

The little blonde sprang up and darted off through the columns.

"…make sure we're not disturbed!" the Duchess called after her. "Very well. Here is the matter in a nutshell-there is a device in the Imperial Library-a telecast. Mithridates, you've not seen the damnable thing, but it allows a thaumaturge to view things far away. It has other powers as well, but the point is this: another such device, perhaps even two of them, may lie hidden in Egypt. The Emperor directs me to recover these objects. To this end, I am sending you, Thyatis, to find the missing telecasts, and make sure they do not come into Imperial hands!"

Thyatis squinted at the Duchess. Helena screwed up her nose and put down an eggshell-thin wine cup. Mithridates showed no reaction, but then he was habitually impassive.

"Pardon?" Thyatis smoothed her short hair back in a nervous gesture. She shot a glance sideways at Helena, who was watching Anastasia with a sour expression. "The Emperor is sending us, but we're to make sure he does not get the… devices."

"I'm more concerned," the Duchess said, "in ensuring Prince Maxian and more to the point, a certain Gaius Julius, do not get their hands on these devices. I am not going to say anything more about the issue, save I wish to avoid true danger. The Empire does not need to have any telecasts. One is trouble enough."

"Oh." Thyatis raised an eyebrow. The young woman's attention was still focused on the Empress, who said nothing. "Are we the only hounds on the scent?"

"For the moment." The Duchess felt weary again, leaning back in the chair. "With the god's luck, the Emperor will let me handle this myself. However, the prince Maxian is very interested in recovering the objects. He is making an amulet that will lead you to a telecast if you get close enough. I hope he will just hand the amulet over… but he may not. You may have company on your trip."

"Who can I take?" Thyatis cracked her knuckles, canting her head at Mithridates. "We're shorthanded-I'll need more help than this colossus."

"True." Anastasia pressed her hands to her eyes. "We've lost so many men-"

"I want to go," Betia said in a small voice, barely audible. She was kneeling beside the Duchess' chair again, having quietly returned from her circuit of the gymnasium.

"— lately." The Duchess pouted, thinking. "Perhaps those Gauls have not left Italy yet; they might help. I have a feeling old Vitellix can handle himself in a pinch. Or… we can recruit among the Eastern expatriates-some able men are likely to be found there. We can't trust anyone in Egypt, even the-"

"Mistress!" Betia managed to raise her voice, though Thyatis and Mithridates were watching her with amused expressions. The Duchess frowned at her maid.

"What is it, child?" Anastasia looked rather sour at being interrupted.

"I wish to go," Betia said, trying to look determined. "I can help."

"Hmm." The Duchess looked her up and down, seeing the girl's muscles were firm and lean, her wrists no longer spindly. The little German looked like she could run all day… and she is discreet. Quiet. Unremarkable… Anastasia considered the matter, tapping long-nailed fingers on the curve of the chair. She's no older than Krista was, when I sent her after the prince. The memory brought a pang of loss to the Duchess, but she pushed the emotion aside. The world is loss, she thought. Children age, go away, die. I cannot keep her safe and I need her eyes, hands, nimble fingers. "Who would do my hair, paint my face?" she asked plaintively.

Betia bowed in place, forehead brushing against the slick, enameled tesserae on the floor. "You've other maids, mistress. Maximia and Constantia can brush your hair, set out your clothes, clean, fetch and carry as well as I."

"Perhaps," the Duchess thought aloud. But they are not of the Order. You are my last ephebe. "I will consider this." Anastasia beckoned to Thyatis, who rose, pearls of sweat shining on her face and arms. "Daughter, prepare for a swift departure. You will need help. If there are willing, discreet, trustworthy men you know, bring them to me."

"Trustworthy men? In Rome?" Thyatis managed a bitter chuckle. "I will do what I can."

"Good." Anastasia nodded, dismissing the young woman. Thyatis bowed, then jerked her head at Mithridates. Both fighters padded off through the columned hall, scooping up towels, their sandals and tunics from beside the fighting floor.

"Well," Helena said, breaking the silence. She sounded particularly wry. "You must think me blind and dumb, to ignore treason and intrigue against the Emperor's expressed wish. My guardsmen sit at your door. They would be pleased, I think, to arrest all within this house." The Empress brushed a long, straight tendril of hair from her face. She seemed amused, but there was a steely light in her eyes. "My husband does need more coin, to fuel this war… your estates are varied and rich."

Anastasia nodded. "This is true. Come, let's go to the garden."

"The garden?" Helena remained sitting while the Duchess rose. "Why there?"

"I am tired of sitting indoors," Anastasia said. She waited, Betia in her shadow, until the Empress rose as well. Helena made a face, but scooped up the basket of grapes and tucked the wine amphora under her arm. The Duchess glided out, Betia running ahead to open the doors.

