Why does it fall to me? he thought bleakly. Have I angered the gods?
The Emperor sighed, arranged his papers again and looked up, face hard and mask-like. Everyone else straightened up a little and Galen counted noses to make sure everyone was present. His own brother, Maxian, sat somberly to his right, young face paler than usual above a dark tunic and dark brown robes. Beyond the prince, the elderly and nondescript Gaius was doing a good job of being invisible. Galen's eyes passed over him without pausing. The man did a centurion's work with any project, though he had not proven to be innovative, only dogged past anyone's expectation. The Emperor had not warmed to the bureaucrat—he couldn't say why, really. Normally he valued a hard-working, prudent man above all else—but there was something about Gaius...
In earlier, better times, Gregorius Auricus would have held a chair, speaking and listening for the Senate as he had done for nearly fifty years. Now his duties had fallen to Gaius Julius—his aide and executor for the past year. Galen tried to ignore the absence and made mental note—not for the first time—to ensure someone appropriate assumed the old man's mantle of Speaker in the Senate. The Duchess De'Orelio sat almost opposite, her perfect face framed by demurely coifed curls wound with gold and emerald. A single booklet lay on the table in front of her and the Emperor did not bother to hide a grimace. The chapbook was simply for show—Galen often wondered if there were anything written on the pages inside—for he could not remember the last time she had consulted the book in the course of business. The Duchess relied on her memory, which was prodigious.
Beside the Duchess' cool elegance, looking very much like a plump brown wren trapped on a ledge beside a hawk, sat Empress Martina. Her presence here was both a personal concession from Galen, who had extended her every courtesy and honor, and a political one. Though Galen had assumed the title Avtokrator of the East, reuniting both halves of the Empire for the first time in almost three and a half centuries, there was no way he could administer the rump provinces of the East without the willing support of their remaining governors.
Those men, as numerous letters and private meetings had revealed, considered him not their Emperor, but merely a regent for Martina's son, Heracleonas, who was probably crawling around in the palace gardens with Galen's own child, Theodosius. Galen knew Martina's residence-in-exile was now the natural and expected gathering place for the huge crowd of dispossessed Eastern nobles, their wives, children, and retainers who had fled the fall of Constantinople. Through her, he hoped to gain the assistance and trust of the Eastern nobility. Galen needed their assistance badly and he hoped she understood the desperate nature of their situation.
"We must," Galen said, clearing his throat, "discuss Persia and Egypt. Lady Anastasia, please relate the current state of affairs." He suppressed a twinge of disquiet. Despite years of working with the Duchess, he still felt uncomfortable allowing a woman to hold such a powerful position. She knew things he did not, which bothered the Emperor a great deal. At the same time, he needed her and the sprawling network of agents she commanded.
—|—
"Lord and God," Anastasia began, bowing to the Emperor and inclining her head to the others. "Our situation in the East is poor. We have lost the provinces of Lesser Syria, Phoenicia and Judea to these rebels out of the old Greek cities in the Decapolis and their Arab mercenaries. Greater Syria and the city of Antioch have fallen to Persia, as well as portions of Anatolia and, of course, the city of Constantinople itself. Worse, we have suffered the loss of nearly the entire Eastern fleet and the Eastern Legions have been roughly handled not once, but twice by the enemy."
The Duchess paused for an instant and opened her notebook. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw surprise flit across the Emperor's face and she repressed a smile. The others watched her with varying attention—Maxian seemed entirely absent, his attention far away, and Anastasia noted his hair was unwashed and his clothing rumpled. She wondered if he slept at all. The lean old man at his side, unfortunately, was watching her with rapt attention. Anastasia did not find being desired by a dead man a pleasant sensation. However, she did not allow herself to show revulsion. There was business to be done here. At her side, Empress Martina was trying to stay awake and plucking at the hem of her very expensive and rather over-ornamented gown.
"Word has reached us," she continued, "of the enemy fleet—captained, we believe, by Palmyrene and Arab merchants—leaving Constantinople." She touched a sheet of parchment in the notebook with the tip of a well-manicured fingernail. "A ship friendly to us sighted the enemy fleet bearing east from Rhodes under full sail. I believe—and this, Lord and God, is only a guess—the fleet is aiming to make landfall at Caesarea Maritima, on the coast of Judea. It is quite likely the fleet is carrying those Arab and Decapolis contingents who fought at Constantinople home again."
