The Dark Lord

Eastern fleet, it was the Greek rebels who benefited.'

'Foolishness!' Maxian broke in, interrupting his brother. 'We cannot ignore him!'

'I am not proposing we ignore this Persian,' Galen snapped. 'We cannot focus upon him as our sole enemy. If we do, then his compatriot the Boar will tear out our gut. The Persian sorcerer is a tool and he can be forestalled, he can be distracted, your presence can neutralize him. He is one part of a larger puzzle. The Persians and the Greeks are the other pieces and they must be accounted for as well.'

'You don't understand...' Maxian looked away, slumping back in his chair again.

'I do,' Galen said, softening his voice. 'This is not a single combat between you and the Persian sorcerer. This is a war between empires. The outcome of a single battle will not turn the balance between Rome and Persia. The victor... the victor will be the empire whose will to fight endures. Exhaustion, not valor, will decide the matter.'

The Emperor looked around the table, his visage grim. 'Rome will endure. We have suffered worse before and won through. We will do so again. Now, here is my desire: Anastasia, you and your clerks will have immediate and full access to the telecast. You must find the Persians and detail their formations to me. Further, you must discern if these other threats—on the Danube, in Germany, in Gaul, in Britain—are worthy of my immediate attention. Gaius Julius: you carry a heavy load with Gregorius dead. I must ask you to shoulder it a little longer, until the Senate elects someone to replace him. From you, I desire an accounting of every ship, every soldier, every farm, every amphora of oil, every bushel of wheat, every yard of cloth in the empire.'

The old Roman grimaced, playing with one of his notebooks. Anastasia was afraid the same sick, grim look was creeping into her face as well. Gaius Julius looked up, staring at the Emperor with a troubled expression. 'My lord, you think rationing will be necessary?'

Galen met his eyes with an unflinching look, his face cold and remote. 'If Egypt is lost, then Rome cannot feed herself, not without strict regulation. We will be prepared. Maxian...'

The prince was staring into emptiness, head cocked to one side.

'Maxian!' The Emperor raised his voice slightly and the prince turned, brow furrowed. Galen swallowed a sigh and the timbre of his voice changed. He bent close to his brother. 'I need you to be able to defeat this Persian sorcerer, but I must balance many demands. You and the Duchess will share the telecast—but, pray the gods, do not attempt to deal with this enemy without consulting me!'

Maxian's lips, drawn into a tight line, relaxed a little and he shook his head in a nervous tic 'Gales, I understand. Don't worry, I won't try anything rash. I just... this sorcerer is the real enemy; I can feel it. If we defeat him, we defeat Persia.' Maxian coughed and Anastasia realized he was trying to muster a laugh. 'I need to find out who, or what, he is. So—that will be my task, along with the work at Fiorentina—one fitting the custos, don't you think?'

'Yes.' Galen tried to smile warmly, but could only manage a shadow of good humor. 'Let us know what we face, before we give battle.' The Emperor turned back to the others. 'That is good advice for all of us... we face a bitter struggle. Let us know what strength we own and what strength is in our enemies' hand.'

Galen stood, and his movements were stiff and slow. He gathered up his folder and nodded to them all. 'Good day, my friends. May the gods grant us victory.'

Everyone rose, bowing as the Emperor strode out of the room.

—|—

'Empress? Is something troubling you?' Gaius Julius bowed slightly to the young Greek woman. Martina was slouched deep in her chair, scowling at the doorway. Such obvious bile did not improve her round features.

'What do you want from me?' Martina's light green eyes narrowed suspiciously, her lip curling slightly. 'Don't you already have a position, wealth, power?'

'Ah...' Gaius smiled affably. 'Empress, I am not blind. Does the Emperor's plan displease you?'

'Am I allowed to be displeased?' Martina made a sharp flinging motion with her hands. She bared her teeth, though Gaius suspected she didn't realize how feral it made her look. 'I'm supposed to sit quietly, perhaps nod approvingly when he acknowledges my presence! How delightful!'

