"Good fortune to you, then. Do not die too soon!" Hamilcar stepped back into the frame of the door. He gave an oily smile. "Perhaps the mouse can carry your shield today." Then he was gone and the door swung closed.
"What does he mean?" Thyatis knelt, taking Ila's face in her hands. "How did you get caught?"
Ila sniffled, putting the back of her hand to her nose. "Sorry. I was being very quiet."
"Where did they find you?" Thyatis' fingers gently probed the bruises. Ila stood very still, trying not to wince. Thankfully, the girl's cheekbone was not broken, and the skin was intact. "Were you in the school?"
"Yes." Ila hung her head, whispering. "I was supposed to find where you were being held. Vitellix and Mithridates were going to come and get you with some other men."
"What other men? Who is Mithridates?"
Ila looked around and saw that Candace and Agrippina had moved away, herding the other "Amazons" to the far end of the room. "That mean lady's men-they are fierce killers, professionals! Vitellix says that they are sicarii. Mithridates is the black man you fought in the inn-you broke his knee, remember?"
"I remember. This 'mean lady,' what color are her eyes?"
Ila screwed up her button nose, thinking, then said, "A funny purple, like the petals of a flower."
Thyatis felt a chill as violent memory intruded into her thoughts. Sighing, she sat down, holding Ila's hand. "She knows I am here?"
"Oh yes," Ila said, sitting as well. "Vitellix saw you fight in the arena. So did she. It's not hard to tell you're you, Diana! Everyone in Rome thinks you're the most beautiful woman alive!"
"Thank you, Mouse." Thyatis hugged the girl to her. "I don't want to see that woman again, though. I'm done with her, I think, and her sicarii."
"Vitellix doesn't like her either," Ila said in a conspiratorial tone. "She's arrogant and mean, and she always talks to him like he was a servant."
"She thinks everyone is her servant, sometimes." Thyatis remembered a brief moment of humanity between them, of caring, perhaps even love. "But she is a human being, too. It's too late for a rescue, though. We fight within the hour."
Ila gulped, her eyes getting big and round. "I have to fight?" she squeaked.
"No." Thyatis' eyes narrowed and she stood, motioning with her head. "Not you. Candace, Agrippina, a word."
The two women clanked over, eyes smudged with tension. No one had slept well for the last three days. The aftereffects of the drugged food and wine had been slow to wear off, making everyone irritable. Thyatis had been pressing them hard, too, trying to show them how to fight with a sword and a spear. Thyatis knew that most of the latest victims-more slaves, prostitutes, women from the city prison-would die. At least this was the last day, the last fight. If they could just live through this, they would be fine. Some of them might even be freed. She had tried not to tempt them with false hope.
"Will they count us," Thyatis said softly, "when we march out?"
"Maybe." Candace looked at Ila, who was scrunching herself into the smallest possible space at Thyatis' feet. "What did that sleek pig say?"
"Nothing," Thyatis growled, her hands on Ila's shoulders. "Mouse won't last a grain out there; we need to leave her behind or hide her somehow."
"If we can," Agrippina rumbled, "we will. But these poor dears… they won't last long either."
"No. Just try and keep them together. I'll do all the killing, if I can."
Candace shook her head, tight ringlets bouncing on teak-colored shoulders. "You can't expect to win by yourself, Diana. These Persians will be veteran soldiers. Not half-dead slaves or convicts blind with hunger."
"I know." Thyatis hooked the shoulder pieces onto her breastplate. "They've given us armor this time, though, and we'll get real weapons. Is everyone suited up?"
Agrippina nodded, looking over her shoulder. "As best we can manage. Most of this stuff doesn't fit."
Thyatis made a crooked smile, feeling her breasts compress under the armor. Thank Artemis it wasn't her time of the month! Agrippina, who was well endowed, had foregone the full suit. This was old Legion equipment, purchased at a reduced rate in the market. The armor had never been designed for a woman. "Just keep them shoulder to shoulder and pointed at the enemy. Don't try and kill anyone yourselves, just hold them off."
The Butcher shook her head in dismay. "The attendants will be at us again with the whips and hot irons. They want a good show!"
"Hold them off too." Thyatis' eyes narrowed. "I'm not ready to die yet."
