Martina did not answer. Instead, she gave Gaius Julius a look of such banked fury he stepped back in alarm. Ignoring them both, Maxian started off for the banquet tables.
"My lady?" the old Roman ventured quietly, as soon as the prince was out of earshot. She pursed her lips, obviously restraining a vigorous expression of disgust.
"Does the prince possess lands of his own, Master Gaius? His own livelihood?"
"Well…" Gaius Julius shrugged a little, clasping both hands behind his back. "Not to speak of-there are some small properties in his name; rundown apartment houses, a copper mine in Illyria; at one point he held a vineyard and estate on the slopes of unfortunate Vesuvius… nothing too large. Traditionally, the Emperor provides for his family-including any brothers or sisters."
"Does he?" The Eastern Empress' brown eyes narrowed. "Or rather, he keeps his brothers from accruing their own wealth, so as to protect his position." She paused, staring after the prince, who was following his nose to the food. "He doesn't care, does he?"
"Maxian? No-I don't think he does. It's not important to him."
Sympathy and anger warred in Martina's face for a moment, then her expression settled into a determined frown. "Then we will watch out for him," she said briskly. "To make sure he's not cheated again."
Anastasia was standing in an alcove just off the atrium of her house, when the water clock began to sound, signaling the seventh hour of the night. The party was winding down-more than half the guests had departed in small groups, escorted by link boys and armed slaves-and the chiming sound beat in her head like a hammer. Everyone else seemed determined to greet the rising sun over the ruins of her feast and many lesser lights were already asleep, curled up in corners or on the couches in the entertaining rooms.
The Duchess pressed the back of a thumb against her eyebrow, hoping to stave off an incipient and formidable migraine. In the brief instant, while her eyes were closed, she heard a murmur of voices and the clatter of boots and sandals on her tile floors. Someone is leaving, she thought, giddily. Oh good! Gathering herself, she stepped out into the hall and saw the departing guests were the prince, the Empress and the sly gray old shape of Master Gaius Julius.
"Lord Prince," Anastasia said, bowing slightly. "I am very pleased you came this evening. And thank you for your help. Without your 'additions,' I fear my little play would have fallen rather flat."
"My pleasure," Maxian said. He seemed very relaxed, his arm around Martina's waist, wine spots on his collar and sleeve. He smiled easily at her, as if they had always been old friends and never enemies. "Thank you, Duchess, for your hospitality. I'm glad our difference of opinion is in the past."
"Of course, my lord," she said, making a polite smile in return. With no desire to reopen old business-particularly with a happily drunk thaumaturge-she bowed to the Eastern Empress with a warm smile. "My lady Martina-I do hope your evening ended better than it began."
Martina, though she seemed quite content to lean her head on Maxian's chest, frowned at the Duchess. "You need," she said, in a slightly slurred voice, "to invite a better class of guests."
Anastasia felt her stomach-already brutalized by too much wine and too many salty olives-turn over queasily. And she's a mean drunk, the Duchess thought despairingly. At the same moment, she caught sight of Gaius Julius turning abruptly, looking behind him.
"My dear," Anastasia took Martina's hand. "I am so sorry-please, come again when you are in Rome, and we will sit together in private and have a wonderful, delightful time. I do not want your memory of my house to be distasteful."
"That would be nice," the Empress said, perking up. The Duchess saw her pupils were dilated and realized the young woman was half-asleep on her feet. "You have a nice house."
"Thank you." Stepping aside, Anastasia glanced over Martina's shoulder and saw, to her surprise, Gaius Julius deftly interposing himself between the prince, the Empress and an approaching Helena. The Western Empress was already clad in cloak and hood, her face tense. Oh, dear. "Come, I'll walk you out," she continued smoothly. "Your escort is waiting-alert and well-fed-I assure you!"
The porters were watching and the big door panels swung wide as they approached. The courtyard before the house was well-lit by torches and a bonfire. The warm night air flooded over them, carrying the sweet, heady smell of citrus and cooking smoke. Several Praetorians emerged, armor gleaming dully in the torchlight. They were alert, hands ready on the hilts of their swords, every other man carrying a lantern.
"My lord?" The centurion in charge of the detachment stepped up, saluting the prince. "Where bound tonight, Caesar?"
"Our house on the Cispian Hill," Maxian said, casting about for Gaius Julius. The older man appeared quickly, hurrying out of the house. As the old Roman passed Anastasia, he inclined his head and gave her a queer look, almost a wink or a nod. The Duchess did not respond, smiling politely, and kissed Martina on each cheek. The Empress smiled back, squeezing her hand.
"Good night," Anastasia said, watching them saunter out onto the street, surrounded by a moving wall of iron and bared steel. Despite the late hour and the prince's powers, his guardsmen were neither relaxed nor inattentive. The nighted streets of Rome were dangerous, even for members of the Imperial family.
"Well."
The Duchess turned, heart sinking, and found Helena waiting on the threshold, eyes glittering, watching the prince and his party disappearing down the street. "Helena, what-"
"What did I say to Gaius Julius or what did he say to me?"
Anastasia pursed her lips, registering the cold, even tone in her friend's voice. "What did you say?"
Helena drew up her hood. "I wished to speak with Empress Martina. I intended to apologize."
"And he said?" The Duchess looked down the street. Empty. Even the gleam of the torches on cobblestone was gone.
"He said the Empress was overtired and would be happy to speak with me at another time."
Anastasia closed her eyes again in relief, nodding to herself. Well done, old goat. Well done. "He was right, she was barely awake. Too much wine and food, I think."
"Really." The icy tone in the Empress' voice brought the Duchess around to face her again.
"Yes-I spoke with them both-she was barely intelligible." Anastasia stepped close to Helena, lowering her voice. "And she was drunk and irritable. Master Gaius did everyone a favor, I think, by keeping you apart."
Helena's lip twisted as she stepped away. "Should I send him a note in the morning, thanking him for insulting me?"
More Praetorians gathered inside and Anastasia heard the Emperor's voice raised in farewell.
"Listen to me," the Duchess hissed, drawing Helena into the shadows at the edge of the door. "You must know how delicate things are. I know Gaius is at work-my informers and spies are watching him every minute-and he is doing many things in the prince's name, not all of them known to our dear Maxian. This business of the Empress and her affection is just one of his plans."
Helena screwed up her face in a gruesome scowl. "So you want to win her away from him-not the prince him, but Gaius Julius him. With your own game and your own plans."
Anastasia nodded, watching the Empress' face intently. "Yes. You have to be civil to her, at least, if you cannot be friends."
Helena's scowl did not recede. "You watch him closely then, with an eagle's eye."
"Every moment," the Duchess replied. Then the Emperor was in the doorway, his son asleep on his shoulder, and everyone was bidding one another good night.