Sextus grinned merrily, rubbing his hands together. "We can, indeed. The tunnel comes out in a basin, just above the spring room, inside a ruined building. It's almost impossible to find the tunnel entrance. We've posted a watch, to make sure that the bandits don't find it without us knowing."

  "How long does it take to get out?"

  "About an hour and a half." Frontius raised a finger in admonition. "The only problem is this, centurion. If it rains, the tunnel floods."

  "Rain? Here? There's little likelihood of that."

  Nicholas turned to Vladimir, who was squatting at the edge of the pit, sniffing the cold air. "What do you think?"

  "Me?" Vlad looked up, his dark eyes shining in the lamplight. He grinned, showing fine white teeth. "I like living better than dying or being a slave. When do we leave?"

  "Not now," Nicholas mused, motioning for the engineers to close the stone lid. "We have to get ready. It would be best if we waited until the Arabs launched an assault, then they'd not notice us leaving. That will take a bit of planning."

  The centurion turned away, thinking. The two engineers turned to each other and solemnly shook hands, then broke out in quiet grins.

  —|—

  A wasteland of stars filled the sky, clear and distinct in the cold desert air. Straight overhead they didn't even sparkle or shimmer. Dwyrin lay on the roof of the praetorium, head cupped in his palms, the bricks warm with the day's heat against his back. A guard leaned against the outer wall of the tower, watching the ramp and the roadway below, ignoring the Hibernian.

  He had been coming here for days, spending hours lying under the glorious velvet sky. The nights were growing warmer, making it far more comfortable to lie out here than sweat in the stifling rooms below. It was quiet, too, without the racket of snoring and coughing in the barracks.

  Dwyrin turned his attention from the sky and its burning, infinite depths. There was some work to be done before he let sleep take him. He was still troubled by exhaustion and a fading sense of solidity. He had difficulty paying attention to the centurion. Sometimes, if he didn't pay close attention, Nicholas became a transparent, shifting cloud of light, buzzing and whispering. The masters of his old school had warned against this. He needed to ground himself, to keep a steady anchor in physicality. Despite his growing power, he still needed to eat and sleep and shit, like other men.

  It was difficult to remember, sometimes.

  He brought forth the Entrance of Hermes in his mind. There was a brief sloughing sensation and then he was fully aware of the hidden world shimmering and flickering around him. Dwyrin frowned. The passage had become too easy, too swift. He needed a sharp division, requiring concerted effort to pass. How else would he know which world he walked in? With an effort, he retreated from the ghost realm, focusing on the solid feeling of the stones, the brush of night air on his hair, the darkness enfolding him.

  Solidity returned, grudgingly, in fits and starts. It was difficult to make his mind see the mundane. He cursed, letting liquid sound flow out of his throat and across his lips. It seemed remote, unreal. Disgusted, he cracked his elbow against the bricks. Pain flashed bright and he was suddenly all too aware of his body.

  "Too slow," he muttered to himself. "I need a discrete anchor."

  He considered a peculiar vision that had come to him, soon after they had arrived in the city. He had woken from sleep, aware of the sky filled with pure white radiance. Dogs were barking. The watch had turned out to investigate. A half-familiar man had been sitting in Dwyrin's tent, watching him in the darkness. That memory had faded like a dream, but it had left behind a burning sign in his mind. It was always close to him now, drawing his thought like a lodestone.

  The old man said it was "the sign of fire." Dwyrin let it assume a place in his mind, flowering from a bright point, unfolding an infinite array of bright geometric surfaces. The sign constantly transformed itself, wavering like a flame. Dwyrin could call fire from it with tremendous ease. The pattern let him smash the siege towers of the bandits, crush their feeble wards, rip the sky with bolts of flame. It felt good and right, as if he stared into a warm mirror.

  "Are you my anchor?" he whispered at the night, letting the warm radiance of the sign drive the chill from his skin. "Should I look outside myself for solidity?"

  It seemed to quiver, constantly unfolding in bright shape after bright shape.

  "Are you what I need?"

  The guard by the wall stirred, walking along the parapet. The night was getting colder, but Dwyrin was warm, even hot, in the effect of the sign. He smiled at the dark sky.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The Forum Boarium, Roma Mater

  Night crept into Rome, making the alleys and narrow streets dim and gray. Gaius Julius walked quickly through the massive central hall of the Big Market. Despite the hour, the market was still bustling and alive, lit by many hanging lamps. The old Roman hurried; the merchants were preparing to close their shops to common trade and begin their nightly dealings. Wagons and wains were forbidden in the city by day, so at sunset the streets filled with great-wheeled vehicles, hauling all of the goods of the countryside into the markets. In this hour between the setting of the sun and full darkness, Gaius knew that he could cross the city swiftly, while other men were sitting at their suppers.

