Maxian rubbed his face, feeling the beard stubble. He did not like his brother’s emphasis on the word education, for it implied that his long period of freedom was at an end. For the last six years, since they had come to the city in triumph, his brothers had carefully excluded him from the business of the state. This had been the wish of both their mother and their father, who saw for him a different path, that of the healer-priest. With Galen in the East, such liberty was at an end. Oddly, he did not feel outraged or angry at the presumption of his brother, but rather more comfortable, like a familiar cloak had been draped, at last, around his shoulders.

“Brother, if I do not mistake you, you want me to take over the network of informers and spies maintained by the Offices? Is this not the domain of the Duchess de’Orelio?”

Galen looked at his younger brother for a moment, his face pensive. “De’Orelio has always supported us, little brother, as has Gregorious and the other nobles. But in times such as these, when great events are in motion, the solid earth may be sand, the old friend an enemy. Given these things, I desire that you should begin assembling a separate set of informers and spies loyal to us.”

Maxian bowed his head in acceptance. Galen continued to brood, his face grim and his manner distant.

“Within the month,” he said, “the Legions in Spain and southern Gaul will arrive at Ostia Maxima and I will join them. I shall sail east with them, and join the others at

Constantinople. Then Heraclius and I will begin our expedition. We shall have victoryr and peace.“

Maxian shook his head in puzzlement, saying “Again you mention that peace shall come of this, brother. You are taking a great gamble, to throw yourself and the Emperor of the East into the heart of Persia. Even with this great army you may still be defeated. You may die. Both halves of the Empire may lose their Emperors. This will not be peace but civil war again, and the barbarians will still storm against the walls of Constantinople. Would it not be more prudent to clear the invaders from Thrace, Greece, and Macedonia? Then the full weight of the Empire could turn against the Persians in Syria and Palestine.”

Galen laughed and his eyes were bright with some secret knowledge. “Cautious! So cautious, piglet. You are right, such a campaign would restore the borders of the Empire and drive the enemy back. But that is what the ‘cautious’ Emperors of Rome have done since the time of the Divine Augustus. None of their efforts has brought peace, only a little delay in the next war. The great Emperors-Julius Caesar, Trajan, Septimus Severus-they won peace by the destruction of their enemies. We will do them one better, we will take nearly a hundred thousand Romans into the heart of our ancient enemy and destroy not only their capital but their state. Persia, all of Persia, will become a Roman domain, not just an edge of it, but all. Then, then there will be a true peace in the East and over the whole of the world.”

Galen paused, and now he seemed refreshed, even ebullient again. The grim and distant manner was gone; instead he poured more wine for all three of them.

“Nike!” he said, raising his cup to the goddess of victory. “And a Roman peace.”

Maxian drained his cup, but there was no peace in his heart.

Though he had lived in the sprawling maze of the Palatine for six years, Maxian was still unable to find the offices of the Duchess, though he thought that they were somewhere in one of the buildings on the northern face of the hill. At last, having wound up again in the sunken garden on the eastern side of the hill, he approached one of the gardeners laboring over the replacement of tiles. The garden, built over five hundred years ago by the reviled emperor Do-mitian, was laid out in the shape of a race course. Great bushes, carefully tended, were crafted into the shape of rearing horses and chariots. At the north end there was a pool and around it ancient tiles, now cracked. The gardener, dressed in a muddy tunic and laced-up cotton leggings, was half in and half out of the pool, wrestling a replacement tile into the place. Maxian paused and bent down at the edge of the tile border. The gardener, grunting, heaved at his pry bar and the tile, backed with concrete, at last shifted with a grinding sound and slid into place. The workman leaned heavily on the length of iron and looked up, his eyes shrouded by bushy white eyebrows.

“Friend, if you have a moment, I’ve a question,” the Prince said. “I’m seeking the offices of the Duchess de’Orelio.”

The gardener frowned and spit into the pool. “You’re far off course,” he said. “The Duchess, though a generous woman to the less fortunate, is of a questionable position in the offices. Though she visits often, she has tio ‘place’ here. If you wish to speak to her, you’ll have to go to her townhouse over by the Aquae Virgo. Do you know the way?”

Maxian stood up, brushing leaves and dirt from his knees. “I do,” he said. “Many thanks.”

Back in the maze of hallways, Maxian made his way south, finally reaching the long curving arcade that ran along the southern face of the Palatine. Here the way was thronged with officials, scribes, and slaves. Here too was the office of the chamberlain of the palace, and Maxian strode in with a confident air. Of all of the palace officials, Temrys knew him by sight. Apparently, so did the chamberlain’s secretary, who paused in his instruction to two other scribes at the appearance of the Prince.

“Milord! Do you need to see the chamberlain?” The secretary’s face was a study in surprise and not a little apprehension. Inwardly, this evidence of power cheered Maxian.

“If he is not overly busy,” Maxian said, clasping his hands behind his back.

“One moment, sir.” The secretary bustled away, back into the maze of cubicles and tiny rooms that were the warren and domain of Temrys and his minions. The two junior scribes, at last making out the profile of the visitor and the cut of his garb, sidled away and disappeared. Maxian smiled after them. A moment later the secretary reappeared and bowed to the Prince, indicating the way into the. rear rooms.

Temrys’ private office was only twice the size of that of his subordinates, though he had it to himself rather than sharing as they did. The chamberlain rose as the secretary showed Maxian into the low-ceilinged room. Of middling height and lean in body, the Greek was most notable for his pockmarked face and general air of sullen resignation. Today, Maxian noted, he was dressed in a dark-gray and charcoal-black tunic with a muddy brown belt and boots. Coupled with thinning gray hair and narrow lips, he did not make a dashing figure.

“Lord Prince,” the chamberlain muttered, gesturing to a low backless chair that sat at the side of his desk. Temrys sat, hunching in his own curule chair, his face blank.

Maxian removed a pile of scrolls and placed them on the floor. He too sat, smiling genially at the older man. “Chamberlain Temrys. My esteemed eldest brother has directed me to assist my older brother in the governance of the state during the coming absence of the Emperor. I find that I do not have the facilities, that is-an office and a secretary-to undertake these tasks. So I come to you, the most knowl edgeable and experienced of the civil service to provide these things to me.“

Temry’s frown deepened for a moment, then, unaccountably, lightened. He straightened up a little in his chair, cocking his head at the Prince. “An office? Space can certainly be provided to you. I am puzzled, however, that your brother, the Caesar Aurelian, will not be using the Augus-torum and you, in turn, his own offices. They come well equipped, I assure you, with scribes, secretaries, slaves, messengers, all manner of staff.”

“I know! I need something more… private. Something out of the way, where things are quieter and more at ease.”