The Storm of Heaven (80 page)

The figure moved, raising its head. There was a rasp of metal on metal. Black-painted ears rose, smooth, muscular limbs flexed and the thing stood. It had the body of a man, olive skinned, belted with leather and a black kilt. The head was that of a great dog, a jackal, shining with red-painted eyes and a glistening iron finish.

What has happened?
A voice echoed from the iron mask, splintered and broken by the shape of the mouth.
My Eyes tell me that the Romans came against the bridge.

"They did. The Shanzdah were waiting and slew many. My soldiers drove off the rest. The bridge is safe and the army will begin moving across today, if the weather holds and the waters in the strait are quiet."

Excellent. Has the Axumite brought you the box?

"Yes." Shahr-Baraz nodded, curious. He reached into the tunic lying over his armor and pulled forth a small obsidian box covered with glyphs and figures. Some of the pictures were disturbing, showing coiling worms and an odd-looking city like the domain of enormous termites. "I have it safe with me at all times. Do you want it?"

No! This thing must stay closed and with you. Its contents are precious. G'harne does not give up her secrets easily... when the time is right, I will take it from you.

Shahr-Baraz smirked, pocketing the box. "You're afraid of this little box? It's barely big enough for a hen's egg."

Even so. Even so.
There was a chuckling sound.
Now, where is the Arab, this Mohammed?

Shahr-Baraz laughed, a rich, booming sound. "You cannot see him with your dead eyes?"

No! If I could see him, in the waking world or the hidden, he might perceive me as well. Tell me, is he still across the water?

"Yes," Shahr-Baraz nodded, "safe on the European shore. His army screens the city, watching for us while we labor on the bridge. It has been slow work—he failed to capture the town of Perinthus, so he lacks a good harbor for his ships—but we have finished. Soon we will be able to assail the city itself."

Do not hurry. There are friends coming to join us, from the North.

"Ah. The Avars have agreed to fight at our side, then?"

Yes.
Khagan
Bayan is coming with a great host of men. With them at our side, we will field more than a hundred thousand fighters.

"Can you send a message to your Eyes with Bayan?" The Boar tugged at his mustaches, thinking.

Yes. It is difficult, hidden as I am, but possible. What would you have him learn?
The voice seemed puzzled, which brought a brief flicker of amusement to the Boar.

"Our situation here is precarious—though I'm sure you don't think so. Our army is far from home, living from forage and looting amongst the Roman villas. The Arab army is in equal straits. I have learned from a friend amongst the Arabs the Roman fleet blockades the southern mouth of the Hellespont, trapping our allies in the Propontis. The Roman fleet may have brought more troops—a new army, perhaps a Western army—which will attempt to relieve the city. At the moment, we have the strength to besiege and surround Constantinople, but not to take it by main strength."

We have discussed this. All you need to do is force a battle. I will take care of the rest.

"So you say, but I do not trust your plan. It is too complicated. The Fates are fickle and unkind, always waiting to trip up unwary men. Now—the Romans have spies everywhere, watching us. It is impossible for us to root them all out, to hide ourselves from their eyes, not in their own country. Bayan and his Avars, therefore, must move into the vicinity of the city quietly and carefully and out of sight. There will be no communication between us, save by your powers. The Romans will not come out of their city unless they think victory over us is assured."

Ah, we must appear threatening, but weak enough to defeat in open battle. An injured rabbit, thrashing in the underbrush. Very well, I will influence the
khagan.

"Good. We will see if we can defeat the Romans by
human
skill and arms. If I fail, then you will have your chance." Shahr-Baraz smirked, wondering if the jackal-headed man could understand what passed between the sorcerer and the King. "When will you cross over?"

Not soon! This is not a simple matter. I will continue to sleep, watching and waiting.

The Boar snorted. "Missing your head, are you? Afraid of this Arab?"

Do not mock me! The power that moves in the Quraysh is like the sun, indescribable, unsurpassed. If he knew—if that power knew—that I was your ally, he would turn against you. That would be a deadly struggle.

