The Shadow of Ararat (16 page)

"So," Aurelian said, with a knowing look on his face, "I hear from reliable sources that you spent the night, not so long ago, with a certain raven-haired Duchess. Was she as magnificent as all reports indicate?"

Maxian stared at his brother for a moment, digesting this statement, then he laughed.

"After the party at de'Orelio's? She was quite entertaining that night, true, but I did not sample her myself. The wine was of exceptional quality and I arrived tired, so a slave helped me to bed and to sleep. The Duchess and I have gone over that ground before—though I mean no disrespect to the Lady, she is really too old for my taste."

"You slept?" Aurelian asked in disgust. "The reports in the Forum are far more entertaining than you, piglet. By the account of reliable, sober and upstanding Senators, you were engaged in an orgiastic celebration with no less than the Duchess, her ward, and a tangle of every other lad, lass, and goat in the villa. Why, old Stefronius assured me that the decadence of the notorious Elagabalgus was as nothing compared to your soldiering among the youth of the city..."

Aurelian was laughing so hard that he could not even dodge the heavy pillow that Maxian threw at him. Maxian sighed and leaned back on the couch.

"What is Galen arguing with Gregorius about?" he asked, hoping to divert the gossip-hungry Aurelian from the subject at hand.

"Oh, the levy, the supplies for the expedition to Constantinople, the weather, everything. They've been at it for three hours now. Neither is willing to budge a finger's worth—and
worse
, each is absolutely sure that he is in the right."

"Why not just issue the edicts and be done with it? The Emperor has proposed, the Senate has voted..."

Aurelian threw the pillow back, though Maxian neatly caught it with one hand and tucked it behind his head. His brother fluffed his beard with one hand, thinking a moment. Then:

"Galen, despite the good state of the fisc, does not want to bear the cost of the expedition solely from the coffers of the state. He summoned all those 'well-respected' men out there to extort from them the coin, the bread, the arms, the armor, and most important, the
ships
to carry his sixty thousand veterans to the East. Gregorious knows that, and knows that as he is the richest man in Rome, if he refuses to pay then Galen is in a tight spot. He wants an
arrangement
, but it is not one that Galen will give."

Maxian looked perplexed, saying "Gregorious has always supported us, he was a friend of father's, for Apollo's sake. What would he want that Galen cannot give?"

"Not 'cannot,' piglet, but 'will not.' Gregorious wants to arrange grants of citizenship for some of his clients—the ones who have made him so rich. He also wants to 'help' out with the expedition by mustering his own Legions, six of them to be exact, from those same clients. He is even, in his graciousness, willing to arm, equip, and train the lot of them."

Now Maxian was even more amazed than he had been earlier in the afternoon.

"Gregorious has enough money to field almost fifty thousand legionnaires?" He sputtered. "Where in Hades did he find that many able men in the Empire? Galen has had to hatch this dubious levy to get that many in arms!"

Aurelian nodded slowly then said, "Gregorious is not considering just men in the Empire."

Maxian's head snapped up, a look of suspicion on his face. "And where
does
he intend to get these men?"

Aurelian nodded to the north, past the pale-green reeds and marsh-doves painted on the walls. "From the tribes still beyond the border, those that have not settled in their own
principates
, towns, cities, and duchies. To join their fellows who live among us now."

"The
Goths
!" Maxian found himself on his feet, shouting. Aurelian remained recumbent on the sofa, nodding. "And the Lombards, and Franks, and a bevy of other footless bands, all looking for a slice off of the big wheel of cheese. Gregorious argues, and here it is hard to fault him, that the Goths are staunch friends and allies of the state. They have fought at our side for almost a hundred years, but by the same treaties that bind them to us, and we to them, they are
not
Roman citizens. They hold lands in the name of the Emperor, but they are a subject state. Many of the Gothic Princes are welcomed at Gregorious' house and they repay him, and his patronage in the city, with an easy way beyond the frontier. Gregorious Magnus did not become as rich as he is by ignoring opportunities, but I think, as does Galen, that he is beginning to run out of favors to pay them off with. Now they want to become citizens, and this is one way for them to get that."

