Chapter XXVII
XXVII
Days of sea travel aged a man. Muscles Telemachus had not felt in years and still others he did not know God created made their presence known in a way that had him limping down the bustling streets.
When he’d arrived the day before, his first stop had been the public bathhouse, where the roaring hypocaust had the waters near hot enough to boil the skin from his bones.
At least it melted a few of the knots that had formed in his limbs.
He detested water travel with every fiber of his being.
The fibers of his being, it seemed, agreed with him on this.
Ravenna was no longer the backwater it once was.
Surrounded by impenetrable mountains and only accessed by the river, it was the best haven for a terrified teenaged emperor.
The place was not one of grandeur. Not yet anyway.
But it swarmed with artisans and architects.
Like bees in a hive, they rushed and argued, built and polished.
Someday the city would shine as Rome once did.
Until then, Telemachus sidestepped animal dung in the streets on his way to the palace and prayed he did not look as ragged as he felt.
Lord, let him recognize me. If there is any way to redeem my bloody past, let this be the moment.
The palace doors opened before him at the mention of a name that had once been his. Or perhaps it was still his. Could he still be the Battering Ram of the East, but use words this time instead of his strength?
A slave with a hairy neck led him to the receiving hall where Emperor Honorius sat upon a hastily constructed dais, a rooster perched and preening on the back of his gilded chair.
“Telemachus, Battering Ram of the East, to see the emperor.” The words echoed in the empty hall as the slave announced him. For the barest of moments, Telemachus expected to hear applause, the roar of a crowd, as if he had just entered the arena for a fight. And perhaps he had.
Instead of cheers, the only sound was the rustle of fabric and the startled squawk of the rooster as Honorius leaped from his throne.
Telemachus dipped into a bow. “Emperor Honorius,” he said to his feet, “I am honored by this audience.”
When he straightened, Honorius’s pimpled face had gone slack and his mouth was hanging open in a very un-emperor-like look of awe. “Truly? The Telemachus?”
There had to be hundreds, if not thousands, of men by the same name, but he allowed a nod. Honorius rushed toward him, arms extended as if he might throw them around Telemachus in an embrace. He stopped an arm’s length away, head tilting back.
“You disappeared.” He eyed him up and down, as if Telemachus might be an impostor.
Words. He needed to use words. Gaius was not here to fill gaps. “I went back east, to find a life after all the death.”
“And did you?”
Telemachus swallowed, mouth drying. This was his chance. He took a breath. “It is life and death that draws me to the west again.”
The emperor’s brows rose. He crossed his arms and assumed a more emperor-like stance as he nodded for Telemachus to continue. The rooster flapped down from the back of the throne and picked his way across the tiles, long tail feathers dragging behind him.
Telemachus’s heart took up the pounding rhythm of a stomping crowd. “Rome has a long and glorious tradition of victory celebrations.”
Honorius nodded, a proud smile twitching at his mouth. “I shall be the youngest emperor with a victory celebration. My brother in the east shall have to take notice of that.”
Telemachus suddenly understood. The pimpled boy before him—his older brother ruling the eastern empire from Constantinople, arguably richer and more powerful—needed to establish himself, his reign. His power. His worth.
Could he convince him that it was not vengeance, but love and mercy that were the most powerful forces in the world? Could he convince himself?
Honorius bent down and scooped up the rooster, who angled his head toward Telemachus with a murderous look in his eyes. His glossy black head glimmered with streaks of iridescent green. “This is Rome,” Honorius murmured, stroking the rooster’s neck. “He likes you.”
Telemachus highly doubted that. But he forced a smile and nod anyway. Lord, give me the words to reach him, the ability to affect change. “I’ve come to speak with you about the coming games.”