Helena pointed wordlessly at a connecting door as the Duchess' grim tone and bared weapon finally registered. Anastasia eased the side door open, hearing a warning hiss. She stepped back, pushing the door wide with her boot. The nursery seemed empty and dark, but the lamplight from the bedroom picked out a pair of blazing green eyes crouched under little Theodosius' bed.
"Come, we'll have to leave quickly." The Duchess made a sharp gesture, her tone brooking nothing less than obedience. The eyes blinked, then a little girl-no more than six-darted out, unkempt black hair falling glossy around scrawny shoulders. Kore held Theodosius on her back, his round fingers clutched about her neck. The boy was almost as large as the girl, but the maid had no difficulty carrying him. "Do you need shoes?"
Kore shook her head, sidling along the wall towards the door. Helena caught her hand, white feet dwarfed by the pair of sandals. Anastasia realized they must be Galen's. "There's no time to do anything but run," she whispered, striding to the outer door. "Where is the Emperor?"
"I don't know," Helena replied, her voice tight with fear. "He left a little while ago-there was an urgent message…"
"Put out the lamp." Anastasia could hear a commotion through the door.
Darkness folded around the three women, Helena shaking soot from her fingers.
Grunting with effort, Ermanerich ground his spear into the Roman's chest, iron scales snapping under the pressure, blood oozing between armor plates. The Praetorian gasped, crimson flooding from his mouth and the light in his eyes died. A cavalry spatha clattered from his nerveless fingers. The blade was nicked and chipped, ornamented with a long streak of red. Silence suddenly replaced the clash and din of men grappling in combat. Gaius Julius stepped into the chamber, waving back two German legionaries poised with javelins at his side.
"These are the last of the traitors, I think," the old Roman pronounced gravely. Making a show of careful consideration, he stepped among the bodies of the dead, turning some over with his boot. "We were just in time," Gaius Julius said to the men crowded into the doorway of the Emperor's study. The corpse at his feet had long, dark hair and sun-bronzed features. "This was Motrius himself, now sent to Tartarus as he deserves."
Ermanerich wrenched his spear from the dead Praetorian against the door, letting the body slump down the gold-chased panel. The thrust had scored the wood, leaving a dark smudge. Gaius Julius tested the latch, finding it solidly closed.
"They did not have time to break in," he said, waving back the Germans. Two of their officers were staring around in awe-at the busts of past Emperors and philosophers, at two grand paintings on wooden panels held up by bronze tracks on the facing wall. Gaius was fond of them too-one showed the triumph of Aetius the Great over the Huns in vibrant, almost living color, the other diabolical Odysseus before the shattered walls of Troy, accepting the surrender of Priam and his noble house. "Carex, take your men and search the floor for survivors-some of the traitors may have escaped. Phalas, your maniple should go downstairs and secure the main hall. The servants and slaves will be in a panic, I'm sure. Calm them down. Tell them order has been restored."
Both officers nodded, then rousted their men out of the hallway and outer rooms. Somehow, a great deal of damage had been done in the brief melee, with crockery shattered on the floor, and tapestries and drapes torn down. Gaius watched them depart and was sure every man had managed to scoop up something valuable in the brief confusion.
"No use counting the silverware," Ermanerich said ruefully, watching the closed door, his spear held lightly in both hands. "They'll be carting out the statuary next."
"They won't have a chance," Gaius said, keeping his voice low. He was carrying a gladius, still sheathed, in his hand. He had not drawn a weapon in anger for a long time, but believed in the healthy exercise of caution. "My men will escort them back out of the city within the hour and see they're well supplied with food, wine and women." The old Roman smiled tightly. "Their pockets will be heavy enough with the Emperor's gold, in gratitude."
Ermanerich nodded absently, still watching the door. Alexandros had warned him to beware the Romans and their politics. The young Goth felt much, much better to have a weapon in hand and the prospect of a solid, material enemy to fight. "Is there another way out of here?"
"Perhaps." Gaius Julius shrugged. "This mausoleum must be riddled with hidden passages. Every Emperor wants to keep his secrets." He tested the latch, then raised an eyebrow at the Goth. Ermanerich nodded in agreement, then both men set themselves and slammed into the door together.
Wood splintered with a crack and the panel gave way. The door bounced back from the wall, and Gaius Julius stepped into a darkened passage. Broken bits of wood crunched under his feet. Ahead, lamplight glowed in a richly appointed chamber, and a familiar man was standing at the foot of a bed heaped high with pillows and silken quilts.
"Master Gaius," the Emperor said, drawing his own sword with a soft rasp. "And… you must be Prince Ermanerich of the Gothic nation."
Pale smears of light streaked the eastern sky as Anastasia crept from behind a hedge. She listened carefully, but heard nothing but the distant crash and rumble of delivery carts on the city streets and the thin squeaking of bats fluttering through the stone arches of an aqueduct rising a hundred feet to her left.
"Quickly now," she whispered to the two women behind her. Kore crouched at her knee, little Theodosius swaddled in a rug and pressed tight to her breast. Helena knelt behind the maid, short hair loose around her neck and hanging in her eyes. Anastasia glanced around again, then hurried down a path between long ranks of cypresses. Their feet crunched on gravel and then padded on dirt. The path descended steeply, running down a long strip of garden flanked by the monumental platform of the Severan Palace on the right and an insula of exclusive flats on the left.
"Where is my husband?" Helena's voice sounded drained, coming from the darkness like a ghost's cry. "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere safe, I hope." Anastasia slowed, searching with her hands along the wall to the left. After a moment, she found the outline of a door and pushed. Old leather hinges creaked and she smelled lye and soap and hot water. "Galen will have to find his own sanctuary, I fear."
Kore ducked past the Duchess and into the dark passage. Helena stood on the path, her face a barely visible oval delicately touched by the first reflection of dawn. Anastasia beckoned. "Helena! We must get away from here quickly before events sweep you and your son away. If you are taken, Galen will be a captive to your safety even if he remains free."
"Who did this?" The Empress' voice was hoarse. "Is this mutiny?"
"Conspiracy," the Duchess answered, tugging at Helena's sleeve. "Which may have failed by now-I sent warning to the right people, I think-but we'll not risk being seen until I know how things have played out."
Stumbling and listless, the Empress let herself be led into the passage and Anastasia shoved the door closed behind them, hoping no one had marked their hasty exit from the palace.
Ermanerich stepped lightly into the bedchamber, automatically drifting to the left to clear the door, while Gaius Julius stepped to the right, giving the Goth room for his spear. The Emperor watched them with a faint smile on his thin face. His habitual nervousness had dropped away like chaff. For his part, the young Goth felt even more at sea than before. The flurry of events following his arrival in the city had left him dizzy. Only the steady, solid presence of Master Gaius-a man whom Alexandros had said he could trust, absolutely, in all things-kept Ermanerich from fleeing in terror. He'd never been on the Palatine before, not without his father in attendance. Everything was so… huge.