Chopping her hand down to the left, she motioned the spearman to lead off. Her intent was to enter the house from the rear, where the kitchens should be. The spearman darted out across the space between the garden wall and the house. Thyatis remained watchful, but there was still no sign of movement or alarm. Then she followed and the archer after her.

"Nothing, not so much as a mouse." Nikos sounded disgusted. Thyatis ignored him for the moment, stooping to look under the table of planks that stood against one wall of a room near the front of the villa. She held a collapsible metal lantern in one hand. The Illyrian was kitted out in a mail lorica with studded leather forearm braces. The shirt of iron rings fell to his midthigh and was covered with a linen tabard. Beneath that he wore a felt undershirt and a cotton tunic close to his flesh. Unlike Thyatis, who was going bare-headed, he was wearing an old-style Legion helmet with a smooth crown and metal flaps and nose guard that tied under his chin, protecting his cheeks. He had considered a cavalry helmet with a full face mask, but that would have cost him too much peripheral vision. After his last encounter with the homunculus he was taking as few chances as possible.

Of course, after watching the creature eviscerate a dozen praetorians in their last match, the only sensible option would be to avoid any further test of strength at all. He had given up his gladius, too, for a long iron-bladed spear with a crossbar welded at the base of the head. The image of the homunculus dragging itself up that poor soldier's spear had stayed with Nikos. He did not fancy the same fate.

Thyatis wiped a finger across the table and it came away dusty. It was obvious that the room had been used for storage recently, there were empty shelves made of raw new pine and some empty wooden crates in the corner. Bits of spilled food lay under the table and there was a relatively fresh wine stain on one corner of the table. Anything that might have been stored here, however, or anyone who had been living in the villa was gone.

"Was there anything in the stables?"

Nikos shook his head in negation. "No. Signs of horses and fodder for them, but nothing recent. It seems that we are too late."

Thyatis nodded absently. She reminded herself of the things that the girl, Krista, had told them about the Prince and his habits. By her count, if it could be trusted, there should have been almost a dozen people living in the villa; the Prince, his homunculus, the two risen dead, and the Walachs. From what she had seen of the ground floor, and heard of the other buildings, it seemed that they had decamped. All signs pointed to a hurried but thorough evacuation of the premises.

"Search the grounds," she said, turning back to Nikos and the other men clustered in the doorway. "They brought many heavy crates and boxes with them, but the wagons are still here. They cannot have gone far."

Nikos nodded and turned, but halted at the doorway, one hand on the wall. He looked back in question. Thyatis raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"Search in teams of three, like we trained," she said, hitching up her sword-belt. "Check the road for tracks of a single wagon going out and any other lanes or tracks that leave these buildings. The archers are to keep a signal arrow nocked." Nikos nodded and went out.

Thyatis looked around the room again, then bent to pick up her lantern. As she did so, the shadows shifted and she saw a crumpled piece of parchment behind the table. It was at the edge of her reach, but she snagged it with a fingertip. It was not dusty. The parchment crinkled as she unfolded it.

Lord Prince, it said in simple letters, I have gone and taken the little cat. My desire for life exceeds my love for you. If the gods will, we will meet again in a safe place, Krista.

Thyatis grunted. She had expected as much. The slave girl had told the truth, then. Thyatis folded the parchment into a tiny square and put it in her girdle before jogging out into the big echoing hallway that ran down the center of the house. Her nerves hissed with the blood-fire. The Prince would be close by.

The Gate of Sihon, Aelia Capitonlina

The steep narrow trail ended in a gate set into the base of the city wall. The rampart rose up from the top of the cliff like an extension of the hill itself. Zoe was panting in effort by the time they reached the shadowy vestibule. She glared at the desert chieftain's back- he did not seem tired. Given that he was easily twice her age, Zoe did not think it fair at all. The gate was small, shorter than most men, which would force anyone to bend down to pass through it. The face of it was covered with riveted iron plates and a square tower blocked out the night sky above. Anyone attempting to force the iron door would pay grievously for the privilege.

Mohammed moved into the shadows, bending down, and Zoe heard a rattle and click. The moon was well behind the bulk of the city now and it was very dark in the space before the gate. She shivered and pulled her cloak tight around her. From this vantage, she could look down upon the valley behind them. It was quite dark, save for a cluster of fires burning just a little way from where they had left the camels.

"Follow," came Mohammed's voice and she turned. The gate was open and led into utter darkness. Air rolled slowly out, heavy and humid with the smell of rotted cabbage and urine and offal. Zoe gulped and pulled an edge of her cloak over her mouth. The Quryash had already vanished inside and she hurried to catch up with the sound of his boots on the flagstones. His voice drifted back to her. "Do not speak. There may be guards."

The passage sloped upwards for a time, then rose sharply on a flight of broad steps, worn by the passage of many feet. The curved depressions on the stairs made it hard to keep one's feet, but Zoe staggered along in darkness for a time. Part of the passage was halfburied in debris. They rose out of the funk that had collected in the midden and her mind seemed to wake from a dream.

When it did, she felt the ache in her thighs and buttocks flare up into serious pain. She gasped aloud in alarm and stopped, leaning against the wall. The surface was mossy and slippery.

"Wait," she called. There was no answer. The sound of footsteps receded in the murk.

Zoe cursed, but with the lifting of the haze in her mind, she thought to calm her thought and call upon the powers that coursed in her blood. Two deep breaths settled her thought and allowed the first entrance. With it came the flowering of perception and the darkness fell away like a dropped veil. The walls stood out in sharp relief. Now she could see that under the patina of moss and age there were paintings and mosaics inset into the walls. The rounded steps had once been sharp-cut marble and a series of delicate arches crowned the hallway. She hissed in surprise, but saw too that the figure of the desert chieftain had almost disappeared up ahead.

Muttering, she jogged up the stairs. Her legs complained bitterly. They wanted a nice bed and a bath, not more climbing.

At the top of the stairway, there was another door, which now stood open, and a vaulted chamber beyond. She stepped through the archway and found herself standing on a broad open plaza, a thousand yards wide. The moon was low in the sky, but its light glittered back from limestone paving and lines of ornamental trees. Off to her left, to the south, a monumental statue rose up from the plaza, one arm raised to the heavens. Even cast in shadow, she could see that it was the form of an emperor.

She spat on the ground.

At the center of the plaza, where arcs of trees converged, a massive temple rose up on a stepped platform. It was open on three sides, with bulky columns rising like tree trunks. Its ridgeline was crowded with statues and votive sculptures. Within, half obscured by the colonnade, she could make out a sanctuary and something unexpected.