The storm of Heaven ooe-3

by Thomas Harlan

  "Yes." The Prince drained his cup with a convulsive swallow, then placed it delicately on the low table. "From your papers, I find that I murdered forty thousand people."

  The old Roman flinched but then composed himself. "My lord, you were attacked. You defended yourself. When a man struggles for life, he may not be aware of the ramifications of his efforts. Who sent these men against you?"

  Maxian's face collapsed, filled with anguish. He covered his eyes. "My brother."

  Gaius Julius nodded, his long face grave. This was serious. All of his efforts might come to naught. "He accounts you a threat to the state, then."

  "Yes. That woman will have put him to it, I'm sure."

  The old Roman cocked his head to one side, thinking. His nets caught many fish, large and small alike. Some involved "that woman," presumably the Duchess de'Orelio, the Emperor's old spymaster. His quick mind arranged rumor and innuendo, added the Prince's news and came to a conclusion. "Lord Maxian, I have heard some things… some news… perhaps your brother did not countenance this plot."

  "What?" The Prince looked up in surprise. "What do you mean?"

  Gaius Julius stood and rummaged through the papers on his desk. He had recently established good relations with the clerks and ministers in the records office. His first goal had been to identify those properties directly owned by the Prince, so that he could borrow against them in the Prince's name. The project in Magna Gothica was consuming enormous sums. In the course of such efforts, he had found-oh, here it is. Gaius drew a parchment out of the stack. It had once been tied with colored twine and sealed with wax. A servant on the Palatine had neglected to burn the paper. A lamentable oversight. The old Roman smiled in delight.

  "Here, my lord. This is only part of a larger document, but it tells enough of the tale, I think."

  Gaius cleared his throat, holding up the paper and putting one hand behind his back, as if he were addressing the Curia. "It begins 'Galen Atreus, Augustus and God, Emperor of the West. From his servant and loyal subject, Anastasia de'Orelio, Duchess of Parma. Lord, I have committed terrible crimes…' "

  When the old Roman was done, the Prince was staring at him in shock, his face filled with conflicting emotions and a bare glimmer of hope.

  "You see?" Gaius Julius put the charred paper away. "Your brother had nothing to do with this. He knew after the fact, surely even as you were being attacked at the villa. The Duchess is a cunning woman; she knew he would never allow your death. She had to move herself, then bear the burden of success or failure herself. By this admission of guilt, she hoped to shield the Emperor from the stain of murdering his own brother."

  "By the gods, what a twisted path!" Maxian stood, unsteady from so much wine. "Is she dead, then? Executed?"

  "Worse," Gaius Julius grinned, for his spies had been watching the Duchess. "She is a broken woman. She is thrice destroyed; first, that she did not kill you. Second, that her agents failed and died themselves. Third, that the mountain erupted and so many citizens perished. Like you, she has a conscience-a trait not to be admired in an intriguer!-and she blames herself for the devastation of Vesuvius. She still lives, for your brother pardoned her, but there is no spirit left in her. She is a husk, a shell of the power she once was."

  "Good!" Maxian snarled, the raw pain of her betrayal fresh in his mind. Once he had thought her a good and trusted friend, but now? Even in defeat, she remained an enemy. Worse, one that knew him too well. "How fare Galen and Aurelian? Have you seen them?"

  "No, no!" Gaius Julius sat again, warding off such a possibility with his hands. "I have toiled in blessed obscurity, my lord. I have no desire to traffic with these kings and emperors. You are quite enough of that for me." He shook his head in wonder. In his breathing life, he would have accounted a day wasted if he was not seen among the people, in the theater, in the circus, in the forum, entertaining and being entertained. Now, with his frantic dreams lying quiet, he took great pleasure in staying behind the scenes, unmarked and unrecognized. "But I have heard, from your dear friend Gregorious, that they are well, though greatly shaken by these events."

  Maxian nodded, his chin on his hand, staring moodily at the wall. "The city seems lifeless. This damnable ash is everywhere a… I entered the city as a traveling player, hoping to avoid notice, but the soldiers at the Ostia gate held me up for an hour, questioning me! The theaters are closed?"