"Not the Persians?" Galen leaned forward, narrow chin on his fist. "If this is so, where is the Persian army itself? Where is the Boar?"
"Luckily," Anastasia responded, "the Persian attack on Constantinople, like the campaign three years ago, is really only a very large raid. Despite crossing the breadth of Anatolia, they have not actually conquered the Roman provinces between the Persian frontier and the Eastern Capital. However, there are no Roman armies to keep them from moving freely through those lands. Indeed, reports from the larger coastal cities of Pergamum, Ephesus and Myra report no Persian or Decapolis threat at all!"
The Duchess turned to Martina, who was slouching in her chair. "Your husband's empire, dear, is still greatly intact. We, however, cannot rest easy—the Persians are sure to occupy as much as they can, as soon as they have the troops and time to do so."
Anastasia looked back at the Emperor. "My lord, we have received letters indicating the comes Alexandros has reached Perinthus on the Thracian coast, where the remains of the Imperial armies have gathered. He intends to muster those formations still infused with fighting spirit and to press towards Constantinople. I understand he seeks to forestall any further Persian advance into Thrace and to observe the deployments of the enemy for himself.
"When he has done so, we will know where the Persian army lies. Then, I believe, we will be able to tell where the next blow will fall."
Galen grunted, shaking his head in disagreement. "They will strike at Egypt," he said.
"Their forces in the desert before Pelusium are weak," Anastasia noted. "A dispatch ship has come from your noble brother, indicating a raid was made into the defenses at the edge of the delta and easily turned back."
"Those are only scouts," Galen said, scowling at the Duchess. "Do we know anything about the leadership of these Arabs and Greeks? Do we know if they are firm allies of Persia or only of convenience? Indeed—do we know what they want?"
Anastasia hid a sigh behind a pleasant smile and shook her head delicately. "We do not, my lord. But—my apologies, Martina—I believe the spark of the rebellion in Judea and the Decapolis came from the... poor use... of Palmyra in the war against Chrosoes. Queen Zenobia and her city were widely respected in the area, and she had many allies and friends among the Arab tribes, particularly the Tanukh. We have no proof—we do not even know who is in command of the rebellious army—but I suspect they are Palmyrene nobles and they are very angry."
The Emperor nodded, his face drawn and closed. He seemed to be looking back into memory and he did not like what he saw.
"So," he said, after a moment, "we are still fighting smoke. What about the Persians?"
"There, my lord, I can tell you a little more. By good fortune, there are merchants friendly to the Empire plying the Indian trade in the Mare Ethraeyum and they often visit the Persian port of Charax at the mouth of the Tigris and the Euphrates. By these means, greatly delayed, we have learned two daughters, Azarmidukht and Purandokht, survived the lamentable Chrosoes King of Kings. Both are young, of marriageable age, and unwed. Their mother, I must report, was the Empress Maria, Chrosoes' first wife. Apparently, in the chaos following the sack of Ctesiphon, the two princesses fled to Ecbatana in the Persian highlands and declared a new government.
"Now, our agents relate they found little support initially but then two things happened—first, a man named Rustam appeared, claiming to be Chrosoes' younger brother. Second, our old friend Shahr-Baraz arrived at the city, in the company of the remnants of the Persian Imperial guard. Reports of his death at Kerenos River, it would seem, were premature."
Anastasia spread her hands slightly, palms up. "What happened next is confused—there were reports Shahr-Baraz married Princess Azarmidukht, but when an official proclamation was made, the Boar was King of Kings and protector of the two princesses. I think the general decided the two girls were worth more to him as marriage tokens than as wives. We have heard nothing to indicate the princesses have, in fact, been married off. The mysterious Rustam has disappeared. He may have been murdered by Shahr-Baraz."
Maxian stirred, head rising and he focused on Anastasia. The Duchess felt a queer prickling sensation wash over her and struggled to keep from shivering. The prince looked to his brother for a moment, then back at the Duchess. "What about the dark man? Have you heard anything about this 'power' who fights on their side?"
"My lord Maxian," Anastasia replied, bowing to him, "we have received many rumors, but you of all our sources, have seen him most closely. Can you tell us anything about him?"