"Yeah," Ila whispered, scowling fiercely. "That oily man needs a good whipping."
– |"Empress."
Helena turned in surprise, surrounded by a cloud of her maids and attendants, dark brown eyes widening at the sight of an old friend. The tunnel behind the Imperial box was floored with agate and decorated like a palace in its own right. At intervals, there were side chambers where notables could take their ease between acts. The box itself was open on three sides, though covered by an awning, and dusty if the wind got into the arena. This room was usually used for the musicians-flautists, lyre players, tambourine shakers-who provided background for the esteemed conversations of the Emperor and his favorites. The Empress halted, though her maids, eager to see the colorful scene in the arena itself, passed on, chattering and laughing. "Anastasia?"
"May I have a moment of your time?" The Duchess was no longer draped in mourning cloth, though she had not resumed her usual flamboyant dress. Today she was dressed in traditionally cut dark gray edged with black, her classic oval face barely painted, save for some smoothing powder around her eyes. A veil covered her hair. She seemed, not shrunken, exactly, but leaner and stripped of anything extraneous. Anastasia stood aside, letting Helena enter the empty room.
"What has happened?" Helena turned, concerned, as Anastasia let the curtain fall over the door. "Are you well?"
"I am awake." Anastasia did not smile, though she raised one white hand slightly. "I would like to ask you a favor."
Something in the woman's voice made Helena pause, though her first instinct was to say yes, of course. The Empress had a mother-of-pearl and silk fan in her hands. Helena bought a moment to compose herself by unfolding it. "What is it?"
Anastasia paused, seeing the subtle change in the younger woman, and she realized her retreat from the world had cost her more than she had realized. The Duchess sighed, feeling very old, and sat down on one of the padded benches that lined the walls in the little room. "I am sorry, Helena, I have no right to ask you for anything. I know you are disappointed in me, and I have already betrayed the Emperor's trust."
"Oh dear." Helena sat as well, her light linen gown folding under her. Even with today's games being an evening program, the Empress knew it would be dreadfully hot in the Imperial box. The marble seats and walls soaked up the heat of the day, then yielded it slowly as night came on. To compensate, she had adopted a confection of silk and linen designed by her seamstresses to be as cool as possible. Helena was sure that the Emperor would find it pleasing, too, since it exposed far more cleavage and bare shoulder than she wanted. The seamstresses wanted to get her pregnant again. Helena wrenched her thoughts around to her old friend. "Anastasia, you have my trust. This must be dire, then, to have you moping about in such a funk."
The Duchess nodded, keeping her hands clasped in her lap. "It is. My failures compound like bad debts, Empress. You have seen the young woman they call Diana, the fighter?"
"I have indeed!" Helena could not help but smile. "Along with the entire city, of course. Isn't she magnificent! Do you… wait. You know her?"
Anastasia nodded, and it seemed to Helena that the weight on her old friend grew even greater. "I do. She is… she is my daughter, my adopted daughter. One of the ones…"
"…you thought had been killed in the eruption." Helena pursed her lips.
"One of your agents."
"Yes."
"Why is she fighting in the amphitheater? That seems odd, even for one of your
stratagems."
"It is not my plan!" Anastasia's voice was almost brittle. "She has been charged with crimes and sentenced to the arena. I have not been able to discover the nature of the charges; the court records are sealed or missing. I did not know where she was until I saw her myself the other day."
The Empress nodded, idly fanning herself. "You want her pardoned."
"Yes." Anastasia stared at the floor. A year ago, she would not have needed to ask. Her position would have allowed her to forge release papers, grease the proper palms, lean on the right officials. In another six months, perhaps, she would be in such a position of strength again. But not today. "Please."
"You," Helena said slowly, arching an eyebrow and putting the fan to her nose, "will have to ask Galen for this yourself. The Empress, no matter how wise and beautiful, cannot pardon criminals, even ones that have been falsely accused."
Anastasia paled, her fine-boned white hand going to her throat. "He will not speak to me."
"He will." Helena's eyes narrowed, glinting. "That much, I can promise you."
A muted roar suddenly intruded, the tumult of fifty thousand people standing and cheering. The stone bench under the two women trembled at the sound.
