The Gate of Fire (48 page)

Galen rubbed his eyes and signaled to the servant by the door for more coals for the brazier. It was becoming chilly. The African added more, and then closed the tall windows and pulled the drapes tight. When he was done, Galen poked Aurelian—who had nodded off—with one of the eating prongs left behind from dinner. "Wake up, horse. We're not done yet. A matter remains, my lady—something very troubling to me. It is the matter of our brother..."

The praetorian at the outer door sprang up, his hand going to the
gladius
at his side. At the sudden movement, Galen stood and shrugged his cloak back, freeing his right arm. Aurelian, without thinking, rolled off of his couch and drew—with a cold rasp—a cavalry
spatha
from its sheath. The sword had lain hidden beneath his seat the whole evening. Galen, of course, knew that it was there, but in this—of all things—he trusted his brother with his life. Anastasia closed her mouth and sat very still, though she reversed the writing stylus in her hand.

A knock came at the door, a firm rapping sound.

The praetorian half turned, his
gladius
now in his hand, to see what the Emperor desired.

Galen stepped aside from the table and nodded.
Most assassins
, he thought,
do not bother to knock
.

The door opened and a thin, tired-looking man entered. He wore a hooded cloak and scuffed mud brown boots. The man threw back his hood, running a thin hand through his long brown hair, and pulled up short, staring at the tableau before him.

"Pardon," Maxian said, looking about in surprise. "I did not know you were in a meeting."

Galen let out his breath in a whistle, and Aurelian slammed the
spatha
back into its sheath.

"Piglet," the middle brother said in an aggrieved voice, "you've missed dinner again!"

Galen, who had sharp words on his tongue, stopped, speechless, and stared at Aurelian in disgust. "He missed nothing," he snapped. "Now he can have dessert at least—without so much pepper!"

Maxian looked from one brother to the other and felt an iron grip loosen from his heart. He had not even realized that it had been there, and he laughed out loud in relief. Aurelian, grinning shyly, came around the couch and picked him up, wrapping him in a bear hug.

"Ay," Maxian cried, feeling his ribs grind in that embrace, "have a care! I'm fragile—only human, not one of your giant horses!"

"That," Aurelian said, turning around and setting his little brother on the end of the couch beside Anastasia's chair, "is because you are always late to dinner."

Maxian looked up, smiling at his great redheaded bear of a brother, and then turned, making a sketchy bow to the lady. Anastasia contrived a faint smile and returned the bow, though her heart was hammering like a mill-wheel at the sight of the young man. Maxian turned to his eldest brother and bowed, too, but Galen reached out and mussed his hair instead.

"You," Galen said in a gruff voice reminiscent of their father's, "are a dreadful child! We were worried," he said in his normal voice. "I regretted those words we exchanged in Albania in the Legion camp."

Maxian met his eyes and nodded, rubbing his temple. "I am sorry, too, Gales, I was very tired and too wrapped up in my own thoughts."

"No matter," Galen said, making a dismissive motion with his hand. The Emperor sat and signed to the servants who had peeked out from behind the drapes. They scurried off to get more food. "Are you well?"

Maxian looked haunted again, the brief moment of respite from his cares washing away. He glanced at Aurelian and the Duchess—he had truly hoped to find his older brother by himself—but plunged ahead, anyway. "I live," he said after a pause. Troubled thoughts churned in his mind. He had intended to bring Galen up to date on what had transpired and what he now intended. But he could not do that now, with Anastasia and Aurelian in the room. That would seal their fates like the stroke of an axe in the slaughterhouse. "The business I spoke of before... have you mentioned it to anyone?" Maxian made a slight motion toward the Duchess and Aurelian.

Galen shook his head minutely, eyes narrowing in calculation.

Maxian bit his lip, making a silent appeal to his brother. "Pray, Gales, do not." The youngest Prince turned to Anastasia and Aurelian, his face clouded with worry. "Do not take offense, my friends, I do not mean you harm or insult. This is a very delicate matter. If I can contrive a way to tell you in safety, I will, but at this moment only Galen and I may know of this."

