The Dark Lord

by bronze tracks on the facing wall. Gaius was fond of them too—one showed the triumph of Aetius the Great over the Huns in vibrant, almost living color, the other diabolical Odysseus before the shattered walls of Troy, accepting the surrender of Priam and his noble house. 'Carex, take your men and search the floor for survivors—some of the traitors may have escaped. Phalas, your maniple should go downstairs and secure the main hall. The servants and slaves will be in a panic, I'm sure. Calm them down. Tell them order has been restored.'

Both officers nodded, then rousted their men out of the hallway and outer rooms. Somehow, a great deal of damage had been done in the brief melee, with crockery shattered on the floor, and tapestries and drapes torn down. Gaius watched them depart and was sure every man had managed to scoop up something valuable in the brief confusion.

'No use counting the silverware,' Ermanerich said ruefully, watching the closed door, his spear held lightly in both hands. 'They'll be carting out the statuary next.'

'They won't have a chance,' Gaius said, keeping his voice low. He was carrying a gladius, still sheathed, in his hand. He had not drawn a weapon in anger for a long time, but believed in the healthy exercise of caution. 'My men will escort them back out of the city within the hour and see they're well supplied with food, wine and women.' The old Roman smiled tightly. 'Their pockets will be heavy enough with the Emperor's gold, in gratitude.'

Ermanerich nodded absently, still watching the door. Alexandros had warned him to beware the Romans and their politics. The young Goth felt much, much better to have a weapon in hand and the prospect of a solid, material enemy to fight. 'Is there another way out of here?'

'Perhaps.' Gaius Julius shrugged. 'This mausoleum must be riddled with hidden passages. Every Emperor wants to keep his secrets.' He tested the latch, then raised an eyebrow at the Goth. Ermanerich nodded in agreement, then both men set themselves and slammed into the door together.

Wood splintered with a crack and the panel gave way. The door bounced back from the wall, and Gaius Julius stepped into a darkened passage. Broken bits of wood crunched under his feet. Ahead, lamplight glowed in a richly appointed chamber, and a familiar man was standing at the foot of a bed heaped high with pillows and silken quilts.

'Master Gaius,' the Emperor said, drawing his own sword with a soft rasp. 'And... you must be Prince Ermanerich of the Gothic nation.'

—|—

Pale smears of light streaked the eastern sky as Anastasia crept from behind a hedge. She listened carefully, but heard nothing but the distant crash and rumble of delivery carts on the city streets and the thin squeaking of bats fluttering through the stone arches of an aqueduct rising a hundred feet to her left.

'Quickly now,' she whispered to the two women behind her. Kore crouched at her knee, little Theodosius swaddled in a rug and pressed tight to her breast. Helena knelt behind the maid, short hair loose around her neck and hanging in her eyes. Anastasia glanced around again, then hurried down a path between long ranks of cypresses. Their feet crunched on gravel and then padded on dirt. The path descended steeply, running down a long strip of garden flanked by the monumental platform of the Severan Palace on the right and an insula of exclusive flats on the left.

'Where is my husband?' Helena's voice sounded drained, coming from the darkness like a ghost's cry. 'Where are we going?'

'Somewhere safe, I hope.' Anastasia slowed, searching with her hands along the wall to the left. After a moment, she found the outline of a door and pushed. Old leather hinges creaked and she smelled lye and soap and hot water. 'Galen will have to find his own sanctuary, I fear.'

Kore ducked past the Duchess and into the dark passage. Helena stood on the path, her face a barely visible oval delicately touched by the first reflection of dawn. Anastasia beckoned. 'Helena! We must get away from here quickly before events sweep you and your son away. If you are taken, Galen will be a captive to your safety even if he remains free.'

'Who did this?' The Empress' voice was hoarse. 'Is this mutiny?'

'Conspiracy,' the Duchess answered, tugging at Helena's sleeve. 'Which may have failed by now—I sent warning to the right people, I think—but we'll not risk being seen until I know how things have played out.'

