The Dark Lord (27 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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