Emperor tt-1

by Stephen Baxter

  He was woken in the dark, by a big hand gently shaking his shoulder. Unthinkingly he turned limp, imagining he was back in the mine. If you fought the dirty men they made it worse for you. But he was still in Banna, and it was Tarcho.

  'Come on. Get dressed. I've something to show you.'

  Outside the house the fort was a pool of shadows. The only sound was the coughing of a soldier on sentry duty somewhere on the fort walls. The sky was a deep blue-grey, a warning of the dawn, and the light reflected from dew on the cobbles.

  Tarcho led Audax to a watchtower on the wall, and showed him a ladder. 'Take care,' Tarcho whispered. But Audax was used to ladders in the pitch dark, and climbed up more easily than Tarcho himself.

  They arrived on the narrow platform at the top of the tower, alone. Up here the air was fresh, crisp with dew, and the customary piss-stink was dissipated by the green smell of growing grass.

  Audax looked out over the countryside. The fort was on an escarpment, and looking south he could see how the land fell away to a deeply cut valley where a river gurgled. A steamy stink rose up; the fort's bath house had been built down there near the water.

  And when he looked east and west, Audax at last saw the Wall itself, built into the outer shell of the fort, striding in great straight-line segments across the country. Where the gathering light in the east caught the curtain's southern face, the pale stone shone. Buildings and forts studded its length, and Audax could see hearth smoke rising, as if it was one gigantic house.

  It was centuries old, Tarcho said proudly. 'My own great-great-great-something-grandfather worked on it. He was called Tullio. I know his name, you see, because it is written on stones set in the Wall itself. He came from Germany. And his sons and grandsons have served on the Wall ever since. Here is the Wall, all patched up, still serving its purpose eight, nine, ten generations later, after most of its builders' names have been forgotten. What men they must have been in those days, that their vision still shapes our age today! What heroes! And one of them was my grandfather.'

  Audax found it impossible to imagine that men had ever built this thing, this Wall. He might as well have been told that men had dug out the valley to the south, or spun the clouds that caught the dawn light overhead.

  'Did anybody live here before the Wall?'

  'Why, I don't know. Nobody important, just a few hairy-backs. Two hundred years! Think of that.'

  Lights sparked along the dark line of the wall, splashes of yellow fire flickering and dying.

  Audax was alarmed. 'What's that? Is it an attack?'

  'No. They are signal beacons. The watch is changing. All along the Wall soldiers are standing down, and they light their beacons to tell their mates that all is well, all is well…'

  They stayed on the watchtower until the sun had risen. Then they descended into the fort and joined the day's growing bustle.

  XII

  A week after Thalius's own arrival at Banna, Constantine and his entourage arrived-or some of them; many had stayed behind at Eburacum.

  Constantine immediately ordered a review of the fort's troops. This took place on a bright, fresh morning, and Thalius and his companions watched from the comfort of a pavilion as guests of Cornelius.

  The soldiers in their centuries drew up in good order outside the fort walls. The centuries' standard-bearers held aloft the emblems of their units, and each held a labarum. A new military standard said to be of Constantine's own devising, this was a long spear covered in gold, with a transverse bar to give it the shape of the Christian cross. At the summit of the cross was a wreath of gold and precious stones, containing a finely worked chi-rho Christogram.

  The troops made a respectable sight, even though Thalius could see their armour and weaponry were scuffed and much repaired-it was said that some of these bits of kit had been handed down from father to son for generations. Not only that, in the light of day the walls of the fort itself looked frankly dilapidated. The fort and its units had been here for centuries, slowly subsiding into the cold northern mud, while the boundary between the soldiers and the civilian population from which they were recruited grew ever more blurred.

  One of Constantine's projects was to cement reforms of the army begun under Diocletian, reforms which reflected the military reality of the age. The old distinction between legions and auxiliary units was abandoned. Now the army was divided between a mobile field force, and static units of border troops, like the units here at Banna. There was a new military hierarchy, of dukes and counts-like the Duke of the Britains stationed at Eburacum, and a Count of the Saxon Shore who controlled coastal forts like Rutupiae. Once the governors had been commanders-in-chief of their provinces' armies, but now the dukes and counts were independent of the governors-indeed their remit generally spanned more than one province. This was another example of the emperors' continuing strategy to fragment power and so limit the challenge of any one rival.