Stumbling and listless, the Empress let herself be led into the passage and Anastasia shoved the door closed behind them, hoping no one had marked their hasty exit from the palace.

—|—

Ermanerich stepped lightly into the bedchamber, automatically drifting to the left to clear the door, while Gaius Julius stepped to the right, giving the Goth room for his spear. The Emperor watched them with a faint smile on his thin face. His habitual nervousness had dropped away like chaff. For his part, the young Goth felt even more at sea than before. The flurry of events following his arrival in the city had left him dizzy. Only the steady, solid presence of Master Gaius—a man whom Alexandros had said he could trust, absolutely, in all things—kept Ermanerich from fleeing in terror. He'd never been on the Palatine before, not without his father in attendance. Everything was so... huge.

'We discussed,' Gaius said, thumbing the loop away from the hilt of his gladius, 'sending you into exile, to tend a plot in some remote province, far from Rome and the centers of power.'

'Cabbages?' Galen turned slightly, tension draining from his shoulders as the air in the room grew sharp. 'I detest them, fresh or boiled, though I appreciate the thought.' The Emperor tilted his head slightly, watching Gaius Julius directly, though Ermanerich remained in his peripheral vision.

'There is an air of tradition to such a fate,' the old Roman said, sliding his blade from the sheath. 'But I am afraid simple mutilation would not keep you from trying to reclaim all...' Gaius swept the gladius around in a sharp arc, '...this. We cannot afford any disorder, not now.'

'What is this treachery, then, but chaos unbound?' The Emperor's voice was sharp. 'Do you expect mutiny and murder to save you from the Persians? To reclaim our lost provinces?'

'This is already over,' Gaius Julius replied, trying to keep his voice level. 'You, sir, though a noble Roman and a fine gentleman, are too blind and shortsighted to be allowed to rule. You have sent the State rushing toward oblivion by appalling judgment. Our only hope to succor the Empire is to set you aside!'

The Emperor laughed, unable to believe his ears. 'And you—the new Emperor, I'm sure!—will conjure victory? How? Where are your armies?' Galen made a violent motion with his sword and Gaius and Ermanerich both stepped back in alarm. 'You will grapple with the same constraints of men, time, ships, taxes... every burden that has weighed upon me, will weigh on you threefold. The Legions will not accept you as Augustus and God, dead man, and there will be civil war. Then how will you keep the Persians from marching through the Forum in triumph?'

Gaius sighed, casting a sidelong glance at Ermanerich. 'There will be no civil war,' Gaius said, turning his attention back to Galen. Now the old Roman felt tired—drained by the rush of events—and he was in no mood to explain himself. Yet, he thought, I do owe this man something for his courtesy and trust. 'Within the hour, there will be a new Emperor, acclaimed by the Senate and accepted by the army. Life will go on. Taxes will be collected, tribute given to the gods... all as it was, and shall be.'

Galen started to speak, but Gaius Julius moved—quickly!—and his blade was at the Emperor's throat, the shining tip pressed against the side of Galen's carotid. Ermanerich flinched, his spear rising reflexively, but then the iron point wavered.

'What is going on?' he asked plaintively. 'Who is this man?'

'I wanted to wait,' Gaius Julius said, ignoring the Goth's question. 'There seemed no reason to rush— twenty years could pass without inconveniencing me—but you...' Trembling anger finally cracked the old Roman's controlled tone. '...you have become such a dangerous, meddling fool! You've stripped the German frontier bare, abandoned an entire province to the Gaels and Picts! What in Hades were you thinking? To send more Legions to the butcher's mill down in Sicilia? To give the enemy more corpse-soldiers!' A finger stabbed at Ermanerich, who almost flinched in reaction. 'You ordered the Gothic Legion to Catania, to oppose the Persian invasion. Are you mad?'

Understanding flared in the Emperor's eyes. 'I did not summon the Rhenus Legions to Rome to fight the Persians, you ass!' A sneer curled across his face. 'The Goths were ordered to Messina, to stand in reserve in case the Persian fleet broke past Maxian and his flying machines! I hoped they