  "Your brother suspended all public entertainments until funeral games could be arranged for the dead. This is a singularly dull city, I would like to say, when there is nothing going on but work."

  Maxian summoned a gloomy half-smile at the jest. "This is very unfortunate. Tell me, in your efforts, have you made any friends in the Flavian?"

  Gaius Julius' eyebrow slid upwards, but he restrained himself from darting a shocked look at the table. Nothing in this apartment should contain any reference to his intrigues in the amphitheater or among the circus factions. One never knew when the Emperor's guardsmen or the aediles might come knocking. "Perhaps… I might know a man who works there. Why?"

  Maxian turned to him, face intent, fingers intertwined. "Gaius, I appreciate all that you have done to help restore the state. By some miracle, you have divined my new purpose. I have been thinking, long and hard, about my rash acts. I have been thinking, in fact, about that dog Abdmachus!" Fresh anger crept into the Prince's voice. "Do you know what he did?" Maxian's jaw clenched.

  Gaius Julius began to smile, thinking of Alexandros' theories. "Mayhap I do. Tell me, Lord Prince, have you found that he influenced your thoughts?"

  "I have! The wretched creature inveigled a pattern into my mind, bending me, all unknowing, to his will! He guided me, pressed me to assail the Oath, to try and destroy it and Rome as well!"

  Gaius clapped his hands in sly delight. His estimation of the Persian wizard rose to new heights. The Prince's face was a perfect cameo of the betrayed man, realizing that he had been guided down a rosy path to certain destruction. "I hope, Lord Prince, that you have taken steps against this influence?"

  "Yes. It has been cast out, expunged from my mind. I find that my thoughts are much clearer now. They are furious, but they are clearer."

  The old Roman nodded, pinching his long nose to keep from laughing out loud. "Then what will you do now?"

  Maxian sighed, jutting out his chin, and scratched the back of his head. "I must make amends. I fear to face my brothers, to try and explain to them… Gods, I hear the dead of Baiae and Herculaneum shrieking when I close my eyes! There is such a black stain on me. I do not know if I can ever atone for these crimes."

  "Lord," Gaius Julius said earnestly, "you are not responsible for these things! Your mind was guided, influenced, by the dark masters of Persia itself. You thought that you were doing the right thing. The Duchess, curse her, was trying to do the right thing too! Even your brother was only struggling to sustain the Empire against what seemed, what was, a dreadful threat! These things are not your fault. You were a pawn in Abdmachus' game."

  Gaius settled back in his chair, watching the Prince very carefully. The old Roman, who had spent many years arguing in the Curia and the Forum, knew that his words were not wholly true. Every man made his own path, but the Prince should not be paralyzed by guilt, not when a clean break could be made from the past.

  "Perhaps." The Prince stood abruptly and paced nervously around the room. Gaius Julius watched him with interest. "I have thought of something I might do, something that would help restore some of the damage the Empire has sustained."

  The old Roman cocked his head to one side, waiting for the Prince to continue.

  "Have you noticed that the odd pressure in the air is much less?"

  "I have. I assumed that once I was no longer directly in your service, that once I strove to aid and assist the state, that the Oath had turned its mindless attention from me. You will note, however, that I have not discarded your amulet!"

  Maxian wagged a finger, smiling. "That may be, but the eruption
plays a part as well. Consider: at some time in the past, the mountain should have erupted, but the Oath viewed this as a threat to the Senate and the people. It undertook certain measures to prevent the explosion. Thus our cork. Now, if a pressure is not relieved, it builds. Centuries passed, I think, with the power in the mountain growing, and the Oath being forced to exert more and more counterpressure to hold it back. All this time, the other structures and lattices within the Oath are being strangled, leached of energy. More and more of the Oath itself was focused on holding back Vesuvius."

  The Prince paused, arranging his thoughts. "Then there is violent and cataclysmic release. The mountain rages free, spewing fire, molten rock and deadly smoke. The eruption is far, far worse than what it would have been before. The greatest damage is not to the land or to the people, but to the Oath itself. See it as a builder might see it; the dam breaks, causing devastation to the low-lying fields, but the worst effect is upon the arch of the dam itself. I believe, from what I can perceive, that the whole Oath has suffered a terrible disruption. Much of it is shaken or even destroyed."

