The storm of Heaven ooe-3

by Thomas Harlan

  The result, as far as Galen was concerned, was that he had a fine shady garden outside his office, where he could take a meal with his brother and the commander of the Rhine Legions in peace and quiet. Before he left the desk, he put it in order, then followed his brother out onto the terrace. The servants had already set up a brass table with a decorated cloth, plates and some wine.

  "Something has happened," Galen said as he sat. Nilos appeared, leading Dagobert, who was looking around in appreciation at the garden and the view and the serving girls carrying out plates of cold meats, cheese, bread, candied figs, fresh-cut vegetables, sliced fruits and a honey-glazed duck. "Aurelian, you've met Dagobert, son of Lothair, before, yes?"

  Aurelian nodded to the Frankish noble in greeting. The tribune was a very tall man with long fair hair. Like most of the northern barbarians, he was blue-eyed and sharp-featured. Dagobert bowed deeply to the Emperor and, at Galen's gesture, sat. With most men, the Frank would have been lordly, even remote, but seated in the company of his avowed lord he was diffident and humble. Like Aurelian, he was wearing the polished breastplate, greaves and leather pteruges of a Legion officer under a dark cloak.

  "Ave, Lord and God," he said. "You are well?"

  "I am," Galen said, picking at the food on his plate with an eating tine. "How stand things in Gaul?"

  "They are good, Augustus," Dagobert replied. Aurelian, meanwhile, had piled an enormous amount of spiced lamb, bread and cheese on his plate. Apparently ravenous, the Caesar was digging into the food after anointing it liberally with fish sauce. "Recent actions in the south have restored order amongst the truculent Euskadae and the Bretons. The frontier along the Rhenus remains intact. In all, things are of a peaceful state, which I think will maintain for the rest of the year."

  "Good," Galen said with heartfelt relief. "What of Britannia?"

  Dagobert sighed and his good humor vanished. "Things are not so well. Last year it seemed reasonable to withdraw the Legion at Eboracum. Unfortunately, a great force of Scandians landed on the eastern shore in spring and the local chiefs, despite strenuous efforts, have failed to dislodge them. I have sent a mishmash of cohorts drawn from here and from there to aid Ammianus, who is governor of Britannia. It may not be enough."

  Galen tapped his nose with a forefinger. He had other reports, sent by agents in Londinium, relating the same tale. Luckily, the Northmen had come ashore in the great fens and bogs near Branodunum, a poor and desolate part of the province. While the local governor could not get at the invaders, neither could they pillage the countryside.

  "It will be enough for the moment," Galen said after considering the matter. "The Britons are doughty fighters. I will send Ammianus a rescript withholding taxation from the province and placing the sums so gathered in his own hands, to arm and outfit men to repel this attack. Between this aid and the reinforcements you have already sent, he should be able to punish these barbarians thoroughly."

  "Perhaps," Dagobert said, unconvinced. "Ammianus is not a general. He may not be suitable for the task."

  "Who commands the troops already sent?"

  "My third-best legate, a Briton himself, named Uthar. He is a solid man, so he should be able to at least hold the Scandians at bay. Pepin, my second, I have left in command of the Rhenus Legions, in case the tribes beyond the river decide to try us while I am away."

  Aurelian stopped stuffing his mouth with fried bread dipped in garlic butter for a moment.

  "Not drive them off?" The Caesar seemed angry at the prospect. "Not crush these barbarians and cast them back into the sea amid the ruin of their ships?"

  "No," Dagobert said, shaking his head. A flinty look entered his eyes at the disbelief in Aurelian's face. "Things are changing in the north, beyond the frontier. The Scandian tribes grow very numerous, while our numbers of men under arms remain the same, or less, than they were before. In Germania and Gaul we are very lucky, for the Saxons and the Franks-beyond-the-River are our shield."

  Dagobert took pains to distance himself as a chief of the Franks-within-the-Empire from those that remained outside of Roman jurisdiction. The near collapse of the Western Empire during the previous century allowed many tribes, including the Franks, to migrate into Gaul. When Imperial order had been restored, the various Emperors had adopted a policy of dissemination. Each household was allotted lands scattered throughout Gaul and the Narbonensis. In this way, by diluting the invaders amongst the mostly Romanized Gaulish population, it was hoped the outlanders would abandon their old ways and become Roman citizens.

