The fingers began to crush the little man’s windpipe, fractions at a time. Abdmachus struggled desperately to breathe, but there were only little gulps of air to be had.

“Where is the Sarcophagus? Tell me!”

Gaius Julius released the chokehold, suddenly, for Maxian had made a small gesture with his left hand. The Persian gasped for air. When he had recovered, the Prince gestured again and Gaius Julius, with an unpleasant smile, gave him a glass of wine. Abdmachus drank deeply and then put it aside. He glanced fearfully at the dead man but then focused on the Prince.

“Lord Prince, please, surely this is not necessary? I have served you faithfully! I am Persian, yes. I was sent here as a spy in the capital of the enemy. But I am your friend, I have thrown my lot with you! Please do not ask these things of me!”

Maxian leaned forward, his face in shadow. His voice grated like stones crushing the bones of the dead. “Abdmachus, you are faithful, but there is no way out of the trap save victory. If you do not give me freely, what I need, then I will draw it from your dead skull. Gaius Julius will take great pleasure in killing you and I will raise you up again, only wholly my creature, and your secrets will be mine. If you serve me freely, and me only, then you will live and have free will. But you must choose, and you must choose now.“

Abdmachus quailed away from the face of the Prince, but there was no respite from his will. During the Prince’s speech, the dead man had drawn out a wire-wrapped cord and now held it ready behind the Persian’s head. Krista looked up from playing with the cat, frowned, and gathered up the little creature before leaving the room.

“Lord Prince…” Abdmachus started to speak but then stopped. Fear, cunning, and despair flitted across his face, but in the end there was only hopeless resignation. “Yes, I will do as you say.”

Maxian smiled, but there was no laughter in his eyes. He rose from the chair and put aside the patterned quilt. He leaned down and took Abdmachus’ head in his hands, raising it up so that he could meet the Persian’s eyes. A hum rose in the room, like a hive of bees, and the Persian twitched suddenly. Maxian released him and smoothed the tousled gray hair back;

“Where,” said the Prince, “is this Sarcophagus?”

Abdmachus groaned and fell on his knees to the floor. A trembling hand went to his forehead and then flinched back, finding a mark there. Though he could not see it, it was that of an inverted pyramid and bound to his flesh more surely than any tattoo. Tears dripped from his eyes as he knelt before the Prince, forehead to the floor.

“I have heard that the great King Shapur took the Sarcophagus to the mobadan-mobad. The high priest had demanded it of the King of Kings as recompense for the murder of Shapur’s brothers. The Sarcophagus was taken to the East, to a hidden place, for the magi feared that their enemies would seize it from them.” Abdmachus halted, his voice weak with fear. “They built a new tomb of gold and lead to hold it, for none could open the Sarcophagus, though many tried. The greatest of the mobehedan died trying to unlock its secrets. I do not know where the great magi hid it, only that it is somewhere deep in Persia… Please, it cannot be found!“

Gaius Julius smiled now and fondly patted the head of the traitorous Persian. “Boy, nothing is impossible if a man puts his mind to it.” He looked at Maxian, who was slouched in the chair again, exhausted from his small effort. “That Sarcophagus contains all the power you need, Prince. All we have to do is find it and retrieve it.”

The dead man idly toyed with his knife. It was quite old; he had purchased it from a dealer in rare objects in the city. Now he drew the blade and the rasping sound of iron on bronze brought a sickly smile to the Persian’s face.

“Where might we find someone who knows where the old wizards took this body, Persian friend?” Gaius Julius’ bald head gleamed in the firelight as he bent close to the little Easterner.

Abdmachus swallowed and cringed away from the dead man. “Please, Lord Prince! This thing is a great secret. It is spoken of only in the barest whispers among my people. The agents of the mobehedan would murder any man in Persia who ever spoke of such a thing!”

“Then,” Gaius Julius said, sliding the flat of the blade along the Persian’s chin, “perhaps someone who is not Persian might know? An Egyptian? A Chaldean?” The point of the blade pricked at the corner of Abdmachus’ eye.

“Aaah! Please… there is a man, a man in Constantinople. He collects rare things: books, objects of art, secrets! He may know where the Sarcophagus was taken. Aaa!”

Blood oozed from around the tip of the dagger and the dead man grinned in delight.

“I have met this man before! Please, I will take you to him. If you have gold or secrets to sell, you can get anything you want from him!”

“Enough.” Maxian was tired of the game. “Abdmachus, go and see that the rooms in the cellar are cleaned up.”

Gaius Julius stared after the little Persian as he scurried out. He whistled a merry tune.

Maxian looked up, his tired eyes half lidded. The dead man was excited, even eager. This was a new thing, and something that bore watching.

“What is the body in that casket to you, Gaius Julius? It will only be old bones and dust by now.”

“I was only bones and dust, Prince, before you came and raised me up. If we can steal the body of the Conqueror, then you can return him to life as well. Is this not so?”

Maxian nodded, his face guarded. The dead man was in an unaccustomed state-he was trying to be earnest.

“Please understand, Prince, that all my life I dreamed of the Conqueror-of being him, of bestriding the world like a giant. My adult life was the execution of that dream. In the end, it destroyed me. Now, past death, those cares have passed from me, but this… this I want. I want to see him, alive. I want to speak to him. I want to stand at his side in battle.”

Gaius Julius paused, seeing the troubled look on the Prince’s face.

“Yes,” the dead man said slowly, “in battle. You know that this can only end in a struggle, one that will be fiercer than any that has gone before. A war that you will have to win if you are to succeed. But think! Think of having him to command your armies! Inhere can be no better weapon in all the world.”

Maxian held up a hand to still the words. He stood, tired and thin, and wrapped the quilt around him. He stared at the old man for a moment, then spoke. “In the morning, take Abdmachus and go to the old port of Ostia. Find a ship, a swift one. We must be on our way to the East as soon as possible. The servants and I will prepare the house for departure. Oh, and make sure that my Imperial brother does not know that we are leaving or where we are going. Be quick about it.”

Gaius Julius bowed, another unaccustomed thing for him, and left the room. Maxian went to the grate and stared down into the fire. He felt cold and empty. The struggle with the contagion had drained him terribly. His own talent flickered through his body and told the same tale that Krista had-he had come very close to death. Only her quick thinking had saved him. He wondered what he could do about“ that.

The patter of small paws made him turn. The little black cat darted into the room and jumped up onto the bed. It yawned at him, all teeth and yellow eyes, before burrowing under the covers. He smiled and shuffled back to the chair.

“Hello, Krista,” he said as he lowered himself into the cradle of hard wood.

“Master.” She came into the room, a dark ghost in black and gray. She had brushed her hair away from her face and it fell behind her in a cloud.

“Come and sit,” he said. She drifted into the room and folded herself onto the couch opposite.

“We will leave soon, for the East. Gaius Julius will go to the port tomorrow…”