Maxian's head jerked as he woke up and he nodded, his eyes bleary. Gaius Julius had continued to propound on the waters of the district and their undoubted effect on the vintages derived therefrom.
"Yes," the Prince said, "we turn right here. It is only a mile or so to the house."
"Good," Krista said, giving Gaius Julius a slit-eyed glare. "Let's go."
Krista watched the old Roman swing down off of the wagon step with relief. Gaius Julius had begun wearing a strong lemon pomade of late, and it turned her stomach. At her side, the Prince flipped the reins and the mules shuffled their feet and leaned into the traces. The wagon rolled slowly forward.
A thick overhang of twisted dark brown vines and prickly bushes made a wall on either side of the road that led off the main highway into the old estate. The stoutly built carruca barely fit into the dim green passage. Krista leaned back in the wagon seat, watching the leaves pass by overhead as the wagon rocked back and forth, rumbling up the long, shady road. Her fingers toyed with the amulet around her neck, feeling the smooth bronze links of its chain and the incised symbols on its surface. Maxian was oblivious, staring up at the mountain that slowly grew before them.
The Prince had given her the medallion-a circle of brass with a plain surface, marked with rings of small letters that radiated out from a central point. That center was a hole cut through the brass and notched with tiny marks. For a brief moment, since it was so obviously something that he had made with his own hands, she had been very happy. No one had ever given her something they had made expressly for her before. The visitors that had come and gone from the Duchess' house had often given her flowers or gewgaws or presents refused by the Duchess, but they were second-hand things.
Then, of course, the Prince had explained what it was for, and her heart had turned cold.
In this amulet, he had explained in a brisk, professional tone, is trapped a fragment of my power. It holds a similarity of the Shield of Athena that I maintain around all of us at all times. While I live, the device will echo my power and my shield-though around you rather than me. It is less powerful, but it should serve to protect you if you are away from my immediate presence. I have made others for Gaius and Alexandros, of course.
Though she feigned sleep as they rattled and rolled and creaked up the mountainside with Gaius Julius and the others in tow, her mind was turned to thoughts far away from the Prince. She thought more of her home and a hot bath and even the hectoring voice of the Duchess.
The Prince tsked at the mules, and the wagon passed under an old arch of hand-carved stone. They had entered the domain of his patrimony. The clouds seemed very close, and the sun waned. Krista sat up, disturbed from her doze by the chill in the air. It was not cold, exactly, but cooler than it had been down on the plain. Orchards surrounded them, grown wild from lack of care. High grass heavy with seed pods and flowering weeds clogged the ground under the apple trees. The hedgerow that marked the road fell back, becoming a low wall that ran along the verge of the track.
"Just a minute more." Maxian smiled at her, his face open and cheerful. Krista smiled back, though there was the hint of a shadow in her eyes. "Fret not, love. We should be quite safe here."
– |Clouds parted again as they came out of the apple trees and a house lay before them. Krista smiled involuntarily, seeing the simple, clean lines of the brick walls and the slightly canted roofs of the buildings. This was the kind of place that she knew well-a classic Roman rural villa, all square buildings and tiled roofs, pillared colonnades, and atriums open to the sky. A brick wall, overgrown with roses and creeping yellow vines, surrounded the house. The front gate stood open, the old iron latticework green with rust.
"Ah." The Prince looked abashed. "It's smaller than I remember."
Krista laughed and put her hand on his arm. He flicked the reins, urging the mules to hurry up, and then they rolled through the gate, the stretched cloth top of the carruca barely passing under the archway. Within, an open square of hard-packed earth sat between the outbuildings and the main house. The edge of the yard was piled with reefs of blown leaves and twigs. Krista stepped down from the wagon and looked around with wary interest. The place was empty and abandoned, with closed doors and shutters on all sides, but she did not feel like a stranger. It had the feel of a place where the hostess had stepped out and she would be back in just a minute. The walls of the buildings were still plastered and trim, without any fallen-in roofs or broken doors. The other wagons rolled up and parked in a line along the side of the yard toward the mountain. There were barns clustered there, and the faint smell of old manure.