The prince scowled at her, pressing both palms over his eyes in exhaustion. Then he clasped his hands and said: "Though our enemy might seem to be a man of middling height, long hair, Persian features and complexion, there is something entirely inhuman about the creature. It is like... like the man is only a shell hiding darkness... and cold, he seemed colder than ice, or frost."
"Is our enemy a god?" The Duchess' tone made the question seem perfectly reasonable.
Maxian looked up, his eyes desolate. "I have never seen a god, Duchess, but this man might make himself one, over our corpses. I fought the Persian to a draw, so his power is not infinite. I suppose..." He paused, thinking. "It may be the cold spirit was first invoked by a human sorcerer and the summoned power now rules the body, yet is still restricted by its human shell."
"Can you kill him?" Anastasia cocked her head to one side, violet eyes intent on the young man. "Can we kill him? Can he be harmed by the spear, the knife, a scorpion stone?"
"I don't know." Maxian shook his head in dismay. "He felt pain and suffering from my blows. But sorcerers can be difficult to kill."
The prince's eyes narrowed as he said this, meeting Anastasia's eyes with a frank, cold look.
"You should," he said, speaking to her—and only to her, she realized with a chill—"leave such things to me. I have some thoughts as to how his power can be contained."
"Not destroyed?" Galen sat up straight, staring at his brother.
"I'm not sure he can be destroyed," Maxian replied wearily. "If a summoned power entered this world, and now inhabits—controls—this man, it could be entirely outside of death and even life. It may be the power cannot be destroyed, in which case our best hope is to trap and contain him. In this way, we may preserve ourselves, the state and the people from further harm."
Anastasia suddenly remembered something—a fragment heard on Thira long ago—and brought a hand to her mouth to cover a flinch. Neither the Emperor nor his brother noticed, though Gaius Julius' pale old eyes flickered to her, then away. The Duchess made a discrete cough, then forced her hand back down to her lap. Fear percolated inside her like water rising in a field screw, inching higher and higher with each turn of the handle. Could this be? Could the Serpent have returned? No... that is impossible! My worries about the telecast are clouding my thoughts with old legends.
Galen, meanwhile, was staring at Maxian with a rather sour expression. "What happens if we destroy the man?"
"In that case," Maxian said, slowly, "I believe the power will only retreat and begin looking for a new host to occupy. There are surely many men of low character in the world, some with power and some without, whom it might entice, thereby finding a new servant."
"Very well. We will discuss this further when we know more. Duchess, are we sure the Persians and the rebellious Greeks have separated their armies?"
"Sure? No, my lord, we are not sure. But it is very likely the fighting men of the Decapolis took ship with their fleet and are returning to Judea. It is possible, though I think it unlikely, a portion of the Persian army moved with them. Surely, they will not abandon Constantinople, not after seizing a bridgehead in Thrace. This leaves us with two opposing armies—one in the north and one in the south."
Galen nodded, thin lips compressed into a tight slash. "And their fleet is still loose."
"Yes, my lord."
"Gaius Julius, what Legions and fleets can we move East?"
The older man sat up, blinking away pleasant daydreams, but his hands were quick and selected a wooden folder from the pile in front of him without hesitation. He opened the folder, though Anastasia didn't think he read anything from the pages. Like her, he used the moment of action to marshal his thoughts and compose himself.
"Lord and God," he began, "our situation is rather parlous. We have already stripped the Legions in the west of every spare man. The Legions raised last year have been poorly handled in Thrace or are already in Egypt under your brother's command. Those formations remaining in the West are hard-pressed to cover the frontier or to maintain order in the provinces."
Gaius sighed and everyone at the table could see his weariness. Anastasia's nose wrinkled up, but she made no comment. Everyone was stretched thin.
"A letter was dispatched," Gaius continued, "to the Gothic reik several months ago, requesting he raise a Gothic Legion to assist the Empire. That force was raised and one portion of it is now in Thrace, under the command of the comes Alexandros. The other portion, under the command of Prince Ermanerich, has been engaged in an unexpected campaign along the Danuvius against the Gepids and their Draculis overlords."
The Emperor grimaced and rubbed the side of his head. "And?"
Gaius Julius shrugged. "The matter is still in doubt. I imagine the success of the Avar khagans in the Balkans has inspired the Draculis, and other tribes beyond the frontier, to test our strength. Reports have come from Noricum as well, indicating the Bulgars and Franks in Germania are growing restive."