The Dark Lord (98 page)

Maxian shook his head. "I've already told you what I intend. Though your company would be welcome, there's no need for you to spend weeks sleeping beside dusty roads on the way south." His hand searched among a collection of bronze and iron knives, finding an ancient dagger stained with a glossy green patina. As he touched the worn ivory hilt, he could feel a commanding shout ring from the iron and glimpsed a man in old-style Legion armor standing in a line of men under a brassy, bright sky.
You will do,
he thought, sliding the blade into a common leather sheath and stowing it in the bag.

"Fine," the Empress said, crawling onto the bed, silk rustling as she moved. Her feet were bare and her formal stole and veil were discarded carelessly on the floor. She grinned up at him, arching her back and wiggling her taut bottom from side to side. "Shouldn't you keep an eye on me, lest I get into trouble while you're gone?"

The prince looked at her quizzically, then a slight frown drew his lips down. The setting sun turned cold in his dark eyes. "You would never get into trouble," he said in a flat tone, turning his attention back to the odds and ends he had arranged on the bedspread. Martina flashed him an angry look, then her eyes widened and she stiffened. For a fraction of a grain, she was perfectly still, then she blinked and sighed again.

"I'll miss you," the Empress said, curling both feet under her. Tapering fingers plucked at the hem of her silken gown, rolling seed pearls and tiny golden pomegranates over her nails.

"I know," Maxian said, favoring her with a distracted half-smile. "There are some things I need you to do while I am away. Get your notebook."

Obediently, Martina padded from the bed to fetch a heavy wooden plaquette from her dressing table. The covers were edged with wear-blackened leather and sheets of parchment oozed from the sides. Opening the heavy book, she frowned prettily, searching for an empty page. Finding space to write, Martina drew a fine brush from the thicket of gleaming curls behind her ear. A small copper cup, plugged with wax, was affixed to the spine of the book. Dipping her brush, the Empress looked up, sleek hand poised to write.

"Nine of the iron drakes in the foundry at Florentia," Maxian began in a brisk, concise voice, "are ready to fly. Winnow the pilots down to eighteen and send them south to meet me in..." He paused to think. "Eleven days. Tell them to find me on Aetna—they shouldn't be able to miss the mountain if they can find Sicilia itself."

He closed the bag, snapping a clasp worked with the serpent and caduceus of his order. "You remember Cenni—our young artist? He's made some builder's drawings for me, when I could tear him away from casting scales and ever-more-frightening eye shields for our sky serpents." The prince laughed indulgently. "I want you to split the workshops into two projects—divide the artisans by skill, and set half and half to work—one group on the next set of iron drakes, the others on the 'turtles.' Cenni should take charge of the workshops and foundries—he knows my desire."

Martina nodded, hand moving quickly over the paper.

"There is another matter as well—Gaius Julius will be able to help, I think—we are using more iron ore, copper, coal, tin and lumber than the harbor facilities at Pisae can easily support. Moreover, a great deal of our raw materials come from Illyria and Gothica." Maxian sketched an arc in the air before him. "Which means the ships must sail all the way round Italia to reach our port at the mouth of the Arnus. Now, there is currently a half-surfaced road over the mountains to the north of the city, which goes to Bonnonia on the Po river. I want you to arrange a levy to widen and repair the road and prepare for the movement of goods, men and supplies directly from Illyria through the port at Arminum."

Martina continued to write, now continuing on to a second page. Maxian scratched the edge of his jaw idly, thinking. "We will need to expand the foundries and put in more workshops as well. There are several blocks of flats and tenements to the north of our current
fabrica
. Have them all torn down to make way for new buildings."

The Empress looked up in concern. "What about the people living in the apartments?"

"Build them new ones," Maxian said, frowning. "On those hills south of the river. They can double-bunk in the workers' dormitories until then."

Martina nodded in agreement and continued writing, her head tilted to one side.

Galen entered his private rooms, closing the heavy ironbound door behind him. The Praetorians in the hallway nodded good night, wary eyes watching the hallway for assassins. The Emperor—who usually shook his head in dismay at their paranoia—took a little solace from their vigilance tonight. The prospect of a knife stabbing from the dark, or a sudden rush of feet in the avenues of the city, now seemed quite likely.

