The Dark Lord

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Roma Mater

"Mistress, you must wake up!" A small, firm hand gripped Anastasia's shoulder and a flare of candlelight fell across her sleepy face. The Duchess blinked, recognized alarm in the girl's voice and struggled to clear her mind of sleep. Yawning, she sat up, throwing back a light sheet. She had slept poorly-the night was too warm for comfort.

"What has happened?"

Constantia ducked her head nervously, a candle bobbing in one small hand, the other holding back gauzy netting draped around the couch. The maid was half-dressed in her nightgown and the sleeping porch was entirely dark. Anastasia made a face, seeing the waning moon high in the sky. What time is it?

"One of your watchers came to the garden gate," Constantia said, words tumbling over one another in a rush. "The Praetorians have marched out of their camp without horns or trumpets, weapons muffled in cloth, cloaks drawn over their faces."

The Duchess came entirely awake, the fog of sleep blown away. The cantonment of the Imperial Guard was on the northern edge of the city. No more than two hours march from the Forum. "What about the Urban Cohorts?"

Constantia licked pale, pink lips. "Another runner came-the Urban Prefect sent his men home last night, their barracks are locked and deserted."

"Oh, black day," Anastasia grunted, rising from the couch. "Get me clothing-quickly now, child! And boots, not slippers. And a watchman's lantern. Maxentia!" The Duchess' clear voice rang through the pillars and halls. "Where are you?"

Without waiting for her maids, Anastasia hurried across an octagonal gazebo redolent with orange blossoms and into the villa itself. By the time she reached her winter bedroom, both girls had returned and the cook stuck her head in one of the doors, holding a lantern high.

"Good," the Duchess said, seeing the older woman. "There will be trouble in the city today," she said briskly, "and perhaps riots. Mallia, everyone must get out of the house before the sun rises-scatter the slaves to our farms, and everyone else should go stay with their relatives. Everyone should discard any token of service to this house, or to the Archer! Constantia, where is my purse?"

The maid pressed a heavy leather bag lined with silk into Anastasia's hands. She considered the weight of metal, wondering how badly things would go. "Maxentia, dress for travel and take one of the horses down to Ostia port before the city gates are closed to all traffic-which will be soon! Tell my agent in the port to close his shop and warn off any of our ships making landfall. Anyone in port should go to… to…" She scowled, failing to think of a safe harbor. "…to safety!"

The Duchess sat, tying back a cloud of unruly hair, her legs sticking straight out. Constantia buckled riding boots onto her mistress' small feet. Anastasia glared at the cook and the other maid. "Go! Now! There is no time to waste. Not today."

Wiggling her feet into the boots, the Duchess nodded. "Good enough. Now, Constantia, there are many papers in my study and I have to leave immediately. You must take everything marked with blue twine away to the house on the Ianiculan Hill-I will meet you there later-and all other correspondence must be burned and the ashes sifted. In particular, you must destroy all of the pay records. Do you understand?"

The girl swallowed nervously, but nodded. Anastasia fixed her with a steady glare, plush lips tightening in consideration. Will she do this properly? I hope so. There's not time for a more thorough evacuation… and Betia is not here. Curse the snip of a girl for haring off on some useless adventure!

"I will be back later," the Duchess said, waving Constantia away. "Get busy, child!"

When the maid had run off down the hallway, Anastasia knelt and dragged a heavy wooden box from under her bed. Inside, she found a sheathed knife and the leather and wire apparatus of a spring-gun. Gritting her teeth, the Duchess hid the knife in the girdle of her tunic and stola. The oiled leather arm brace of the spring-gun still fit on her left arm-which surprised her, so long had it been since she donned the weapon-and the release ring fit snug to her thumb.

The glass is spilling too fast, Anastasia thought as she pushed the garden gate closed. The sky was still dark, without even a hint of the sun behind the eastern mountains. Hushed voices and the clatter of men and women moving baggage followed her down the narrow alley.

"Halt! Who goes there?" A rough shout filled the night. A young man on a well-traveled horse reined in, letting the stallion puff and paw on the street pavers. Torches flared, casting a wayward red glow on the faces of soldiers barring the gate. The young man pulled back the hood of his riding cloak, revealing rugged features and light brown hair.