"The games begin," Helena said briskly. "Come with me."
Anastasia stared at her friend for a moment, then stood, taking the Empress' hand.
"Come, now," Helena chided, "he rarely bites!"
– |The light was failing as Thyatis rolled out onto the sand, standing in the back of a silver chariot garlanded with bright flowers. Four pure-white horses led the high-wheeled vehicle, their manes twined with ribbons, tall plumes of feathers bobbing over their heads. Night was beginning to climb into the eastern sky, and the roar of the crowd, welcoming their new hero, rose up like thunder.
"Hail, Amazon!" they screamed, round faces lit by a fading golden glow. Long, slanting beams of light fell through the arches on the western side of the arena, shimmering in the dust raised by the day's fights. The people in the upper seats were standing, shouting, their arms raised. In the lower ranks of seats, where the patricians sat, the crowd was quieter, though there was still a drumming of feet on the stone benches.
"Hail, Amazon!"
Thyatis flicked the reins and the horses picked up to a trot. The chariot sped across the sand, wheels grinding across dark red stains and the rake marks left by the slaves who smoothed the floor between each bout. Raising her hand, Thyatis greeted the crowd. They met her with acclaim, their voices huge, like the gods roaring in the heavens. Coins and flowers and tokens filled the air, thrown by eager admirers. They pattered on the sand like rain. Behind Thyatis, four more chariots came, carrying her fellow Amazons. Candace smiled for the crowd, too, though Agrippina was more concerned with keeping her footing in the chariot.
"Hail! Hail! Hail!"
Thyatis raced the horses to the entry tunnel, feeling the hot, close air of the arena rush past. The horses were glad to run and she swerved to a stop, throwing a spray of dust and sand into the air. It hung, glowing gold in the late-afternoon light, and she sprang down. Her armor was cinched tight and close, clinging to her supple body like a skin. Blood fire hissed, filling her limbs with strength. She felt glorious, invincible. "Hail!" she cried.
The other chariots rolled to a stop, the slaves in the tunnel darting out to take the reins and lead the white horses away. Thyatis looked over her sisters, nodding to each one. She tightened a strap here, adjusted a helmet there. The women's eyes were filled with fear. Some of them could barely stand.
"We fight together," she barked. "We survive together. Do not try to run, or hide or beg for mercy. Together, we will triumph." She turned away, pacing across the sand towards the Imperial box. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Ila in the tunnel mouth behind an iron grating. Thankfully, Hamilcar had forgotten to tell the magistrate in charge of the amphitheater that a very small new Amazon had been added. She stopped, legs firmly planted, before the marble wall of the Imperial box. This time they had given her a helmet, an open-faced thing, chased with silver and gold, with copper wings sweeping back over her shoulders. For all its glamorous appearance it was heavy and unwieldy. Facing the Emperor, she tucked the helmet under her arm.
"Hail, Emperor of the West. We who are about to die, we salute you. Let our blood, spilt in these holy games, give rest to the uneasy dead. Hail!"
Twenty feet above, the figure of the Emperor looked out upon the expectant crowd, which had grown silent, hushed, and raised his hand. It was white against the darkness of the box. The sun was setting quickly. Crystalline spheres rose all along the rim of the amphitheater. Each burned bright and the whole bowl of the massive building was lit as if by day.
"Let the game begin!" The Emperor's voice rolled out, magnified by the shape of the Imperial box and the cupped bowl of the building. His words echoed back from the statues crowning the arena wall. No sooner had they died than a rising moan filled the air, a magnificent and unearthly sound. A dozen men worked the levers and stops of an enormous water organ, calling forth a sound like the gods speaking.
She turned, sliding the helmet onto her head. Already the arena was filled with the rattle and clank of the elevators. Figures were rising from the sandy floor amid wooden structures that aped walls and buildings and an arched bridge. The torchlight glinted from armor and helmets. Thyatis looked to Candace, seeing the Nubian woman drawing her sword. Agrippina held hers in both hands like an overlarge cleaver.
With a rasp, her gladius rippled from its sheath. Now there was nothing but the sight of her enemy, moving tentatively towards her over the sand. This would be her last moment of respite. She stopped, raising her sword to the sky, saluting her enemies.
