"Set sail," she commanded, voice sharp and assured. The captain—a Palmyrene—jerked at the sound, staring around in astonishment. He started to say something, but Zoë glared at him, her expression icy, and he quailed and slunk away. The jackal looked up at the Queen from the deck below, as motionless and silent as ever. The Queen ignored him, for the moment, her head canted as if listening, then called out in a clear voice: "Signal the fleet! We sail. The winds will speed us."
By midday, the fleet cut through the dark waters of the Hellespont, heading south onto the placid waters of the Mare Aegeum. White spray blew from the prow of the Asura and her sails bellied full with a fresh northerly wind. Behind the flagship, the wings of the fleet spread wide across the green waters. The morning clouds had thickened into stray white puffs, casting intermittent shadows on the low waves.
The Queen stood near the prow, one tanned, muscular hand on a cable, staring out over the sea. A hundred yards away, a pod of dolphins leapt among sparkling, brilliant waves, pacing the ship. Their slick gray backs flashed, catching the sun, and spumes of water leapt up as they plunged again into the azure water.
"My lady?" The jackal's voice was hollow, ringing metallically from within the mask. The woman did not turn, though her face tightened. The man made to touch her shoulder, but the stiffness in her body warned him from such familiarity.
"Go away," she said, closing her eyes, hand tightening on the cable. "Our master is far away, rushing through the rarer air, but his thought is still upon us, even now. I will not speak to you, save at his command and about his business." The Queen's voice was hoarse and barely intelligible.
The jackal raised a hand, fingers touching the enameled metal shrouding his face. Then his fist clenched. "Do I offend?"
"Go away!" The Queen hissed, half turning, the sea wind blowing tangled, thick hair around her face. "Isn't it enough, that we are his chattels? Let us not be actors on this foul stage, amusing him with our desperate thoughts. I may be a slave, but I will not please him!"
The jackal flinched back from the bitter anger in the Queen's voice, then bowed jerkily and moved away, across the smooth pine planks. The Queen leaned heavily on the cable, fixing her gaze upon the leaping dolphins, trying to ignore the so-familiar smell of the man's body. She willed her heart not to race, and after a time, it settled and she felt a calm sense of distance enter her.
As it did, her eyes clouded, and soft brown spilled in, occluding the sky blue. Yet the loss and pain on the face of the Queen did not relent, though her expression softened, seemingly younger than it had been before.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Curia Julia, Roma Mater
Maxian, youngest brother of the reigning Emperor of the West, Galen Atreus, halted at the threshold of the Senate House. A great wave of noise met him—the voices of more than a thousand senators, all packed into the hot, close confines of the ancient building—a chattering roar echoing from the vaulted ceiling like angry gulls. On either side of the prince, burly Praetorians in gleaming golden armor halted as well, spears held sideways to hold back the crowd. Maxian was sweating, the heavy formal toga chafing his neck and arms. The wool trapped heat close to his skin and he blinked, feeling his eyes sting. Despite the presence of the legionaries, he felt a knot of tension in his gut. The prince had never formally addressed the Senate before.
An elderly man, his long face pinched and sour, pushed his way through the crowd of citizens to the edge of the Praetorians. Maxian stepped forward, schooling his face to polite impassivity. His brother Galen tended a careful relationship with the Senate, while Maxian had always taken pains to avoid the actual mechanisms of Imperial rule. Everyone knew the Senate was a snake pit of awesome proportions, filled with sly and cunning men, where treachery suckled fat on corruption and vice.
"Caesar Maxian," the clerk growled, squinting in the sunlight gleaming from the marble porticoes of the Forum buildings. "You wish to address the Senate?" The man's tone of voice made it seem Maxian was nothing but a lowly petitioner, little more than a barbarian or slave. The prince's nostrils flared, but he remembered Galen's parting admonition.
Be polite, piglet. The Senate has been grumpy for a thousand years... putting up with a day of their airs will not harm you. They do not rule, but they do annoy!
"Yes, a matter concerning me will be discussed today." Maxian kept his voice level.
"Very well," the clerk sniffed, looking at the Praetorians. "You and your clerk may enter. Unarmed."
This was expected and the Praetorians stepped aside, opening one side of their ring of spears allowing the prince to enter the Curia itself. The long rectangular hall was illuminated by light streaming down from tall windows set just under the eaves. Colored marble and stone patterned the walls where they were not streaked with soot from lantern sconces. The center of the long room was cleared of chairs or seats; a patterned mosaic of the world, a huge map of the lands surrounding the Inner Sea, covering the floor. The map was relatively new—added in the time of Diocletian the Great. During his reign, a fire had swept the Forum, damaging or destroying many buildings.