"My name is Ermanerich," he called to the legionaries milling about in the courtyard of the house of Gregorius Auricus. "I've just arrived from the north with messages for Master Gaius Julius. Is he here?"

"He is!" boomed a commanding, glad voice. "He is here, young prince!"

Gaius Julius himself pushed through the crowd of soldiers, face brimming with a smile. The Goth swung down from his horse and tentatively embraced the unfamiliar Roman. Gaius brushed dust from the prince's riding cloak and raised an eyebrow at Ermanerich's stubbled chin and vexed eye.

"Well met, my lord," Gaius Julius said, "a propitious night for you to come, but I'm surprised-"

"To see me?" Ermanerich glanced around, puzzled by the appearance of the legionaries standing at arms. They were dressed differently than the Easterner legionaries or even his own Goths. They were taller, stockier, with fur-lined cloaks entirely unsuitable for the Roman summer. He leaned close to the older man, still unsure why so many men would be out-armed and armored-at such an hour. "Alexandros bade me find you straightaway when we reached Rome… should I return at another time?"

The old Roman winked saucily, shaking his head. "Tonight, you need to be here with me, and I bless the gods who set your impatient feet on the road to Rome. What of your men?"

"Still a day's march away," the Goth growled, suddenly impatient. "I have received many letters from the Emperor, urging speed. Are we truly supposed to be in Messina now? Is it true the Persians are landing at Sicilia?"

Gaius Julius made a quieting gesture. "Pax! This time of year, you're only three days from landfall at Messina by sea. If your Goths need be there, I will arrange ships to carry you."

"Fine. Who are these men?" Ermanerich kept a hand on his horse's bridle-the stallion was tired, but still game, and the young Goth was not a man to mislay fine horseflesh. Particularly not among these Roman scoundrels. Everyone seemed on edge and there was a harsh, brittle smell in the air, reminding him of the last hour before battle.

"These are men from the Legio Eight Augusta," Gaius said, moving towards the gate, his voice rising as he moved. "These Gallic Bulls have come down from Germany as reinforcements-and never more welcome than tonight!" The old Roman hopped up on a step just inside the wall. "Soldiers of Rome," he called out, drawing the attention of every man in the courtyard. "You've come to answer your Emperor's call to battle, ready to throw the Persians back and seize victory for the city, the Senate and the people. But tonight-as your officers and I have just learned-you've a more desperate task." Gaius looked around, resting one hand on Ermanerich's muscular shoulder. A hundred men, or more, looked back, tense and attentive. "We've learned there is a mutiny among the Praetorians in their camp beyond Tiburtina. Rebellious cohorts are marching on the Palatine, intending to murder the Emperor Galen and acclaim their own tribune, Motrius, as king instead!"

A hoarse shout and a growl of anger answered the bold words and Gaius Julius nodded, gauging the men's response. "Yes-a black act of treachery against the Senate and the people, against you, whom Galen has always favored, always supported. Who has seen your pay raised? Galen! Who has increased the size of the retirement allotments? Galen!"

The legionaries answered him with a fierce shout, some clashing their spears against breastplate or shield. The old Roman swung his arm, pointing south across the city. "But we will not let them spill the blood of the Princeps or his family-no! We march to the Palatine ourselves, with haste, and we will find these traitors and we will cut them down like dogs, scattering their weak limbs, their corrupt hearts as grain is cast upon the threshing floor!"

"Aye!" boomed the legionaries and their officers were among them, shouting for order and quiet and a column of twos. Gaius Julius hopped down, flashing a quick smile at Ermanerich, who gave him a suspicious look.

"What is this?" the Goth whispered, clutching the dispatch bag to his chest. Everything seemed to be losing focus, as if the earth under his feet turned unsteady. "What are you doing?"

"Come on, my young friend," the old Roman chaffed, grasping the saddle horn of Ermanerich's horse. "This nag will take two riders!"

Shaking his head, the Gothic prince led the horse from of the gate, letting the column of troops jog by, then mounted, reaching down to pull Gaius up. As he did, Ermanerich leaned close. "Where are these troops from? From Germania? How many are here?"

"Not so many as I feared, thank the gods," Gaius answered, settling in behind the Goth. "I managed to convince two of the Legion tribunes to turn around and march back north. These men are part of the lead elements of the Eight."

Ermanerich glanced over his shoulder in surprise. "Who watches the Rhenus, then?"

