The Shadow of Ararat (10 page)

The narrow sea filled with burning boats and the men who had drowned flickered under the water, dying stars that faded, still aflame, into the depths. Shoals of charred limbs clogged the beach.

On the fighting platform, Theodore and Heraclius staggered back as a sudden updraft of air rushed past, bearing the stink of burning flesh and the peculiarly sweet odor of ignited
phlogiston
. The archers who had shared the platform with them scrambled away from the edge, wrapping their dark-blue cloaks around their faces. A vast roar, like a titan enraged, echoed around the tower and through the mists that hung over the city. Green flames lit the low-lying clouds and echoed off the wavetops of the Golden Horn.

Heraclius stood up shakily and made his uneasy way down the stairs into the tower. The attack was over and there was much to do. A soft gagging sound followed him down into the darkness of the tower chamber. Theodore was retching off the back of the platform.

"Ah," Galen breathed, "well done." He stepped back from the grim scene that still played out in the vision of the
telecast
. "Clever fellows, these Greeks." He turned to his brother, whose brow was marked by extreme concentration. Puzzled, the Emperor of the West stared at Maxian for a long moment, then waved a thin brown hand in front of the healer's face. There was no response.

"Aurelian?" The Emperor turned, an expression of concern on his face. His other brother shrugged in puzzlement as well. Galen turned back, seeing that Maxian's face was becoming more and more drawn. Taking a guess, he gently shook his younger brother's shoulder. "Maxian? Maxian!"

With a start, the young man suddenly looked around, seemingly bewildered at being in the cluttered room. Galen reached out a hand to accept Aurelian's proffered goblet. Maxian had sat down, rather suddenly, and Galen steadied his shoulder, tipping the wineglass to the pale lips of the young man. Maxian sipped at the wine, then took the goblet in both hands and drained it, throwing his head back. A thin trickle of wine spilled from the edge of his mouth, staining an already matted tunic.

"Ah... Thank you, brothers." Maxian held out the goblet to wineskin that Aurelian held at the ready. This too he drained. Now some color was beginning to creep back into his face and hands.

Galen scowled, seeing the toll that the experience had taken upon his sibling.

"It tired you, then?" he asked. "How do you feel? Could you essay the sphere again?"

Aurelian grimaced at his brother. "I think that the lad needs a rest and a bath, brother mine, he is plainly worn out."

Galen's face clouded with anger for a moment, then cleared.

"You are right," he allowed. "See that the slaves take him to the bathhouse and give him a good scrub. We'll talk over dinner." The Emperor turned back to the sphere, but it had collapsed back into the plate of bronze rings. His mood darkened, and he paid no attention to the exit of his brothers, Aurelian holding Maxian up with a broad arm.

Galen brushed his fingertips across the bronze, but nothing happened. He shook his head in disgust, then turned back to the great map. In his mind, he dismissed the
telecast
from his plans and stratagems. The toy had too high a price for him to countenance its regular use. There would be time for it later.

Maxian looked up, smiling, as the slave bent over the back of his couch, pouring rich purple-red wine into his goblet. Shyly the slave smiled back, her long dark hair falling around the delicate oval of her face. Maxian drank, his eyes following her as she passed to Aurelian and refilled his cup as well. Across the low table, Galen smiled a little. He waved the wine slave off when she moved to refill his own glass. The Emperor picked at the scallops in garlic and basil butter that still littered the plate before him.

"Brother," he said, drawing the attention of both Aurelian and Maxian. "Did the fatigue come upon you immediately upon using the
telecast
, or as time passed?"

Maxian frowned, remembering. "At first, it was effortless in response to my command. Then, as we watched the Eastern Emperor fighting on the wall, it became harder and harder to focus. I began to have to strain to keep its vision upon the scene."

Aurelian scratched at his beard. "Perhaps it can only see for so long?"

"Or the focusing upon a scene is more difficult," Galen responded. "Max, did it want to see another scene or just to cease viewing at all?"

Maxian nodded. "That's it! It felt pulled away from what we saw, as if there were some other scene it desired to show." He paused, thinking again, reliving the experience in his mind. He looked up. "Is there another
telecast
!"

