The Storm of Heaven (97 page)

The crowds in the stands around the turn were on their feet, clamoring, their applause for Hamilcar's feat ringing to the sky.

"Little mouse? Where are you?" Vitellix moved into the room with caution, leading with the point of his long knife. Anastasia's men were supposed to have killed or subdued all of the Blue grooms, slaves and hangers-on who had been waiting in the stables. That didn't keep one of them from escaping and waiting in a closet with a hay fork.

The main room was large enough for three chariots and their teams at once, a huge vaulted hallway with a dirt floor to spare the horses' hooves. Opening off it were the stables themselves, with stalls for the horses and storage for the chariots. A waiting chamber also opened from the main room, with storage behind it. Vitellix was searching the storage rooms. "Mouse!"

"Perhaps she's not here." Mithridates had been following him quietly, a heavy spear in his hands. "Perhaps," rumbled the African, "she has gone out to watch the race."

"No..." Vitellix sighed. "That would be too painful for her, I fear."

The black man shrugged, his eyes flitting across the tumbled boxes and broken chairs crowding the storage space. A glassy scar surrounded one eye, making it seem half shut at all times. "Wouldn't she know the sound of your voice?"

"Yes!" the Gaul snapped, rattling the wooden crates around. "She would."

"Then," Mithridates rumbled, "she must be somewhere else."

"Fine." Vitellix turned on his heel and strode out into the main part of the stable. The four men whom Anastasia had brought were opening the doors to the starting gates, their armor covered by blue tunics. The Duchess was standing nearby, her blond shadow almost invisible behind her. "My lady!" Vitellix called out as he approached, "have you seen any sign of my daughter?"

"The little one with mousy-brown hair?" Anastasia suppressed a smile, checking the drape of her veil with almond-shaped fingernails. "I have seen her, I think."

"Where?" The Gaul looked around, his head moving in swift, jerking motions.

"There." The Duchess tried to keep amusement from her voice, but she sounded very droll. Vitellix stepped to a door and stared out into the starting gates. Ila had climbed up the nearest one and was clinging to the ironwork at the top of the arch with her hands and feet like a monkey. She could see out over the track. Vitellix ran up underneath her, his heart thudding in his chest.

Ila was screaming her lungs out as four chariots swept around the turn.

"Diana! Inside, inside! Diana! Go, go, go!"

"Mouse." Vitellix sounded aggrieved. "Come down from there."

Ila looked down, surprised. "Poppa! What are you doing here? Did you see Diana?"

Vitellix held up his arms and Ila sighed, letting go of the ironwork. He caught her deftly and set her down. He looked very sad for a moment, then clutched her to him, squeezing the breath from his little mouse.

"Poppa! You'll break a rib!"

"Sorry, Mouse." The Gaul squatted down so they were at eye level. "Someone hit you in the face." His fingers traced the outline of the bruise and his expression darkened.

"Yes, it was that African Hamilcar and his friends. They caught me in the Ludus Magnus before I could find Diana. They'll pay for that, I bet." Cunning and anger glinted in the little girl's eye. "I'll fix them if Diana doesn't."

"Did anything else happen? Anything bad?"

"No." Ila sighed in exasperation. "Nothing. Very dull, really. They were all afraid of Diana, once she killed all those people." Then her expression brightened and she turned to the gate. "Perhaps she'll break Hamilcar's neck while they're racing. She's very good at that... but, Poppa, she's not a good driver! Her horses are already winded."

"It doesn't matter," a cold voice said. Ila and Vitellix looked up to see Anastasia standing over them, flanked by her men. "She just has to finish and get back to the stables."

"She doesn't want to work for you anymore!" Ila glared at the Duchess. "Leave her alone!"

Anastasia stared down at the little girl, a mixture of grief and anger in her face. "Your father didn't abandon you, Ila. He came looking for you, worried half to death. I don't want to make Thyatis
work
for me, I just want my daughter back."

Hot words died on Ila's lips. The Duchess' eyes were so sad and desolate. Ila took her hand and led her to the corner of the gate. The little mouse pointed out at the track.

"This is the best place to watch from. See? The finish line is at the temple of Victoria."