Once he would have left such matters in the care of his Praetorians, trusting Anastasia to watch them in turn. Now—with the Duchess and Gaius Julius each plotting against one another, and losing valuable magical devices over what he was
sure
was a personal dispute—he didn't trust anyone.
We could have used another telecast,
he thought, though his mood was much improved.
But I do not think the Persians gained from our loss.

A number of candles burned in his study and in the bedroom, each wick fluttering in a cylinder of bubbled glass. They cast a warm, watery light on the domed ceilings. Galen kicked off his sandals, letting his weary feet find solace in the deep piles of carpets covering the floors. With a conscious effort, he set aside thoughts of his office.

"Husband?" Helena did not look up from her writing desk. "Where have you been?"

"In the room of the telecast," he said, shrugging his heavy toga to the floor.

"You spend too much time watching that... thing," Helena said as she looked up. Her dark eyes widened in pleased surprise. "What happened to you? You look... you look well!"

Galen laughed, feeling the last of his cares driven away by the perplexed expression on her face. He collapsed on the bed, head towards her. She rose from her desk and sat beside him, thin fingers tracing the line of his face and neck. "I feel refreshed," he said, and in truth he felt almost giddy.

He had walked through the winding hallways of the Palatine with a spring in his step, greeting surprised clerks and ministers with a cheery wave and smile. Some of the men had shrunk away from this glad apparition, scarcely able to believe the evidence of eyes and ears. Galen slid his arm around Helena's waist, drawing her close with a sudden, pleased squeak.

"Husband! What are you—
mmmpph...
" The Empress found herself drawn down into a lasting embrace and kiss, Galen's hands sliding up under her blouse. "Galen..." Helena found her attention occupied again and was delightfully forced to momentary silence.

Some time later, the Emperor propped his head up on a pillow, watching his wife rooting around among a great deal of discarded clothing, searching for her earrings and bracelets. Somehow, they had been stripped from her arms and neck and rolled away under the writing table, the bed, even into a side room where the privy seat stopped one particular bauble from complete escape.

Feeling his gaze, Helena looked over her shoulder with a coy expression. She fluttered her eyelashes. "Yes? Is there something you want?"

"Not right now," he said in a lazy, satisfied voice. "In a glass or two, I might find the strength to rise again."

The Empress flipped her hair, flipping shining auburn hair over her bare shoulders. "Oh," she said, "I
doubt
that!"

Galen smiled, but the thoughts of the day intruded and he groaned in disgust.
I should forbid all thoughts of the State within these four walls! But could I follow my own rule?

"Don't start," Helena said, groping under the bed for her slippers. "I'd prefer this strange interlude to last as long as possible."

"Have I been so foul?" Galen made a face, guessing the answer.

The Empress' head rose up over the edge of the bed with one eyebrow eloquently raised. "Have you? I am shocked to get anything from you today but grunts and an aura of exhaustion so complete, budding flowers wilt as you pass by. What happened to... ah... perk you up? Is there good news?"

"No." The Emperor laughed, smoothing back his hair. "In fact, the Persians are not stopping. They are coming right at us with a fleet and an army." He sighed. "Send a letter to Marcellus tomorrow, telling him to empty your summer house and move everything up into the hills."

"What?" Helena found her blouse and tugged the fine linen over her head. "Why?"

"The Persians plan to land their army at Catania," Galen said in a wry, almost disbelieving voice. "No more than a mile from your villa. I think the gardens will be fairly trampled, if not outright destroyed."

"Ah!" The Empress made a foul, disgusted face. "And you're happy?"

"Not about that, no." Galen felt the giddy edge to his thoughts fade. Even the warm, happy afterglow of tumbling his wife was fast receding. He scratched his left eyebrow, feeling an old, familiar pain hovering. "Nothing about the war pleases me. I would gladly trade the villa at Odyssea Akra for peace, but... I think the house will just be destroyed, like so many other things. But we can rebuild a house. I feel good because—because Maxian used his power to banish my exhaustion and fatigue." The Emperor nodded to himself in wonder, sitting up.

"He did what?" Helena unraveled sweaty knots in her hair, staring at him in surprise.