The Walach boys ran past, freed at last from the boring confines of the wagons. They sketched a bow as they ran past Krista, their bare feet thudding on the ground, and loped off between the buildings. Krista took a straw hat-much smaller and more demure than Gaius Julius'-out of the wooden box under the wagon seat and tied it on her head. After undoing a lock, the Prince and Alexandros were opening the doors to the main house. Gaius Julius had already disappeared; doubtless off to find the cellars and winepresses.
A pitiful mew drew her attention, and Krista smiled, her teeth flashing white in the shade under her hat. Two little yellow eyes peered at her out of a red wicker basket stowed behind the seat. Reaching in, she dragged the basket out and held it up. The little black cat was sitting in a nest of old sheets, staring out with wide eyes at the yard and the sky. It mewed again, imperious in its desire to be let out.
"I think not, little squeak." Krista pulled her bag of clothes and sundries out, too, and walked toward the front door of the house, now standing wide, with the faint gleam of sunlight on tiles shining from within. "We have to get settled first, but then I'll get you some cream."
– |Old wooden shutters creaked open, and Krista coughed as dust hazed the air in the kitchen. Unlike the dark, enclosed rooms of the kitchens in the Duchess' house in Rome, here, a long rectangular chamber set at the far end of the house held an iron stove and marble countertops. Nex to the stove was an open, bricked, fire-pit with a griddle built over it. There was a big basin-shaped sink fed by round ceramic pipes, too, which sat under a long series of windows that looked out on the north side of the big house. With the shutters opened, the room was flooded with a cool, northern light and treated to a fine view of the mountain sloping away above the villa. It would be cool in the summer, with its high ceilings and a row of grillwork-covered windows under the eaves.
Krista clapped her hands together, trying to get the dust and grime off. It was no use; the whole house needed a thorough cleaning, and she grimaced, realizing she was likely the only one to care. All of the Persian and Nabatean servants Abdmachus had gathered were dead or missing, which left her only the Walach boys for helpers. They were not very good at cleaning, having a tendency to get into fights with one another or loll about grooming themselves or sleeping. If there was hunting to be had, or some dark business in the nighttime, they were the very soul of attention. But sweeping or scrubbing down countertops? Never.
Footsteps clattered on the smooth tiles of the kitchen floor, and she turned.
"Would you like to go for a walk with me?"
Maxian had changed into a short kilt, leather sandals, and a Greek-style tunic that bared one arm and shoulder. Krista blinked, not having seen him look so, well, rustic before. She stifled a laugh, imagining him with a crown of laurel leaves and an amphora of wine under one arm. He looked relaxed, and the thin creases of strain and worry around his eyes had faded. "What is so funny?" He leaned on the counter, his head at a slight angle, looking down at her.
"Oh, my Lord Bacchus," she said, turning away and smiling over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. "Have you come for a revel?"
Maxian was perplexed for an instant, and then looked down at his costume. "Brat! We're on holiday in the country!" He grabbed her waist, and she skipped back, laughing. "Come here!"
"No!" she caroled, and darted out the door to the back garden. Behind the house and
lying under the kitchen windows had been a large vegetable garden fronting on a brick porch with a stout roof. Now it was as overgrown as the orchards or the cattle pens, but a walkway of round stones had been laid from the back door to a gate in a fence of wooden slats. Krista sprinted across the garden, laughing, and the Prince was hard on her heels. "You're too slow, my lord! But catch me if you can!"
– |Inside the house, Gaius Julius leaned out of one of the windows on the second floor of the sleeping quarters. His old face creased with a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. Like the kitchen in the lower floor, the sleeping rooms were graced with big, tall windows and latticework shutters of thin-cut pine. He had found a chamber to his liking and opened them, letting the late afternoon sun stream through. Even the dust was not so bad. He leaned on the windowsill, watching the figure of the Prince disappear into a stand of olive trees.
"That seems a delightful pursuit."
