Thyatis shook her head. “That’s not what our orders say. They say that we’re to have Tauris secured when the two Emperors arrive.”

“They say how?”

Thyatis gave him a lopsided grin. “That’s to the discretion of the commanding officer.”

Nikos sighed, seeing the delight hiding under his centurion’s tanned features. “I don’t suppose that you read any Greek poets when you were younger?”

“No,” Thyatis said, her face showing a nicker of old pain, “my education came late in life. I learned to read and to write, but no poet suitable for a young lady.“

Nikos cocked his head. Thyatis’ past was an unopened book-though it was hotly discussed in private among the men who served her. “What did you read from?”

Thyatis shook her head and stood up, brushing pine needles and leaves from her pants. “That doesn’t matter now. What poet did you want to quote?”

“Homer,” he said, looking up at her. “Odysseus to Achilles, before Troy, ‘a noble death does not bring victory- only victory brings an end to death.’ ”. t

Thyatis smiled, but it was wintry. “My poet says: ‘when on desperate ground, fight.’ ” gPMQWQHO)‘l(M)M0H0MQMOH()W(M)MQM0M0WQW()HQMQH0MQHQg|

THE EGYPTIAN HOUSE, LATIUM

The pipe made a groaning sound, like a soul in torment in Hades, then quivered and finally, after another long moan, spit muddy water. Maxian, his face, arms, and hands covered with grime, bits of leaf, and plain old dirt, stepped back, smiling in delight. The water flowed murky for a few minutes and then, finally, clear. The cistern at the top of the house echoed as the water fell into its depths. The Prince rubbed his eyes with the edge of his tunic, trying to get the dirt and sweat out of them. After making an even greater mess of his clothing, he gathered up the lengths of copper pipe that he had scavenged, the hammer and tpng-shaped grippers, and set off down the brushy slope.

Inside the house, he piled all of the scrap and tools in a heap inside the back garden door. He stripped off the fouled tunic and threw it into a basin that stood inside the door. Farther into the house, he came upon Abdmachus and two of his servants who had come up from the city to assist their master. The Persian was carefully measuring the length of the main hall in the villa.

“We’ll have running water in the house within the afternoon,” he said in passing.

Abdmachus grunted and continued to carefully spool out the length of twine that he was using to mark distance. The two servants followed along, making marks in colored chalk at regular intervals. Maxian shook his head in amusement. He went up the steps to the upper floor, a grand stair flanked with statues of ibis-headed maidens and hawks. In the upper rooms, another two of the Persians’ servants were mopping the floor and carrying away the debris that had blown in through the windows. Gaius Julius was lounging on a couch that had been brought up from the city. Sets of papyrus scrolls were laid out on a low table next to him. He was ignoring them and eating part of a roast pheasant.

“We’ll have water soon,” Maxian said as he opened the hamper containing the picnic lunch that the dead man had brought with him on his latest return from the city. “The Baths might even work if we have the servants clean them out.”

Gaius Julius nodded appreciatively. He was a good Roman.

“It’s not a proper house without a bath,” he said, picking bits of bird out of his teeth.

Maxian set down on the other couch and began cutting slices of cheese off the wheel he had found in the basket. There were black grapes as well, and a jug of wine. The Prince sniffed it and wrinkled up his nose. “For a dead man, you have odd tastes in wine.”

Gaius Julius shrugged. “These modern wines have a foul taste to my palate. This Gaulish wine is the best I’ve found. There’s vinegar in that other jug, if you need your thirst quenched.”

Maxian shook his head and picked up a wine-cup left over from the night before. He stood and cleaned it out with a cloth. “I’d rather water than that piss! And thanks to my hard work, we have it.”

He went out of the room and down the hall to a little private room with a marble privy seat. Built into the wall next to die bench was a shallow bowl. Above it, a corroded green bronze handle in the shape of a dolphin was set into the wall over a spigot. The Prince tapped on the dolphin with the handle of his knife and it squeaked a little. He dragged on the handle and the pipe complained and gurgled. Water spilled out and he caught it in the wine-cup. After three cupfuls it ran clean.

Abdmachus was sitting on the other couch when he returned to the room overlooking the back garden. The Persian had a wax tablet covered with markings from his survey. He looked up at Maxian’s entrance., “My lord, this house is almost thaumaturgically correct-following Egyptian practices. I think that we’ve finally gotten the blessing of the gods on our pro… is something wrong?”

Maxian had halted suddenly and was staring at the cup of water in his hand. His face was a confusion of emotions. He looked up and thrust the cup at Abdmachus. “Drink this, and tell me what you taste!”

Confused, the Persian took the cup and drank.

“It tastes like water, milord, good water at that. Fresh from the spring. A little coppery.”

Maxian handed the cup across the table to Gaius Julius. “Drink!”

“Faugh! I hate water,” the dead man said, but he drank anyway. “Huh. Sweet and cold. Not like that crap we drink…” The dead man looked up, his face startled. “… in the city.”

Maxian nodded, his face both grim and filled with exultation. “One way or another, everyone in the city drinks water-either straight, or in soup, or mixed with wine.” The Prince’s voice was filled with utter certainty. “They bathe in it, they wash their clothes in it. But they don’t drink it out of the river anymore, the Tiber is too foul for that. And many of the little springs that used to provide the Hill districts with water are dry. Not all, but most. And where does everyone get the water they drink?“ Maxian turned to the Persian.

Abdmachus frowned at him, then the sun rose in his mind. “The aqueducts! Nearly all of the water in the city comes from the eleven aqueducts. All are controlled by the Imperial Offices-they’re critical to the function of the city. A spell placed upon them would affect the waters and, through the waters, every person in the city…”

Maxian nodded sharply. “Here is what we’re going to do, then.” He began speaking rapidly. Abdmachus began taking notes on his wax tablet.

A hundred yards up the hillside from the Egyptian house, in a thicket of rowan trees, two figures sat quietly, their backs to the largest of the trees. From their vantage, they could see down both the overgrown lane that wound up the hillside to the house and into the front garden. Early-morning dew sparkled on the leaves of the bushes and trees around them, but both were thickly bundled in woolen cloaks and blankets against the night chill. The larger was snoring softly, his head at an angle. The smaller was awake, her sharp ears having caught the creak of a wagon and the whickering of horses on the still morning air.

To the east, the sky was a slowly spreading pink and violet. The sun would soon rise over the mountains and wash the land below with light. For the moment, there was a calm stillness as the land still slept, but the dawn crept in on light feet. The dark-haired girl sat up a little and doffed the straw hat that she had been covering her head with. There was a wagon in the lane, with two drivers. They clip-clopped past on the road below and turned into the garden path. Quietly enough to keep from waking her companion, she slid out of the scratchy wool blankets and slunk off down the slope, flitting from tree to tree.