"They've seen something today," he muttered, "they won't soon forget."
Neither Nicholas nor Vladimir said anything. In Gaius' company, they had remained in the gallery and seen the prince's little show. Both men were rather pale themselves, with a pinched look around the eyes and mouth, but Gaius Julius was impressed with their reaction. Unlike many of the senators, they had not cried out or been reduced to weeping. A party of slaves with litters ran up the steps and entered the Senate hall.
"Follow me." Gaius Julius stepped in, nodding to the Praetorians standing back from the door. The guardsmen nodded in recognition-Gaius had recently struck up a profitable friendship with the two prefects of the Praetorian Cohort over the matter of some vineyards in the south whose owners had died in the eruption of Vesuvius-and let the three men pass. Inside, there was a peculiar chill in the air and the hall still seemed quite dark, though the high windows remained open.
Prince Maxian knelt at the end of the benches on the right-hand side of the hall, his young face filled with dismay. Lying on the bench, hands clasped on his chest, was Gregorius. Gaius Julius hurried forward, sandals slapping on the mosaic, and felt a growing dread.
"What happened, my lord?" Gaius bent down, eyes searching the old man's face. Gregorius met his searching gaze with a faint, weak smile. The old senator's color was very poor, and Gaius was disturbed to see the blue veins showing so clearly through the skin. "You are not well."
"I am not," Gregorius whispered. "I was… unprepared for such terrible sights and sounds. Ah!" The senator's hands trembled with a palsy, and he jerked forward. Gaius, speechless, pressed him gently back onto the bench. Nicholas, standing close, handed the old Roman his cloak, folded into a pillow. Gaius nodded in thanks, tucking the pad under Gregorius' head.
"Sir, I can help you!" Maxian's voice was a harsh whisper, and Gaius-looking sidelong at his master-saw fear and dismay and guilt war in the prince's face. "Let me exert my power upon you. I can restore your heart, your lungs… all the vital humors."
Gregorius shook his head slowly. His left hand fluttered like a bird and Maxian grasped the cold fingers. The prince was as pale as death himself. The senator tried to smile, but stiffened with pain instead.
"Lord prince," he whispered after the spasm passed, "do not anger the gods. I am very old. I should have died years ago. If nothing else, the plague should have taken me. I have done enough, I think, for any man…" Another spasm rippled across his chest and throat, muscles jumping. Maxian laid a hand on the senator's forehead, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"No," Gregorius said, batting weakly at Maxian's hand. "Listen to me, Caesar, you must accept the finality of death. Not everyone… can be saved." The old man's eyes fluttered and then, suddenly, he lay still.
The prince, with a ghastly expression on his face, stared down at his old friend, and there was a trembling in the air, some musical note just past hearing. Gaius Julius jerked back, staring around. Many voices were singing, filling the hall with a beautiful harmony. Nicholas and Vladimir stared at Gaius in alarm. The lean northerner's blade was half-drawn from the scabbard. The old Roman shook his head in puzzlement. The hall was filled only with the muted laughter of slaves lifting those senators who fainted onto litters.
"My lord?" Gaius knelt next to Maxian, his voice low and fervent. "You must bring him back."
"I cannot." Maxian's hands moved gently on the old man's face, smoothing back the white hairs, pressing stiffening eyelids down over dead, clouded eyes. Both wrinkled hands were carefully crossed on the sunken chest. The prince was crying, though he seemed unaware of the tears streaking his cheeks. "He has already crossed over the Black River."
"My lord, we need him." Gaius Julius gripped the prince's shoulder. "Without his support in the Senate, our efforts will be stymied in discussion and argument at every turn. You saw how they are today? Can't you bring him back like… well… like…"
"Abdmachus?" Maxian turned, eyes glinting with anger. "As a puppet? As a shape without life, but something to recite the words you devise?"
"Yes," Gaius Julius said, jutting out his chin. "Please, my lord! He is the most powerful man in the Senate; a leader, your friend and your brother's staunchest supporter. His death means the Empire is weakened-the Emperor will have to work even harder, take more on his shoulders-which we cannot afford, not with the Persians bearing down on Egypt like a storm."
Maxian grimaced, thinking, and pushed Gaius Julius' hand away. The old Roman moved away, staring at the prince with a determined expression, but he said nothing. Maxian stood, his whole attention fixed on Gregorius' body. After a moment, he raised his hand in the beginning of a gesture, then shook his head abruptly and turned away.
"He is gone," Maxian said to Gaius Julius with a fierce look. "Do you understand?"
The old Roman started to speak, trying to marshal a new argument. Maxian continued to glare at him, and finally Gaius raised his hands in surrender. "I'll not mention it again, Lord Prince."
"Good," the prince said, smiling thinly. "Who are these men?"
Gaius rubbed his bald crown, still shaken by the unexpected death of his one-time patron. "My lord, this is Nicholas of Roskilde and Vladimir, a Walach. They are soldiers from the Eastern Empire. They too were in Constantinople… I have taken them into your service."
"My service?" Maxian was taken aback and looked at Gaius in open amusement. "What on earth do I need them for?" The prince turned to Nicholas, embarrassed. "Your pardon, Master Nicholas, and you too, Master Vladimir. I mean you no disrespect. Gaius…"
"My lord," the old Roman interjected firmly, "these men will be your bodyguards."
"My what?" Maxian seemed nonplussed, but Gaius plunged on, keeping his voice low.
"Lord Prince, you have many enemies. Have you forgotten how close you've come to death before?" Gaius paused, searching the boy's face. Maxian made to speak, then paused and Gaius sighed in relief, seeing his patron was at last thinking about his situation. "Yes, my lord, you have enemies-some of them, I am sure, are still in Rome. And what of the Persians? What of the thing you confronted in Constantinople? It will be looking for you too, and I am sure he will not balk from poison or murder sent in the night!"
"No…" The prince's face screwed up into a grimace, as if he had bitten into a rotten olive. "We know the shahanshah has spies in Rome. And there is the… ah… our beautiful friend…"
Gaius Julius nodded somberly. "Will you accept their service, my lord?" The old Roman drew a copper chain out of his tunic, letting the prince's eye catch on the flat black amulet dangling from the end. Maxian's eyes widened, but he nodded, understanding.
Ah, Gaius thought, a single ray of hope… The old Roman took a moment each day to mentally thank Alexandros for discovering those in Gaius' peculiar state did not need sleep or food. Having those extra hours in each day meant all the difference when you had to clean up behind a rash young man like Prince Maxian.
Maxian touched the amulet and there was a faint, muted spark. "Nicholas, Vladimir. I see from your expressions that you are new to this idea of bodyguarding too."
"Yes, Caesar," Nicholas said, the set of his mouth speaking volumes. The Walach looked even less comfortable with the idea. "We're not professionals… not in that way. We've always, ah…"
"— worked outdoors," Vladimir put in, his Latin thick with an indefinable accent. "Keeping an eye on things, you know, or quieting troublesome people."