The Duchess, ever polite, inclined her head in understanding, though she held very still and hoped beyond hope that the naked fear gibbering in her heart did not show in her face. Krista's enigmatic messages from the villa in the hills had moved her first to the raid, and then—in its aftermath—to extensive excavations in the cellars. The bodies her men had recovered, even crushed by falling stone and burned by fire, told a grim tale of what could only be dark sorcery. This young man, for whom she had such great hopes, now trafficked not only with the ancient enemies of the state, but with inhuman powers. If the reports were true, he himself was possessed of tremendous strength. "Secrets are fragile things," she said in an even voice, though her hands were sweating. "Lives oft depend on their wholeness. Augustus Galen, I will leave you and your brother in peace. It is late, and there is still much to be done. Lord Caesar Aurelian, will you walk me to my litter?"

Aurelian, making a face, stood and bowed. "Of course, noble lady."

The Duchess rose, bowed again to the two brothers, who remained seated, and glided out, the train of her
chiton
leaving a faint glittering trail of sparkling dust behind. Aurelian stomped along behind her, thumbs hooked in his tooled leather belt. When they were gone, Maxian slumped back on the couch, exhausted.

"Did you find the weapon you needed?" Galen leaned forward, his lank dark hair spilling in front of his eyes. "What happened after you escaped from the encampment?"

Maxian summoned up a chuckle at the characteristic bluntness of his brother. He smoothed back his hair with his hands, feeling a dull throb behind his eyes. "I thought I did... I came back here with it. I put it to the test, but... it failed. Did you see me in your dreams, when I strove against the Oath?"

Galen's head came up, and he thought back.
On the ship
, he thought, vaguely remembering something...
yes, his face, at the end of a long tunnel of gray.
"I think so," he said slowly, trying to remember. "No matter—the situation is unchanged then."

"The same," Maxian said with a mournful tone. "I have put myself and others at risk for nothing. It is just so strong!"

Galen raised a hand, for the servants had returned. When they were gone, the table between the two men fairly groaned with food and drink. The Emperor, pledging himself anew to a life of stoic moderation, took only a bowl of fresh cherries in heavy cream and honey. Maxian, after staring blankly at the food, dug in with a will. Galen, watching him, smiled, seeing an echo of the legendary appetite of Aurelian in the youngest brother. Finally, after nearly an hour, the young man fell back on the couch, groaning. "I had almost forgotten what food tastes like," he said, staring at the ceiling. "I do not know what to do, my brother."

Galen put down the empty bowl. "Can you abandon this course? Walk away and leave it be?"

Maxian shook his head and sat up again. "No," he said. "We are enemies now. To live, unless I go far away, beyond the boundaries of the Empire, I must triumph." He ground a fist into his knee. "There is so much to gain by victory!"

Galen wiped his mouth with a cloth and leaned forward, his hands palm up. "You are still young; there is plenty of time left to you. Can you defend yourself enough to take the time to consider, to think, to plan? A few months, perhaps—you are on the ragged edge now, exhausted and hurt. Gather your strength and try a different approach."

Maxian nodded, smiling wryly. "Surely..." he said, ducking his head. "I am so tired. There must be a way..."

Galen stood, surreptitiously loosening the clasp on his belt dagger, just in case. He walked around the table and mussed Maxian's hair again. The youngest Prince stood, and they embraced, Maxian leaning his head, weary, on his brother's shoulder for just a moment. Then he stood away, his eyes clear. "Go to the Summer House," Galen said with a contemplative look on his face. "At Cumae. No one is staying there now. It is out of the way, and quiet. Go there and take your ease for a little while. Take a good cook with you! Rest, far from the city. Then come speak to me again, and we will contrive a plan together."

Maxian smiled and gathered up his cloak. "Thank you, brother. I will. Rest and time to think are like gold to me... a princely gift."

Galen smiled back, though when Maxian turned to the door, his eyes were hard and cold. He, at least, had seen the naked fear in the face of the Duchess, even if no one else had. His brother, curse the Fates, was dangerous. Very dangerous. Though his heart broke to think of it, sometimes an emperor could not bear the weight of an errant brother. Galen walked with Maxian through the halls of the palace, then bade him good night in the lighted courtyard on the northern side of the hill.

The young man vanished into the darkness of the city, and the Emperor watched him go in silence.

"This tempts fate and the gods," Alexandros muttered as—once more—he and Gaius Julius loitered in darkness. This time they were garbed in dark clothing; tunics, long capes with hoods. Gaius Julius had smeared lampblack on their faces and hands, taking great amusement in smearing the black ash in Alexandros' golden curls. "It is bad luck to disturb the spirits of a
bibliotheca
."

