The Dark Lord

'See there?' he pointed. Maxian's eyes followed, though a shade of incipient anger still haunted his face. 'There is the Senator Pertinax. He has been married and divorced seven times.' Galen smiled genially, thin lips quirked in amusement. 'Each time he swore the marriage would be his last... yet each pairing ended and in a confusing variety of ways.' The Emperor looked to his brother again and frowned.

'Not so in the East. They take such matters seriously among the grandees of the Eastern Empire. If you marry Martina, her cousins, her people, the great lords will presume you do so for life, in a binding of man to woman, forever. Is this your intent?'

Maxian's poor humor had not improved. For a moment, he said nothing, then: 'Oh, I've leave to speak now? Are you finished lecturing? You expect me to cast her aside then, when my fancy inevitably passes to another?'

'It does not matter,' Galen said quietly, ignoring Maxian's sarcasm, 'what you intend. The future is uncertain and many things may happen. Can you see what will come now, with your power?'

'No,' Maxian said, biting back harsher words. 'I cannot. I will take the days as they come.'

'Very wise!' Galen said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. 'I had no idea what trouble I was getting into when I married Helena! Lovely, dear trouble. But I would not change my mind, if given the chance again. Do you love her?'

Maxian started to answer, then paused, staring at his brother. A perplexed expression flitted across his face, then settled into a rueful grimace. 'I... don't know. It seems... proper... we should be together. Her son needs a father. I... I don't want to be alone. Must I love her, to marry her? I am following my heart, if you must know. Why are you so concerned?'

Gritting his teeth, Galen suppressed a sigh of despair. Why can't Father be alive to deal with this sort of thing? I must have angered the gods somehow... 'Your brother wishes you only happiness. Your Emperor suffers an ulcer thinking of what might happen if you and she part in anger.'

'Oh.' Maxian made a face like he'd bitten into a rotten lemon. 'Cold-blooded, aren't you?'

'The Emperor must be,' Galen answered ruefully. 'Your happy marriage seals the alliance between East and West in your conjoined bodies. A divorce... splits us when we cannot afford any division.' The Emperor grimaced, grinding his teeth. 'There is another matter...'

The prince's face fell, hearing the tension in his brother's voice. However, before Galen could speak, a great clamor rose from the house and a troop of Legion officers clattered out onto the portico lining the seaward side of the villa. Galen could see their faces shining with sweat, boldly illuminated by flaring, sputtering brands held high. Voices loud in rough, drunken harmony, they shouted:

Inspired by this joyful day

Sing wedding songs

With your glad voices

And shake the ground with your dancing,

And in your hand brandish a pine torch!

The dancers on the lawn and the people among the tables laughed and rose—if they had been sitting—to respond. Maxian also stood, though Galen tried to hold him back with a hand on the hem of his toga. Those on the lawn, equally drunken, gathered, arm in arm, and made the proper, traditional reply:

For—as Venus

Once approached Paris

Now Martina approaches

Maxian; a good maiden

Will marry with good omens

The soldiers, breath restored by the pause, turned to the house, now joined by a crowd of men and women and children who had been inside. They parted, the officers' hands on each man's shoulder, making a corridor before the main doors of the villa.

Come forward, new bride!

Don't be afraid. Hear our glad words.

See! Our torches

Burn like golden hair.

Come forward new bride!

Gaius Julius appeared in the doorway and bowed to the assembled crowd. He raised his head, looking out across the lawn. Galen finally rose, feeling duty settle on him with a heavy weight. The Empress Martina's father was long dead, her male relatives lost in the destruction of Constantinople. There was no one else of proper rank to present the bride. He raised his hand, catching Gaius Julius' eye. Maxian also waved, but before he could stride away across the lawn, Galen caught his hand.

'Wait, there is one more thing we must discuss. It's about Heracleonas.'

'What about him?' Maxian turned back, a quizzical expression on his face.

Galen took a deep breath, suddenly changing his mind. Abrupt, honest words were set aside. His brother looked so young, as a man should be—nearly innocent—on his wedding day. There is no need to trouble him with the dire thoughts tonight, Galen decided. I will strike a temperate course. 'His birthday approaches, as does Theodosius', and I thought to make a proclamation on the happy day, declaring to the people of Rome and to the world, Theo my heir and Caesar-presumptive to the Western throne. At the same time, Heracleonas will be proclaimed the heir to the East, under my protection, and yours, as his new father.'

'Very well,' Maxian said, shrugging his shoulders. 'It matters little, with so many years to pass before they may take the red boots and white rod.'

'True,' Galen said, hiding a breath of relief at the prince's easy acceptance. 'But the people will be pleased, I think, and such statements will set the minds of many lords at ease.' The people should be pleased! Games, donatives, corn tokens cast to the crowd... and the restive dukes and governors will be set on notice the Emperor has not forgotten the matter of succession!

Maxian nodded in agreement, then turned away. Gaius Julius approached, bearing the glossy white raiment of the groom. Inside, Galen saw the women gathering in a great crowd. Martina would be there, her hair bound up in six locks, parted by a bent spear, anointed and oiled, prepared for the sponsalia. Swallowing rising disquiet at his own evasion and dissembling, the Emperor followed his brother into the house. Despite his best efforts and the glad day, he found a bitter taste lingering in his mouth. A poor omen, he thought bitterly, if I cannot speak openly with my own brother.

—|—

The main courtyard of the villa had been transformed—the smoke blackening scoured away, the shattered roof tiles replaced, dead shrubs and flowers rooted out and replaced with new, fresh plantings. Galen took his place at one side, standing on marble tiling. Pine torches sputtered and blazed around him in a great circle and the bride and groom stood before him, as yet apart.

Some fathers might make a long speech, but Galen was already tired and the night promised to be long. He raised his hands to the crowd filling the courtyard and the colonnade. Everyone fell quiet, even the servants perched on the roof, who gained a better view with their daring than many of the patricians below.

'Here stand before you Maxian Atreus, son of Galen the Elder, and Martina, daughter of Martinus. They are from good families and of noble blood. As princeps of the State, I speak for Martina as paterfamilias, her guide and defense against the trials of the world.'

Galen, face composed in a stern and commanding mein, turned to Maxian. The prince was trying not to grin broadly. Despite his obvious good humor, Maxian managed to speak in a suitably respectful voice. 'Do you promise Martina, your daughter, to be given to me as a wife?'

'May the gods smile upon us,' Galen answered formally. 'I promise her to you.'

'May the gods smile upon us.' Maxian said, making a slight bow.

The Emperor smiled warmly at Martina, who was sweating a little in a heavy woolen gown. The night had grown warm. Fine, pure white cloth was pleated and cinched at her waist with a silken band, tied in an ornate knot. A flame-colored veil shrouded her shoulders. As Galen had expected, the girl's hair was done up in six plaits