The garden was filled with pale, diffuse light. Thin drapes hid the sky, breaking up the harsh summer sun. Anastasia sat delicately on a pink marble bench, screened from the main garden by a trellis covered with flowering vines. Subtle perfume hung in the air and the sound of water chuckling over stones added an air of peace and contemplation. Helena also sat, placing the bowl between them. Betia had disappeared, though the sounds of children laughing hung in the air. Anastasia parted green leaves, looking into the grassy bowl at the center of her house.

"A cheerful child," the Duchess said, face lighting with a smile. "His colic is gone?"

"Yes." Warmth seeped into Helena's voice. "Sometimes he even sleeps through the night."

A baby boy was crawling on the soft grass, head covered with dark, flat hair. Another little boy, blond, perhaps two years old, was rooting about in the stream. His arms and face were covered with mud. Watching over both of them was a young girl of five or six, amber colored eyes watching the infant's every move. There was an air of sharp attention around her. She was dressed in a pale gold tunic, indigo hair spilling over thin shoulders. In the afternoon glow, her tresses gleamed like spilled ink.

"They seem to get along well," Anastasia said, a catch in her voice. There should be another little boy on the grass… "Who is the girl?"

"Kore," Helena said, sounding both pleased and possessive. "A refugee from the East. She served in the Bucoleon and escaped with Empress Martina. I found her on the Palatine, lost and crying. She is very diligent. They don't get away with anything!"

"I'm glad." The Duchess turned away, blinking to clear her eyes. "I'm glad you came today."

"Really?" Helena made a disbelieving face. "Were you going to tell me about this little plot of yours?"

"Yes," Anastasia said, nodding. "I need your help."

"Against my husband? I think not!" The Empress twitched her gown into line across her knees. "You had better have a good reason just for me to ignore what I heard today!"

"I do. Listen, Helena, I owe you a great deal, but I must ask another favor."

"I'm listening." An eyebrow rose skeptically. The Empress popped another grape into her mouth.

Anastasia fell quiet, clasping her hands. She stared off into the distance, across the garden, oblivious to the marble columns, the brilliant paintings on the walls, the unobtrusive servants waiting in the shadows, just out of earshot. Finally, she said, "My heart is troubled, Helena. I thought things were difficult enough, stepping back into this nest of snakes, taking up my old responsibilities." She shot a glance at the Empress, who had curled her feet up and was leaning back, stuffing grapes into her mouth. "You wanted me to cast aside the mourning cloak! You wanted me to bend my wiles upon the enemies of the Empire again! This is all your fault."

Helena made a muffled sound, and waved her hand in a get-on-with-it motion.

"Listen… you are a dear friend, and I am loath to keep secrets from you, particularly ones so involved with your husband's affairs. But… these telecasts are more than just a convenient window, more than just a toy. They are dangerous." Anastasia bit her thumb, worrying. How much to tell? "I wish… I wish we did not even have this one. By itself it is mostly harmless… but see how these men want another, and then another? There's the danger. In greed, and the desire for power… for a weapon to solve all their problems."

"So?" Helena wiped her mouth. She sounded vexed. "We need power, we need strength, we need an advantage! Persia presses us hard-you know how desperate our situation is. Aren't you loyal? The Empire needs every scrap of help it can get."

"I am loyal," Anastasia said mournfully. "To the Empire, to your husband-who is the Empire. To you, and your son. But… there are some things we should not disturb! There are-ah, I don't know what to say to convince you!"

"Huh. You're eloquent today." Helena curled a lock around her fingertip, closely examining each shining brown hair. "Let me try."

The Duchess gave the Empress a jaundiced look, but lifted her hands in surrender.

"Very well." Helena rubbed her nose. "First, there is more to you, my dear, than meets the eye, which is saying quite a bit since you are our master of spies and informers. Oh, don't look so shocked… anyone with half a wit can see the number of exceptionally fit young women passing through your house. No one believes they're your playthings-you are too partial to boys! I was watching Betia today, before you came. She and Thyatis were sparring. The little one is quick, very quick… where do they learn to fight like that?"

Helena laughed softly, watching the pained expression on Anastasia's face. "Don't tell me, silly. I don't need to know. But it is very beautiful, calming even, like watching water reeds bend in the wind. So, you are obviously mixed up in some kind of mystery cult, like half the women in Rome…"

The Empress ticked off a finger. "Unlike those idlers, however, you are probably in charge, or close to being in charge." A second finger rose. "This brings you privy knowledge and your cult is ancient, isn't it… old and powerful, investing so much in these young women, over countless generations. Just watching Thyatis move opens such a vista of possibilities…" A third finger rose.

"And because of this, you know secret things. Real secrets. Not gossip, not rumor, not stupid little lies about common, stupid people." Helena's face fell and sadness leaked into her eyes. Anastasia realized the Empress was speaking about herself and her correspondence.