  Galen was not sure the policy was working, but it did provide a sorely needed reservoir of soldiery for the Western Legions. Dagobert was a good example. His forefathers had led the Frankish migration. Now he served in the Legion and had risen to a very respectable rank. In this way, the Empire directed the ambitions of those who might otherwise seek to carve a demesne from the corpse of the Imperial order.

  "Britannia," the tribune continued, "does not have that luxury. Its long eastern coast is exposed to Scandian raids and invasion. Our northern fleet is in a parlous state as well, with most of the ships withdrawn to the Mare Internum. We are not able to contest these raids at sea… Lord and God, I know that you have won a great victory in the East, but we need to set our own house in order before too much more time has passed."

  The Emperor curled his fingers into a fist. He knew all these things, but hard choices had to be made, and Dagobert lacked the latest news from the East. "Tribune, I take your words to heart, but let me relate what I have recently learned."

  Aurelian, polishing off a cream custard glazed with Indian cinnamon, looked up with interest. Dagobert's long face grew longer.

  "I have kept this news from common circulation," Galen began after taking a sip of wine. "Because I do not wish the people to be further troubled, still shaken as they are by the eruption of Vesuvius. However, this will be common currency in the Forum and the markets by the end of the week, for the ship that brought it to me will be only the first of many.

  "In the recent war against the Persians, the Eastern Emperor used the Hellenic cities of the Decapolis and Syria as pawns to keep the main Persian army in play, while we struck out of the north. In the short term, this maneuver worked admirably and the Sassanid kings have been thrown down. Unfortunately, these same cities of the Decapolis and Nabatean Petra suffered heavily. In fact, the frontier city of Palmyra was utterly destroyed.

  "To make matters plain, these diverse cities have risen up in revolt, aided by certain Arab tribes, against the Eastern Emperor. Further, they have won two great victories in Syria. First, they have smashed and scattered a great Eastern army under the command of Prince Theodore."

  "Haw!" Aurelian smirked. "That pup didn't learn, did he? I remember what you've said of him, Gales. Got his soldier lopped off, did he? Waving it around in public, I warrant."

  Galen stilled his brother with a stern glance and continued. "Prince Theodore then worsened the problem by abandoning the campaign and fleeing back to Constantinople, leaving the remains of his army under the command of an Armenian mercenary named Vardanes. Stripped of most of his troops, Vardanes fell back into Syria Magna. At the time that seemed prudent, since Damascus is the lynchpin of the Eastern frontier.

  "However, the commanders of this rebellion are not short-sighted men. From the fragmentary accounts that I have received, it seems they split their army into at least three elements. One, I suspect the largest, has moved north to besiege Damascus. The second made its way in haste to the coast and stormed the great port of Caesarea Maritima. The third has moved south to threaten Egypt."

  Aurelian and Dagobert's eyes widened. It was not enough that the entire Eastern frontier should collapse, but now the critical corn supply from Egypt-the source of nearly a quarter of the corn consumed in Rome and all of the supply for Constantinople-was threatened. These were daring rebels indeed.

  "This is not all," Galen continued in a bleak voice. "I am assured the lamentable Prin
ce Theodore also left these rebels a generous gift. At Caesarea, in harbor, awaiting his further command, was nearly half of the Eastern fleet, warships and transports alike. A very great portion of that fleet is now in the hands of the rebels."

  "Bugger all," Aurelian hissed. He was no clerk, but he knew the value of a fleet in the Mare Internum. "There's not been a hostile, non-Roman fleet in the Inner Sea for centuries!"

  "True enough, Horse, but no longer the case."

  "The corn supply," Dagobert said slowly. "Unless this fleet is destroyed, they will threaten Egypt from both land and sea. The Eastern Empire will be crippled."

  "And we will suffer as well." Galen gestured towards the south. "The loss of the Campanian farmlands in this eruption will require us to import an additional five million tons of wheat, rye and millet from the delta in the next two years. Normally, this would not be an issue, since the Egyptian harvests have been high for the past decade, but if Egypt is lost?"