  Thalius understood the military logic, he believed. You held off the barbarians at the border, and if they did get through you allowed them to penetrate deep into a fortified country, while bringing your mobile forces to bear. Even the walled towns were a part of the system, in a sense. But it was in the nature of stasis to decay, and frontier units like this tended to lose their shape and discipline. Thalius had heard lurid rumours of corruption, of commanding officers drawing pay for long-dead soldiers. It was just as well that the Emperor had come by to give the place a sprucing-up.

  And this was a big day for these soldiers, a chance to break up the lifelong tedium of frontier duty with a display before the Emperor himself. Everybody knew that Constantine was here looking for units he could detach for his looming war with Licinius, Emperor of the east. Having grown up at their fort, with families of their own and roots generations deep, many of the soldiers here probably couldn't even imagine how it would be to serve under an emperor on a long campaign in a foreign land. But they were still Roman soldiers, and beneath those hand-me-down armour plates, hearts must have been beating with anticipation.

  At last the Emperor himself rode by, a burly, powerful man, accompanied by his generals and aides. They all wore expensive, brightly coloured parade armour, including elaborate helmets with carved carapaces and bejewelled masks. The soldiers stood proud before their Emperor's inspection.

  Cornelius, ever the traditionalist, murmured a commentary in Thalius's ear. 'Quite a mixture of symbolism-don't you think? Here you have a Roman army with its roots, let us not forget, in the citizen-farmer communities of Latium. But see the Emperor and his cronies in their fancy parade armour. I've heard travellers to Egypt and Persia say that the more centralised the society the more you see the flaunting of such symbols of rank…'

  Aurelia hissed, 'Oh, do shut up, Cornelius, you bore. It's less than an hour before our audience with the Emperor.'

  'Since I arranged the audience,' Cornelius said stiffly, 'I'm well aware of it.'

  'Is the boy ready?'

  Thalius glanced across at Tarcho and Audax, who sat in the pavilion a few rows behind the others. The old soldier was looking reasonably smart in his own polished armour, though he obviously longed to be out on the field with the troops. Audax had been washed, dressed in a smart new tunic, his hair trimmed and combed. He still looked thin and pale, though, much younger than his years-he was still the sun-starved worm Thalius had found in Dolaucothi. And yet he was the key to everything.

  'He's ready,' Thalius said to Aurelia.

  'All right,' Cornelius said. 'Let's go over it one more time. I will lead you in, Thalius, with the boy. I've managed to interest the Emperor in the Prophecy etched on the boy's back. He is fascinated by such things, in his credulous soldier's way. Then I will call you forward, madam-'

  Thalius said, 'And with Aurelia's help I will show him how to read the acrostic.'

  'A prophecy of his own murder,' Cornelius said with a cold grin, just softly enough not to be overheard, loudly enough to make Thalius fear that he had been.

>   'Then I will present our testament.' Thalius tapped his tunic, within which he had tucked the ten pages of parchment on which he had written out a fair copy of the final agreed text: Honest Advice Humbly Offered by Concerned Citizens.

  Now they were so close he felt his confidence growing stronger. It was an extraordinary thing they were attempting, to change an emperor's mind in such a profound way, and Thalius had barely slept for the last two nights. But though the Emperor feared no human, he did fear God, and perhaps he would take the Prophecy as the warning they intended, and be receptive to the logic of their missive.

  Then he noticed Cornelius and Aurelia sharing a look he could not read. It reminded Thalius he was not in control of this situation. His confidence evaporated like dew, and a dread of possibilities he could not envisage gnawed at his stomach.

  XIII

  Being presented to the Emperor didn't feel like an honour to Audax.

  It felt like the time he had been hauled up before overseer Volisios because he had cut his hand in a tired fall in a quartz seam, making himself useless for days. It had never even occurred to him to try to explain that he had been kept without sleep for two nights by a gang of dirty men. After yelling at him for a while the overseer had shown him the row of crosses where the bird-pecked remnants of slaves dangled, Audax's destination if he made any more mistakes, and then had handed him over to a burly brute for a whipping.