"No one," Gaius Julius answered, his face bleak. "No one at all."

Her skirts clutched in one hand, Anastasia bolted up a flight of stairs, taking them two and three at a time. The way was dark and very narrow, forcing her to turn sideways at each turn, a sputtering lamp burning her hand. The top of the passage was closed by a door and the Duchess paused, catching her breath. No time for subtlety, she thought, measuring the ancient termite-carved wood. She braced herself, then slammed a shoulder into the panel.

Old plaster moldings squealed and cracked, shattering and spraying dust and paint across a tiled floor. Anastasia kicked the splintered boards clear, thankful again for taking proper cavalry boots reinforced with iron strips in the uppers and soles. Bending down, she squeezed through the opening into a short, richly appointed hallway. To her right, a painted, carved door swung open.

The Duchess darted forward, catching the edge of the door and stepped inside. The woman opening the door cried out in alarm and staggered back. Empress Helena-like Anastasia before her-was still waking up, barely clad in night-clothes. The Duchess slammed the door behind her and threw the locking bar.

"Get dressed," she snapped at the Empress, who was staring at her in befuddlement. "Go on!"

The Duchess leaned against the door, concentrating, listening for alarms or noise. Grimacing, she drew the knife from her girdle and settled the heavy bone hilt in her hand.

"What-what is happening?" Helena found a quilt and wrapped the patterned cloth around her thin shoulders. Anastasia, seeing her bare feet, became very irritable.

"Put on some shoes," the Duchess hissed, casting around the room for something suitable. "Good ones, not those flimsy slippers you're always wearing." Her eye lit upon a pair of stoutly built sandals. Anastasia snatched them up and threw them to the Empress, who fumbled the catch but then managed to gather them up. "Where is your son?"

Helena pointed wordlessly at a connecting door as the Duchess' grim tone and bared weapon finally registered. Anastasia eased the side door open, hearing a warning hiss. She stepped back, pushing the door wide with her boot. The nursery seemed empty and dark, but the lamplight from the bedroom picked out a pair of blazing green eyes crouched under little Theodosius' bed.

"Come, we'll have to leave quickly." The Duchess made a sharp gesture, her tone brooking nothing less than obedience. The eyes blinked, then a little girl-no more than six-darted out, unkempt black hair falling glossy around scrawny shoulders. Kore held Theodosius on her back, his round fingers clutched about her neck. The boy was almost as large as the girl, but the maid had no difficulty carrying him. "Do you need shoes?"

Kore shook her head, sidling along the wall towards the door. Helena caught her hand, white feet dwarfed by the pair of sandals. Anastasia realized they must be Galen's. "There's no time to do anything but run," she whispered, striding to the outer door. "Where is the Emperor?"

"I don't know," Helena replied, her voice tight with fear. "He left a little while ago-there was an urgent message…"

"Put out the lamp." Anastasia could hear a commotion through the door.

Darkness folded around the three women, Helena shaking soot from her fingers.

Grunting with effort, Ermanerich ground his spear into the Roman's chest, iron scales snapping under the pressure, blood oozing between armor plates. The Praetorian gasped, crimson flooding from his mouth and the light in his eyes died. A cavalry spatha clattered from his nerveless fingers. The blade was nicked and chipped, ornamented with a long streak of red. Silence suddenly replaced the clash and din of men grappling in combat. Gaius Julius stepped into the chamber, waving back two German legionaries poised with javelins at his side.

"These are the last of the traitors, I think," the old Roman pronounced gravely. Making a show of careful consideration, he stepped among the bodies of the dead, turning some over with his boot. "We were just in time," Gaius Julius said to the men crowded into the doorway of the Emperor's study. The corpse at his feet had long, dark hair and sun-bronzed features. "This was Motrius himself, now sent to Tartarus as he deserves."

Ermanerich wrenched his spear from the dead Praetorian against the door, letting the body slump down the gold-chased panel. The thrust had scored the wood, leaving a dark smudge. Gaius Julius tested the latch, finding it solidly closed.