Gaius turned a little and saw that Alexandros had entered the room. The youth had stripped off his shirt, and the sunlight played over supple muscle and smooth flesh. Even the welts of two deep scars, one along his side and the other just below his shoulder, did not mar his beauty. He had tied his hair partially back, which left it hanging in a thick mane of blond curls behind his head. Gaius Julius grinned wryly, reflecting on the true age of the "young" man. "Would you care to test your strength?"
The old Roman raised an eyebrow and turned around. The Macedonian's eyes met his, and Gaius Julius felt the shock of the man's power to attract and command. "Ah, lad, you know how old I feel…"
"Illusion," Alexandros said, grinning like a god, and took his hand. "Let me show you."
– |Maxian and Krista climbed through stands of cypress trees, sunlight and wind in their hair. The trail, twisted and strewn with rocks, turned and they stopped, looking back. Far below they could make out the red tile roofs of the villa and the outline of the wagons, still sitting in the foreyard. The clouds had blown away to the northwest, out over the Bay of Neapolis. From this height they could see out over the long curve of the shore and toward the headland that held Puteoli and the great military harbor at Misenum. Somewhere below the blue-and-white haze, beyond the sparkling bay, was Cumae and the summer villas of the rich.
"This was my mother's own house," the Prince mused as they walked, clambering up over black rocks with rough pockets cut out of them. "She had it from her father-she was his only heir-and she kept it as she liked. Father built her a whole new house at Cumae when he was made governor and tribune, but this place was the dearest to her heart."
"What happened to your mother?" Krista scrambled along behind him, feeling the twinge of exertion in her thighs. It had been some time since she had had a chance to work up a real sweat. The cool mountain air was refreshing and clean, far better than the humid lowland vapors. She noticed that the Prince had gotten back a little color on his legs and thighs. He seemed fitter, too, though that might just have been the skimpy outfit. She grinned again. This was a thousand times better than spending the whole of the day and the night in some noisome cellar, watching him mutter and chant, bent over some ancient tome.
"Mater died in the first plague-the one that made you cough until blood came out of your mouth. She and Pater were in Narbo at the other house. I only found out by letter. I was away in Africa, visiting cousin Antonius in Leptis Magna. I came home as fast as I could, but she was already gone. Father kept the household on here for a time, but then the War of the Pretenders began, and they must have fled."
Krista skipped ahead and came alongside the Prince. His face was sad and touched by old pain. She caught his hand and squeezed it. He grinned, and his mood passed away when she smiled back.
"What is your best memory of this place?"
Maxian took her hand and turned it, bringing her wrist to his lips as they walked. Dark-needled trees were intermixed with the cypress now, and the air had a faint piney scent. The ground changed, too, becoming rockier, the lower slopes and their thick rich black soil left behind.
"You are good to try to distract me," he said, kissing her hand. "That is an old pain, my love. She had a long, full life, and saw her sons grow to manhood. Galen missed her most, I'm sure. I remember, when we had come to Rome in victory and the Senate had proclaimed him Emperor and God, that he looked over his shoulder, standing there in the Curia Julia on the speaker's platform, looking to see if she was there, in the wings, watching him."
Krista squeezed his hand and slipped her arm around his waist. They walked under the trees, talking, until the trail ended in a forest of great boulders and a thick tangle of brush. Stones towered up around them, rough and jagged, and she saw that they stood at the edge of a round bowl at the very top of the mountain. It was a mile or more across and jumbled with pillars and boulders and thickets of boscage. Hawks circled in the air above the summit, coasting on the wind.
"Ah…" The Prince scratched his chin. "This is a good memory. See this wilderness? It is very famous-long ago there was a great rebellion among the slaves. They fought hard against the Republic but were defeated in the end. This was their stronghold, here in the high air on the mountain. Three Legions besieged them for two years before the end. When I was little my brothers and I would come here to play, sneaking among the rocks, climbing down into all the hidden places, pretending to be soldiers…"
Krista looked around, feeling a chill. She knew this place from whispers in the slave quarters late at night. Even in the house of the Duchess there were some stories that were forbidden. This was one, a tale of gladiators and rebellion. The bravery of the Thracian and the greed of Crassus, the cruelty of the Legions and the dreadful cost in lives that brief freedom cost. It grew cold on the mountaintop. The bright sunlight seemed thin now, and she thought she could see the spirits of the dead slaves in the shadows under the boulders.