  That was how this felt today, as Thalius and Aurelia led him into the elaborate shrine-like room where the Emperor sat on his throne. The room was filled with light that dazzled from the Emperor's clothes and jewelled crown. Audax recognised some of the people with the Emperor. On his right hand side was Helen, his mother, almost as fancily dressed as her son. To the Emperor's left was Cornelius, his eyes on Audax but murmuring to the Emperor. And beyond them were hard-eyed soldiers, their hands on the hilts of their stabbing swords, watching every movement.

  He was brought to within a pace of the Emperor, close enough to touch him. Constantine was terrifying. Audax thought he could feel heat radiating from him. He had spent a lifetime suppressing the instinct to resist, but Audax couldn't help but pull back. But then Constantine caught his eye and smiled at him. Suddenly he seemed human, and Audax's dread subsided, just a little.

  Thalius and Aurelia, he nervously, she with smooth confidence, began to describe Audax's scarring and how it had come about. Audax could understand a little of their Latin talk, of a family history, a rich woman who sold her descendants into slavery…Constantine listened with an expression of faint boredom. Audax imagined him listening to hundreds of people every day, each of them with a story they needed him to hear.

  Then came the revelation of the scar itself. Aurelia turned the boy around and had him lift his tunic over his head. Audax waited, his head swathed in his tunic, smelling his own sweat, hearing the muffled voices of the adults as they discussed the one thing about him that made him interesting to them. An acrostic…Christian elements, the alpha and the omega…encrypted words. He felt a warm, heavy finger tracing across his back, perhaps the Emperor's own, and his gruff voice teasing out the words: Constare, perire.

  The boy was straightened up, his tunic flopped down, and he was turned around to face the Emperor. Audax saw that one of the guards had drawn his sword. Everybody understood the true meaning of the two words. Suddenly the tension in the room was enormous, and Audax, at its focus, was very afraid.

  It was Helena who spoke next. Are you threatening my son? Is he to die today?

  Thalius spoke rapidly, clearly terrified; he hadn't anticipated this reaction. Nobody will die…Not a threat…We bring you the Prophecy in good faith, we did not make it…We hope you will take it as guidance for a better future for all of us…We bring you a letter…He fumbled beneath his toga for his document, and the guards glared at him even more intently.

  And while they were distracted Audax discovered a knife in his hand, a fine, polished blade. It had been put there by Aurelia. As he looked down on the blade, her cold fingers closed around Audax's hand, and the knife.

  And she pushed Audax, stretching his arm, and the blade was thrust forward. Audax saw all this as if watching from outside his own body. It had been beaten into him across a lifetime that when an adult pulled you around you didn't resist, not so much as a muscle. So it was his hand that held the knife, but Aurelia's strength that shoved it through layers of cloth, a briefly resisting skin, and then into a wet warmth beyond.

  Even as the knife pierced the Emperor's chest, Aurelia screamed, 'No! The slave is a rogue! Help me hold him back, oh help me!' When the knife was embedded to its hilt, Aurelia fell back with a cry.

  For a heartbeat all was still. Audax and Constantine were locked together, the knife hilt still in the slave's hand, the blade in the Emperor's chest. Constantine's mouth gaped, with strings of spittle stretched between his lips. Audax's hand felt small, pressed against the huge warmth of the Emperor's body.

  Then there was pandemonium. Helena screamed, the soldiers yelled and drew their weapons, and Thalius and Aurelia were both grabbed and held. But nobody dared touch the Emperor himself, or the boy.

  Constantine raised his hand, and everything stopped.

  The Emperor was breathing slowly, carefully, and he kept his eyes locked on Audax. 'Don't move,' he said in Brigantian.

  Audax was surprised enough to speak. 'You know Brigantian.'

  Perhaps his arm moved, just a tiny bit, as he spoke. Constantine gasped, and his huge body shuddered, as if he was a puppet controlled by the boy, and the knife.

