The Dark Lord

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

The Ianiculian Hill, Roma Mater

"Hsst! Get back." Betia retreated slowly from the street corner, making a shooing motion with her free hand. Thyatis backed up, left hand tense on the hilt of her spatha, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Shirin had caught the warning. The Khazar woman was already two paces back, watching their back trail. The lane was narrow and badly paved, scarred by gaping potholes and overhung on both sides by three- and four-story buildings. Even at midday-with a perfectly clear blue sky above-the passage was dim and grimy.

Betia eased into a building entryway. Even with the litter of rinds and broken wine bottles and discarded chicken bones underfoot, she did not step wrong or make a noise. Thyatis filled most of the space with her broad shoulders, while Shirin occupied the rest, enveloped in a patched gray cloak. All three women were sweating, for the heat today was particularly fierce and the city was slowly baking in a humid mash of sweat, rotting garbage and wood smoke.

"There's an entire cohort of legionaries on the street ahead, breaking down the door to someone's house with a ram." Betia's voice was clipped and precise. "I don't think we should go that way."

"Our destination?" The redheaded woman looked thoughtful.

Betia shook her head. "No. Next door. A house of the Gracchi, I think." The girl frowned. "You saw the broadsheets posted on the port notice boards?"

Thyatis nodded. She had, though at the time she'd been more concerned with guiding their longboat through the maze of canals in old Ostia without running into someone or something and pitching them all into the fetid, gray-green water. "There are proscriptions."

"What does that mean?" Shirin's voice was tight where Thyatis had assumed a slow drawl. Everyone had their own reaction to the tense, frightened atmosphere in the city.

"Lists of traitors," Betia said, keeping her voice low. Thyatis could hear the crash of wood splintering and people screaming now, even with such a goodly distance between themselves and the house of the Gracchi. The streets were entirely deserted and silent, she realized.

"When there is trouble," the girl continued, "or the Emperor needs gold, lists are posted of those who have committed crimes against the state. They must defend themselves in court, which costs money of course, or they are executed out of hand and their properties confiscated. But nothing like this has happened for decades."

Thyatis felt grief welling and clamped down hard on the useless emotion. "Not since Galen became Emperor," she bit out, though she'd had no intention of speaking.

Betia nodded, her own face shadowed. Shirin kept quiet, though she'd seen the black bands on the arms of the legionaries in the port and at the city gates. Even the temples they'd passed had been silent and in the rare occasion they met someone on the street, no greetings were exchanged and the passersby avoided eye contact, hurrying on as fast as their feet allowed.

"We need to get into the house," Thyatis said, forcing herself to action. "If only to see if it is empty. The Duchess may have fled elsewhere and left a sign."

"How?" Shirin looked up at her friend, and Betia frowned also. "The street…"

"Up. We're on the same side of the street, right?" Thyatis said, stepping to the heavy, four-paneled doorway behind her. Her fist tested the latch and found the door barred. She felt around the edge, pressing at the cheap wood with powerful fingers. "Keep an eye out," she said over her shoulder, one hand reaching under her woolen cloak.

Shirin backed up, biting her thumb. Thyatis produced a iron pry bar and sighted one end-fitted with a shovel-like spike-just above the latch mechanism. "Anyone coming?" she muttered.

"No," Betia said. Thyatis swung the bar in a short, controlled blow. Wood thumped and screeched as she bent her shoulder into the bar, twisting the iron down and sideways. Splinters screwed away from the wood and Thyatis grunted. There was a popping sound, and she levered the bar down. Something went clunk in the passage.

Smiling faintly, Thyatis pushed the door open. The corridor beyond was quiet and dark. She stepped inside.

Leading with the point of her spatha, Thyatis glided across a plain tile floor, flitting from doorway to doorway. Despite a heavy, encompassing quiet, the house did not feel empty to her. Frightened to silence, but not untenanted. Shirin followed, her feet bare and then Betia, a dark gray ghost who barely disturbed the air with her passage.

Thyatis paused at the head of a stairwell leading down to the cellars and her long nose twitched. She jerked her head towards the opening and the other two faded into the gloom of a nearby alcove. The tiny statue of Pan did not mind their proximity and Thyatis crept down the stairs, feeling the slowly building tic-tic-tic of bloodfire coursing in her veins.

A moment later, her head appeared on the stairs and she beckoned her companions down.

— |-

"Hello, mother," Thyatis said softly, stepping between two stout pillars streaked with brown water stains. Anastasia's head jerked up as if she'd sat on a nettle and an incredulous, glad smile bloomed in her tired, pale face. The redhead grinned broadly, making a sketchy bow towards the other woman lying on a cot against the wall.

"You…" Anastasia squeaked, crushed in a powerful hug. Thyatis held the Duchess close for a long moment, her eyes stinging. "…I can't breathe!" Anastasia managed, though her own embrace was just as tight.

"Sorry." Thyatis let go, holding the Duchess at arm's length. Her face settled into a concerned, grim mask. "I'm sorry we're late. The winds were against us for the return voyage from Alexandria."