"They did not have time to break in," he said, waving back the Germans. Two of their officers were staring around in awe-at the busts of past Emperors and philosophers, at two grand paintings on wooden panels held up by bronze tracks on the facing wall. Gaius was fond of them too-one showed the triumph of Aetius the Great over the Huns in vibrant, almost living color, the other diabolical Odysseus before the shattered walls of Troy, accepting the surrender of Priam and his noble house. "Carex, take your men and search the floor for survivors-some of the traitors may have escaped. Phalas, your maniple should go downstairs and secure the main hall. The servants and slaves will be in a panic, I'm sure. Calm them down. Tell them order has been restored."

Both officers nodded, then rousted their men out of the hallway and outer rooms. Somehow, a great deal of damage had been done in the brief melee, with crockery shattered on the floor, and tapestries and drapes torn down. Gaius watched them depart and was sure every man had managed to scoop up something valuable in the brief confusion.

"No use counting the silverware," Ermanerich said ruefully, watching the closed door, his spear held lightly in both hands. "They'll be carting out the statuary next."

"They won't have a chance," Gaius said, keeping his voice low. He was carrying a gladius, still sheathed, in his hand. He had not drawn a weapon in anger for a long time, but believed in the healthy exercise of caution. "My men will escort them back out of the city within the hour and see they're well supplied with food, wine and women." The old Roman smiled tightly. "Their pockets will be heavy enough with the Emperor's gold, in gratitude."

Ermanerich nodded absently, still watching the door. Alexandros had warned him to beware the Romans and their politics. The young Goth felt much, much better to have a weapon in hand and the prospect of a solid, material enemy to fight. "Is there another way out of here?"

"Perhaps." Gaius Julius shrugged. "This mausoleum must be riddled with hidden passages. Every Emperor wants to keep his secrets." He tested the latch, then raised an eyebrow at the Goth. Ermanerich nodded in agreement, then both men set themselves and slammed into the door together.

Wood splintered with a crack and the panel gave way. The door bounced back from the wall, and Gaius Julius stepped into a darkened passage. Broken bits of wood crunched under his feet. Ahead, lamplight glowed in a richly appointed chamber, and a familiar man was standing at the foot of a bed heaped high with pillows and silken quilts.

"Master Gaius," the Emperor said, drawing his own sword with a soft rasp. "And… you must be Prince Ermanerich of the Gothic nation."

Pale smears of light streaked the eastern sky as Anastasia crept from behind a hedge. She listened carefully, but heard nothing but the distant crash and rumble of delivery carts on the city streets and the thin squeaking of bats fluttering through the stone arches of an aqueduct rising a hundred feet to her left.

"Quickly now," she whispered to the two women behind her. Kore crouched at her knee, little Theodosius swaddled in a rug and pressed tight to her breast. Helena knelt behind the maid, short hair loose around her neck and hanging in her eyes. Anastasia glanced around again, then hurried down a path between long ranks of cypresses. Their feet crunched on gravel and then padded on dirt. The path descended steeply, running down a long strip of garden flanked by the monumental platform of the Severan Palace on the right and an insula of exclusive flats on the left.

"Where is my husband?" Helena's voice sounded drained, coming from the darkness like a ghost's cry. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe, I hope." Anastasia slowed, searching with her hands along the wall to the left. After a moment, she found the outline of a door and pushed. Old leather hinges creaked and she smelled lye and soap and hot water. "Galen will have to find his own sanctuary, I fear."

Kore ducked past the Duchess and into the dark passage. Helena stood on the path, her face a barely visible oval delicately touched by the first reflection of dawn. Anastasia beckoned. "Helena! We must get away from here quickly before events sweep you and your son away. If you are taken, Galen will be a captive to your safety even if he remains free."

"Who did this?" The Empress' voice was hoarse. "Is this mutiny?"

"Conspiracy," the Duchess answered, tugging at Helena's sleeve. "Which may have failed by now-I sent warning to the right people, I think-but we'll not risk being seen until I know how things have played out."

Stumbling and listless, the Empress let herself be led into the passage and Anastasia shoved the door closed behind them, hoping no one had marked their hasty exit from the palace.

Ermanerich stepped lightly into the bedchamber, automatically drifting to the left to clear the door, while Gaius Julius stepped to the right, giving the Goth room for his spear. The Emperor watched them with a faint smile on his thin face. His habitual nervousness had dropped away like chaff. For his part, the young Goth felt even more at sea than before. The flurry of events following his arrival in the city had left him dizzy. Only the steady, solid presence of Master Gaius-a man whom Alexandros had said he could trust, absolutely, in all things-kept Ermanerich from fleeing in terror. He'd never been on the Palatine before, not without his father in attendance. Everything was so… huge.