  "Famine," Aurelian muttered, looking out over the red roofs and white temples of the city. "Riots and insurrection, rationing… Can the African provinces make up the lack?"

  "I have sent letters to the governors of Mauretania and Numidia, urging them to see more land placed under cultivation and all harvests are well accounted for. Some portion of their production is exported to the black kingdoms beyond the Gates of Hercules, but not enough to make up the difference."

  Dagobert leaned back in his wicker chair, thick-fingered hand stroking his clean-shaven chin.

  "What will we do?" Aurelian was pensive. "Egypt is our responsibility now, since you brokered that deal with Heraclius two years ago. We have, what? A half-legion of miscellaneous troops there? Not much of a garrison."

  "True," Galen said, sitting forward, hands clasped. "They will need to be reinforced. I have given considerable thought to this matter in the past week. This is my intent: Aurelian, you will take command of the Western fleet and the three legions currently recuperating and retraining here in Rome. You will sail to Egypt as soon as possible and secure the province. Those three legions, comprising the First Minerva, Second Triana and Third Augusta, are our best troops. With them, you should be able to repel any attack."

  "I'll say!" Aurelian got a gleam in his eye. "Do you suppose, if I take Judea and Syria back, we can keep them?"

  Galen glared at his brother and Aurelian put up his hands in surrender.

  "Dagobert, I've a task for you, too. As you know we are stretched very thin on all fronts. It is a necessity for us to put more troops into the field, particularly if the situation in Britannia grows worse. To that end, there are six fresh legions being mustered at Mediolanum. I want you to go there and take over the completion of their training. It will be a task, since we are desperately short of experienced soldiers. But you will have to make it work."

  "Six fresh legions?" Dagobert was aghast. It seemed impossible. "Where did you find sixty thousand men?"

  Galen smiled grimly. It was a bitter pill to swallow, to come to grips with the fact that such a number seemed impossible to one of the highest-ranking military officers in the Western Empire. Galen knew the taste well, for it was constantly in his mouth, bitter as ash.

  "They are not the best men," he said. "Most are freed slaves, others are barbarians, many are prisoners released from the mines and farms. A leavening of patrician youth has been thrown into the mix, but not enough. You must make it work, Dagobert. I am sure that the Eastern Empire will recover from Theodore's folly; we just need to hold things together for the rest of the year."

  "Gales… I know you mean well, but I can't take all of our experienced troops to Egypt and leave the tribune with that lot! Let me leave him the Third Augusta and take two of these raw legions with me. Then he'll have a reliable core, and experienced officers, to get the rest in shape."

  The Emperor frowned, pinching his nose. His instincts said Egypt was critical and urged him to protect it with his best men. Still, he could split the force, reducing the burden on Dagobert, while Aurelian and his experienced officers took the fresh legions to task.

  "You want to dare this defense of Egypt with inexperienced troops?"

  "Yes," Aurelian said firmly, sharing a quick glance with Dagobert, who looked vastly relieved. "You know that terrain as well as I-if they come at us by land, they have to cross the desert between Gazzah in southern Judea and Pelusium on the edge of the Nile delta. The avenue of approach is narrow and we can fortify it-these new men will be good for digging, if nothing else. Look, Gales, what it something else happens? You'll have no reserve at all if you send me everything."

  Galen snarled, wishing that his brother would be a dumb cow and accept what he was given. Unfortunately, the Horse was right.

  "I can call up the Goths," he said, half-heartedly. "I've been informed, more than once, that they can put another fifty to sixty thousand men into the field if I need them."

  Both Dagobert and Aurelian paled at the proposal. Galen knew why-the Goths were a slowly festering sore on the flank of the Empire. They were vigorous and powerful, with a rapidly expanding population and a reckless eagerness for war. Despite the fact that they ably held a long section of the frontier, there were strict Imperial edicts in place limiting the number of men they could have under arms. The policies of dissemination also applied to the Legions, where men were enrolled as individuals, not as clans. The influx of such a great number of Goths all at once would break down that carefully controlled policy, leaving the West with a Gothic legion rather than a Roman one.