"You could not defeat it, then?" Shahr-Baraz pressed, stepping a foot closer to the black wagon and its inhabitant. Inside, encased in gold and lead, bounded around with spells and wards, lay the corpse of a prince. Despite its missing head, the body remained alive in some horrific way. "Could you fight it to a draw?"

I am not afraid of this Arab or the power that has woken in him.
The voice was petulant.
But such a struggle would wreck all these lands, perhaps shatter the world. Even I, who know the secrets of death and life alike, prefer to walk and speak and live in a green world.

"Ah. Then we must avoid discovery, eh? Well, you seem snug in your box. I have heard from our 'friend' Lord Mohammed carries your head in his ship, safe and sound. Of course, if the ship should sink..."

Do not say such things!

"Hah! Don't worry—it is quite safe, I'm sure. A bold ploy of yours—I'm not sure that I would be so free with my head." Shahr-Baraz swallowed the rest of his laughter. The chill in the air deepened and an almost palpable anger began to radiate from the wagon. "Peace! Peace. I will not mock you... much. Tell me this, if you can; when the time comes to move you, will a ship suffice, or will we need the bridge?"

A dry hiss echoed in the air, but the chill withdrew and the air lightened.
The bridge would be best... if the wooden road were covered with earth, or the boats lined with saplings, that would be very effective.

"Saplings?" Shahr-Baraz shook his head. "I'll keep a fast galley on hand, waiting below these cliffs, on the shore. Once the army is across, we dare not keep the bridge up—it's too easy a target for the Roman fleet and impossible to protect. I want those ships free."

There was no answer, only a brooding silence. After a few moments, the King retraced his steps, careful to leave the tiny lead cones untouched, and returned to his horse. The jackal-headed man remained, squatting once again, waiting patiently. The dim red sun continued to ride high in the sky, casting a baleful light on the dead tombs.

At Narses' nod, one of his guardsmen lifted the bar locking the First Sword's quarters. The
lanista
stepped inside, his cane's distinctive
tap-tap
loud in the night. A lamp, burning low, illuminated a table littered with the corpse of dinner. Diana lay, her head sprawled on the tabletop, snoring softly, one hand still curled around a wine cup. Narses stumped up to her side, then rolled back an eyelid with his thumb.

"Sleeping." He grunted. "Check the others."

His men entered the room and found Candace and Agrippina asleep on their couches. Carts with padded wheels were waiting outside, each long enough for a tall man, which left plenty of room for the two shorter women. Narses watched with a paternal air while the slaves loaded the women onto the carts, swathed in blankets.

"Go on," he chided the men. "Use the tunnel and be quick about it."

Narses closed the door himself, once the others were gone, then picked up the bar and put it in place with his hand. He smiled at his fist. It was still strong. An Ethiopian merchant had once sold him a black springy ball, advising him of its many medicinal powers. The
lanista
found it relaxing to squeeze the ball in his fist seven or eight hundred times a day. Even one arm could still serve, if the will behind it was resolute.

He picked up the cane and walked back to his office, tapping it on the floor at regular intervals, whistling softly. Everyone else in the sprawling complex of buildings was sound asleep. Within the hour, a messenger would come back through the long underground tunnel connecting the Ludus Magnus to the Flavian, bringing word that Diana was safe in the heavily guarded pits under the amphitheater. They would not languish in mean cells, either, but in certain quarters reserved for special prisoners. His Amazons would not want for creature comforts!

"Well?" Gaius Julius was waiting in the office, a dark gray cloak thrown around his shoulders. The man's pate gleamed in the light of a brace of candles. "Are they safely put away?"

"They are. They ate heartily and sleep deeply." Narses sat in his old leather chair, feeling it creak comfortably under him. "Everything is very quiet. Perhaps nothing will happen tonight."

"Perhaps." Gaius Julius shook his head ambivalently. "The Duchess is a canny woman—if her agents enter the Ludus Magnus and find that their quarry has fled, there will be no violent demonstration. Such things are poor technique; her men will retire quietly, seeking advantage on another day."

"Humph! Not very sporting. My lads are very restless—they want a good brawl. Of course, Hamilcar really wants to test his skill against Diana."

