The Storm of Heaven (84 page)

"What has happened?" Helena turned, concerned, as Anastasia let the curtain fall over the door. "Are you well?"

"I am awake." Anastasia did not smile, though she raised one white hand slightly. "I would like to ask you a favor."

Something in the woman's voice made Helena pause, though her first instinct was to say
yes, of course.
The Empress had a mother-of-pearl and silk fan in her hands. Helena bought a moment to compose herself by unfolding it. "What is it?"

Anastasia paused, seeing the subtle change in the younger woman, and she realized her retreat from the world had cost her more than she had realized. The Duchess sighed, feeling very old, and sat down on one of the padded benches that lined the walls in the little room. "I am sorry, Helena, I have no right to ask you for anything. I know you are disappointed in me, and I have already betrayed the Emperor's trust."

"Oh dear." Helena sat as well, her light linen gown folding under her. Even with today's games being an evening program, the Empress knew it would be dreadfully hot in the Imperial box. The marble seats and walls soaked up the heat of the day, then yielded it slowly as night came on. To compensate, she had adopted a confection of silk and linen designed by her seamstresses to be as cool as possible. Helena was sure that the Emperor would find it pleasing, too, since it exposed far more cleavage and bare shoulder than she wanted. The seamstresses wanted to get her pregnant again. Helena wrenched her thoughts around to her old friend. "Anastasia, you have my trust. This must be dire, then, to have you moping about in such a funk."

The Duchess nodded, keeping her hands clasped in her lap. "It is. My failures compound like bad debts, Empress. You have seen the young woman they call Diana, the fighter?"

"I have indeed!" Helena could not help but smile. "Along with the entire city, of course. Isn't she magnificent! Do you... wait. You know her?"

Anastasia nodded, and it seemed to Helena that the weight on her old friend grew even greater. "I do. She is... she is my daughter, my adopted daughter. One of the ones..."

"...you thought had been killed in the eruption." Helena pursed her lips.

"One of your agents."

"Yes."

"Why is she fighting in the amphitheater? That seems odd, even for one of your stratagems."

"It is not my plan!" Anastasia's voice was almost brittle. "She has been charged with crimes and sentenced to the arena. I have not been able to discover the nature of the charges; the court records are sealed or missing. I did not know where she was until I saw her myself the other day."

The Empress nodded, idly fanning herself. "You want her pardoned."

"Yes." Anastasia stared at the floor. A year ago, she would not have needed to ask. Her position would have allowed her to forge release papers, grease the proper palms, lean on the right officials. In another six months, perhaps, she would be in such a position of strength again. But not today. "Please."

"You," Helena said slowly, arching an eyebrow and putting the fan to her nose, "will have to ask Galen for this yourself. The Empress, no matter how wise and beautiful, cannot pardon criminals, even ones that have been falsely accused."

Anastasia paled, her fine-boned white hand going to her throat. "He will not speak to me."

"He will." Helena's eyes narrowed, glinting. "That much, I can promise you."

A muted roar suddenly intruded, the tumult of fifty thousand people standing and cheering. The stone bench under the two women trembled at the sound.

"The games begin," Helena said briskly. "Come with me."

Anastasia stared at her friend for a moment, then stood, taking the Empress' hand.

"Come, now," Helena chided, "he rarely bites!"

The light was failing as Thyatis rolled out onto the sand, standing in the back of a silver chariot garlanded with bright flowers. Four pure-white horses led the high-wheeled vehicle, their manes twined with ribbons, tall plumes of feathers bobbing over their heads. Night was beginning to climb into the eastern sky, and the roar of the crowd, welcoming their new hero, rose up like thunder.

"Hail, Amazon!" they screamed, round faces lit by a fading golden glow. Long, slanting beams of light fell through the arches on the western side of the arena, shimmering in the dust raised by the day's fights. The people in the upper seats were standing, shouting, their arms raised. In the lower ranks of seats, where the patricians sat, the crowd was quieter, though there was still a drumming of feet on the stone benches.

"Hail, Amazon!"