"Avete, morituri estis, vos saluto!" she shouted, and the crowd, hearing her words, gave forth with a bellow of appreciation. The sky rang with the sound.
– |The skyline of Rome glowed with fading sunlight. On the uppermost deck, the great sails and their masts shimmered with red and gold. The sailors had drawn them in and were busily lashing them down against the night wind. Maxian, shrouded in gray and black, strode across the pine deck with Gaius Julius at his side. The Prince paced his usual circuit, ignoring the cheers and howls that rose up from below. The rising and falling sound of the mammoth water organ rumbled, making the decking tremble. Bending low at each copper bead, the Prince checked the wood around each sphere. This time, the pine was not discolored. The markers had achieved a balance with the Oath.
"Is there anything we can do to help?" Gaius Julius' voice held an interested but distant tone. The Prince shook his head, rising from the last bead.
"No," he said, distracted. "Watch over my body. See that I am not disturbed. If I fail… then I think it will be obvious!" Maxian shrugged the black cloak away. Now they were standing directly above the Imperial box, though it was at least a hundred and thirty feet below. "Are you going to be in the stands, watching?"
Gaius Julius shook his head. He was trying to avoid Imperial attention. "I've done my part for the celebration. This effort of yours concerns me more."
The Prince settled himself onto the deck, arranging his legs and arms just so. He faced outward, across the breadth of the arena, toward the statue of Jupiter the Best and Greatest. The marble figure glowed pearlescent in the failing light, looming large amongst the statues that ringed the interval between the forth and fifth sections of seats. Maxian breathed out slowly, then drew a deep breath. Despite the roars of the crowd and the thundering of feet on the seats, he let his mind empty.
"What happens if you fail?"
The Prince opened one eye, glaring at Gaius Julius, but then both opened. The old Roman had a pensive look on his face and seemed, of all things, to be worried. "What is troubling you?"
"Nothing." Gaius turned away, waving a wrinkled hand in dismissal. "It's nothing."
"Tell me." The Prince sketched a sign in the air with his finger. It gleamed blue for a moment, then faded. The symbolis
m broke apart the forms he had begun to draw around him in the hidden world. Power beginning to flow to him dissipated, spilling across the wooden planks, dripping down into the air over the crowd. Some of the citizens packed into the seats below looked up, puzzled by some half-heard noise or flash of light. Maxian stood, facing Gaius. "You were going to ask me a question the other day, when I was working in the seats."
"Yes." Gaius Julius turned back, shading his eyes with a raised hand. The setting sun grew enormous, a vast, flattened red disk as it touched the western horizon.
"What is it?" Maxian's voice was tinged with anger. He did not want to be delayed. He had no time for idle chatter. The pressure of the Oath against his shields was very low, barely more than the rush of water over gravel in a stream, but he would have to raise himself into the full flood once more if he was to accomplish his task.
"Why am I alive?" Gaius Julius was nervous. "You could not make Krista live, or the little Persian. Not like Alexandros and I are alive. We think for ourselves, we feel pain, hunger and fear. How did this happen? Are you a god, guised in mortal flesh, that you can bring forth our spirit from dead clay?"
Maxian stepped back, surprised by the vehemence, the sorrow, the pain in the old Roman's voice. "Don't be absurd! I am not a god."
"Then why do we live?" Gaius Julius' voice was sharp. "How did you do this?"
"I don't know!" Maxian let his own anger show. The thought had tormented him for a long time-why could he bring the two men to full life, complete with humor and mirth and joy, when Krista became only a dead thing, a corpse that walked, something to be controlled, guided by his will alone? "There is more power in you than dwelt in Krista or Abdmachus. Perhaps that gives you spirit-your legends are strong, eternal. Who knows the names of a pretty slave girl and an exiled necromancer? No one! But you-you and your Egyptian queen, your conquests, your books-they are known to everyone! And Alexandros!" Maxian's voice gained a brittle, furious edge. "Who does not know him?"
"Our legend?" Gaius Julius looked stricken, his face filling with comprehension. "O you cruel gods… That statue, it looked just like him, the other looked just like me. And I… I am old and bald, my face wrinkled… what fickle memory made him young!"
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