"We discussed," Gaius said, thumbing the loop away from the hilt of his gladius, "sending you into exile, to tend a plot in some remote province, far from Rome and the centers of power."

"Cabbages?" Galen turned slightly, tension draining from his shoulders as the air in the room grew sharp. "I detest them, fresh or boiled, though I appreciate the thought." The Emperor tilted his head slightly, watching Gaius Julius directly, though Ermanerich remained in his peripheral vision.

"There is an air of tradition to such a fate," the old Roman said, sliding his blade from the sheath. "But I am afraid simple mutilation would not keep you from trying to reclaim all…" Gaius swept the gladius around in a sharp arc, "…this. We cannot afford any disorder, not now."

"What is this treachery, then, but chaos unbound?" The Emperor's voice was sharp. "Do you expect mutiny and murder to save you from the Persians? To reclaim our lost provinces?"

"This is already over," Gaius Julius replied, trying to keep his voice level. "You, sir, though a noble Roman and a fine gentleman, are too blind and shortsighted to be allowed to rule. You have sent the State rushing toward oblivion by appalling judgment. Our only hope to succor the Empire is to set you aside!"

The Emperor laughed, unable to believe his ears. "And you-the new Emperor, I'm sure! — will conjure victory? How? Where are your armies?" Galen made a violent motion with his sword and Gaius and Ermanerich both stepped back in alarm. "You will grapple with the same constraints of men, time, ships, taxes… every burden that has weighed upon me, will weigh on you threefold. The Legions will not accept you as Augustus and God, dead man, and there will be civil war. Then how will you keep the Persians from marching through the Forum in triumph?"

Gaius sighed, casting a sidelong glance at Ermanerich. "There will be no civil war," Gaius said, turning his attention back to Galen. Now the old Roman felt tired-drained by the rush of events-and he was in no mood to explain himself. Yet, he thought, I do owe this man something for his courtesy and trust. "Within the hour, there will be a new Emperor, acclaimed by the Senate and accepted by the army. Life will go on. Taxes will be collected, tribute given to the gods… all as it was, and shall be."

Galen started to speak, but Gaius Julius moved-quickly! — and his blade was at the Emperor's throat, the shining tip pressed against the side of Galen's carotid. Ermanerich flinched, his spear rising reflexively, but then the iron point wavered.

"What is going on?" he asked plaintively. "Who is this man?"

"I wanted to wait," Gaius Julius said, ignoring the Goth's question. "There seemed no reason to rush-twenty years could pass without inconveniencing me-but you…" Trembling anger finally cracked the old Roman's controlled tone. "…you have become such a dangerous, meddling fool! You've stripped the German frontier bare, abandoned an entire province to the Gaels and Picts! What in Hades were you thinking? To send more Legions to the butcher's mill down in Sicilia? To give the enemy more corpse-soldiers!" A finger stabbed at Ermanerich, who almost flinched in reaction. "You ordered the Gothic Legion to Catania, to oppose the Persian invasion. Are you mad?"

Understanding flared in the Emperor's eyes. "I did not summon the Rhenus Legions to Rome to fight the Persians, you ass!" A sneer curled across his face. "The Goths were ordered to Messina, to stand in reserve in case the Persian fleet broke past Maxian and his flying machines! I hoped they would be reliable in the face of the enemy, giving my brother support on the land if his efforts in the air failed."

Gaius Julius blinked. The Emperor's eyes narrowed. "The Rhenus Legions were called home because I feared a conspiracy-and now I can guess whom you suborned on my staff…" Galen spit on the floor. "Bastard of a Greek… I freed him myself. A pity I didn't know the Eighth was already here or our situations would be reversed." He sighed. "I should have listened to Anastasia."

"You ordered those Legions to Rome to suppress… me?" Gaius Julius licked his lips. The point of his gladius dropped away from the Emperor's neck.

"I should," Galen said in a brittle voice, "have had you and Alexandros killed as soon as I knew of your existence." The Emperor nodded politely to the young Goth, who had stiffened at the threat to his friend and sword-brother. "Your pardon, Prince Ermanerich. I fear you've fallen into the company of traitors…"

"Why didn't you?" Gaius Julius feel a queer pressure in his temples and tiny black dots swam in the corners of his vision. He felt unaccountably grainy, as if the air itself were wearing against him. "The Duchess, at least, must have told you who I was if you'd not guessed yourself."