"Helena…" The Duchess took her friend's hand. "I can't tell you these things…"

"I know." A bitter light flashed in Empress' eyes, but then softened. "Real secrets have to be kept, don't they? Not passed from hand to hand like an unwanted birthday present. So-there's something more to this telecast than just an ancient wizard's toy. Something dangerous. Dangerous to the Empire, or dangerous to your… friends?"

Anastasia's jaw stiffened and a bleak, exhausted look entered her face. "Dangerous to the world, Helena. Dangerous to everything that lives."

The Empress drew back a little. "Really?"

"Yes." Anastasia felt her stomach roil, even with such a sideways, oblique admission.

Helena took another grape-fat and juicy, red skin stretched taut over a ripe interior-and rolled it between her fingers. "You're not worried about Galen, are you? He has no time for these 'diversions' and 'toys.'" The Empress managed a reasonable imitation of her husband. "You're worried about Gaius Julius and his spidery old fingers."

No, Anastasia thought, I'm worried about your little brother-in-law and his reckless, blind hubris. But she said, "Do you want him to have even one atom more power and influence than he has today?"

"Not at all." Helena shook her head, drawing the stole around her shoulders as if the garden had grown cold. "I do not like the way he looks at me." The Empress stared out at the garden again, where little Theodosius and his babysitter were rolling on the grass, squealing with laughter. Her face was very still. "Each day, Anastasia, I pray Maxian remains without child."

The Duchess closed her eyes, turning pale. But Helena was looking the other way.

"If that day comes," Helena continued, voice cold as a German forest, "either the child or the prince will have to die. You may think me foolish-you may say Aurelian has a squalling brood-but the red-beard is not under the influence of that man." The Empress turned back to Anastasia. "I do not want to murder an innocent," she said, "but I will. So, I understand you and your fear."

Anastasia nodded. "My agents watch Gaius Julius every moment. His agents watch me and they watch you. So far, nothing untoward has happened, but it is a distraction. He is ambitious."

"My husband," the Empress said, voice lightening, "is very pleased with Gaius. He seems amused by the man, and impressed by his ability to solve problems, to deal with the minutiae of the Imperial process. Galen needs such an aide, an ally."

"Has Galen told you who Gaius is?" Anastasia was curious.

"Yes." The Empress' mouth thinned to a hard line. "He was excited, happy even. He is so pleased. You'd think Maxian conjured him up as a name-day present!" Helena realized her hands were clenched to fists. She forced them open, staring down at thin, half-moon bruises on her palms. "He wants to discuss literature, the histories, all the politics of the old Republic. Every day I have to come up with a new excuse to keep the snake from my dinner table. I'm sure he'd try for my bed next."

"Oh." Anastasia felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. "How nice." How Roman.

The Empress looked at Anastasia with a calculating, appraising expression. "We need each other more than I thought, Duchess."

"Yes…" Anastasia met her gaze. "We do. Secrets for secrets, then."

The Empress nodded, watching her son again. The little dark-haired girl looked up, saw them and waved. Helena waved back, her fierce expression starting to fade.

"I will keep yours," the Empress said. "And you will help me get rid of a troublesome counselor. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Anastasia said, though she felt a little odd. The little girl was watching them. She seemed familiar. The Duchess narrowed her eyes. Where have I seen her before? The girl turned away, just in time to pluck young Heracleonas from the stream, where he was trying to be a fish and breathe water.

"Lord and God?"

Galen did not respond. He was sitting at his desk in the workroom on the second floor of the Tiberian Palace, staring out one of the high, rectangular windows. The day was passing, blue sky beginning to shade towards evening. The city was busy-he could hear the dull murmur of voices, hammers, lowing cattle, sacred geese honking-unmindful of his splitting headache. The Emperor refused to cry out, though he could barely stand up. A shimmering wash of sparkling lights clouded half his vision, pulsing in time to the throb of his pulse and the crushing pain behind his right eye.

"Master? Are you well?"

Galen closed his eyes, though the piercing light remained. He licked his lips. They were dry. Maxian's anger had not abated, not even with Galen spending an hour-or two-in further, fruitless argument. Our course is so clear. At last the prince threw up his hands, shouting he "agreed" before storming out. Galen's headache split open then, like Zeus erupting from the groin of Chronos, and the Emperor was barely able to walk down the hall to his office.

Nilos and the other scribes, of course, were waiting, along with an endless supply of scrolls to review, edicts to sign, documents to approve. Barely able to see, the Emperor ordered them all out, producing a flurry of activity and then the too-loud trampling of many feet as his scribes and clerks vacated the office. The resulting quiet had not helped.

"Master?"