Thyatis flicked the reins and the horses picked up to a trot. The chariot sped across the sand, wheels grinding across dark red stains and the rake marks left by the slaves who smoothed the floor between each bout. Raising her hand, Thyatis greeted the crowd. They met her with acclaim, their voices huge, like the gods roaring in the heavens. Coins and flowers and tokens filled the air, thrown by eager admirers. They pattered on the sand like rain. Behind Thyatis, four more chariots came, carrying her fellow Amazons. Candace smiled for the crowd, too, though Agrippina was more concerned with keeping her footing in the chariot.

"Hail! Hail! Hail!"

Thyatis raced the horses to the entry tunnel, feeling the hot, close air of the arena rush past. The horses were glad to run and she swerved to a stop, throwing a spray of dust and sand into the air. It hung, glowing gold in the late-afternoon light, and she sprang down. Her armor was cinched tight and close, clinging to her supple body like a skin. Blood fire hissed, filling her limbs with strength. She felt glorious, invincible. "Hail!" she cried.

The other chariots rolled to a stop, the slaves in the tunnel darting out to take the reins and lead the white horses away. Thyatis looked over her sisters, nodding to each one. She tightened a strap here, adjusted a helmet there. The women's eyes were filled with fear. Some of them could barely stand.

"We fight together," she barked. "We survive together. Do not try to run, or hide or beg for mercy. Together, we will triumph." She turned away, pacing across the sand towards the Imperial box. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Ila in the tunnel mouth behind an iron grating. Thankfully, Hamilcar had forgotten to tell the magistrate in charge of the amphitheater that a very small new Amazon had been added. She stopped, legs firmly planted, before the marble wall of the Imperial box. This time they had given her a helmet, an open-faced thing, chased with silver and gold, with copper wings sweeping back over her shoulders. For all its glamorous appearance it was heavy and unwieldy. Facing the Emperor, she tucked the helmet under her arm.

"Hail, Emperor of the West. We who are about to die, we salute you. Let our blood, spilt in these holy games, give rest to the uneasy dead. Hail!"

Twenty feet above, the figure of the Emperor looked out upon the expectant crowd, which had grown silent, hushed, and raised his hand. It was white against the darkness of the box. The sun was setting quickly. Crystalline spheres rose all along the rim of the amphitheater. Each burned bright and the whole bowl of the massive building was lit as if by day.

"Let the game begin!" The Emperor's voice rolled out, magnified by the shape of the Imperial box and the cupped bowl of the building. His words echoed back from the statues crowning the arena wall. No sooner had they died than a rising moan filled the air, a magnificent and unearthly sound. A dozen men worked the levers and stops of an enormous water organ, calling forth a sound like the gods speaking.

She turned, sliding the helmet onto her head. Already the arena was filled with the rattle and clank of the elevators. Figures were rising from the sandy floor amid wooden structures that aped walls and buildings and an arched bridge. The torchlight glinted from armor and helmets. Thyatis looked to Candace, seeing the Nubian woman drawing her sword. Agrippina held hers in both hands like an overlarge cleaver.

With a rasp, her
gladius
rippled from its sheath. Now there was nothing but the sight of her enemy, moving tentatively towards her over the sand. This would be her last moment of respite. She stopped, raising her sword to the sky, saluting her enemies.

"Avete, morituri estis, vos saluto!"
she shouted, and the crowd, hearing her words, gave forth with a bellow of appreciation. The sky rang with the sound.

The skyline of Rome glowed with fading sunlight. On the uppermost deck, the great sails and their masts shimmered with red and gold. The sailors had drawn them in and were busily lashing them down against the night wind. Maxian, shrouded in gray and black, strode across the pine deck with Gaius Julius at his side. The Prince paced his usual circuit, ignoring the cheers and howls that rose up from below. The rising and falling sound of the mammoth water organ rumbled, making the decking tremble. Bending low at each copper bead, the Prince checked the wood around each sphere. This time, the pine was not discolored. The markers had achieved a balance with the Oath.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Gaius Julius' voice held an interested but distant tone. The Prince shook his head, rising from the last bead.

"No," he said, distracted. "Watch over my body. See that I am not disturbed. If I fail... then I think it will be obvious!" Maxian shrugged the black cloak away. Now they were standing directly above the Imperial box, though it was at least a hundred and thirty feet below. "Are you going to be in the stands, watching?"