"Come on," Maxian said, his voice filled with rediscovered joy. "There is a hidden place at the center, a grotto of soft green grass and flowers. I am sure I can find it again!" Ignoring the bleak look on her face, the Prince dragged her into a passage between the boulders.
– |Anatol peered around the corner of the big house, his hands on the white plastered wall. Three of the other Walach boys crowded behind him, snickering and tugging at his shirt. The yard in front of the house was empty, save for the wagons that they had ridden up from Rome. The corpse-man was in the yard standing still and quiet as a gravestone. Anatol rubbed his nose furiously and nerved himself up. He looked all around, cautious and wary. He was pretty sure that the young master and his woman would not be back for a few hours-Anatol could smell the heady scent in the air as well as anyone. The late spring was blooming on the mountainside; flowers were opening, filling the air with delicious smells and the thick taste of their pollen. Foxes yowled in the hedgerows, and birds made a graceful dance in the air. Even the two dead men were upstairs, locked in sweaty contest. It was spring.
"Go on," whispered Vitaly. "It's just standing there."
Anatol smoothed back his unruly shock of thick black hair and squared his shoulders. His brothers gave him a good push, and he skipped out into the yard. Glaring back over his shoulder, he scuttled up to within ten or twelve feet of the thing standing in the yard. It remained quiescent, staring off into the sky.
"Khiron?"
The head of the thing turned, swiveling like a clockwork, and Anatol felt a chill from the top of his head to the bottoms of his bare, furry feet. The corpse-man's eyes were black and bottomless, filled with pain and a hint of the lash. The mottled yellow-gray skin of the creature barely flexed as it bent its head to look upon him. Anatol gulped and backed up a foot or two. All the Walach boys had seen the speed of the corpse-man; it was like one of the surapa, striking like the wind. It was strong, too, strong enough to bend iron in its fist, strong enough to crack stones to powder. The young master had ordered it to wear a long gray tunic with a hood, but in this bright afternoon it had thrown back the woolen head covering and sto
od, watching the birds circling in the sky.
"Khiron," Anatol said, his voice growing stronger as the thing remained standing quietly. "The master Maxian directs that you should unload all of the wagons and put the crates inside the big house, in the atrium."
The thing stood quietly, staring down at the Walach boy. Anatol gulped again and began to slide slowly backward, angling for the edge of the house and his confederates. Muscles and veins moved under the skin of the thing, squirming like worms crawling under a gelid surface of translucent wax. Anatol blinked, preparing to bolt if the thing moved toward him.
Khiron smiled, face sliding into a ghastly rictus. Long yellow teeth, sharp and pointed like needles, were exposed. A tongue darted, a black point that vanished, leaving only a memory of its presence on the mind of the viewer. The thing turned toward the house, the break between stillness and motion undetectable.
"I will place the crates and boxes in the atrium." The thing's voice was hollow, a drywell lined with fragments of bone and dust. "I will empty the wagons."
Anatol and the other Walach boys were long gone, a cloud of white dust drifting in the air of the villa yard. Khiron's face collapsed back into its usual blank state as it unhitched the back of the first wagon. Four wooden crates-each the length of a an-lay within, filled with books and scrolls. Khiron grasped the first with its fists. Wood squeaked in protest as the long black nails ground into the pine planks. Khiron lifted the crate out of the back of the wagon and carried it inside, resting on one shoulder.
On the second floor of the big house, the little black cat peered down between the crossbars of the railing that lined the balcony. Its yellow eyes followed the passage of the corpse-man as it passed below and into the house. When it was gone, the cat turned, tail in the air, and padded away into the dim hallway that ran the length of the upper floor.
– |"Do you feel it?" Maxian lay on the ground, his face pressed against the earth, his eyes closed. Krista stood over him, her arms crossed over her chest. Her face was pinched in worry, and she could feel a cold, uncomfortable eddy in the air. "Can you hear it breathing?"
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