Galen smiled. "Yes, the Eastern Emperor has the other of the pair. By the account of the letters that I have received, it stands in his study, as mine does here. The thaumaturges of the East, however, have
not
been able to make it work." The Emperor smoothed back his thinning hair, looking quite pleased. "If, with your help, we can make them work, each in concert with one another, then that will be a vast boon indeed."

Maxian rubbed his chin, his mind turning the ramifications of this development over and examining all sides. At last he said, "A powerful weapon. Better than ten legions. With such a device, or more, if they could be built, each division of the State could act in concord with the other."

Galen rose from his couch, a quiet smile on his face. A slave stepped up and draped a light cape over his shoulders. The Emperor drew it close and the Nubian pinned it closed with a clasp of amethyst and gold. The night breeze off the bay cut through the high windows to the dining court. The tapers and lanterns flickered. Aurelian yawned and stood up as well. Maxian drained the last dregs of wine from his cup and handed it to the nearest slave, which by chance happened to be the dark-haired girl. She smiled and bowed low to receive it, her tunic slipping a little.

"Come," the Emperor said. "Let us view the moon in the bay."

Less than half a moon gleamed in the waters below the Summer House. At the point of the hill that the house sat upon, a circular temple had been built in the time of Maxian's grandfather. Slim marble columns rose up, a soft white presence in the moonlight. Below the little temple, the broad sweep of the bay lay before them. Glittering lights danced upon the water where countless ships rode in the harbors of Neapolis and Baiae. In the distance, the smooth cone of Vesuvius rose to cover the stars. The cool breeze was sharper here, and carried the salt tang of the sea. In this familiar darkness, Maxian felt the unease and worry that had shadowed him from Ostia melt away. Only a few feet away, Galen was a dark indistinct shape in his deep crimson robe.

"The weight of the Empire is not upon your shoulders, little brother, so you cannot know the burden that it is to me." Galen's voice was a whisper in the gloom. "There are ten thousand details to keep in mind, a hundred interests to satisfy with every decision. It is not as I had imagined it when we set out from Saguntum. I am a powerful man; some would say a god. Yet there are so many things, so many pressing factors over which I have no control."

Galen felt his brother turn and sit on the ledge that ran around the edge of the temple.

"Each day I struggle, and the thousands of men who are my hands and feet, spread across all the Empire, struggle. Every day the tide of time and men washes away a little more of the edifice that we maintain. Every day we pile on more bricks, more mortar, more blood. And the tide keeps wearing away at the rocks, the stones, until there is nothing left." Though his words were those of despair, Maxian could sense no defeat in his brother's voice.

"This can end, my brother. The Empire can know peace again, free from fear of barbarian invasion, even of civil war." In the darkness, Galen's voice assumed the cadence of an orator, though it remained low and direct. "After hundreds of years of strife, the West is at peace. Beyond the Rhenus the Franks and Germans are quiet. They have at last attained some semblance of civilization. They live in towns, welcome merchants, till the soil and build homes of stone and wood. To the west there is only endless ocean, to the south only vast deserts. Only in the east do enemies remain."

Maxian, sitting quietly in the darkness, stirred. "The barbarians we saw today, in the vision?"

Galen laughed. "No, the Avars and their subject tribes are an annoyance, not a threat. They have overrun most of Thrace and Moesia, but they will not hold that land long. The true enemy, my brothers, waits in the true East, in Persia. Even today, though we saw it not in the vision, one Persian army is encamped on the eastern shore of the Propontis, viewing the ancient walls of Constantinople with avaricious eyes. Another is gathering in northern Syria, preparing to strike at Egypt. By good luck, my brother Emperor is still in possession of a strong fleet, and the Persians have none. So they are held at bay—for now."

Maxian spoke. "Then by use of this device, you will coordinate the relief of the city with Heraclius? Some thousands of men could be sent, I suppose, upon our fleet to reinforce the city and convince the barbarians to abandon the siege."

