The Dark Lord

'And in that time?' Galen met her eyes, shaking his head minutely.

'In that time, Lord and God, the Persians discover the prince is in Egypt. They may even discover we possess a flying machine.'

'So?' Maxian interjected, irritation plain in his voice. 'What if they do?'

'Then, Caesar, they will try and capture or kill you.' Anastasia did not meet the prince's gaze. 'But you are very strong. I doubt they will be able to succeed.'

The prince made a sharp huh! sound and looked to his brother again. 'Gales?'

'You are not going,' the Emperor said, giving Maxian a quelling look. 'I do not think you are ready to fight this creature again, not one on one. When that day comes, I want every advantage to be in our hand. We must know this thing's name, its strength, its motive. We will fight on ground of our choosing and we will win.'

'Madness—' Maxian stood up abruptly, though Gaius Julius made a faint-hearted effort to catch his arm. 'Then send your ship—which will take weeks to reach Egypt—and have your legionaries grub in the dirt—more weeks will pass—and then, then you find the device and who can make it work? I can! And I will be here, in Rome, cooling my heels in the baths or at the races!'

'We have weeks,' Galen said, expression hardening as the prince's voice grew more strident. 'We have months. Armies—Persian or Roman—do not leap leagues in a day. Aurelian will hold Egypt until the Nile rises, and then where will the Persians be? Unable to advance for months more, while they wait for the river to fall. By then we will know where the main Persian army is, and how things stand in Thrace and Constantinople. These troubles in Britain will be resolved. Our new fleet will be gathered, the Gothic Legion ready to move by sea wherever we need. You...' Galen stabbed a finger at his brother, 'will have finished your fire-drakes and if the gods favor us, we will know the intention and true strength of the enemy.'

Maxian's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, fists on the tabletop. 'What happens if the Persian sorcerer comes against Aurelian now, today, with full force? Will you hold me back then?'

'I will,' Galen snapped, a flush rising in his face. 'Aurelian can hold Egypt!'

'Like Constantinople held?' Maxian shouted. 'You are a fool; you have no idea what powers are at play here!'

'Enough of this,' Galen said, his voice very cold. 'My decision is made.'

The Emperor stared at Maxian, his face like granite, until—after a very long moment—the younger man looked away. 'Securing another telecast is not critical, but it would be a boon. Duchess, send your ship and someone discreet and efficient. Maxian, you will make this talisman. I pray we find success, but this is a diversion from our real task.'

The prince stared at the floor. Anastasia could see a vein pulse in his neck.

'Maxian?' Galen stood up, absently tugging his heavy tunic straight. 'Aurelian will be fine. He is an able commander and well served by brave men.'

Maxian did not answer. Galen watched him for a moment, then turned back to Anastasia and Gaius Julius. 'You know what to do. Be quick about it.'

'Yes, Lord and God,' they said, bowing. The Emperor gathered up his notebooks. Maxian continued to stare at the floor, grinding one fist into the other. Galen waved the Duchess and Gaius out of the room. They left quickly, avoiding looking at the two brothers.

In the hallway, Anastasia motioned to the Praetorians to close the heavy, bronze embossed doors. The guardsmen did so, though no sound had issued from the room.

'Very wise,' Gaius Julius said, sotto voce. He seemed pensive. 'Do you need anything?'

'For what?' Anastasia's eyebrow arched in suspicion. She drew the cloak across her chest automatically. Just being this close to the ancient made her feel queasy.

'For this 'quiet' expedition to Egypt.' He seemed very serious. 'You've your own ships, I know, but if you need men, supplies, guides, money—let me know.'

'Why would you help me?' Anastasia lifted the cowl of her cloak, settling it over her hair. The high-piled, ornamented coiffure was striking, but also inconvenient and heavy.

'I think the boy is right,' Gaius said, still speaking quietly, as if they were two friends at a dinner party, sharing some confidence. Anastasia realized, with a start, the old man was worried. 'The Emperor is tired, stretched thin. We need the speed these devices offer. The speed to know, the speed to react. Such a thing could be the difference between victory and defeat.'

'They may not be there anymore,' the Duchess said, warming—against her better judgment—to the twinkling-eyed old man. 'Thousands of years stand between Pharaoh Kha'sekhem and ourselves. Time for many misfortunes to befall such a device.'

'I know.' Gaius Julius managed a half-smile, still worried. He looked back at the closed door. 'But such a prize...'

Yes, Anastasia thought, bowing politely and turning away. But not one you will ever have!

—|—

The Duchess frowned, stepping down from the litter, a brace of handsome young men kneeling on either side to help her descend. Her courtyard was crowded with two large, overly ornate litters, an even dozen bearers lounging in the shade of her vine-covered walls stuffing themselves with bread rolls and sausage and a clutch of Praetorian guardsmen drinking her wine. She dismissed her own litter with an irritated wave, then turned to enter the Villa of Swans.

'Mistress!' Betia was at her side, a quiet ghost suddenly made flesh. Anastasia glared down at her maid. The little blond girl was dressed in a too-short tunic with bare feet, and her face glowed with perspiration. 'The —'

'Empress Helena is here,' the Duchess said, disgusted to see the Praetorians eating a picnic lunch in her foyer—eating from her silver plates and cups! 'With her usual circus troupe...'

'Yes, mistress,' Betia said, hiding behind the Duchess as Anastasia swept across the courtyard and into her home. 'They arrived only a little while ago, with the two little princes.'

'She's in the garden, I suppose.' The Duchess paused, waiting for her servants to appear in the dimly-lit hallway. They did, taking her traveling cloak, her lace stole, the veil, removing her walking shoes. Betia knelt, fitting slippers to her feet. Anastasia felt a little better. The house was cool, where the streets of Rome in midday were swelteringly hot.

'No, mistress,' Betia said. 'The Empress is down in the gymnasium, watching Thyatis and Mithridates spar.'

'What? Where are the boys?' Anastasia held out her arms, so Betia and another maid could dress her in a filmy, flower-embroidered silk half-jacket. 'Aren't they a little young to be watching the gladiators?'

Betia smiled, her little oval face brightening. 'They are in the garden, mistress, with the Empress' maid Kore to watch over them.'

'Hmm.' The Duchess waved away a young boy with a carafe of wine and a thin-shelled porcelain cup. 'There is no rest for the wicked today.'

—|—

Helena was eating grapes, reclining in a wicker chair among the pillars at the edge of the gymnasium floor. Like Anastasia, the Empress had shed most of her heavy, formal going-out wear, leaving the dark-haired woman in a gown the color of young aspen leaves, which set off the gold circling her wrists and throat.

'You're comfortable, I see.' The Duchess lowered herself into a matching chair. Betia was already bringing another cup and more wine. It was cool and dim in the colonnade. No torches or lanterns were lit, the only illumination falling from high windows piercing the clerestory above the fighting floor. 'Your men are well fed too.'

Helena replied with a lazy smile, her cheeks bulging with grapes. 'Mmph!'

'You look like a chipmunk,' Anastasia said grumpily. She sipped the wine, then both eyebrows rose and she gave Betia a slit-eyed glare. 'This is an excellent vintage! Are those thugs upstairs drinking the same?'

'No, mistress,' Betia said, making herself very small and kneeling beside the chair. 'Most of them wanted honey mead or wheaten beer.'

'Huh. Barbarians!' Anastasia took another drink. She felt relieved to sit down.