"These are the last of the traitors, I think," the old Roman pronounced gravely. Making a show of careful consideration, he stepped among the bodies of the dead, turning some over with his boot. "We were just in time," Gaius Julius said to the men crowded into the doorway of the Emperor's study. The corpse at his feet had long, dark hair and sun-bronzed features. "This was Motrius himself, now sent to Tartarus as he deserves."
Ermanerich wrenched his spear from the dead Praetorian against the door, letting the body slump down the gold-chased panel. The thrust had scored the wood, leaving a dark smudge. Gaius Julius tested the latch, finding it solidly closed.
"They did not have time to break in," he said, waving back the Germans. Two of their officers were staring around in awe-at the busts of past Emperors and philosophers, at two grand paintings on wooden panels held up 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 w
as, 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 would be reliable in the face of the enemy, giving my brother support on the land if his efforts in the air failed."
Gaius Julius blinked. The Emperor's eyes narrowed. "The Rhenus Legions were called home because I feared a conspiracy-and now I can guess whom you suborned on my staff…" Galen spit on the floor. "Bastard of a Greek… I freed him myself. A pity I didn't know the Eighth was already here or our situations would be reversed." He sighed. "I should have listened to Anastasia."
"You ordered those Legions to Rome to suppress… me?" Gaius Julius licked his lips. The point of his gladius dropped away from the Emperor's neck.
"I should," Galen said in a brittle voice, "have had you and Alexandros killed as soon as I knew of your existence." The Emperor nodded politely to the young Goth, who had stiffened at the threat to his friend and sword-brother. "Your pardon, Prince Ermanerich. I fear you've fallen into the company of traitors…"
"Why didn't you?" Gaius Julius feel a queer pressure in his temples and tiny black dots swam in the corners of his vision. He felt unaccountably grainy, as if the air itself were wearing against him. "The Duchess, at least, must have told you who I was if you'd not guessed yourself."
The Emperor's face changed, revealing deep melancholy. "You were my heroes," he said, voice thick with emotion, "Daydreams of youth remain even with the old, and you are both here-giants out of history-throwing down all enemies, conquering nations, driving back the darkness of barbarism. When I learned who you were, Gaius, I was… so pleased. Here is my idol in living flesh, and I can speak with him; discuss literature, history, politics! What a joy!"
A faint, bemused smile flickered across the Emperor's haggard face. "No greater surety has a king, than knowing Alexander of Macedon commands his armies in the field. I worried about Aurelian every day, but never about the Gothic Legion, never! My faith was unshakable, for he is Alexander!"
Gaius Julius started to speak, then felt a trembling at his chest. His hand clutched on the prince's amulet, still on a silver chain around his neck and found the metal burning hot. "Ah!" He stared around the room, suddenly cognizant of a black mist filling the corners and darkening the shadows. "The Oath!"
Ermanerich's eyes were quick, darting from the old Roman slumping towards the floor to the Emperor to the spreading discoloration on the floor around Gaius' feet. Sorcery! his mind screamed, flooding with fear.
Without thinking, the Goth lunged forward, powerful arms thrusting and the leaf-bladed spear plunged into Galen's side. The Emperor gasped, face draining of color, and Ermanerich felt the spear point scrape between bone. For a moment, everyone was transfixed, a tight little tableau of a dying man and two murderers looking on. Then, with a sigh, the Emperor slipped from the spear and crumpled to the floor at the foot of his bed. A thin stream of blood fluted from the spear point.
Gaius Julius staggered, clawing at the air, then fell down himself. The Goth leaned over him in concern-nothing seemed to have touched the old Roman-but his face and hands and neck were withered with age. A hot, bright spark glowed on his chest and smoke curled up from the prince's amulet. Ermanerich's fingers moved towards the peculiar object, then jerked away.
"It's burning!" he blurted, stunned. Reflexively, the Goth made a sign against evil.
A grain passed, then two. A cough wracked the old Roman's body and his eyes fluttered open. "Ermanerich…" he wheezed. "Carry me to the Senate building, to the Curia. There is work to be done."
"Not dead, are you?" The young Goth approached Gaius Julius cautiously and prodded him with the tip of his boot. "What happened?"
"Help me up!" The old Roman tried to lift a hand and failed. He closed his eyes. "While we were each certain of our cause, the Oath let us settle things ourselves and neither Galen nor I intended anything but the best for Rome." Gaius coughed wetly, scowling at fresh spots of blood on his sleeve. "By the gods, he nearly had me with pretty speech… I'd almost changed my mind."