"They could serve, individually, in the Legions and gain the same status," out Maxian pointed.

"Many do, but more want to serve together, which has been against the law for over eight hundred years. And if fifty thousand of them showed up at once, we wouldn't be recruiting them, we'd be fighting them and Gregorious would be Emperor instead of our beloved brother. Gregorious thinks that together they are invincible in battle."

Maxian sniffed at that, but Aurelian held up an admonishing finger. "Check the rolls of the Legion sometime, piglet. Almost half of our current soldiers are German or Gothic. They are fierce fighters and they can be very loyal."

"The Legions have always been loyal to the state," Maxian shot back.

"True. But Galen does not want to test that proverb. That is another reason why he wants to install the levy—to gain more legionnaires who are
not
German."

Maxian's retort was lost in the oak door opening and a slave entering with the wine. A pretty brunette in a short tunic, she placed the amphora on the marble ledge and took the wicker basket away. After she was gone, Maxian realized that his brother was laughing again.

"You need a wife, or better, a bevy of concubines, piglet. I'd swear that you didn't hear a single word I said while she was in this room."

Maxian blushed and snarled something unintelligible at his brother. He got up and poured two goblets of wine, this a dusky red Neapolitan by the smell. He swirled the grape in the goblet and tasted it—excellent! He passed the other glass to Aurelian, who drank it straight off. Maxian sighed at the indifference of his brother to the subtlety of the vintage. The door opened again, and this time Galen entered, slamming the heavy panel behind him. The two younger brothers watched in silence as the Emperor paced icily from one end of the little room to the other. Finally, after almost ten minutes, he looked up and seemed surprised to find the two of them in the chamber with him.

"Oh. I wondered where the two of you had gotten to. My apologies. Is there any wine?"

Maxian poured another glass and handed it over to his brother. Galen's high temper was visibly ebbing as he finally sat down and drank the wine in two short swallows. Maxian and Aurelian both continued to sit, their faces impassive as the Emperor sorted through his thoughts in the quiet.

Galen put the glass back on the ledge, turning to Aurelian. "Aurelian, as we had discussed before, the Senate is voting you to hold the office of Consul while I am gone. Nerva Licius Commodus, who is holding the other consular office, will be going with me, so we shall fill the other with Maxian here. I trust both of you, though not necessarily anyone else in the city, so be careful. The Senators are a little restless over this campaign in the East and will doubtless bend the ears of both of you while I am gone."

Aurelian nodded in agreement, though his open face showed how pleased he was at the prospect.

Galen smiled, a little tight smile, and ran a hand through his short hair. "Maxian, you are the linchpin of this whole effort in the East. I had considered taking you with me—a campaign would be beneficial to your education—but someone has to maintain the
telecast
here so that I can be informed of any developments in the West. The device will be brought up from the Summer House within the next week, in secret, and installed in the library. Aurelian will handle the day-to-day business, but you need to keep an eye on the men who were in that room with me."

Maxian rubbed his face, feeling the beard stubble. He did not like his brother's emphasis on the word
education
, for it implied that his long period of freedom was at an end. For the last six years, since they had come to the city in triumph, his brothers had carefully excluded him from the business of the state. This had been the wish of both their mother and their father, who saw for him a different path, that of the healer-priest. With Galen in the East, such liberty was at an end. Oddly, he did not feel outraged or angry at the presumption of his brother, but rather more comfortable, like a familiar cloak had been draped, at last, around his shoulders.

"Brother, if I do not mistake you, you want me to take over the network of informers and spies maintained by the Offices? Is this not the domain of the Duchess de'Orelio?"

Galen looked at his younger brother for a moment, his face pensive. "De'Orelio has always supported us, little brother, as has Gregorious and the other nobles. But in times such as these, when great events are in motion, the solid earth may be sand, the old friend an enemy. Given these things, I desire that you should begin assembling a separate set of informers and spies loyal to us."

Maxian bowed his head in acceptance. Galen continued to brood, his face grim and his manner distant.