The Emperor's face changed, revealing deep melancholy. "You were my heroes," he said, voice thick with emotion, "Daydreams of youth remain even with the old, and you are both here-giants out of history-throwing down all enemies, conquering nations, driving back the darkness of barbarism. When I learned who you were, Gaius, I was… so pleased. Here is my idol in living flesh, and I can speak with him; discuss literature, history, politics! What a joy!"

A faint, bemused smile flickered across the Emperor's haggard face. "No greater surety has a king, than knowing Alexander of Macedon commands his armies in the field. I worried about Aurelian every day, but never about the Gothic Legion, never! My faith was unshakable, for he is Alexander!"

Gaius Julius started to speak, then felt a trembling at his chest. His hand clutched on the prince's amulet, still on a silver chain around his neck and found the metal burning hot. "Ah!" He stared around the room, suddenly cognizant of a black mist filling the corners and darkening the shadows. "The Oath!"

Ermanerich's eyes were quick, darting from the old Roman slumping towards the floor to the Emperor to the spreading discoloration on the floor around Gaius' feet. Sorcery! his mind screamed, flooding with fear.

Without thinking, the Goth lunged forward, powerful arms thrusting and the leaf-bladed spear plunged into Galen's side. The Emperor gasped, face draining of color, and Ermanerich felt the spear point scrape between bone. For a moment, everyone was transfixed, a tight little tableau of a dying man and two murderers looking on. Then, with a sigh, the Emperor slipped from the spear and crumpled to the floor at the foot of his bed. A thin stream of blood fluted from the spear point.

Gaius Julius staggered, clawing at the air, then fell down himself. The Goth leaned over him in concern-nothing seemed to have touched the old Roman-but his face and hands and neck were withered with age. A hot, bright spark glowed on his chest and smoke curled up from the prince's amulet. Ermanerich's fingers moved towards the peculiar object, then jerked away.

"It's burning!" he blurted, stunned. Reflexively, the Goth made a sign against evil.

A grain passed, then two. A cough wracked the old Roman's body and his eyes fluttered open. "Ermanerich…" he wheezed. "Carry me to the Senate building, to the Curia. There is work to be done."

"Not dead, are you?" The young Goth approached Gaius Julius cautiously and prodded him with the tip of his boot. "What happened?"

"Help me up!" The old Roman tried to lift a hand and failed. He closed his eyes. "While we were each certain of our cause, the Oath let us settle things ourselves and neither Galen nor I intended anything but the best for Rome." Gaius coughed wetly, scowling at fresh spots of blood on his sleeve. "By the gods, he nearly had me with pretty speech… I'd almost changed my mind."

Ermanerich lifted the old man. He was very light, barely skin and bones. "Watch your head." Turning sideways to get through the door, the Goth edged down the hallway and into the study. A group of heavily armed men loitered in the outer room, though none were legionaries. Each wore, however, a dolphin sigil in silver on his breast.

"Sad tidings, my friends," Gaius Julius proclaimed, letting Ermanerich stand him up. Gaius' guardsmen stared at him with interest. "Guard these doors and let no one enter! A bleak day for Rome, but not one without hope. The Emperor lies sadly dead, but before the sun rises, the Senate shall acclaim another."

As it happened, the sun was just climbing among the peaks of the Appenines when Gaius and Ermanerich and an ever-growing crowd of guardsmen and supporters reached the doors of the Curia. Down in the maze of buildings around the Forum, only the rooftops were glowing apricot with the first touch of dawn. Two ranks of Praetorians blocked the entrance to the Senate House and the Goth slowed, seeing the legionaries held bared swords and spears. Standing nearby, a brace of men in crimson cloaks and high, horsetail-plumed helmets surrounded a woman in regal garb.

Martina started with surprise when she saw Gaius Julius' troubled face in the torchlight.

"What happened?" she exclaimed, hurrying through the ranks of her own guardsmen. Gaius Julius managed a wan smile, but his weight was almost entirely supported by Ermanerich's powerful arm and shoulder.