Ermanerich lifted the old man. He was very light, barely skin and bones. "Watch your head." Turning sideways to get through the door, the Goth edged down the hallway and into the study. A group of heavily armed men loitered in the outer room, though none were legionaries. Each wore, however, a dolphin sigil in silver on his breast.
"Sad tidings, my friends," Gaius Julius proclaimed, letting Ermanerich stand him up. Gaius' guardsmen stared at him with interest. "Guard these doors and let no one enter! A bleak day for Rome, but not one without hope. The Emperor lies sadly dead, but before the sun rises, the Senate shall acclaim another."
As it happened, the sun was just climbing among the peaks of the Appenines when Gaius and Ermanerich and an ever-growing crowd of guardsmen and supporters reached the doors of the Curia. Down in the maze of buildings around the Forum, only the rooftops were glowing apricot with the first touch of dawn. Two ranks of Praetorians blocked the entrance to the Senate House and the Goth slowed, seeing the legionaries held bared swords and spears. Standing nearby, a brace of men in crimson cloaks and high, horsetail-plumed helmets surrounded a woman in regal garb.
Martina started with surprise when she saw Gaius Julius' troubled face in the torchlight.
"What happened?" she exclaimed, hurrying through the ranks of her own guardsmen. Gaius Julius managed a wan smile, but his weight was almost entirely supported by Ermanerich's powerful arm and shoulder.
"There was fighting in the palace," the old Roman said in a loud, carrying voice. The men on the steps of the Senate tensed and their officers moved forward, recognizing the Eastern Empress and the visage of one of the Imperial ministers. Gaius clutched Martina's proffered hand and bowed his gray head over her rings and bracelets. "Empress, I am surprised to find you here, and afraid I must give you poor news in public."
Everyone grew quiet; the tradesmen rising early to attend their shops and workshops passing through the Forum Romanum slowing their pace, eyes and ears drawn by the torches and grim-faced men arrayed on the steps of the Curia.
"Motrius, commander of the Imperial Guard, attempted to take the princeps Galen hostage tonight and claim the purple for himself." Gaius' voice grew stronger as he spoke and he winked at Martina. Relieved, she squeezed his hand in return. "By good luck, the guardsmen within the palace remained loyal and their valiant sacrifice bought time enough for news to reach me and allow some cohorts of the noble Eighth Augusta to run to the Emperor's succor."
A murmur ran through the crowd and behind the ranks of Praetorians on the steps, the great ivory doors opened a crack. Someone looked out, listening.
"The traitors have gone to a just reward," Gaius continued, his voice ringing from marble facings and pillars. "But we came moments too late. The Divine Emperor, our Lord and God, lay dying, though the dog Motrius had fallen as well, struck through by the Emperor's own sword,
which has ever been ready in the defense of justice and freedom and against tyranny in all lands."
A stunned silence followed the words, and Gaius Julius bent his head, as if he hid tears with the folds of his bloody toga. For a moment, no one moved, and then one of the centurions among the Praetorians stepped forward.
"Who will lead us now?" the grizzled veteran asked of the crowd. "We are at war and the Emperor's son's too young to take up the laurel crown. Someone must lead Rome while we strive against Persia." The man turned to Gaius. "Did the Emperor say aught, when you found him?"
Gaius Julius shook his head, grief plain on his old face. "No, my lords. He breathed his last as we fought to his side. He said nothing."
"What of Aurelian?" Someone in the crowd called out. "He is Caesar, though absent. He will rule!"
Many of the tradesmen and passersby shouted in agreement, but the commander of the Praetorians-now joined by a clutch of senators newly dragged from their beds-shook his head. "A double tragedy," the centurion said, "for news has recently come from Egypt. Aurelian is dead, slain in defense of Alexandria itself."
"No!" A great moan rose and many of the senators on the steps cried out in fear and alarm. Men in the crowd gathered on the plaza ran away through the streets, shouting the news. Gaius Julius frowned after them, and motioned with his head to some of his guardsmen. The mercenaries loped off, hands on their knives.
"Do not despair!" Gaius Julius climbed the steps, one hand on the small of Martina's back, dragging her along. The Empress flushed, then hurried to catch up. Ermanerich was happy to remain in the crowd below, leaning on his spear. Exhaustion from the long, endless night was beginning to wear upon him. He'd ridden ten leagues, seen his men encamped, then plunged into this…
"Emperor Galen was a wise man and foresaw many paths fate might take. Beyond brave Aurelian, he also titled his younger brother Caesar. Now, with Theodosius an infant, the law says Prince Maxian should rule until his nephew is of proper age."
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