The sixth dolphin dove for a sea of stone and the massive crowd was on their feet, cheering themselves hoarse. Thyatis was still clinging on, a length behind Hamilcar. The African had tried to run her into the wall of the
spina
on the fifth lap, but had failed, losing a length. Now they thundered forward, horses lathered, their chariots shuddering with every hoofbeat, almost neck and neck. The African's blacks were still running strong, tireless, their hooves speeding over the sand like the winged feet of Hermes. Thyatis felt her browns tiring, though they were giving a game effort. Her poor skill was costing them too much strength.

Barely two lengths ahead, the Blue and Green leaders were still neck and neck, jockeying into the inner turn on the last straightaway. At the moment the Blue driver had managed to swing ahead and capture the path along the wall. Thyatis risked a look and saw the
metae
of the last turn looming ahead, shining through the cloud of dust. Gritting her teeth, she slid the horsewhip out of its holder on the right side of the chariot car. Shouting, she lashed the browns with the reins and they jolted forward.

Beside her, Hamilcar stared across in surprise, his hands light on the reins. His glance flicked forward, seeing the backs of the Green and Blue leaders barely half a length in front of his horses' noses. He cursed. Thyatis again lashed out with the whip, letting it extend to its maximum length. The Blue driver suddenly jerked, a red welt across his shoulder. The man wrenched his team sideways, shouting insults at the Green driver. Their wheels locked for half a grain, sparks fountaining up from the metal bosses on their hubs. Both chariots swerved away from the wall, slowing infinitesimally.

Thyatis' browns lunged into the gap and she pressed their flank sideways against Hamilcar's blacks at the same moment. He reined in, slowing his team to keep his left wheel from grinding against the granite flank of the
spina
. Thyatis bolted ahead, suddenly in front of him. The African glanced swiftly to his right and saw the Green leader now abreast. The other two drivers had freed their wheels and now rushed forward, in line with Hamilcar. Thyatis turned, looking back over her shoulder, a wild smile on her face.

All three men lashed their horses as one, their teams redoubling their efforts. Thyatis snapped the whip again, just over the heads of the browns. They were laboring mightily, but they were straining and she could feel them beginning to fail.

A whip snapped beside her head, a sound like the crack of ballista firing. She ducked aside. The browns moved with her and her left horse was suddenly running only inches from the wall. A horrible screeching sound assaulted her ears and hot sparks flared up through the broken side of the chariot car. Her left wheel ground against the
spina
. Without looking, she lashed backwards over her shoulder with the whip.

Somewhere, a man screamed in pain. Though she could not see it, the sudden hoarse roar of the crowd told her something had happened. There was a sickening
crack
and then double screams and a metal hub boss whipped past her, caroming off the red granite obelisk as she passed. A violent, crashing sound followed and the screams of wounded horses filled the air. Her heart turned cold, but she kept her head down, urging her browns on into the last lap.

For an instant, there was only the sound of her chariot wheels hissing across the sand and the thunder of her horses' hooves. The crowd was silent, holding its breath. Even the musicians on the
spina
had stopped playing, their tubas and trumpets falling quiet. Thyatis glanced to her right.

Hamilcar was there, his face an intent mask, his helmet gone, his long glistening black hair streaming out behind him like a horsetail. His blacks were running hot, foam streaking their sides, their powerful muscles surging and rolling as they darted past. Now he was pressing his horses, forcing the last gasp of strength from them. He looked across and met her eyes as they roared into the final turn. There was an instant of communion, two proud souls that could not admit defeat or loss, locked in the grip of combat.

A
crack
rocked Thyatis' chariot as it swerved into the beginning of the turn. She looked down in time to see the abused axle disintegrate into a mass of whirling splinters. Without thinking, she leapt up onto the crossbar that rode behind the horses, still gripping the reins. The chariot car exploded, torn apart in an instant by the stress of the turn and the incredible speed of the horses. Chunks of wood and lengths of wicker spewed across the sand. A wheel spun away, bouncing towards the starting gates. The horses, suddenly bereft of the car's weight, leapt ahead. Thyatis clung to the reins, her body quivering in balance on the crossbar.

Hamilcar shouted in rage, rising up, his arm scything back with the whip.

