The Dark Lord

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 Kore—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