The Storm of Heaven (90 page)

Thyatis had her head down, eyes still shaded, but a cheerful whistling made her look up. A young woman walked past, carrying a bucket of paint on her shoulder. Her thick black hair was tied up into a bun and her slave tunic left her olive shoulders bare. The Roman woman blinked in surprise, then stopped, a strange look on her face.

"Diana?" Ila stopped too, staring after the slave. "What is it? Do you know her?"

Thyatis swallowed, blinking tears away. "No. Not her."

A dark-haired woman with a perfect oval face and glorious dark brown eyes smiled at her. Sunlight dappled the water behind her. They were sitting on a beach, under a cloth awning, looking out over the green sea. Thyatis was happy. Her life had purpose, a destination, everything was so certain...

Ila took her hand and squeezed. "Did she die?"

"What?" Thyatis shook her head, retreating from memory. "No. No, she is safe, far from here. But I will never see her again." Ila thought Thyatis might cry, but she did not.

"Why not?" Ila held on to her hand and they continued to walk, now passing the temple of Victoria, sitting on the southern side of the stadium, opposite the Imperial box. Drudges were sweeping and washing the walls with horsetail brooms. "Don't you care for her?"

"I do." Thyatis' voice was dull and lifeless. "But, mouse, she had four children and they were supposed to be cared for in Rome! I said they would be safe. They were killed. She is far away on an island, but—oh gods!—her children are dead because of me. I can never face her again."

"Oh." A sad expression passed over Ila's face. "She would blame you."

"I blame myself. She will be heartbroken, crushed. They were her precious babies." Thyatis stopped, unable to continue.

The little mouse girl was depressed too. Together, they continued to trudge across the sand, though it was getting hot and burned their feet. All Thyatis could see were the faces of the dead, looking upon her with mournful eyes.

Anastasia bit her quill idly, staring out the window of her study. Afternoon sun spilled through the tall arched casement, illuminating a worktable strewn with papers and oddments. Despite the shock of Thyatis' words at the party, she had revived enough to wear something that was not wholly black and gray. Instead, she had ventured into cream and light green, which was certainly cooler on such a hot day. She sighed, then put down the quill. Tiny indentations marked its length.

"All the time that she was with you," the Duchess asked, "she did not remember who she was?"

"No." Vitellix was sitting in a chair across the room, out of the sun. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. Anastasia knew the Gaul had not been sleeping well. He worried a great deal, particularly with his daughter missing. "She seemed distant from the world. Sometimes, she described a gray numbness between her and the past. If what I heard through that door was true..."

"It was." Anastasia bit out the words, feeling hopeless anger rise in her again.

"...then I can see why. Can't you let her go? The past is nothing but horror for her!"

"No!" The Duchess surprised herself with the vehemence in the single word. "I will not admit defeat in this or in anything." Her lips thinned into a tight straight line. "We all bleed and suffer loss in this life. It is the way of the world. I am concerned with larger issues."

"Like your own grief?" Vitellix raised an eyebrow and sat back, slumping in the chair. "You still struggle to leave your own villa! I saw your face the other night, at Narses' party and afterwards. You are not the same woman you were. So many of your servants and family are dead—you cannot have escaped unchanged."

Anastasia glared at him, violet eyes narrowing. She lifted her chin, giving him a cold look. "That is my business, not yours, Gaul. You are here because I feel some compassion for you, for your stray daughter. Do not think to tell me how I feel."

Something like anger glittered in Vitellix's eyes, but then it passed, submerged in a wry look. "Oh, your pardon, noble lady. I thought I was here because I know the business of the games and I know Narses and his school. I
thought
we wanted to get our daughters back."

Anastasia's forehead creased, and she looked sideways at the man. He seemed familiar again, but she could not place him at all. The mordant sarcasm in his voice was impossible to miss. She raised her hands in mock surrender. "Enough. I am tired of bickering with you. How much do you know of Prince Maxian?"

Vitellix sat up again, his face intent. The Duchess offered an olive branch. He had to get Ila back
somehow
. Losing his wife had been bad enough; he did not want to lose the little mouse too. "Only what I have overheard between you and Helena Julia. He is Emperor Galen's younger brother?"