Galen opened his eyes, focusing on the worried, thin face of his head clerk. "What is it?" he whispered.

"My lord, perhaps you should go home. You seem… tired."

"That's very polite of you, Nilos." The Emperor exhaled with difficulty. "I have a headache with a name-the worst kind. Is there anything pressing?"

The Greek seemed uneasy and did not respond. Galen noticed the man had a stack of legal documents in his hands, wrapped with the dark red string the Palace staff used to denote manuscripts for the Emperor's attention. "What is this?"

"Nothing pressing, Lord and God," Nilos said, clutching the wooden folders to his chest. "You know… my cousin sometimes suffers from terrible headaches. He says it's like a vise crushing his temples."

"This feels that bad," Galen grated, squinting. "What does he do?"

"Goes to see a prostitute," Nilos said with a straight face. "Or eats Axumite beans."

"What is an Axumite bean?" Galen pointed at the documents. The motion made him feel queasy, but focusing on something other than his brother's pigheadedness was a welcome distraction. "That is a senatorial will, isn't it?"

"An Axumite bean," Nilos said, moving away and putting the stack of parchments on the far end of the marble-topped table, "is a little red bean from a green bush. If you chew them, many pains are banished. He says they help if you have a very bad headache."

Galen stood up and moved along the desk, supporting himself on the cool marble. "They help more than a prostitute? Do you have any?" He reached for the top folder.

"I know some," Nilos said, snatching the folders away from the Emperor. "But you should visit your beautiful wife. A most efficacious cure for many maladies! These things will wait until tomorrow. Or the day after."

"Give me the folder," Galen growled. "Or I will have you cut into tiny pieces by the guards. If this were Egypt, there would be crocodiles to clean up the mess, but I'm sure the circus is well stocked with hungry lions…"

"Yes, master." Nilos said, relinquishing his hold on the documents. He looked a little ill himself. "Should I find you some Axumite beans?"

"Wait a moment," Galen said, opening the folder and squinting at the closely-set lines of handwritten text within. It was a will. He flipped through several pages of declarations and invocations to the gods for a just and swift disbursement of the inheritance. "This is the will of Gregorius Auricus."

"Yes, Lord and God." Nilos clasped both hands behind his back and focused on a point above the Emperor's shoulder.

Galen's brow furrowed and the pain behind his right eye abated, driven out by intense irritation. His finger paused on the signatures at the bottom of the last page. "This was prepared by the very Gaius Julius who is familiar to us?"

Nilos nodded, though his mouth puckered up like a quince.

The Emperor considered the date of preparation and announcement in the Forum. "This is a revised will, replacing an earlier draft?"

The Greek nodded again.

"Does a copy of the previous will exist?"

"Yes," Nilos said slowly, obviously hesitant. Galen raised an eyebrow.

"Have you seen the previous will?" Another nod. "The benefactor was-"

"Lord and God, there were several…" Nilos' voice trailed off, then-faced with growing anger in the Emperor's face-he rallied and was able to say, "…temples devoted to good works, master. The Vestals, the Asklepian hospital on the Isla Tiberis, the funeral clubs for soldiers without families…"

Galen looked down at the document again. His entire body became still and quiet. "'All estates, lands, monies, investments, partnerships and shares previously owned by the senator,'" he read aloud, "'are now the sole property of one Maxian Julius Atreus, son of Galen the elder, an adult Roman male without living father.'" The Emperor paused, then continued in a stiff voice. "'To be administered and executed by his agent, Gaius Julius.'"

The clerk blanched a little at the tone, but nodded again. "Properly filed, master."

"Was it?" Galen closed the folder. "Yet all senatorial inheritances, particularly those without heirs of the body, must be approved by the Emperor. By me," he snapped. "Has my brother taken possession of this fortune, these estates?"

"Well… no, Lord and God." Nilos gained some heart. "But Master Gaius was already the senator's administrator and aide. He is already responsible for everything."

"Not now," Galen said with a sharp tone in his voice. "I deny this claim." He handed the folders back to Nilos, who was staring at the Emperor in surprise. "These properties are declared the property of the Imperial Household. All managers and foremen will be immediately replaced and an audit will be conducted to ensure the previous administrator has properly maintained the patrimony of the Emperor's beloved friend, Gregorius Auricus."

Nilos turned a little green.

"Do you understand?" The Emperor's poor humor disappeared, replaced by unsubtle anger.

"Yes, Lord and God." The clerk bowed, then crept out of the room. Galen did not notice his departure, for the Emperor was staring out the window again, across the massive buildings of the Forum. The city sprawled away to the edge of sight, a jumble of red-roofed apartments, shining temples and the imposing bulk of the Antonine Baths. He felt better, much better.

I am the Emperor of Rome, he thought, finding solace in the statement. I am the Empire.