  The day had passed in fruitful pursuits amongst the owners of the four great gladiatorial schools south of the Flavian. He had received news from one of his agents that his "package" had been acquired. Gaius had been torn, wanting to look in on his captive, but convinced himself to stay away. There were three cutouts between himself and the kidnapping. His position was still a little too raw to risk any impropriety.

  He turned left when he reached the colonnades and temples of the Forum, and passed under dark arches and down a tunnel. Beneath the remains of the ancient inner wall of the city, he turned right, following a long, narrow alleyway along the base of the crumbling ramparts. He remembered it from his lost youth, and was obscurely pleased that it was still here, even though six and a half centuries had passed. He would be home in a few grains.

  He bent his head, quick mind considering the plans and plots he had in motion like a jewel raised to the light. There was much to consider, and too many hours passed in each day—even without sleep!—in negotiation and conference with his allies, servants or superiors.

  —|—

  Gaius Julius slid an L-shaped key into the door to his rooms. It clicked in the heavy internal lock and he went inside, being careful to close and relock the panel behind him. He had taken up residence in a private insula on the Quirinal Hill, not too far from Gregorious' mansion. Most important, the apartment was located at the rear of the building, with easy access from the alley. Gaius entertained many visitors at night and he did not want to disturb the well-to-do families occupying the other flats.

  He turned, frowning. Warm lamplight spilled from his study. Quietly, he stepped to the arched doorway. His books and correspondence were in their usual sprawl across an oaken table and two desks.

  "You've been busy, I see." The voice came from his right, and he turned, hand on the haft of a knife he wore on the leather belt under his toga. The circumstances of his untimely death were a constant irritant. Then his hand dropped and he made a half-bow.

  "My lord Maxian, you cannot believe how surprised and happy I am to see you."

  "I wonder," the Prince said in a harsh voice. Maxian reclined on one of the couches placed in the corner of the room, close by an iron brazier filled with coals. Gaius Julius did not notice any chill in the air, but he supposed that such things might slip his mind in his current condition. "I have been looking over your papers while I waited for you to return."

  Gaius paced to his seat, a heavy curule field chair he had bartered from a cashiered Legion officer. It was comfortable and reminded him of old times. He missed being with his men. Rebellious Gauls were much easier to deal with than Roman building contractors. Gaius sat, sighing with relief to be home. "Do my efforts displease you?"

  Maxian scowled and raised a cup to his lips. Gaius Julius tsked to himself. The remains of a rare amphora of Neapolitan wine sat by the couch. Such vintages were hard to come by, now that the vineyards were buried in ash or burning stone. He would have to hide the rest, he supposed.

  "I confess," the Prince said, putting down the cup and sitting up, "I cannot fault your energy or activities. You seem to have set yourself to assist and aid the state in all ways. Given what you have told me before, however, I am puzzled. Where are your grand plans to overthrow the Emperor and set me in that place? Where is the cunning and guile that you offered to use for my promotion?"

  Gaius Julius looked up, surprised at the bitter anger in Maxian's voice. "My lord! When we last parted, you told me rather forcefully that you were returning to your brother to seek his forgiveness, to attempt some reconciliation! With that in mind, I have bent my every effort to improving your patrimony and his. Have things changed? Have I misread your intent?"

  "No." Maxian waved a hand negligently, swaying slightly with the motion. "I thought worse of you. I am very pleased with your work—particularly this effort to restore the highways in the lands around the... in the south.

  "Gaius, when you left me, I intended to go straightaway to Rome, to make a clean breast of it with my brother. As perhaps you have guessed, this did not occur. I was... I tarried on the mountain. There was sanctuary there from the constant assault of the Oath. I waited too long—murderers came. I was attacked in the crater at night. They were very strong and well prepared. I barely escaped."

  Gaius Julius leaned closer, straining to hear the Prince's soft voice. The red light from the coals shone on Maxian's face, making him seem old and tired.

  "Really, they killed me, there at the end. Krista... Krista shot me with her spring-gun, right here..." The Prince's fingers rubbed a space above his left ear. It seemed unmarked and undamaged to Gaius, but he said nothing. "I died, just for a moment. But the mountain was waiting. I took what it offered—then the structure of the Oath began to break down."

  The old Roman felt a chill steal over him, remembering fragments of long discussions between the Prince and the Persian wizard Abdmachus.

  "Gaius, the mountain should have erupted ages ago! But the Oath held it back, like a cork in a bottle. There was so much power built up behind the barrier. It was enough to restore me, and destroy them all. I escaped. The Engine took me away, far from the explosions and the fire. I was in the high air when... everything happened."

  Gaius Julius stared at the Prince in horror. He had never considered such an outcome. "You... you were responsible for this disaster?"

  "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."

 

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