"Yes." Anastasia took a deep breath, smoothing her gown over her thighs, thinking. "Ah, but where to start? I suppose it began at a party here, in the Villa of Swans..."

Thyatis stepped through the arch of the number-twelve starting gate, delighted to be out of the sun and into cool shade. Ila was still holding her hand and pressed close to her side. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, but the redolent smell of horses, hay, oats, oiled leather, waxed canvas, burnished metal and wood was all around them.

"Diana! Welcome!" Narses limped forward, leaning on his cane. The stout man's smile was wide and genuine. He laughed, seeing Ila hiding behind the redheaded woman. "Come in, little mouse, no one will hurt you here, not even this sleek cat."

Hamilcar was leaning against the side of a two-wheeled chariot, squinting and looking bilious. He was not smiling. Much like Thyatis, he was pale and green in the face. In a marked contrast to his usual physique-displaying raiment, today he was wearing a heavy blue woolen shirt that hung down to his thighs. Checked linen pantaloons covered the rest of his legs. Ila hid a smile, thinking that even the thought of the sun or loud noise would probably make him double over, heaving.

"Well, both of you seem to have drunk from the same well." Narses was cheerful, his round face wreathed in a smile. Thyatis blinked at him, thinking him the most evil creature she had ever seen. How could he be so
sunny
this morning? She had slept for a day and a night, barely able to move, much less speak before she could rouse herself out of the big plush bed in his villa. Ila had helped her to the baths, then scrubbed her down. "I trust that neither of you have gone blind or lost the use of your limbs?"

"No," Hamilcar and Thyatis growled in unison. Then they glared at each other.

"Good." Narses looked around, taking a deep breath, smelling the pungent air. "A business proposition has been put to me." Narses voice was suddenly quite businesslike, cool and composed.

Hamilcar opened one eye, showing it red and throbbing. "You didn't bring us here to talk about advertising, did you? Do we have to appear at some taverna and play at swords?"

"No, not at all." The
lanista
tapped his cane against one foot, smirking. "If you have not heard, the final celebrations of these funeral games are scheduled for three days hence. The Emperor, of course, will be in attendance, as will a great proportion of Rome. Over three hundred thousand people are expected to attend! There will be a great beast hunt in the circus and then chariot races. Unfortunately, of course, the gladiatorial games are all done with. Sad, really..."

"What," Thyatis bit out, "do you want with us?"

"Oh, sorry. A patron of the art—you needn't know his name, it's entirely unimportant—has been begging me to arrange a match between the two of you. But of course, the fights are over and tradition is tradition!"

Hamilcar stood up, swallowing bile, and put his hands, gently, on the
lanista's
shoulder. "What are you talking about?" The African swayed a little, then caught himself, blinking.

"Well... the school has been offered a great deal of money—the two of
you
have been offered a great deal of money—to arrange a match between Diana the Amazon and Hamilcar the Glorious! Oh, what a draw!"

"With swords?" Thyatis began to look speculatively at Hamilcar. "In the Flavian?" She smiled, a tight grin that showed the tips of her teeth.

"No, no, no!" Narses shook his head, stepping between the two of them and looking out the starting-gate arch. "The gladiatorial contests are finished—closed out with that stunner of yours, Diana, and Hamilcar's fine victory. Only the last day is available on the schedule." He turned, his head silhouetted against the vast sweep of the stadium. Thyatis could see the obelisk rising up over one of the
lanista's
broad shoulders. Bright pennons and banners lined the roof of the stands, silhouetted sharply against the blue sky. "You'll race here, of course, four-horse chariot against four-horse chariot, seven laps in all."

"A race?" Hamilcar's face lit up.

"With chariots?" Thyatis scowled, staring at the high-sided vehicle behind the African.

"Exactly." Narses smiled genially. He tapped the chariot with the tip of his cane. "In three days Hamilcar will race for the Greens and you, Diana, will race for the Blues."

"I've never raced a chariot." Thyatis was outraged. "It won't be much of a contest!"

Ila tugged at her sleeve, making Thyatis lean down. "Yes, it will," whispered the mouse girl, her eyes narrowed to slits, glaring at the African. "I'll show you some more tricks. We're gonna get that smirking cat." She stuck out her tongue at Hamilcar.