"Within the month," he said, "the Legions in Spain and southern Gaul will arrive at Ostia Maxima and I will join them. I shall sail east with them, and join the others at Constantinople. Then Heraclius and I will begin our expedition. We shall have victory and peace."

Maxian shook his head in puzzlement, saying "Again you mention that
peace
shall come of this, brother. You are taking a great gamble, to throw yourself and the Emperor of the East into the heart of Persia. Even with this great army you may still be defeated. You may die. Both halves of the Empire may lose their Emperors. This will not be peace but civil war again, and the barbarians will still storm against the walls of Constantinople. Would it not be more prudent to clear the invaders from Thrace, Greece, and Macedonia? Then the full weight of the Empire could turn against the Persians in Syria and Palestine."

Galen laughed and his eyes were bright with some secret knowledge. "Cautious! So cautious, piglet. You are right, such a campaign would restore the borders of the Empire and drive the enemy back. But that is what the 'cautious' Emperors of Rome have done since the time of the Divine Augustus. None of their efforts has brought peace, only a little delay in the next war. The great Emperors—Julius Caesar, Trajan, Septimus Severus—they won peace by the destruction of their enemies. We will do them one better, we will take nearly a hundred thousand Romans into the heart of our ancient enemy and destroy not only their capital but their state. Persia, all of Persia, will become a Roman domain, not just an edge of it, but all. Then, then there will be a true peace in the East and over the whole of the world."

Galen paused, and now he seemed refreshed, even ebullient again. The grim and distant manner was gone; instead he poured more wine for all three of them.

"Nike!" he said, raising his cup to the goddess of victory. "And a Roman peace."

Maxian drained his cup, but there was no peace in his heart.

Though he had lived in the sprawling maze of the Palatine for six years, Maxian was still unable to find the offices of the Duchess, though he thought that they were somewhere in one of the buildings on the northern face of the hill. At last, having wound up again in the sunken garden on the eastern side of the hill, he approached one of the gardeners laboring over the replacement of tiles. The garden, built over five hundred years ago by the reviled emperor Domitian, was laid out in the shape of a race course. Great bushes, carefully tended, were crafted into the shape of rearing horses and chariots. At the north end there was a pool and around it ancient tiles, now cracked. The gardener, dressed in a muddy tunic and laced-up cotton leggings, was half in and half out of the pool, wrestling a replacement tile into the place. Maxian paused and bent down at the edge of the tile border. The gardener, grunting, heaved at his pry bar and the tile, backed with concrete, at last shifted with a grinding sound and slid into place. The workman leaned heavily on the length of iron and looked up, his eyes shrouded by bushy white eyebrows.

"Friend, if you have a moment, I've a question," the Prince said. "I'm seeking the offices of the Duchess de'Orelio."

The gardener frowned and spit into the pool. "You're far off course," he said. "The Duchess, though a generous woman to the less fortunate, is of a questionable position in the offices. Though she visits often, she has no 'place' here. If you wish to speak to her, you'll have to go to her townhouse over by the Aquae Virgo. Do you know the way?"

Maxian stood up, brushing leaves and dirt from his knees. "I do," he said. "Many thanks."

Back in the maze of hallways, Maxian made his way south, finally reaching the long curving arcade that ran along the southern face of the Palatine. Here the way was thronged with officials, scribes, and slaves. Here too was the office of the chamberlain of the palace, and Maxian strode in with a confident air. Of all of the palace officials, Temrys knew him by sight. Apparently, so did the chamberlain's secretary, who paused in his instruction to two other scribes at the appearance of the Prince.

"Milord! Do you need to see the chamberlain?" The secretary's face was a study in surprise and not a little apprehension. Inwardly, this evidence of power cheered Maxian.

"If he is not overly busy," Maxian said, clasping his hands behind his back.

"One moment, sir." The secretary bustled away, back into the maze of cubicles and tiny rooms that were the warren and domain of Temrys and his minions. The two junior scribes, at last making out the profile of the visitor and the cut of his garb, sidled away and disappeared. Maxian smiled after them. A moment later the secretary reappeared and bowed to the Prince, indicating the way into the rear rooms.