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.
THE SUMMER HOUSE, CUMAE
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 Max-ian 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.”