"I will," Galen snapped, a flush rising in his face. "Aurelian can hold Egypt!"
"Like Constantinople held?" Maxian shouted. "You are a fool; you have no idea what powers are at play here!"
"Enough of this," Galen said, his voice very cold. "My decision is made."
The Emperor stared at Maxian, his face like granite, until-after a very long moment-the younger man looked away. "Securing another telecast is not critical, but it would be a boon. Duchess, send your ship and someone discreet and efficient. Maxian, you will make this talisman. I pray we find success, but this is a diversion from our real task."
The prince stared at the floor. Anastasia could see a vein pulse in his neck.
"Maxian?" Galen stood up, absently tugging his heavy tunic straight. "Aurelian will be fine. He is an able commander and well served by brave men."
Maxian did not answer. Galen watched him for a moment, then turned back to Anastasia and Gaius Julius. "You know what to do. Be quick about it."
"Yes, Lord and God," they said, bowing. The Emperor gathered up his notebooks. Maxian continued to stare at the floor, grinding one fist into the other. Galen waved the Duchess and Gaius out of the room. They left quickly, avoiding looking at the two brothers.
In the hallway, Anastasia motioned to the Praetorians to close the heavy, bronze embossed doors. The guardsmen did so, though no sound had issued from the room.
"Very wise," Gaius Julius said, sotto voce. He seemed pensive. "Do you need anything?"
"For what?" Anastasia's eyebrow arched in suspicion. She drew the cloak across her chest automatically. Just being this close to the ancient made her feel queasy.
"For this 'quiet' expedition to Egypt." He seemed very serious. "You've your own ships, I know, but if you need men, supplies, guides, money-let me know."
"Why would you help me?" Anastasia lifted the cowl of her cloak, settling it over her hair. The high-piled, ornamented coiffure was striking, but also inconvenient and heavy.
"I think the boy is right," Gaius said, still speaking quietly, as if they were two friends at a dinner party, sharing some confidence. Anastasia realized, with a start, the old man was worried. "The Emperor is tired, stretched thin. We need the speed these devices offer. The speed to know, the speed to react. Such a thing could be the difference between victory and defeat."
"They may not be there anymore," the Duchess said, warming-against her better judgment-to the twinkling-eyed old man. "Thousands of years stand between Pharaoh Kha'sekhem and ourselves. Time for many misfortunes to befall such a device."
"I know." Gaius Julius managed a half-smile, still worried. He looked back at the closed door. "But such a prize…"
Yes, Anastasia thought, bowing politely and turning away. But not one you will ever have!
The Duchess frowned, stepping down from the litter, a brace of handsome young men kneeling on either side to help her descend. Her courtyard was crowded with two large, overly ornate litters, an even dozen bearers lounging in the shade of her vine-covered walls stuffing themselves with bread rolls and sausage and a clutch of Praetorian guardsmen drinking her wine. She dismissed her own litter with an irritated wave, then turned to enter the Villa of Swans.
"Mistress!" Betia was at her side, a quiet ghost suddenly made flesh. Anastasia glared down at her maid. The little blond girl was dressed in a too-short tunic with bare feet, and her face glowed with perspiration. "The-"
"Empress Helena is here," the Duchess said, disgusted to see the Praetorians eating a picnic lunch in her foyer-eating from her silver plates and cups! "With her usual circus troupe…"
"Yes, mistress," Betia said, hiding behind the Duchess as Anastasia swept across the courtyard and into her home. "They arrived only a little while ago, with the two little princes."
"She's in the garden, I suppose." The Duchess paused, waiting for her servants to appear in the dimly-lit hallway. They did, taking her traveling cloak, her lace stole, the veil, removing her walking shoes. Betia knelt, fitting slippers to her feet. Anastasia felt a little better. The house was cool, where the streets of Rome in midday were swelteringly hot.
"No, mistress," Betia said. "The Empress is down in the gymnasium, watching Thyatis and Mithridates spar."
"What? Where are the boys?" Anastasia held out her arms, so Betia and another maid could dress her in a filmy, flower-embroidered silk half-jacket. "Aren't they a little young to be watching the gladiators?"
Betia smiled, her little oval face brightening. "They are in the garden, mistress, with the Empress' maid Kore to watch over them."
"Hmm." The Duchess waved away a young boy with a carafe of wine and a thin-shelled porcelain cup. "There is no rest for the wicked today."
Helena was eating grapes, reclining in a wicker chair among the pillars at the edge of the gymnasium floor. Like Anastasia, the Empress had shed most of her heavy, formal going-out wear, leaving the dark-haired woman in a gown the color of young aspen leaves, which set off the gold circling her wrists and throat.
"You're comfortable, I see." The Duchess lowered herself into a matching chair. Betia was already bringing another cup and more wine. It was cool and dim in the colonnade. No torches or lanterns were lit, the only illumination falling from high windows piercing the clerestory above the fighting floor. "Your men are well fed too."
Helena replied with a lazy smile, her cheeks bulging with grapes. "Mmph!"
"You look like a chipmunk," Anastasia said grumpily. She sipped the wine, then both eyebrows rose and she gave Betia a slit-eyed glare. "This is an excellent vintage! Are those thugs upstairs drinking the same?"
"No, mistress," Betia said, making herself very small and kneeling beside the chair. "Most of them wanted honey mead or wheaten beer."
"Huh. Barbarians!" Anastasia took another drink. She felt relieved to sit down.
A harsh, deep shout drew her attention to the sand. Thyatis, stripped down to breast-band and loincloth, was attacking, lean arms and legs flashing. The giant African, Mithridates, his wounded arm free of its bandages at last, was on the defense. The redheaded woman spun hard on her heel, leg lashing out. The African blocked, huge palm slapping aside the heel arrowing for his head. Thyatis bounced back, falling into a half-crouch. Mithridates advanced, bare feet sliding in the firm sand. He lunged, punching, massive fist blurring in the air. Thyatis weaved aside, flashed a kick at his stomach. He turned, catching the blow on rippling abdominals. A deep thwap sound hung in the air. The African snatched for the extended leg. Thyatis sprang up in the air, another ringing shout belling out, her heel snapping around at his head.
Mithridates threw himself back, rolling across the sand. Thyatis dropped lightly to the ground, landing on both feet and one hand. Her skin gleamed with sweat, but her breath was even and unhurried.
"Well done," Anastasia called out, clapping politely. Both of the fighters turned towards her, Thyatis brushing mid-length red-gold hair from her face. "Come and sit, I have business to discuss."
"Business?" Helena swallowed the last of the grapes and dabbed the side of her mouth with a cloth. "Should I go? Ooh… is it a secret?"
The Duchess made a point of ignoring the Empress, smiling at Thyatis as the younger woman sat down on the step between the colonnade and the sand. "You feel strong?"
"Yes," Thyatis said, running lean fingers over fresh scars along her stomach and side. "The arrow wound has knit clean."
"And you?" Anastasia lifted her chin to Mithridates. The African towered over all three women, but he seemed uneasy, standing a good distance away. "How is your leg?"
"Good," Mithridates rumbled, ducking his head. "That Gaul knew his business." He flexed his knee, muscles rippling under glossy mahogany skin. "Straight and true."