Diocletian had rebuilt everything on a grand scale, and in the case of the Curia, the Senate hall had been expanded. In his time, the Senate had grown so large there were no longer enough seats for everyone, so the Emperor widened the hall, installed deep ranks of stepped wooden benches on either side, with a gallery rising behind them supported by marble columns. Alcoves were spaced along the gallery, holding statues of the gods, dressed in fine linens and garlanded with flowers. Only senators and select petitioners were allowed on the ground floor. Aides, ambassadors and guests contented themselves with the gallery, where they stood in a great crowd behind a screen of carved, pierced marble.
The hubbub did not die down as the prince entered—indeed he wasn't even noticed—just one more young patrician come to see about the doings of the Empire. Maxian took his time, moving slowly forward, through and around groups of men, young and old alike. He heard every kind of accent—Hispanian, Gaulish, Briton, even Greek—and all of their words, flowing around him in a muttering river, were of gold and power and land and trade. The prince became amused—no one here knew him—though they would have flocked around his brothers like bees to water in the desert.
"Lord Prince!"
Maxian turned at the sound and smiled warmly in greeting. An old friend, leaning heavily on a cane, approached and the other senators parted before him like the sea wave before the prow of a ship. Maxian extended his hands, clasping the old man's. The terse knot in his stomach began to ease. "Gregorius Magnus! It's good to see you."
"And you, my lord." Gregorius dipped his head, smiling through his neatly-trimmed white beard. "You too, Master Gaius, though we see enough of each other already, I think."
At the prince's side, his lean, gray-haired shadow bowed deeply to the senator. Gaius Julius was very simply dressed in a plain toga, unadorned with gold or silver edging or any kind of flash. With his thinning silver hair and patrician nose, he seemed no more and no less than a man of the city, one among thousands filling the Forum each day.
"Senator, time spent in your company is never wasted." Gaius Julius' voice was a rich baritone, trained and schooled in this very arena. When he spoke, men listened. Gregorius nodded amiably, waving the compliment away with a frail hand.
"Lord Prince, come and sit with me and I will speak for you to this august assembly." The old senator's eyes were twinkling and Maxian felt his apprehension fade away. With Gaius Julius at his side—even half-invisible—and Gregorius to speak for him, Maxian was sure the petition would go well.
Gregorius led them to the front row of the wooden seats. As they approached the end of the room, a wave passed through the crowds of talking men, and many turned to look at them. Then, at some unknown, unseen signal, the Senators began to take their seats. Gregorius sat down on a small cushion set at the end of the first row of seats, very close to the podium dominating the far end of the room.
On the podium was a simple folding stool, quite plain and very old, made of yellowed ivory. Two men stood on either side, dressed in archaic-looking garments, holding bundles of bound rods in the crook of their arms. An axe blade jutted from each bundle. The seat was currently empty. Maxian sat next to Gregorius, in a place held by one of the other senior senators. That man—an ally of Gregorius', Maxian supposed—moved aside, smiling in greeting. A shuffling went down the row as each senator on the bench was forced to move over.
Somewhere a junior senator would be forced off the benches to stand against the rear wall. Gaius Julius disappeared into the crowd—he was no senator now!—and Maxian supposed he would secure himself a good vantage. The old Roman was very good at that kind of thing. Maxian found the seat hard and uncomfortable.
"They are supposed to be that way," Gregorius whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "So some business gets done each day and we hurry home!"
The room quieted, even the chattiest of the senators at last getting the word to shut up, though the sound of so many men breathing and rustling in their heavy robes seemed very loud. Maxian felt nervous again, but Gregorius' heavy, solid presence beside him was a great comfort. A banging sound suddenly came from the entrance doors off to his left. Everyone turned, some craning their heads to see. Outside there was a faint roaring sound and the beating of drums.
"The princeps wishes to sit among his peers, the Senate of Rome." The clerk's voice boomed through the quiet room, echoing back from the vaulted ceiling. "Is he given leave to enter?"
"Aye!" Gregorius said, his old voice—once powerful—carrying in the still, hot air. "Let the princeps enter and sit with the Senate of Rome."
A huge chorus of "Aye!" followed, along with more rustling and shuffling. Maxian saw sour expressions on the faces of the men seated across the walkway from him, but in all everyone seemed to welcome the presence of the Emperor. The center of the room was now clear and after a moment, the swift rapping of a man in boots echoed around them and then the Emperor of the West appeared, striding purposefully along the length of the chamber.
