The Dark Lord

throat.'

'She hates me so much?' Martina said, panic rising in her voice.

'Oh, no,' Gaius said, voice settling to a whisper. The Empress leaned close. 'She cares nothing for you. It is your son she fears and hates. Or any child that might spring from your womb and the prince's loins.'

'Our child?' Martina drew back, blinking, surprised. Gaius shook his head at her in concern.

'Dear lady, you can account the begetting of Imperial sons as well as any. A child from your union would be heir to East and West alike, should anything happen to the young masters Heracleonas and Theodosius. Helena is not a stupid woman—she knows how to ensure her son's patrimony. Wouldn't you fear the same thing, for your son?'

Martina nodded, remembering another bleak time. 'I have. Theodore tried to use my stepson Constantius against me. But—Galen would not allow her to harm me. Anastasia would argue my case, Maxian would protect me! All I desire is my son on his rightful throne, in our proper city!'

'I know.' Gaius Julius caught her agitated hand and settled it on his knee. 'While the prince retains his brother's favor, while the Duchess is our friend, there is little to fear. Helena and her spite will be held in check by their good counsel. So do not worry, there is only the promise of danger.'

The Empress nodded absently, nibbling on the skin around her thumb. 'This is dangerous,' she said in a worried tone. 'We cannot afford strife among ourselves, not now. We must all work together, as one, to guide the Empire and overmaster Ahriman's servants. Doesn't Helena understand this?'

Gaius Julius hid a sharp, quick grin. 'I hope so,' he replied. 'Otherwise, our defeat is certain.'

—|—

Helena drifted through a crowd of olive merchants and provincial senators, expression tight and composed, avoiding eye contact, smiling politely for the room and ignoring anyone who attempted to speak to her. The rustics—Gauls, Britons and Africans—parted before her, some bowing, others pretending to ignore the Empress. She ignored them in turn—an acceptable exchange, she thought—and moved on. Ahead, the statue of Poseidon loomed above a sea of chattering people, deep in inconsequential conversations, wrapped in gossip, involved in their own small intrigues and plots.

The Empress caught sight of her son, head and shoulders above the crowd. Theodosius was sitting on his father's shoulders, chubby hands wrapped around Galen's forehead. Despite his burden, the Emperor was deep in conversation. The boy watched everything with wide eyes, following the passage of a troupe of dusky-skinned dancers and tambourine players with interest. Ostrich and peacock plumes danced over their heads, making a waving forest above the carefully combed hairstyles of the Romans.

'Husband.' Helana reached Galen's side, touching his arm. Theodosius looked down, saw his mother and reached out small round arms to her. The Empress took her son, sliding him to her hip. Galen smiled in greeting, while pulling his laurel wreath from a pocket inside his toga and putting it back on his head.

'Hello, Helena. How is the party?'

'Dull,' she said in an acid tone, ignoring the tribunes and legates around her husband. The officers' attention flicked between Emperor and Empress, then most began moving away, disappointed, with eyes averted. The unmarried officers lingered a moment, hoping to keep Galen's attention. One tried to speak, but caught Helena's icy glare and swallowed his words. 'Walk on the terrace with me.'

Galen frowned in surprise and tried to catch her hand. Helena was already moving away, her son clutched in her arms, head high. Grimacing, the Emperor hurried after her, irritation mounting at her rude behavior. They passed through a pair of double-wide mahogany doors fitted with small rectangular clear-glass windows.

The cool night air flooded over Galen and he sighed in relief. He hadn't realized how hot and close the hall had become. He stretched tired arms, feeling his mood improve. Helena turned, pacing down the long, covered porch looking out over the ornamental gardens behind the villa. Galen followed, steps slowing as he took in the tracery of lights and lamps hung along the walls. Beyond the high walls, rooftops and temple domes glittered in starlight. The Emperor felt memory tug, then sighed in remorse. The white buildings, shining with marble, reminded him of Alpine crags under the moon, though not so grand or vast as the Helvetian mountains.