"There was fighting in the palace," the old Roman said in a loud, carrying voice. The men on the steps of the Senate tensed and their officers moved forward, recognizing the Eastern Empress and the visage of one of the Imperial ministers. Gaius clutched Martina's proffered hand and bowed his gray head over her rings and bracelets. "Empress, I am surprised to find you here, and afraid I must give you poor news in public."

Everyone grew quiet; the tradesmen rising early to attend their shops and workshops passing through the Forum Romanum slowing their pace, eyes and ears drawn by the torches and grim-faced men arrayed on the steps of the Curia.

"Motrius, commander of the Imperial Guard, attempted to take the princeps Galen hostage tonight and claim the purple for himself." Gaius' voice grew stronger as he spoke and he winked at Martina. Relieved, she squeezed his hand in return. "By good luck, the guardsmen within the palace remained loyal and their valiant sacrifice bought time enough for news to reach me and allow some cohorts of the noble Eighth Augusta to run to the Emperor's succor."

A murmur ran through the crowd and behind the ranks of Praetorians on the steps, the great ivory doors opened a crack. Someone looked out, listening.

"The traitors have gone to a just reward," Gaius continued, his voice ringing from marble facings and pillars. "But we came moments too late. The Divine Emperor, our Lord and God, lay dying, though the dog Motrius had fallen as well, struck through by the Emperor's own sword, which has ever been ready in the defense of justice and freedom and against tyranny in all lands."

A stunned silence followed the words, and Gaius Julius bent his head, as if he hid tears with the folds of his bloody toga. For a moment, no one moved, and then one of the centurions among the Praetorians stepped forward.

"Who will lead us now?" the grizzled veteran asked of the crowd. "We are at war and the Emperor's son's too young to take up the laurel crown. Someone must lead Rome while we strive against Persia." The man turned to Gaius. "Did the Emperor say aught, when you found him?"

Gaius Julius shook his head, grief plain on his old face. "No, my lords. He breathed his last as we fought to his side. He said nothing."

"What of Aurelian?" Someone in the crowd called out. "He is Caesar, though absent. He will rule!"

Many of the tradesmen and passersby shouted in agreement, but the commander of the Praetorians-now joined by a clutch of senators newly dragged from their beds-shook his head. "A double tragedy," the centurion said, "for news has recently come from Egypt. Aurelian is dead, slain in defense of Alexandria itself."

"No!" A great moan rose and many of the senators on the steps cried out in fear and alarm. Men in the crowd gathered on the plaza ran away through the streets, shouting the news. Gaius Julius frowned after them, and motioned with his head to some of his guardsmen. The mercenaries loped off, hands on their knives.

"Do not despair!" Gaius Julius climbed the steps, one hand on the small of Martina's back, dragging her along. The Empress flushed, then hurried to catch up. Ermanerich was happy to remain in the crowd below, leaning on his spear. Exhaustion from the long, endless night was beginning to wear upon him. He'd ridden ten leagues, seen his men encamped, then plunged into this…

"Emperor Galen was a wise man and foresaw many paths fate might take. Beyond brave Aurelian, he also titled his younger brother Caesar. Now, with Theodosius an infant, the law says Prince Maxian should rule until his nephew is of proper age."

"But where is the prince?" the crowd murmured in response to the plaintive cry.

"Fear not, my friends," Gaius responded, pitching his voice so even the washerwomen at the back of the steadily-growing crowd could hear. "Prince Maxian has taken the field in Sicilia, where we have lately learned the Persians plan an attack. But the prince and his Legions wait in ambush, where the Persians do not expect them. He will seize victory from the jaws of the Cylcopes and bring home many captives, and much tribute, to honor great Rome!"

The frightened muttering died down a little. Gaius Julius turned to the senators clustered before the doors of the Curia. "Noble senators," he said, drawing their walleyed attention. "I abhor haste in all things, but this dawn we must move swiftly to assure and ease the troubled minds of the public. I call on you to open these doors and let the Senate enter, so Maxian-the young prince-may be proclaimed Augustus and God, Emperor of the Romans!"