"Kill him!" Anastasia shouted, her white arm stabbing out at the man hurtling by. At her side, one of the men in blue had drawn an arrow to his bow. Now he drew it to his cheek and sighted, his movement smooth and assured. Vitellix jerked around, seeing the last two drivers swing out of the turn, right into line with where he stood.

Hamilcar's whip lashed out, lighting across Thyatis' shoulder. It sprang back from the armor under her tunic, but her balance was lost. She fell, her arm still tangled in the reins, and gasped in pain as her right foot hit the speeding ground. The leather sole of her boot shredded away, then she heaved herself back up. Her body flexed, vaulting, and she twisted, swinging up onto the back of the third brown mare. Her left leg was still tangled in the harness. She tore at it with her hand, freeing herself.

A dozen feet away, Hamilcar lashed his blacks and they sprinted ahead, pulling out of the turn. He looked back, a smug smile on his face, but then it was wiped away by the sight of Thyatis rising up onto the back of the mare. He cursed and his whip snaked out again.

"Kill him!" Anastasia's knuckles turned white, gripping the iron bars of the gate. The archer loosed, his breath sighing out, and the arrow flicked away, arcing high into the air.

Thyatis dragged at the reins of the brown, forcing it right. Hamilcar's whip snapped in the air, only inches to her left. The brown team, following her motion, surged to the right, cutting behind the African's chariot. Thyatis swung one leg back, scrabbling to find footing on the horse's hindquarters, her left hand digging into its mane.
One leap,
she thought wildly,
and I'll be in his chariot! Then we'll—

The arrow smashed into her back. Her mouth opened, crying out. Her foot slipped and she tumbled from the mare, cracking her head against the crossbar that ran across the horses' chests. Spinning, her body hit the ground, bounced and then rolled over, limbs splayed out. Thyatis caught a glimpse of the sky cartwheeling above her, then the marble rim of the stadium, and then the sand plowed into her face and there was darkness.

"No!" Anastasia staggered as if she had been shot herself. Her hand rose to her mouth, trembling. Betia was already clutching her elbow, straining to keep her from falling. Vitellix and Mithridates were shouting and the starting gate opened with an explosive
bang
as Ila threw the locking bar. The mouse girl was already running, her legs and arms pumping.

"Diana!" Tears streamed down her round face and she was running, all alone, on the hot sand.

In the Imperial box, Gaius Julius let himself breathe, a long hissing gasp of relief. On the far side of the
spina
, Hamilcar had just swept across the finish line to a peal of trumpets and the clash of huge gongs that stood in the portico of the temple of Victoria. A lone Red chariot followed. "Oh yes," he breathed to himself. "Oh yes." He closed his gray eyelids, letting himself feel the shudder of relief in his body, even with its aches and pains and terrible weakness. "Oh yes."

Narses sprang up and, to the alarm of the Green merchants staring out at the finish line in glad surprise, swung over the lip of the balcony. The
lanista
could see the still, skewed form of the woman Diana lying alone on the sand. He could see the black fletching of an arrow on the ground too, and his quick eye had caught it in flight. Grunting, he landed on the seats below the box, then leapt down them, three and four at a time. No one seeing him move, flitting across the crowded seats, never setting a foot wrong, would have called him a cripple.

The
lanista's
face was incredibly grim and he tore the holly from his shoulder and discarded it as he ran. When he reached the retaining wall, an ugly murmur was already rising from the huge, stunned crowd. "Diana is dead," they were shouting.

He vaulted over the marble lip of the wall, then folded up as he hit the ground below. He rolled up on the sand, letting his tumble break the energy of his fall. He ran forward, towards the still, crumpled body on the sand.

Above and around him, a vast beast with three hundred thousand throats suddenly gave vent to a howl like Cerberus itself. "The Greens killed Diana!
Kill the Greens!
KILL THE GREENS!"

Just beyond the victory line, Hamilcar swung his team around, brown face beaming at the crowd above him. There was a huge tumult of noise and he raised his hands in answer to their acclaim. Attendants were running out from the tunnels to take his horses in hand. Despite his expectation, the air was not filled with thrown garlands, coins, hats—all of the things that usually met the victor in such a race. He squinted at the crowd, suddenly realizing that they were angry. Thousands of people were staring back down the track. Then he heard the shouts.