In the darkness, Gaius Julius' teeth appeared in a grin, pale and white against the black of his face.

"That is the joy of this, my young friend. By tradition, the contents of this place are yours, so console yourself with the thought that you are retrieving stolen property. Rome stole it from you, looting your legacy, so now you steal it back from them!"

Another shadow moved in the gloom that surrounded the door. The
homunculus
had been feeling around the locks, searching with cold, patient fingers for a point of leverage. The thing's head turned, and Alexandros felt an atavistic thrill of dread, seeing the gleam of the pale reptilian eyes in the darkness.

"Here," the thing said in its grave voice. Gaius Julius moved to the entrance of the vestibule, looking out on the dark, deserted alley. The buildings of the Forum towered around them, rising up in the thin sliver of moonlight, white and pale. The vestibule itself backed onto the huge wall that divided the graceful colonnades and temples of the Forum from the close-packed noisome slums of Subura just to the north. The fire wall was a hundred feet high and nearly a mile long, a great heap of brick plated with cheap travertine facing on the Forum side. Here, hidden down at its base behind the massive square edifice of the Temple of Pax, was a stolid rectangular building. Gaius, Alexandros, and Khiron were at its rear door, which was a heavy construction of oak and iron bands.

"Quietly, quietly," Gaius Julius whispered, and there was a rattling sound. A tiny point of light appeared, the yellow glow of a tallow lamp in a hood. The old Roman played it over the locks and stout facing of the door. Khiron's arm, mottled and gray, showing a vague, disturbing impression of translucency and muscles and tendons just under the surface, was poised above the larger lock. "Time we have; sound we cannot afford. The
aediles
do, occasionally, patrol these streets."

Alexandros felt a cold chill of apprehension wash over him, and almost laughed. This was but a door, a stout one, nothing like facing a man in armor and a fine oval shield in battle. Still, his hand brushed the hilt of his sword—a straight-bladed thrusting weapon he had purchased in one of the stalls in the market along the river. The old Roman with pale eyes had laughed at such a thing—
The blade is too long
, he had scoffed. Alexandros ignored him, remembering a fierce battle in driving rain, his body steaming with humidity, and his own life nearly ending on the point of such a weapon as he struggled to rise from thick red mud. The youth shook his head and banished the memory. That was far in the past.

"Now," Gaius Julius hissed, satisfied that the street was clear.

Khiron tensed its arm, and an iron-tipped forefinger dug into the ancient black oak over the lock. There was a squeal as wood twisted aside, but Khiron grimaced, muscles bunching in its arm, and gripped the mechanism of the lock with its other hand. The squeal rose sharply in volume, causing Alexandros to wince and cover his ears. The old Roman hopped from foot to foot in dismay. The
homunculus
ignored him, and there was a grinding screech as the lock mechanism was torn from the door. It groaned and there was a sharp snapping sound as Khiron wrenched the last of it out of the oaken panel. "Here," it said in a gravelly voice, handing the ruin of the lock to Gaius, "the door is open." The
homunculus
reached into the gaping hole gouged out of the door, ignoring the spikes of twisted nails and bolts, and there was a grinding sound as the locking bar was pushed back.

"That was the very soul of quiet," Gaius muttered as he pushed the door open, raising the lantern. The room within was dark, and a dusty smell of age flooded out. Alexandros wrinkled up his nose, but peered in nonetheless. In the pale light of the hooded lantern, he saw the dim outlines of row after row of tall shelves, each pierced with thousands of pigeonholes. In each, the dusty outlines of scrolls and books could be seen.

"Ahhh..." Gaius breathed, stepping into the room. "A true bounty—and this only the extras at the back of the building. Come quickly, we have to cross over the main floor and go up a flight of stairs to reach our goal. Khiron, with me. Alexandros, get the wagon."

Alexandros grimaced, and pride warred in him for a moment with a relief at not violating the sacred precincts of the library.
Stop this
, he commanded himself,
Gaius knows where the books are, and Khiron can carry a vast burden
. The slight still rankled, though, but he had resigned himself to waiting, to being patient, at least for a little while. It had been a long time since he had stood watch. In the darkness, under the domed roof of the vestibule, he smiled to himself, knowing that by the power of this Prince of the Romans, he had cheated his old bargain with the gods.