Watching from below, Ermanerich pursed his lips in a slow, thoughtful whistle. At the old Roman's words, the Praetorians herded the senators back inside and Gaius and the Empress Martina entered, flanked by a hedge of men in armor, swords drawn. A great commotion rose inside the building, which was filled with the light of many lamps. It seems the headmen have already gathered, the Goth thought, allowing himself to be pulled along by the crowd surging up the steps. How did they know? Lest they were told aforetime…

Gaius' singular voice rose above the din, filling the hall with calm surety and determination. Senators milled around in a white cloud like so many sheep adrift on a hillside. Ermanerich forced his way out of the crowd, taking up a vantage just inside the doors. The Praetorians had recovered themselves and now began shouting and pressing back the common citizens who wished to look upon the deliberations of the mighty.

What geese these men are, the Goth thought sourly. This Gaius is a shrewd man-yet I would take care buying a horse from him! Aye, and count all four hooves and tail too, before silver left my hand…

The doors closed with a heavy thud and Ermanerich settled in to wait. These Romans had seemed prepared to deliberate and debate while the day came and went and the sun rose again. But he did not leave quite yet, though his men marched southward at a steady pace, for Ermanerich wished to be sure of events before he went once more to war.

"A thousand years is not too long to wait," Gaius Julius said sotto voce to Martina, who sat beside him on a marble bench, "for proper respect." The old Roman clasped the hands of one of the Senators, who emerged from the crowd in the Curia, muttered something about his "sympathies" and confided his support for the prince's imminent deification. Martina looked demure and grief-stricken for her brother-in-law's demise, answering the man's politeness with her own.

The crowd moved and the Empress stole a moment to glare at Gaius. "You didn't have to kill him," she whispered, rosebud lips twitching into a very pretty grimace. "I liked Galen! He was always polite to me and kind to my son."

"I did too," Gaius answered from the side of his mouth. "Necessity makes its own demands."

"Very well," she said, forcing a smile for the next of the magnates circulating in the crowded, hot room. Outside, the sun was well up, making the Forum shimmer, and even a system of constantly rotating fans suspended below the ceiling did little to alleviate the heat. "You can tell my husband what happened to his brother. A brother," she said, voice cracking a little, "he loved very much."

Gaius started to say, it was him or me, then restrained himself. He had a very good idea where the Empress Martina's priorities lay and they did not necessarily include an old Roman dictator who happened to have escaped death by a very fine hair. Instead, he nodded somberly. "I will tell the prince. He will judge these events as he will."

One of Gaius' guardsmen approached, nervous without his weapons; the Praetorians had recovered something of their equilibrium and now surrounded the Senate House with a double ring of armed, angry men. The man bobbed his head, trying to draw attention without interrupting.

"Over here, Verus. Stop that, you look like a duck." Gaius Julius turned away from the Empress, leaning close. "What news?"

"Not good, sir." Verus screwed his face up. The old Roman gave him a withering stare. "We've searched the Palatine from top to bottom-" The man's voice dropped like a stone into a well. "-there's no sign of her or the boy. None. Like she just… vanished."

Gaius Julius grunted, his face sliding into careful immobility. He pinned the man with a furious glance. "How long," he said softly, "have Empress Helena and her son been missing?"

"Since…" The man gulped. "Last night. One of her maids says she went to bed at the usual hour!"

One eyelid flickering, Gaius Julius turned away, waving his hand in dismissal. Martina was watching him, her perfect face tinged with feigned concern. Her limpid brown eyes seemed very cold. "Well? What did he say?"

"Nothing we can do anything about now." Gaius Julius felt his stomach slowly unclench. This is what haste gains you, my lad, he chided himself. But our nets will scoop her up. "Your good friend Helena, in her grief, has disappeared."

"Has she?" The Empress of the East's lips curled back from white, white teeth. One smooth hand drifted across her breast, coming to rest with long fingertips on her clavicle. "She'll hide with friends, won't she? Where else would she go?"

Gaius nodded, spying a storm cloud of perspiring senators bearing down on him. He stepped away from the Empress, smiling genially, yet with the trace of profound regret appropriate for such a terrible day.

"Good," Martina said to herself, wondering how much longer she would be forced to endure this heat. She began to smile, spirits lifting. "Their names will be on one of dear Gaius' lists and when the arrests and executions begin, they will beg for their lives and she will be yielded up, trussed like a… a summer sausage!" Then her face fell again and she had to fight against gnawing on a nail. I never meant Galen ill! Stupid, reckless Gaius Julius! She sighed, feeling very lonely. I miss my husband, she thought morosely, but the image in her mind was neither Maxian nor Heraclius, exactly.