He realized he missed the high meadows, the glare from hanging ice, the rush of water over glossy stones, the smell of heather and bluebells on the slopes, the tang of pine burning in a fire. The silhouette of an eagle turning against a brilliant cerulean sky. He remembered a year spent in the high country; a young, inexperienced centurion, tramping narrow trails and snowbound passes, watching for bandits, rustlers, raiding Goths and Germans. His chest tightened, compressed by the crowded city. I miss the open air, sharp wind in my face, the creaking weight of my armor, the feel of sweat running down my back, even the food... gods, I hate this place!

Helena stopped, parking herself in shadow between two windows. She turned Theodosius' head to her shoulder, where he immediately went to sleep, arms tight around her neck. Galen reached for her free hand, finding it cold and stiff.

'What troubles you, love?'

'Would...' Helena paused, unsure of what to say. Galen was surprised—when did she ever lack for words?—and looked closely at her face, seeing a reflection of his own weariness, mixed with barely hidden anger. 'Gales, if I asked you for something, something political, would you do it for me?'

'What kind of thing?' He felt a jolt—the moment of glad emotion, drawn from old memories, was cast aside—replaced by wariness. Long ago they had struck an arrangement to order their lives, making a house with two rooms—one for matters of state, and one for themselves, where the business of the Empire should not enter. Something political would cross the threshold between the two. Galen felt his right eye twitch and the tickle of an oncoming headache stir.

'I am...' She paused again, shaking her head. Her fingers tightened on his, nails biting into the flesh of his palm. 'I am worried and I want to protect my—our—son. This may seem strange, but you must listen and consider my request seriously.'

As Helena spoke, she straightened up, looking him in the eye. Galen settled back a little, nodding for her to go on. The Empress visibly gathered herself.

'Your brother—Maxian—is becoming involved with the Empress Martina. Did you know this?'

'I have eyes,' Galen said, but there was no rancor in his tone. 'This worries you?

'Yes,' Helena nodded sharply. 'Do you favor a match between them?'

Galen blinked, a little surprised. 'Well, I hadn't really thought about it... but I see the Emperor must have an opinion.' He sighed in understanding, shaking his head and looking out at the garden. 'I have tried to stay out of my brother's personal life. Once, long ago, I promised our mother I would protect him—keep him out of trouble and out of Imperial service! Both Aurelian and I were already in the Legion then. She didn't want him to wind up like us, or our father. His talents had not yet revealed themselves. But now? He is our custos, by order of the Senate. My left hand, if Horse is my right.' Galen looked at Helena, a sad half-smile barely touching his lips.

'I am distracted and busy, my love, but I think I see your fear. Should Martina and Maxian wed, their son would have a claim to the West, while ruling the East. It is an old dream—both here and in Constantinople—to reunite the Empire. Our current amity and alliance is newly born, barely six years old. Dreams might push a young man, new on his throne, flush with heady power, to grasp for both hanging fruit, rather than just the one.'

Helena nodded, clutching her son tight to her chest. Theodosius made a happy, burbling sound.

'Maxian is his own man,' Galen continued, musing softly, speaking almost to himself. 'Our father is dead, making the three of us adults and heads of our own households. Martina is a suitable match—I cannot invoke some hoary old law, forbidding marriage by a patrician out of his class—and doing so would only insult the Eastern lords and cause an immediate rift between our two domains. Do you think they want to marry?'

'She will.' Helena's voice was flat and emotionless. 'She will think of her son.'

'Two little boys,' Galen said, trying to lighten the tone. 'Rolling and playing in the mud at soldiers, as gladiators, the best of friends... you think they will grow to opposition, at each other's throat with bare steel?'

'I read,' Helena replied, tears beginning to sparkle at the corners of her eyes. 'I read of the past and see brother strangling brother, husbands drowning wives, children murdering their fathers, sending their mothers away into prison and exile. I read—and I see men reduced to pretending buffoonery so they might live amid slaughter, or prostituting their sisters, daughters and wives to win the favor of the Senate.' The Empress' eyes