"In a way," Galen answered, his voice smiling, "we will convince them to abandon the siege. But, still, the real enemy is not the horse-riders but Persia. It is Persia that we must defeat to attain a true peace for the Empire. Peace for both the East and the West. Your plan is fair, my brother, but far too limited in scope. Heraclius and I, through our letters, have struck upon a permanent solution."

It was quiet in the circle of the temple, though now the moon had settled below the great oak and yew trees. A silver light filled the temple and Maxian could see both of his brothers. The healer suddenly felt cold and there was a sensation much like that which had pervaded the boathouse in Ostia. With slightly trembling fingers he drew his own cape closer and wished for a heavier wrap. The wind died down.

"My brother Emperor proposes, and I agree, that Rome and Constantinople—both Empires—must invade Persia itself and destroy it. Once this is done, there shall be no treaty, no border agreements, no tribute. Persia will be a province of the Empire and will serve us forever. Then there shall be peace."

Maxian coughed, his throat constricted by an unreasoning fear. He spoke, though—unaccountably—it was a struggle to force the words from his lips. "Brother, this is... an unwise plan. The West is only beginning to recover from the plagues and the last civil war. Our realm is at peace, true, but the people are still recovering, the army is still rebuilding. An effort to raise the siege of the city of Constantine, yes, I agree it must be done. But to invade Persia itself? That would be mad..."

He stopped, coughing. A sense of great pressure surrounded him, more than could be accounted for by the angry look on his brother's face. Maxian held up a hand for a moment, all his attention focused inward. His mind was flooded with confusion and unsettling images, but he managed to calm his conscious thought with the Meditation of Asklepius. Once he began its well-remembered lines the confusion faded and the pressure eased. It did not depart, but now he could feel its boundaries and strength.

With an effort of will, he spoke again: "Persia is vast and its armies uncountable. It has been at peace for decades. Chrosoes is a strong king, ably served by his generals. It is wealthy even by the standards of Rome. To assail it, you would need tens or hundreds of thousands of men. The cities of the West are still half empty from the plague, the cities of the East no better. Where will you find the men to fight for you without baring our throats to the barbarians?"

Galen gave a sharp nod, saying, "A cogent point, brother, and one that Aurelian and I have been pondering for some days. Our most recent calculations show that we can field a temporary army, a
vexillation
if you will, of almost sixty thousand men to fight alongside Heraclius in the East. Ah, now hold your peace, we have thought upon this most carefully."

The Emperor stood and began pacing, his sandals making a light slapping sound on the marble tiles of the temple floor. "In the West, there are currently fourteen legions deployed from Africa to Pannonia to Britain. Beyond these forces, we have many other garrisons scattered about. Too, we count several tribes in Africa and Germania as our allies. By the count of the Office of the
Equites
, the Western Empire commands just over one hundred thousand men under arms. We are removing none of these legions from their duties; instead we will withdraw select units and cohorts from them. At the same time, we are instituting what Aurelian here, with his penchant for invention, calls a
levy
, to replace all of those men with fresh recruits. While the expedition is in the East, the remaining veterans here in the West will train a whole new army."

Maxian shook his head in amazement, saying "And where do you expect to find an extra sixty thousand citizens of suitable age and temperament for the legions? Do not forget, brother, that I was at your side on the march from Saguntum to Mediolanum to Rome. I have seen the empty cities and barren fields turning back to forest."

Aurelian coughed expectantly. Galen turned a little to look at him, his face shadowed in the moonlight. He gestured to his brother to proceed. Aurelian clasped his hands before him, then said, "We, ah, we do not intend to induct citizens into the army. We intend to, well, to induct slaves and noncitizens."

Maxian flinched as if struck. A white-hot pain shot through the side of his head as the strange pressure that he had felt all around him in the temple suddenly became unbearable. A vast sense of crushing weight bore down on him, and his mind struggled to resist it. For a long moment of silence, he battled within himself to speak, to regain control of his limbs. As if from a great distance, he looked down upon himself sitting in the little temple, facing his brothers in the darkness. For a brief moment, as his sight hung suspended in the evening air, he caught a glimpse of a vast whirlpool of smoke and dull sullen fire spreading out from the three of them over the land and the sea. In the smoke, faces and phantasms roiled, indistinct.