  Maxian stopped his pacing, looking at Gaius with a pensive expression. "I have given the Persians exactly what they wanted. The Western Empire is shaken, even crippled, by the devastation. Worse is the loss in the hidden world. Centuries of protections, of wards, have been torn down. If an enemy comes against the Empire now, all of those old sureties will be gone."

  "Oh," Gaius said, remembering another tidbit of news, this from the East. "Oh dear. Such a thing may have already happened."

  "It will get worse." The Prince was grim. "You will think me mad after all that I have said and done, but I am sure that I must restore the matrices of the Oath."

  Gaius Julius made a face as if he had bitten into a rotten lemon. "Must you? It seems far more pleasant, not having to worry about being annihilated if I think wrongly."

  Maxian grinned, though there was little humor in his face. "I have an idea about that. But… where is our other conspirator? I would have expected Alexandros to be with you."

  Gaius Julius shrugged, looking a little despondent. "He left. He fell in with some Goths and took off on holiday. To Siscia, of all places, which was dull, damp and dreary, as I remember. I don't imagine it has improved."

  "Will he be returning?"

  "If we send for him, he will come back. Rome wore on him, I think. Too civilized. Shall I draft a letter?"

  "No." Maxian half closed his eyes, then sat for a little while, deep in thought. Gaius Julius, after watching for a moment, rose and began tidying up the papers on his desk. They had really gotten out of control in the past week. Perhaps I should get a secretary… but who could I trust? There are so many secrets to keep.

  "He is well, though rather battered, I think." Maxian opened his eyes, looking at the old Roman with a slightly unfocused expression. "I see his intent, and yours, wily old goat! Vacation indeed!"

  "Excuse me?" Gaius Julius felt a distinct and unpleasant chill steal over him. He struggled to hide growing horror. "You can… see him? Where he is?"

  "I could look out of his eyes," the Prince said in a nonchalant tone, "if the need took me. I made him, as I did you, from dust. My will sustains him. If I desire it, I can see his mind."

  "Oh. I am glad he is well."

  The general good humor that had been with Gaius Julius for these last days vanished, leaving him with a sick, churning feeling in his stomach. He gripped the desk for support to keep his knees, unaccountably weak, from buckling under him.

  "Have we done ill?" he asked tentatively.

  "It doesn't matter. If it keeps our Macedonian busy and out of trouble, let him raise his army. I can see sitting around here with you, plotting and intriguing, would bore him. Besides, he would distract you from important work."

  Gaius Julius made a face. The Prince was laughing at him. "Then, what now?"

  Maxian rubbed his hands together. The effect of the wine seemed to have dropped from him like a discarded cloak, leaving him filled with energy. "I see you've been busy, planning the funeral games. That is excellent, truly excellent. Tell me, can this friend of yours get me a pass to enter the Flavian at any time, day or night?"

  "I suppose…" Gaius looked suspiciously at the Prince. "What for?"

  "You'll see." The Prince grinned. "Or rather, you won't see, but I will and that is all that matters."

  What joy, thought Gaius Julius to himself, I get to try to keep track of his machinations as well, while hoping that he ignores mine and keeps his naughty, prying fingers out of my thoughts!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The Palace of the Stag, Constantinople

  "Master Tarsus?" The priest woke, blinking, and saw night had fallen. Someone was bending over him in the vestibule, gently shaking his shoulder.

  "Excuse me! I did not mean to fall asleep." Tarsus sat up, grimacing at a twinge in his back. It did him no good to sleep on these cold stones. He was not a youngster anymore! The little room was dim, lit only by a single lamp. Then he recognized the man leaning over him.

  "Master Hipponax!" Tarsus' bearded face lighted with joy. "I had not thought to find you in the city-they told me at the chapter house you had left."

  Hipponax sat down, his round face smiling in a tired way. He was a little man, with only a fringe of hair left on his head. Like Tarsus, he was dressed in the pale blue overcloak of the Order of Asklepius.

  "Oh no," Hipponax said in a wry voice. "There's too much to do in the city. The high priest and all of his… friends… went off to his estates on Crete until this business with the Emperor's mood improves."