'Empress...' Gaius shook his head slowly, casting a brief look over his shoulder. The Emperor had stopped in the hallway, deep in conversation with the Duchess De'Orelio. A brace of guardsmen loitered around them, looking studiously away from the pair, ignoring their discussion. Interesting, Gaius thought. I'll have to find Motrius a new toy—then he'll let me know what they were talking about...

The old Roman turned back to Martina, who was glaring at the wall while she tore tiny seed pearls, one by one, from the hem of her gown. The old Roman placed himself between Galen and the Empress. 'You are unhappy with the way you've been treated?'

Martina looked up and her nostrils flared. Heavy makeup disguised, but did not completely hide, dark smudges under puffy eyes. 'I am grateful, Master Gaius, for being saved from the ruin of my city. I give thanks to the Gods each day my son lives. I live in a palace—attended by servants of all kinds, guarded by the Praetorians— and my son spends his days playing with Emperor Galen's son. What more could I ask?'

Gaius hid a grin at the venom in the woman's voice. He thought, for a brief instant, of how things stood between himself and the prince, between the prince and his brother. A constellation of impulses ran riot in his thoughts and he weighed them all in turn, sorting swiftly through long memories. Possibilities presented themselves and were discarded. Others rose into consideration, then fell. One avenue revealed itself to him, filled with all manner of delights and riches. He considered an Eastern Empire restored, ruled by a wise Regent and a young, pliable Empress, in the name of a young king with many years to pass before he came into his patrimony. Very fine, he thought. But I will abstain. It is not time to be greedy, not yet.

His face still genial, open, approachable, Gaius let sympathy show, his eyes crinkling up. 'Ah, Empress, if bread were enough to satisfy our souls, if circuses stilled desire, then Rome would be the most content of cities. You mustn't hate Emperor Galen—he is doing his best for you and for your son. But he is a man plagued with worries, faced with crises on every hand. I assure you, Empress, he does not covet your son's inheritance. In the fullness of time, after the Persians are driven back, you will dwell in Constantinople again and your son will sit on his father's throne.'

'Will he?' Martina's expression darkened dangerously. 'When? Can you name a day?'

'No.' Gaius Julius shook his head sadly. 'Many years may pass before that transpires. This war may be long and difficult, a struggle of decades.'

'Decades...' The Empress' hands clenched, ripping the cloth bunched between them. Her eyes were fixed over Gaius' shoulder. 'What will be left, then? Each day new edicts and writs go forth from his offices, signed with his name, to set taxation, to raise troops, to appoint judges and praetors—in my son's domain! In ten years, who will remember Heracleonas is Emperor of the East? Who will remember his father?'

Who will remember you? Gaius Julius thought in amusement. No one. Another exiled queen, without lands or treasure, reduced to living on the whim of a distracted Emperor...

'My lady,' he said aloud, 'listen to me. I have spent many years in the service of Rome. More years, in truth, than you have lived. I have seen many things. I have risen high and I have fallen low. You must have patience, and you must not set yourself against the Emperor. He is your friend. He is your son's protector and guardian. What you must do, if you wish to see young Heracleonas sit upon his father's throne, is help.'

'What could I possibly do?' Martina forced her fist open and shredded bits of cloth drifted to the floor. 'I have nothing, no friends, no power, no armies. Why would I want to help them?' She pointed with a round chin at the Emperor and the Duchess, who were still standing at the far end of the hallway.

'I was not speaking specifically of the Duchess De'Orelio and Emperor Galen.'

'Who then?' Martina looked directly at Gaius for the first time.

'You should help him.' The old Roman gestured with his head, indicating Prince Maxian, still sitting at the big table, his expression distant, forefinger pressed against his lower lip.

'Maxian?' The Empress' expression softened and Gaius felt a stab of delight in his crafty old heart. 'I can't