Anastasia tried to tuck back her hair-grown entirely matted and snarled-then gave up. "I had hoped you wouldn't come here," she said, dabbing at the corners of bloodshot, violet eyes, indicating the house, the city, Italia. "But I'm glad you're alive." The Duchess peered around Thyatis and then she did start to sniffle. "Oh, Betia-you're here too-and you must be… Shirin." Anastasia put her hands over her face and sat down abruptly, only managing to gasp for breath between uncontrollable tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"Empress?" Thyatis knelt beside the still, quiet shape on the cot. Helena did not respond, though her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. The redheaded woman turned, saw Betia and Shirin sitting on either side of Anastasia, trying to give her a handkerchief, arms around her, heads bent together. "I heard about the Emperor," Thyatis said softly, taking the Empress' hand. The fingers were very cold and clammy, like a fresh-caught fish. "I'm sorry he is dead. He was a fine man."

Helena's eyes moved, tracking slowly, and she mustered a breath, though the effort seemed enormous. She met Thyatis' troubled gaze with her own and the younger woman stiffened. There was such a depth of sorrow and grief in the dark brown eyes, she could barely stand to meet them herself.

"Hello," the Empress said, the sound rising from a great, unguessed depth. "You are Diana, aren't you?" Her attention seemed to focus, though again the effort was slow. "You were filled with rage… and sorrow. I remember you, in a garish room clouded with lotus smoke and scented oil."

Wordlessly, Thyatis nodded, remembering a wild, desperately lonely night.

"You must take my son," Helena said, a feeble gleam of light sparking in her dead eyes. "You were swift on the bright sand, striking down your enemies like a whirlwind. You can take him away from all… this."

Thyatis half-turned, searching for the Duchess. Anastasia met her eyes and nodded, lifting her hand. "Little Theodosius is here." She beckoned with the damp handkerchief. A young girl appeared from the gloom, tiny, sharp hands on the shoulders of a toddler, guiding his steps over the uneven paving stones. "But we are all who have survived, so far."

"What about the servants in the villa of Swans?" Betia's young face seemed old and grim.

"Gone." Anastasia made a motion with her hand-casting grain upon the waters. "Some safe, I'm sure, but others… there have been many executions." Her voice faltered. "The morgues are too full to hold them all," she said in a despairing voice. "Wagons fill the streets, jumbled with the dead. They are burning them in the fields south of the city. In the rubbish dumps." The Duchess stopped, unable to continue.

"Who is doing this?" Thyatis clasped her hands over the Empress' cold fingers.

"The dead make more of their own," Helena answered and the tiny bit of strength in her voice grew. "The histories say he was ever generous to his enemies and openhanded and rescinded every edict of banishment, pardoning all crimes-real and imagined." She managed a hollow laugh, holding only the bare memory of her cutting peal. "Sulla or Tiberius never made Rome bleed as he does…"

"A man named Gaius Julius rules the city, in the new Emperor's name," Anastasia said quietly. "He has the support of the Praetorians, the crime syndicates, the Urban Prefect, even the Senate. Yet he is being thorough, ensuring no living enemy will oppose his rule."

"Who… who is the new Emperor? What happened to Aurelian and Maxian?" Thyatis shook her head in disbelief.

The Duchess' lips quirked into a cold smile. "Aurelian lies dead in Egypt and Maxian is our Lord and God-though I doubt he knows yet. The young Emperor, who we once seemed to know so well has gone south to Sicilia. We have heard…" Anastasia shrugged her shoulders. "…he has gone to deal with the Persians 'once and for all.' Or so the gazette says, if anyone will dare the Forum to read what is written there."

"Sicilia?" Thyatis and Shirin exchanged a puzzled glance. "The Paris passed Messina only days ago-there was no sign of battle or war." The redheaded woman scratched her ear. "Though there were many galleys in the port."

"Rumors," Anastasia said. "My networks of informers and spies have been devastated by Gaius' purges-one of the reasons, I'm sure, he's being so brutal. He must be searching for me, for us, with every man he can trust."

"How long have you been here?" Thyatis let go of the Empress' hand and stood up.

"Too long." Anastasia sighed, clasping her hands together to keep them from trembling. "It took us a good two days to get here from the Palatine-the streets are thick with informers and patrols-and we had to rest. So four days in all." She smiled at the little girl, who had settled beside Helena, letting the sleepy little boy crawl into his mother's arms. "Only Kore had the strength to get over the wall and let us in."

"We had better leave," Shirin said, rising from the cot. "They're already going house to house in this district."

Thyatis nodded, considering both Helena and Anastasia with a worried expression. "We'll go as soon as it gets dark. Kore seems to have the boy in hand, Betia can scout, and you, Empress, I will carry on my own back."

"No," Helena said, clutching her son to her breast, one hand slowly stroking his hair. "I am not well. I've never been an athlete and these last two days have used me up. I barely have strength to rise from this bed, much less manage flight. But my son-you will him get out of the city and out of Italia." The Empress raised her head, fixing Anastasia with a fierce glare. "The Duchess knows a safe place, I think. One far from Rome where a little boy will be safe from his enemies. Send him there."

Anastasia stiffened, face pale as bone. She said nothing, only staring aghast at Helena. Her expression brought an almost-normal laugh from the Empress, who laid her head back down afterwards, exhausted.

Thyatis looked from one woman to the other, but neither said a word. She turned to Betia and Shirin, who shrugged. They didn't follow the aside either. "Right," muttered Thyatis, poking at some pots and pans filled with cold oatmeal. "Let's find a place to make a hot meal before we go. Never know when you might get one again, eh?"