  "That," Dagobert said slowly, "would not be wise."

  The tribune looked like he had bitten into a sour olive. The Franks had been pushed into the Empire by the Goths after a series of humiliating defeats. The memory of those losses still haunted Dagobert and his kinsmen. Part of the balance of the northern frontier was held upright by the tension between the two nations. Galen, like his predecessors, managed to keep it from swinging too much in either direction.

  "I know," Galen said, feeling the weight of his responsibilities crush down again. "Very well, the assignments will be reapportioned. Two veteran legions-the First and Second-and two novae-Fourth Scythica and Fifth Macedonica-will go with Aurelian to Egypt. Dagobert, you shall have the Third Augusta and the four remaining novae-Seventh Gemina, Eighth Gallica, Ninth Hispania and Tenth Fretensis at Mediolanum. My aides will provide you with all of the details."

  Galen looked out over the city, thinking upon the effort it took to maintain peace and tranquility here, at the center of the world. It was an old Empire that he ruled, weary and nearly done in by the long race against time and the tide of history. Perhaps… no, this was Rome, and while he breathed, it would survive.

  In that moment, sitting in the sunshine, feeling the cooling breeze in his hair, listening to the watery sound of aspens swaying in the wind, he felt his spirits lift.

  The Empire will endure, came a voice reminiscent of his father's. The Empire is eternal. Our Roman duty is to the Senate and to the people, and while Rome stands, so stands the world.

  "Nilos! Come here, there is work to be done."

  Aurelian clapped Dagobert on the back and raised his cup cheerfully. "No long face, lad. You're out of that dreary German forest for a bit, at least!"

  "Yes," the Frank said. He did seem heartened by the prospect. "At least, my lords, we don't have to worry about the Persians anymore!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The District of the Cisterns, Constantinople

  A woman stood on a stone platform, an elegant white hand resting on a burnished walnut table. The platform rose from a dark lake, shrouded in heavy mist. Four parchment sheets lay before her, arranged in a row. Her fingers, tipped with blue-black nails shimmering in the lantern light, were rolling a small glass vial back and forth across the glossy dark wood. Bracelets clinked softly together as the hand moved to and fro. The motion stopped and the woman turned, her pale, white eyes widening slightly in amusement at the sight of her visitors.
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  Two boys knelt as they stepped onto the carpet, dark eyes glittering in a pervasive golden light. The young woman in the dark cloak remained motionless, though she allowed the little black cat to spring down out of her arms onto the carpet. The little cat darted across the plush floor and then came to a halt beside the tall woman.

  Her skin was rich cream. A long cloud of deep red hair spilled down her back and over her shoulders. Tiny jeweled pins sparkled and gleamed in its firmament, catching and reflecting the light of the lanterns. Laughing softly, she knelt down and ran her hand, long and thin, over the soft short fur of the little cat's stomach. It curled around her hand, biting gently at the webbing between her fingers.

  "Wicked little creature," she said, her voice rich with amusement, "what have you brought me? A gift? A toy?"

  The woman rose, the velvety black silk of her gown sliding effortlessly over a pert bosom and flat stomach. The cut of her clothing was archaic, filled with folds and drapes, but it suited her lithe frame. A twisted belt of golden cord circled her waist and the fall of the cloth almost covered her feet. They were bare, long toes tapering to almond-shaped nails. Around her shoulders draped a supple pectoral of ivory scales. The edges of the plate were serpents worked in gold, with tiny ruby eyes. At her throat, as a brooch holding the gown in place, was a tiny medusa mask with a projecting tongue.

  "Anatol," said the Queen in Darkness, "who is this pretty young thing?"

  The boy cowered on the floor, forehead pressed to the carpets. He was trembling so hard he could not speak. The Queen cocked her head to one side and sighed softly.

  "Go, children. Go and play."

  The two Walach boys crawled backwards until they reached the wooden walkway and their lanterns, then snatched up the hot copper handles and bolted off into the mist. The sound of their feet rattling on the planks echoed for some time. Then mist swallowed the sound. The Queen looked upon the girl in the cloak, frowning slightly, and passed a hand before her face.