The African laughed, his confidence suddenly very high. The news shook off his hangover and he ran a hand along the curved surface of the chariot. "Three days! It seems so long—"

"You seem so short," Thyatis said dryly. "You may wish it were long, when you cross swords with me."

Hamilcar grinned, his teeth brilliant and white in the gloom. "Well, then, we'll finally have a chance to see who masters the other."

Thyatis grinned again. "A good choice of words. You already have a collar, don't you?"

Hamilcar's face went cold. Like most of the gladiators, he was a slave. Thyatis laughed.

"I suppose," Anastasia said softly, depressed, "the Prince must have fought there on the mountaintop, and his power—exercised so violently—woke the volcano to life. Disaster followed disaster."

Vitellix stood by the window, staring out at the garden. "Diana says she saw all the other men die at his hand, yet he had been wounded to the point of death himself. Is he truly so strong?"

"He must be!" Anastasia raised her head, glaring at the Gaul. "He
does
live, if we are to believe Betia. He was sent away to the school at Pergamum, you know, when he was young. The whole family was so proud—a healer with the true art is born to perhaps one family in a million—and they seemed blessed. Who knew things would turn out in such an evil way?"

"Do you think," Vitellix knelt by Anastasia's chair, his face pinched and intent, "Diana was right when she said she
could
have killed him by striking off his head?"

"I don't know." The Duchess looked away, closed fist bumping her lips. "We know so little about his powers. Krista..." Anastasia stopped, her face bleak, then made an effort to gather herself and resumed. "Krista told me the Prince could raise the dead as creatures without will, though they could speak and act if he directed them. He healed her hurts more than once, wounds which should have killed her. I gathered, from what little she said, he could draw upon the strength of those like Gaius Julius and Alexandros. She said their legends made them powerful."

Vitellix made a sound like a snort and a laugh at the same time. Anastasia stared at him, her eyes dry but desolate. "I have seen them both, I think, the golden youth and the gray old politician. At the house of Gregorious Auricus. In fact, I believe the esteemed senator is Gaius Julius' patron."

"What? His patron?" The Duchess pursed her lips, considering this news.

"Yes... Gaius Julius—if the man that I am thinking of is he—is responsible for the funeral games. He is the actual
editore
, though Gregorius—for obvious reasons—is the magistrate in charge. Gaius met Diana—pardon, Thyatis—at a party hosted by the senator. He conceived a desire for her, I think, but she rebuffed him."

Anastasia sighed. "Being in such a position would make it easy to have her captured and put into the Flavian as a criminal."

Vitellix nodded, still thinking. "I do not know what happened to the youth, though he suffered some kind of fit at the party. They took him away to a private room."

Nodding, Anastasia rose from the chair, absently smoothing her gown. Nervous, she took a corner of the sleek fabric between her fingers and began to fold it over and over, making a sharp edge that she rubbed against her thumb. "The histories say Alexander was sometimes afflicted with seizures. The physicians call it
morbus comitialis
, I believe. So—the two legends are here in the city. The Prince is here in the city. I do not believe, from the Emperor's reaction when he and I spoke, that Maxian has approached his brother."

"Does Maxian know?"

"That his brother acceded to my act?" Anastasia shrugged, lifting her white shoulders. "I do not know. If he does, then he will be very angry. The Emperor's life would be in grave danger... or would it?" The Duchess suddenly stopped. "There is—I do not know how to put it—there is apparently a magical guardian, if you will, watching over the Emperor and the Empire. It is very powerful. Part of the Prince's madness is his desire to overthrow this guardian. He believes the guardian exerts a baleful influence upon the people, sapping their vitality. However, it may be strong enough to keep Maxian from taking revenge upon his brother."

"Would he?" Vitellix clasped his hands behind his back. "Would he kill his own brother?"

"Galen would have him killed." Anastasia's voice dropped and she looked down. "Once a man is Emperor, then his actions are guided by the welfare of the state, not by his heart."

"Like yours?" Vitellix raised an eyebrow, but there was no censure in his voice. "I praise the Many-Handed each day I do not have to carry your burden. It would be too heavy for me."