"You mean the kohl-eyed African?" Gaius Julius sneered. "He wants to put his
sword
in her, all right! He's like a boy in love for the first time—it would be useless to pit them against each other. Keep her unique, separate from the usual dreary business of
retariius
and
murmillo
."

"There would be some heavy betting," Narses said in a sly voice, "if Diana and Hamilcar were to be put to the test. My lads already waste hours of practice in fevered argument, comparing the two, measuring their strengths and weaknesses. Wouldn't you like to see it yourself? You love the games, the fights. I know, I've seen your face!"

Gaius Julius shook his head, raising a hand, palm out. "I will tell you a secret of the showman's art, my friend. You should know this! When a man and a woman are at odds, there is no finer show in the world. Sparks, lightning, storms—all pale beside a feuding pair. But if they grapple in the test and one wins? Or they reach compromise? Well, everything is lost. There's no show there—only marriage! Who wants to watch that?"

Narses nodded in agreement, but raised a finger. "Friend, I have already been informed bets in the excess of five and six million
aureii
would exist, if such a thing were to happen. She has captured the imagination of the whole city!"

The old Roman whistled silently. That was an emperor's sum. A cunning man in control of events could make a suitable profit from such a frenzy. Greed was not unknown in the dead man's heart, and good red gold was the fuel for all his ambitions. His finances were already stretched to the absolute limit, not just by the massive and continuing series of games, but by Alexandros and his army. That project consumed all the coin Gaius could shovel into the trough, with no end in sight. Someday, perhaps, the investment would reap a rich reward, but until then? Only endless loss...

"If you want to set them against each other," a contemplative tone crept into Gaius Julius' voice and he smiled, leathery skin creaking up around his eyes, "then do so in a way no gladiators have ever dueled before..."

A huge figure moved against the night. The man tensed, setting his legs, then reached down and cupped his hands. His companion crouched at the corner of the Ludus Magnus. Heaps of rubbish clogged the alley.

"Hup!" The man straightened, powerful legs and arms moving in swift unison. The girl flew up, then deftly flipped and landed on the top of the wall. Crouching, she peered around, looking across the canted tile roof of the school. Ila's nose itched and she rubbed it with the back of her hand. This section of the outer wall was relatively free of metal spikes or crushed glass, so she took a moment to take a wooden bobbin from the pouch at her belt and toss it down into the alley. Below, Mithridates caught it from the air, feeling the twine uncoil. He crouched down, holding the wooden spool gently in his huge black hands. On the rooftop, Ila picked her way swiftly across the tiles, moving in silence. Her bare feet trod lightly on the rooftop. Twine unspooled behind her.

The gladiator had patiently described the compound, scratching maps in the sand, telling her how to move quietly and unseen. Pairs of guardsmen patrolled after dark. Gladiators would be locked away in their rooms or cells, but many entertained "friends" in the evening. Gladiators were richly rewarded, if they lived. Suitable company was only one compensation. Because of this, the night watch was not quite as strict as it should be.

Ila did not intend to set foot on the ground floor. She was light and nimble enough to make her way by roof and arch. Clambering over the roof ridge, she found herself below the rear wall of the main building. Softly, she crept to the wall, then eased along it, feeling with her hand for a... drainpipe.

Despite the darkness, Ila was sure of her touch. Fired-clay piping was bolted to the side of the building, letting the rainwater that fell on the roof find the cisterns below the school. The beneficence of the gods was not to be wasted.

Her nimble feet on either side of the pipe, Ila took a firm grip with her hands, then swarmed up the drain, her toes splayed against the rough brickwork. At the edge of the upper roof there was an overhanging lip. Clinging with her knees, the girl reached up and felt around for a good hold. A thirty-foot drop dangled below her, but she paid it no mind. Even without a net, she was sure of herself. Her fingers found a solid hold and she grabbed on, pushing away from the wall below with her feet. She bounced, then rolled up, swinging over the lip. Rough tile scratched her leg, but no blood was drawn, so she pressed on.

"Bah!" Narses snorted. "That is the stupidest idea I've ever heard!"

"Is it?" Gaius Julius waved his goblet at the other man. The remains of two bottles of Campanian wine lay between them. "Or just
unheard
of? I've never seen such a thing."