Galen Atreus was a thin, nervous-looking man with a cap of dark hair hanging down over a high forehead. The Emperor looked very businesslike, smiling tightly to his enemies in the seats, nodding to his friends. Today he was wearing a dark cloak and toga, with deep maroon edging. A gold clasp held his cloak at the shoulder and his laced boots were red. This was a new part of the Imperial regalia, added in the past month, as the Emperor of the West had declared himself the Avtokrator of the East. Maxian frowned slightly, seeing the pinched, tired look on his brother's face.
Too many disasters and too little time to react to them, Maxian thought mournfully.
Galen reached the podium and turned, seating himself on the lone chair. He looked out over the huge crowd of senators and nodded, as if to himself. "Senators. I thank you for allowing me to sit among you, in such a noble company. I will not waste your time in idle chatter..."
So don't waste mine, Maxian continued the thought with amusement. His brother was notoriously brisk.
"...are there matters in which the princeps may advise the Senate?"
For a moment there was silence, with Galen sitting at ease in the chair, and the senators eyeing each other with interest. Then Gregorius stood, knuckles whitening on the cane, and cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him and the Emperor raised his chin in acknowledgement.
"Princeps," Gregorius said, bowing, "you honor us with your presence. A matter has arisen, a petition to fill an ancient and noble post, long left vacant. This is not a trivial matter and I think the Senate should consider the situation carefully. Your wisdom and guidance in this matter, my lord, would be of great use..." Gregorius turned, ancient eyes sharp, and the cane made a sharp rapping sound on the mosaic floor. "Fellow senators, you have all heard of the disasters in the East. You have all heard rumors and wild tales from the refugees who daily enter the city or crowd the southern ports, fleeing the advance of the Persian armies. You have all heard a great evil has risen among the Medes, and this foe bends its dark will against Rome."
Gregorius' statement was met with scattered laughter and a general murmuring. Maxian felt a chill, realizing many of the senators did not believe the stories. The prince made to rise, intending to deal sharply with these fools, but the older men on either side of him caught his elbows and held him firmly in the seat. Gregorius did not notice and continued to speak.
"There are poor omens all around us—some say the eruption of Vesuvius heralds a time in which the gods will turn their faces from Rome. Calamities and signs trouble both the heavens and the earth. You are all learned men, you have heard, as I have, of these unmistakable portents: an ape entered the very temple of Ceres in the midst of ceremony and caused great confusion; an owl—in broad day—flew into first the temple of Concord and then the Capitolium, evading all efforts at capture and restraint. The blessed chariot of Jupiter that once graced the Circus Maximus with its golden splendor, has recently been destroyed amid the troubles and riots. Coupled with these distressing signs, a flaming torch has creased the eastern heavens, hanging over Greece like a fiery brand. Even in the south, where Mount Aetna smokes and fumes, the earth has been restless, crying out with the voices of the uneasy dead."
As Gregorius spoke, he moved across the surface of the map, indicating each place in turn.
"Our Legions have been defeated before Constantinople, tens of thousands of our citizens have perished in ash and fire, entire cities in Campania are tenanted only by corpses! Men have reported to me, swearing by the twelve tablets and by the great gods themselves, that a two-headed serpent of no less than eighty feet in length has lately appeared in Etruria and caused great harm, ere lightning struck it down. The serpent's husk now journeys to Rome, so all may look upon the omen for themselves.
"Now, Egypt is threatened by our enemy and with it the corn supply for Rome. Yes! I see your doubting faces—I speak truly, my friends—we are faced with a powerful enemy and one wielding inhuman powers."
There was another murmuring and many of the senators looked at each other in disbelief. A few scattered shouts of "lies!" and "impossible" were heard.
"This the truth!" Gregorius barked sharply, widening the eyes of many senators. They had not seen him so animated or so grim in years. "Rome has slept for a long time, ignorant of the malefic power Persia has harnessed. The nature of our enemy, my friends, has changed and not for the better. For a very long time, the Persian mobehedan served a power they call Ahura-Madza, a deity of light! I assure you they no longer turn their faces to the sun in worship. No, our great victories two years past have made them desperate."
Gregorius paused, catching his breath. A disbelieving murmur rose in the quiet, then fell away again as the old senator glared at his fellows. It was clear to Maxian many of the older men were beginning to wonder what the point of all this was. The younger senators simply did not believe the warning. Why should they? Maxian realized. They've not seen these things for themselves.