  "Ah," Tarsus said, remembering the temple here was devoted to politics and currying favor in the Imperial court rather than actual healing. The simple-looking Hipponax was one of the few actually treating the ill. "You've been ministering, then."

  Hipponax made a wry face. "I have! There are nearly a million people in the city, old friend. They have an endless litany of complaints. Far more than one simple priest not overly blessed with the gift can handle. But I try."

  "What are you doing here? Have you come to see Prince Theodore?"

  Hipponax shook his head, the faintest hint of anger showing in his eyes. "No, I've no desire to see men of war. I was invited by the Caesar, so that he might bend my ear for an hour or so. And a dolorous hour it was!"

  Tarsus gritted his teeth. If he had stayed awake, he might have gained entrance to the Prince's chambers in Hipponax's company.

  "What's wrong?" Hipponax took Tarsus' hand in concern. "Ay! You're waiting to see the Prince! I'm sorry, I didn't see you until I was coming out."

  "No matter!" Tarsus said stiffly. "Do you think that he would see me now?"

  Hipponax shook his head sadly, his voice low but cutting in tone. "A gaggle of patricians came in as I was leaving, and they were sitting to dinner. I doubt he'll find time for you tonight! If my interview is any judge, he will be a long time filling their ears with venom and bile directed at the Empress. His idea of plotting is remarkably blunt. Tell me, have you eaten? There is a fine inn not too far away-we could break bread, sip some wine!"

  Tarsus felt his stomach grumble awake at the thought of a lamb shank and fresh bread. "I shouldn't," he said, looking out the door of the waiting room. The guards continued to ignore them. "But I fear this is fruitless. Let us find this inn of yours!"

  Hipponax beamed, for he was very fond of good food and wine. Tarsus picked up his straw traveling hat and slung a stained woolen cloak over his shoulders. At least he was getting fit again with all this tramping about.

  – |"How curious!" Hipponax cut a slice of garlicked sea bass, garnished with scallions and pepper paste, and skewered it neatly on an eating tine. The glistening, perfectly cooked fish disappeared into his mouth. He smiled beatifically, savoring the taste. "Your student claimed to have revivified the dead and imbued them with thought and spirit?"

  Tarsus nodded glumly, picking at the spiced lamb on his trencher. As Hipponax had
promised, the innkeeper provided an exceptional table. The bread could not be flakier, with a firm yet pliant crust. The lamb was divine, with a succulent aroma and swimming in rich gravy. But, as their conversation turned to Tarsus' mission, his appetite vanished. A sense of impending disaster gripped him, filling his thoughts with wild visions and phantasms. He saw the city burning, choked with the dead and prowled by abominations.

  "Yes, he was certain, mad as it sounds. And his subjects! Gods above and below, I cannot think of a more dangerous pair to set loose upon the Empire. Can you imagine the trouble they could cause?"

  Hipponax nodded, cleaning off his plate with a hunk of bread. "They are both notorious… I wonder… could that be why he was able to summon them up as living men?"

  Grimacing, Tarsus shook his head. "The passage of the ka into the underworld is no mystery. We debated that when we were students. The only way that a spirit returns-the only passage that the gods allow-is by rebirth in a new body, cleansed of all memory. Then the soul grows and learns again. Only the ancient heroes ever brought back the dead whole to the land of the living, and then, then by descending into Hades itself to lead them forth."

  Hipponax dabbed at his lips with a cloth. "We've argued that point too. It's allegorical that the heroes led the dead back from Hades. Obviously their physical bodies were cremated or rotted in the tomb. Some means must have existed to let their spirits return and inhabit a new body. Perhaps your student found this mechanism."

  "No," Tarsus said in despair. "He related the incantation he used-it was one of the forbidden rites. He restored the body of his lover the same way. She became a husk, just as the old books warn. I fear this: malign spirits were nearby when the boy conducted the rites-they inhabited the freshly vivified bodies and are pretending to be these ancient despots."

  "You," the little priest said, sitting back with his hands on his round belly, "are of a morbid turn of thought this evening."

  "Do you see another possibility?" Tarsus' voice rose irritably.