Galen spread his hands. "A green flash—and weeks of little sleep and too many worries are a distant memory. At least for a moment."

"Hmmm." The Empress' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I suppose he'll be making you more muscular next, with a better nose..."

"Hah!" Galen started to laugh, then raised his fingers to his eyes. "Oh. He did fix something..."

"What?" Helena made a horrified face. "I thought you seemed...
larger...
but that is just unnatural!"

"No!" The Emperor swatted her thigh. "My eyesight was shortening—I didn't even notice—but now I can see the faces of the senators on the steps of the Curia from my office."

The Empress shook her head, regarding him with a wary, suspicious glare. "I would not trust your brother's judgment, husband. You see what he's done to poor Martina... she's... she's
artificial
! And I don't think she remembers a difference between how she was and how she is."

"She's happier," Galen said, chewing his lower lip. A black thought disturbed his momentary contentment.
What could our piglet do, if he put his mind to mischief?
"Or, at least, she seems so."

"I don't think," Helena said in a sharp voice, "he asked her first."

The Emperor shook his head. He had no idea. "Helena... I need you to do something for me."

"Again?" she said with an arch look, running her hand up his thigh. "I thought you needed another glass to recover..."

Galen caught her hand and raised her palm to his lips. "Not that," he said, feeling grim reality assert itself and she sighed, seeing his face change. "I want you to take Theodosius and his nurse and your maids and leave the city. Tonight, if you can, and secretly. Tell no one—in fact, take only little Koré—you can find a new wet nurse in—"

"No," Helena said softly, pressing her fingers to his lips. Her eyes were very large. "I won't abandon you here among these wolves."

"Please," he started to say, but she stopped him again.

"I will not," the Empress said firmly. "The Persians will not reach the city. They will be defeated—and I will not stay away again, distant from the battle, wondering and waiting, listening for the sound of a courier's horse to bring me the news of victory or defeat." Her lip began to tremble and Galen took her in his arms, holding her close.

"Helena, I'm not worried about the Persians. We have enemies in the city."

The Empress stiffened in the circle of his arms, raising her head. "Who?"

Galen shook his head. "I've only suspicions, love. I know nothing yet. But I want you away from here, and somewhere safe. Narbo, perhaps..."

"I won't," she said, pushing him away. Grudgingly, the Emperor let her go. Helena wiped the corner of her eye, leaving a black smudge on her temple. "You're saying there is a plot against you. Some overmighty lord desiring the red boots?"

Galen managed a barely perceptible nod. She responded with another icy glare.

"Well, then,
husband
, you can have me gagged and bound and bundled away in a sack to Narbo to sit—in chains!—in your drafty old house where there is nothing to read and holes in the ceiling and then—and then—you can worry these conspirators have crept up and kidnapped me at the other end of the Empire, where you'll have no idea if I'm well or sick or dead or having an affair—and don't think I won't if I find a strapping young shepherd lad—and I
could
be here, in your own apartments, where you can find me each night, waiting patiently for you to come home, and rubbing your feet and making you feel better—and you would know that I am safe, and our son is safe and everything is all right with the world." She finished with a sniff and looked away, arms crossed over her breast.

Galen stared at her for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Well..."

Helena turned her head, eyes bare burning slits and gave him such a venomous look the Emperor said nothing, then or later.

A long time since I've ridden this road.
Maxian let the horse set her own pace, trotting along the grassy riding path beside the Via Appia Antica. The road struck south from the city, regular as a mason's rule. His spirits lifted as the spotted mare ambled along. The moon was rising, casting deep shadows below the rows of cypress and poplars lining the highway. Fields and farmyards stretched away on either hand, quiet under the night sky. Even the temperature was pleasant, the heat of the day fading and cool winds tousled his long hair.

The simple act of leaving Rome lifted his spirits. The city was close and hot and filled with sullen, dispirited people. Maxian made a conscious effort to ignore the voices whispering from the air. They wore on his temper.
Gaius Julius can fend for himself,
the prince thought,
for a time. He certainly doesn't need me looking over his shoulder. And what would I see? Ledgers, accounts, long litanies of works and favors and debts. Bah!