"They go upon the waters," the taller figure said in a hollow, cold voice.
The other nodded, turning to reenter the house. "We shall go around," it said. "But swiftly."
"As the spirits quarter the land," answered the first, anger curdling in its terrible voice. "Beyond the light of the sun."
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Summer House, At Cumae
Galen, Emperor of the West, stood beneath an arbor trellis, the light from hanging lanterns glinting in his hair. Not far away, the rippling shake of tambourines and lilting flutes lent a merry sound to the night air. People were dancing on a lawn of fresh-cut turf, under barren, ghostly trees. Beyond them, the roofs of the villa rose above a bleak landscape. Drifts of ash and pumice covered the hills. A forest of pine and cedar surrounding the house had been stripped down to bare trunks, the skin of the trees burned white or dark by fiery circumstance.
The sea below the cliffs was dark, waves silent on a windless night, and the sound of the musicians carried a great distance, echoing in the desolation beneath Vesuvius. The arbor vaulting above the Emperor's head, the green lawn, and the fragrant rosebushes were all newly planted-only days ago-for the prince's celebration. Luckily, a low ridge rose between the scattered buildings and the crumpled cone of Vesuvius. The lee of the ridge had protected the villa from the explosion's initial shockwave, but did nothing to prevent a cloud of fire from consuming the house, blackening the plaster and setting the roof timbers alight.
Like the other revelers, the Emperor was dressed in his finest tunic, toga, boots, and a length of Tyrian purple cloth plunging almost to his feet. Nervously, he measured the length of the cloth with his fingers, over and over. He was nervous, being even three days' swift ride from Rome. Yet, he could not gainsay his brother the Emperor's presence and blessing.
"Gales?" Maxian's voice carried easily from the edge of the lawn. There were no leaves, no brush, no foliage to absorb the sound.
"Here," Galen said. His brother approached, silhouetted against the bright windows of the villa, which blazed with crystalline lamps. The radiance of the thaumaturgic devices was like the sun, though without King Sol's beneficent heat. "How do you feel? Nervous?"
Maxian laughed and Galen could hear bone-deep weariness in his brother's voice.
"I'm too tired to feel nervous. I'm glad you let us use this place-a ceremony in Rome would be overwhelming. There are more guests here than I know!"
Galen nodded, avoiding his brother's eyes, and sat down on the marble bench under the arbor. The stone felt odd under his hands; freshly cut, still grainy from the carving saw. Brand new, Galen thought, distracted. Like everything else here. How strange… the villa seems so hollow without the patina of ages on the stone and wood.
"Is something wrong?" Maxian sat as well, peering curiously at the Emperor. "Do… do you approve of this match?"
Suppressing a wry grimace, Galen looked at his brother. "There are difficulties associated," he said, trying to keep his own weariness from showing. "Tell me the truth, piglet, are you sure of this course?" Before Maxian could answer, the Emperor raised a hand. "Wait a moment. Let me say on."
The prince nodded dubiously, a hint of anger gleaming in his eyes.
"Two men sit before you; your brother and your Emperor. Each is troubled tonight, yet each holds a different council. Your brother wishes you only happiness, for you to follow your heart, to find peace, to live a long, untroubled life. Your brother looks upon the lady Martina and sees a quiet soul, used to books, to pursuits of the mind. Your brother thinks she is a likely match! Her family is beyond rebuke, her lineage old and honorable. Your brother sees her look upon you and sees love." Galen smiled, forcing his hands to lie still on his knees. His palms were sweating.
"Your Emperor… well, he is a cranky fellow, filled with suspicions and fears. He worries, this Emperor, and he frets about the state and the people." Galen laughed hollowly at himself. The prince's eyes narrowed, thinking his brother was laughing at him. "There is some humor here, piglet. The Emperor is not worried about you, he is worried about Martina."
Maxian sat up straighter, surprised. Galen smiled mischievously at him, then brushed back the fall of thin hair from his forehead. "What a look you give me! Listen, men and women in Rome are minded to treat marriage lightly-they may join and un-join by common consent, without permission, without trial. For anyone else, if this match should fail-then set it aside! If you cannot live with her, or she with you, then you may amicably part, each retaining the properties and wealth of your personal estate. In Rome, the patricians and nobles swirl in a constant dance of alliance and arrangement." The Emperor paused, looking out over the lawn, keen eyes searching among the dancers and revelers drinking and feasting at long tables.
"See there?" he pointed. Maxian's eyes followed, though a shade of incipient anger still haunted his face. "There is the Senator Pertinax. He has been married and divorced seven times." Galen smiled genially, thin lips quirked in amusement. "Each time he swore the marriage would be his last… yet each pairing ended and in a confusing variety of ways." The Emperor looked to his brother again and frowned.
"Not so in the East. They take such matters seriously among the grandees of the Eastern Empire. If you marry Martina, her cousins, her people, the great lords will presume you do so for life, in a binding of man to woman, forever. Is this your intent?"
Maxian's poor humor had not improved. For a moment, he said nothing, then: "Oh, I've leave to speak now? Are you finished lecturing? You expect me to cast her aside then, when my fancy inevitably passes to another?"
"It does not matter," Galen said quietly, ignoring Maxian's sarcasm, "what you intend. The future is uncertain and many things may happen. Can you see what will come now, with your power?"
"No," Maxian said, biting back harsher words. "I cannot. I will take the days as they come."
"Very wise!" Galen said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I had no idea what trouble I was getting into when I married Helena! Lovely, dear trouble. But I would not change my mind, if given the chance again. Do you love her?"
Maxian started to answer, then paused, staring at his brother. A perplexed expression flitted across his face, then settled into a rueful grimace. "I… don't know. It seems… proper… we should be together. Her son needs a father. I… I don't want to be alone. Must I love her, to marry her? I am following my heart, if you must know. Why are you so concerned?"
Gritting his teeth, Galen suppressed a sigh of despair. Why can't Father be alive to deal with this sort of thing? I must have angered the gods somehow… "Your brother wishes you only happiness. Your Emperor suffers an ulcer thinking of what might happen if you and she part in anger."
"Oh." Maxian made a face like he'd bitten into a rotten lemon. "Cold-blooded, aren't you?"
"The Emperor must be," Galen answered ruefully. "Your happy marriage seals the alliance between East and West in your conjoined bodies. A divorce… splits us when we cannot afford any division." The Emperor grimaced, grinding his teeth. "There is another matter…"
The prince's face fell, hearing the tension in his brother's voice. However, before Galen could speak, a great clamor rose from the house and a troop of Legion officers clattered out onto the portico lining the seaward side of the villa. Galen could see their faces shining with sweat, boldly illuminated by flaring, sputtering brands held high. Voices loud in rough, drunken harmony, they shouted: