“Enough!” she said to herself, and turned the horse to walk uphill to her men. Spring would come soon enough.
Nikos rose as she reached the men. The others remained sitting, weapons or clothes or tack in their hands. Thyatis turned her horse, looking down at the lot of them. Two of Bagratuni’s sons had shown up, bristling with knives, axes, and spears, the day before. Efforts to run them off had failed, and now they were sitting together near the horses. Jusuf had brought four of his men, survivors of Tauris and the battle at the gate. Anagathios made ten.
“Mount up, lads. We’ve a long journey to make before the snow comes.”
Jusuf and Nikos both nodded sharply and turned to deal with the men. Each noticed the other and stopped, staring. Thyatis almost laughed-they were bristling at each other like barnyard dogs! Neither spoke, glaring at the other. “Jusuf,” Thyatis said in a calm voice, “I am used to Ni-kos being my second. When I am not here, he leads.” The Bulgar met her eyes with barely repressed anger. For a moment she thought that Jusuf would test her will, but then he nodded and turned away. Nikos looked at her, his brown eyes filled with worry. Dissention among such a small group was a quick ride to disaster. She shook her head, signing /‘// talk to him later. Nikos shrugged and turned back to the men. “Check your gear, check your horses, check your water! We ride out in ten grains!”
The wagon rattled over the bricks that paved the bridge, and Dwyrin bounced up and down, clutching at the planks of the bench seat to keep from being thrown off. Squeezed. in next to him, Zoe grinned a little, though her dark eyes were somber. Dwyrin matched Her smile with one of his own, wedging his arm in behind her to get a good grip on the backboard. Odenathus was crammed into the back of the wagon with bales of hide tents and other supplies. He did not bother to disguise his morose expression. His battle partner was gone, swallowed up by the dark river and the flames at the gate. Now he seemed the outsider. “Hey-yah!” Colonna snapped the reins, and the four mules yoked to the wagon snorted and flicked their tails from side to side. The speed of the clapboard wagon picked but he could see that it made no difference to her. The Roman army wound through the streets of Tauris like a steel snake. The buildings echoed to the stamp of thousands of booted feet, all marching north. Ahead of the wagon, Dwyrin could see the helmeted heads of a troop of infantry, their spears dancing over their shoulders. The Westerners were singing, a rude song about the bathhouse maiden“. A few of the townspeople watched from the shelter of the deep doorways they favored in this land. The women were veiled and the men watched with closed faces. Dwyrin frowned at the ill-concealed hostility. ”They are not angry,“ Zoe said in his ear, her breath warm on his cheek. ”They are patient, waiting for us to be gone. Then the city will begin to come alive. But they have as little love for Rome as they did for Persia.“
“Why?” he said, turning to face her. She drew back a little. “These people, like my own, have been a prize for the great Empires for centuries. First they are a Persian province, then a Roman, then a Persian again. Never ruled by their own King. Who is free of Rome? No one.” Dwyrin demurred, saying “My people are free, under their own Kings. Romans come to trade and barter, true, but not to conquer.” Zoe frowned at him, then lifted her fine nose in the air. “That is because you are barbarians.” Then she sniffed. “Who would want to rule you?” up, and they trundled forward through the streets of Tauris. The ouragos was heavily bundled up, with two shirts and a heavy cloak wrapped around him. Zoe huddled in an equally thick bundle of clothing and a fur-lined robe. Dwyrin was still in his linen shirt, with dirty blue leggings. At last, he thought, some reasonable weather! His breath puffed a little, white in the chill air. Despite the numbness that he felt for Eric, he smiled broadly and grinned at the other two passengers. Zoe was not amused and turned her face away. His fell-the day was beautiful
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THE DISTRICT OF THE FORUM OF THE BOAR, CONSTANTINOPLE
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|‘t/| axian closed the door carefully, making only a J. V J. slight rasping sound. In the great bed, Krista continued to sleep soundly, her arm curled around a heavy pillow, her dark hair tousled around her head. The low light of an oil lamp lit the hallway for him as he padded to the window at the end of the floor. Around him, the house was deep in slumber. Even the homunculus, which often sat up in its room, unsleeping, its pale-yellow eyes staring at the wall, was abed. The Prince pushed the window open, feeling a fresh breeze on his face, cold and smelling of the sea.
One hand on the frame, he stepped up into the window itself. The moon rode low over the roofs of the city, illuminating a hundred towers, domes, and buildings with silver light. Taking a deep breath, Maxian felt a quiet peace steal over him. Beneath his feet, the garden court at the center of the house was completely dark, even the light in the kitchen window having died. Nimbly he swung out and caught hold of one of the lead drainpipes that carried water from the roof to the flower beds below. Centering his thought, he scrambled up the wall, feeling his toes dig into the crevices between the stones.
Alais was waiting, smiling. The Prince walked gingerly along the edge of the canted roof, one foot carefully placed in front of the other. The Walach woman bowed to him and held out a pale-white arm. He took her hand in his, feeling the long nails bite into his wrist. Alais was clad in a tight shirt of silk dyed with squid ink and leggings of soft cotton. Her long hair was tied back behind her head, a long, lashing tail that reached the small of her back.
“My lord,” she purred. “Are you ready to learn the night?”
“Yes,” he said, his pulse quickening. She bowed again and turned, running lightly along the bricks of the cornice. He swallowed and shrugged his cloak off of his shoulders. Exhaling, he-followed, the rooftop and the buildings fading into a blur as they flashed past. At the end of the house, Alais sprang forward off the ledge, her hair flying out behind her as she vaulted over the dark canyon of the alleyway that separated the house from the next building.
Maxian, too, leapt out into darkness, hitting the end of the ledge at a flat-out run. Wind rushed past, and then there was a sharp thudding under his feet as he landed on the warehouse roof. A flicker of liquid light flared away from his boots and his knees flexed with the impact. His blood seemed afire with delight. The blond woman ran on ahead, her laughter floating back to him in the wind of her passage. The Prince picked himself up and sprinted after her. At the far edge of the warehouse roof she sprang up into the air. Maxian’s breath hissed between clenched teeth, seeing her vault up onto the side of the next building.
“O lucky cat,” he snarled, gathering himself for his own leap.
“How long have your people been in the city?” Maxian’s voice was a little raspy. His legs and arms were leaden weights from the effort of following Alais across the rooftops. He leaned back against the legs of a great bronze statue, his head in shadow. Moonlight fell across the valleys and mountains of the city that lay below them. Alais sat close by, her arms wrapped around her knees, which were drawn up to her chin. At their backs, the summit of the towers that adorned the Temple of Apollo formed the highest point in the city. Only a bronze of the god rose above them, his crown of gold gleaming even in the near-dawn darkness. Broad expanses of tiled roof and more statues ornamented the temple below. The entire city slept.
“Long?” she said dreamily. “No, I suppose not. I have only been here for seven years. The Matron, she has always been here. Even when crude men first put stone upon stone for shelter, I think she was watching with her cold eyes from the darkness. This is why she rules, she is the oldest.”