Gaius Julius shook his head. He was trying to avoid Imperial attention. "I've done my part for the celebration. This effort of yours concerns me more."

The Prince settled himself onto the deck, arranging his legs and arms just so. He faced outward, across the breadth of the arena, toward the statue of Jupiter the Best and Greatest. The marble figure glowed pearlescent in the failing light, looming large amongst the statues that ringed the interval between the forth and fifth sections of seats. Maxian breathed out slowly, then drew a deep breath. Despite the roars of the crowd and the thundering of feet on the seats, he let his mind empty.

"What happens if you fail?"

The Prince opened one eye, glaring at Gaius Julius, but then both opened. The old Roman had a pensive look on his face and seemed, of all things, to be worried. "What is troubling you?"

"Nothing." Gaius turned away, waving a wrinkled hand in dismissal. "It's nothing."

"Tell me." The Prince sketched a sign in the air with his finger. It gleamed blue for a moment, then faded. The symbolism broke apart the forms he had begun to draw around him in the hidden world. Power beginning to flow to him dissipated, spilling across the wooden planks, dripping down into the air over the crowd. Some of the citizens packed into the seats below looked up, puzzled by some half-heard noise or flash of light. Maxian stood, facing Gaius. "You were going to ask me a question the other day, when I was working in the seats."

"Yes." Gaius Julius turned back, shading his eyes with a raised hand. The setting sun grew enormous, a vast, flattened red disk as it touched the western horizon.

"What is it?" Maxian's voice was tinged with anger. He did not want to be delayed. He had no time for idle chatter. The pressure of the Oath against his shields was very low, barely more than the rush of water over gravel in a stream, but he would have to raise himself into the full flood once more if he was to accomplish his task.

"Why am I alive?" Gaius Julius was nervous. "You could not make Krista live, or the little Persian. Not like Alexandros and I are alive. We think for ourselves, we feel pain, hunger and fear. How did this happen? Are you a god, guised in mortal flesh, that you can bring forth our
spirit
from dead clay?"

Maxian stepped back, surprised by the vehemence, the sorrow, the pain in the old Roman's voice. "Don't be absurd! I am not a god."

"Then why do we live?" Gaius Julius' voice was sharp. "How did you do this?"

"I don't know!" Maxian let his own anger show. The thought had tormented him for a long time—why could he bring the two men to full life, complete with humor and mirth and joy, when Krista became only a dead thing, a corpse that walked, something to be controlled, guided by his will alone? "There is more
power
in you than dwelt in Krista or Abdmachus. Perhaps that gives you spirit—your legends are strong, eternal. Who knows the names of a pretty slave girl and an exiled necromancer? No one! But you—you and your Egyptian queen, your conquests, your books—they are known to everyone! And Alexandros!" Maxian's voice gained a brittle, furious edge. "Who does not know him?"

"Our legend?" Gaius Julius looked stricken, his face filling with comprehension. "O you cruel gods... That statue, it looked just like
him
, the other looked just like
me
. And I... I am old and bald, my face wrinkled... what fickle memory made him young!"

Maxian stared at the older man in incomprehension. Gaius laughed, seeing the puzzlement on the Prince's face. "You don't see? You just spoke the truth! You gave our
legends
flesh, not our mortal selves! I am... what they made me, the historians, and the gossipmongers, my enemies in the Senate. I am what the puppy Octavian enshrined!"

The Prince stepped back, disgusted and frightened as the unflappable old man suddenly began to weep. Then he realized it was laughter drawing tears from Gaius Julius, not grief. The words penetrated, at last, and Maxian's lips quirked into a smile. He understood. "Then praise your nephew, for his adulation has given you new life."

Gaius Julius just nodded, choked with bitter laughter.

"A mystery solved, if it is true." Maxian settled himself again, turning his back on Gaius. Again, he raised his hands, marking a sign in the air. The Prince shut all thoughts of Gaius and his mysteries out of his mind.

"Now go away, he's busy."

Gaius Julius, who had started to turn away, stopped, surprised. The voice seemed to come from the Prince, but it had a distinct accent, far different from the Prince's provincial Narbonensis twang. The old Roman stared at Maxian, then looked all around. No one was anywhere near. Shrugging, he hurried away, smelling a familiar sharp odor building in the air.