“What have you done?” the Prince hissed. “Abdmachus, come here!”
The little Persian carefully put down his paints, brushed his hands off, and joined the Prince, who had the dead man by the ear and was checking his pulse with the other hand. “What is it, my lord?”
Maxian pinched the cheek of the dead man, his voice harsh. “Look at the flesh; it’s warm and flexible. See the pulse of blood at his throat, the texture of his hair. Our dead friend has been up to something. What have you been doing, Gaius?”
The dead man stepped back, rubbing his ear. “Nothing of note, priest. I do admit that I feel better than I have in… well, centuries!”
Maxian scowled at the easy laughter of the dead man. He turned aside to the Persian, keeping his voice low. “He’s becoming more alive each day-what could cause this? Is there some way for the dead to restore themselves to full health once they are raised?”
The Persian squinted at the dead man, who had shaken his head in disbelief at the concerns of the living and was unloading fresh apples and pears from the pockets of his cloak.
Abdmachus turned back to the Prince. “I hesitate to bring up the possibility, my lord, but I have read in some of the older tomes that the risen dead can restore vitality to their corrupted bodies by the ingestion of the fluids of the living…”
“By drinking their blood?” The Prince’s eyes widened in shock. This was fast becoming some Greek tragedy. He turned back to the dead man, who was leaning against the big table, noisily crunching an apple between broad white teeth. “Gaius Julius, what have you been up to? I want you to tell me everything you did today, and I do mean everything…”
The dead man leered at Maxian, saying, “Everything? I’m surprised that such a young man would need to resort to the voyeurism of the old!”
Maxian’s hand twitched and his fingers formed a brief, quickly traced sign in the air at his side. The dead man suddenly staggered, the apple dropping from his hand, half eaten. Gaius Julius’ face trembled and a shockingly rapid white pallor flooded his flesh. He bent over, moaning in terrible pain, collapsing to the floor on his hands and knees.
“In another place and time, old man, your levity would be welcome. But right now, with very little room for error, we cannot afford it.”
Maxian bent down and dragged the dead man’s head up with one hand. Drool spilled from his mouth. The Prince leaned close. “Tell me everything that you did. Now.”
Gaius Julius rolled over on his side, gasping, as the Prince restored some of the necromantic energy that sustained life and thought in his ancient limbs. “Pax! Pax! I will tell you.
“I left in the morning with a sullen disposition, as I’m sure you noticed. These dreary rooms wear on me. I went to the Palatine and renewed my acquaintance with the master of the archives. After a few cups of wine and some silver, he allowed me to search through the old Legion and city militia records. After several hours of digging in the dust and sneezing, I took a break to have lunch. I had gathered almost all of those items on the table.
“Ah, the sun served to lighten my spirits tremendously. I purchased a meat pastry with pepper and a cup of weak wine from one of the vendors on the square of Eglabalgus and found a place to sit in the garden on the north side of the hill, not too far from the archives. While I was sitting, I happened to catch the eye of a young lady on an errand and, by some fine words, convinced her to sit with me a while and share my wine.”
A tremendous smirk flitted across the face of the dead man.
“She was a fine beauty-long legs, tousled raven hair, the disposition of a minx. Not so much chest, but I am rather fond of such a woman. No matter. We passed some enjoyable time together and then I shooed her out of the archives and went back to work. The master of the archives was taking a nap, so I thought it might be best if I brought the things that I had found back here, rather than spending the rest of my failing eyesight copying them.
“Oh, and I purchased some pears and apples from the stall at the end of the street.”
Abdmachus, who had returned to his paints and chanting, looked up, his brush poised only inches from the wall. He and Maxian exchanged glances. The Prince’s face was cloudy with tremendous anger. His fists clenched.and unclenched unconsciously at his side. Abdmachus felt the ambient power level in the room rise.
“Old man, what did you tell this stripling of a girl about your work?”
Gaius Julius spread his hands. “Nothing, nothing at all. We chatted about inconsequential things.”
“Did you tell her your name?”
“Of course, I introduced myself quite politely.”
“Did she recognize it?”
Gaius Julius smiled broadly. “Of course, but it is a common name, she had no inkling of who I truly am. Doubtless, if she thinks of it at all, she will assume that my family is of poor nature but great ambitions. Really, my Prince, who is going to think of me being meT
Maxian shook his head sharply. “Did she tell you her name? Was she, perhaps, a slave in the garb of one of the great houses?”
Gaius Julius paused, thinking. It was evident that he had not thought it important to remember the cognomen of his afternoon’s dalliance. By the wall, Abdmachus muttered something under his breath as he resumed painting.
Maxian had caught it, though, and repeated it aloud, his grim humor melting a little. “Husband to all the wives, and wife to all the husbands.”
“I have it,” said the dead man, now sitting up. “It was Christina, or Christiane, or something like that.”
Maxian snarled, his face contorted with rage. “Not Christina, but Krista. She wore an emblem of three flowers intertwined with the head of a ram. Her hair is wavy with curls and it falls just past her shoulder. She has deep-green eyes. She is a slave.”
Gaius Julius blinked in surprise. “That is the very woman!”
Maxian dragged the dead man up off the floor as if he weighed nothing. There was a blur of dim radiance along his arm, and he threw the dead man against the nearest wall. Gaius Julius, his mouth open in an O of surprise, crashed heavily against it and then slid down with a sickening crunch to the floor. The Prince stalked across to where the dead man lay, gasping, on the ground.
“Fool! You would bugger your way into our common destruction! That slip of a girl, all breezy ways and innocent desire, is the agent, the very eyes, of the mistress of the Imperial Office of the Barbarians!”
Abdmachus caught his breath and turned his full attention, at last, to the confrontation between the two men. Maxian had seemingly grown in the last little while. His rage was palpable in the room and the barely harnessed power that the Persian had tricked out of him in the tomb under the Via Appia was leaking into the air around him. The scrolls on the table rustled and glass tinkled in the other room. Despite the late-afternoon sun outside, within the long narrow room it had grown dark. Gaius Julius cringed on the floor, seeing his final and utter dissolution reflected in the enraged eyes of the Prince.
“Office… Office of Barbarians?” he wheezed.
“Yes,” Maxian bit off. “Her mistress, well known to me, is Anastasia de’Orelio, the so-called Duchess of Parma. She sits in the shadows behind the Emperor and pulls many strings. Though I have long accounted her a friend, both personally and politically, she knows nothing of what I have discovered and is unlikely to apprehend it even if I did tell her. Further, since I have accepted the assistance of our Persian compatriot here, I could now be well accounted a traitor. Coupled with my mysterious absence of several weeks, I expect that she has her agents about, quietly looking for me.”
Gaius Julius flinched away from the Prince and his scathing voice but pulled himself back to his feet, leaning against the wall. His voice was quiet, showing restored composure. “Enough. I am no stranger to plots and politics, boy. You can destroy me, but then you will not have my skills or service or leverage. If this de’Orelio is on the lookout for us, then we will have to move, disappear. I can deal with anyone, man or girl, that is watching us.”