  Constantine said breathlessly, 'I was a soldier here, serving under my father, for many years. This was my home. I learned British. What is your name? Nobody thought to tell me.'

  'Audax, sir.'

  'Audax. All right, Audax, listen to me carefully. There are two very important things that I must tell you. The first is that I know that it wasn't your fault. I saw the woman push you-what is her name?'

  'Aurelia.'

  'Yes. I saw it. So whatever happens today, if I live or die, you won't be punished. Do you believe me?'

  Audax thought it over. 'No,' he said.

  Constantine gritted his teeth. 'I wish my advisors were half as honest. I am the Emperor, Audax. If I make a promise it is kept. So believe me.'

  'What is the second important thing?'

  'The second thing is that as a soldier I learned a lot about the human body. Mostly by cutting holes in other people. And I know that if you move that knife, even a little bit, you will puncture the vessels of my heart and I will surely die. If you do not move it, I might yet live. Do you understand now why I asked you to stand still?'

  'Yes,' said Audax.

  Yes, he understood. But his arm, held out straight, was tiring, and the blood was seeping out of the Emperor's robes, bright crimson, and soaking his hand in slippery warmth. He did move, just minutely, no matter how hard he tried to keep still. He couldn't help it. And with every jerky motion he felt the Emperor shudder and twist in response. It was the way Audax had seen crucified slaves jerk and twitch, tiny motions as they tried to relieve the pain in their chests and feet. And just as Audax had learned to recognise mortal fear in the faces of the crucified, so he saw fear on Constantine's greying face now, beneath the clamp of calm.

  The Emperor said, 'Can you see the man behind me? The tall man with the spectacles-I mean the bits of glass on his nose? He is my physician-a Greek, and a very good one. He is called Philip. If you want you can let Philip take the knife from you, then I will live. Or you could choose to twist the knife and I will die.'

  Audax heard Aurelia yell, 'Kill him, slave! Kill the monster-' Then her voice was muffled, perhaps by a soldier's heavy hand.

  Audax stayed still, his arm aching.

  The Emperor said, 'Why do you think that woman wants me dead?'

  'The words on my back say you will die.'

  'All right. But what do you think, Audax? Do you think your choice should depend on a p
rophecy? Look at me. What do you see?'

  Audax considered the man before him: heavy-set, powerful. He reminded Audax of Tarcho. 'A soldier,' he said.

  'Yes. Good. That is what I am above all, and always will be.'

  'I want to be a soldier,' Audax said.

  Constantine nodded, just a little. 'Then I promise you shall be-if you choose to let me live. But it is your choice, Audax. Quite a thing, isn't it? Here we are, Emperor and slave, the highest and the lowest, the top and the bottom. And yet because of a simple knife, at this moment it is you who holds more power than anybody else in the world-you, at whose every tremble all history shudders.'

  'It is true,' Thalius whispered. 'It is true! The unravelling of a Prophecy three centuries old-the fate of the whole world to come-all of it boils down to this moment, a knife in the hand of a slave!' But Tarcho hushed him roughly.

  Constantine whispered, his voice growing weaker, his face greyer, 'The world is a complicated place, Audax. The future is unknown. And yet we must make choices even so. What do you think such choices should be based on? Words burned into your back, or the judgement of a man like me?'

  Audax felt detached from the world, as if he was going to faint. His arm, outstretched, was so stiff, his blood-soaked fingers so numb, that he could barely feel the knife any more, and he didn't know if he was keeping still or not.

  And as the world turned to grey, he thought he saw the walls of the room break down, like a collapsed wall in the mine, revealing corridors leading off to misty destinations. Dimly he discerned that the Emperor was telling the truth, and so was Thalius, that momentous events affecting the lives of people for generations unborn depended on what he did in the next few heartbeats. Who was he to trust, then-who or what?

  If Constantine had been Tarcho he would not have hesitated-Tarcho, the only person in his life save perhaps his dimly remembered mother who had ever been truly kind to him. And yet Constantine was enough like Tarcho that he found he trusted him. People were real, Audax thought. People and their characters and their judgements. That was all that mattered in the world. Words, prophecies, were nothing.