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I could feel the thick muscle of his forearm through the fabric of his cloak. I adjusted my palla with my free hand. “Why is the Imperator away?”

“He’s gone to view a cohort of soldiers who are on their way to the eastern border,” he said gruffly. “It gives them a morale boost.”

“Do you miss being a soldier?”

He seemed to stiffen. After a few seconds he said, “Yes. I miss feeling that what I do matters.”

I squeezed his arm. “Surely the work you do here in Panpirion matters.”

When he didn’t respond, I continued, “The truth is that I really do not understand what the conflict in the east is about. We did not discuss this sort of thing at Casa Caligine.”

“I suppose guests go there to forget their troubles, not discuss them.” He navigated us carefully around a small hole between paving stones. “There’s been unrest on the eastern edge of the Empire for more than decade. The Kingdom of Ohrid has gotten very powerful, and they are pushing hard on the borderlands. Their ruler, King Agrias, is a clever tactician. The effort has nearly bankrupted the Empire.”

“Is this what you discuss with the Imperial council until late in the evening?”

“My unpopular view is that we should work with Agrias, not against him. The new threat—the bigger threat, I think—is the riders coming down from Mys in the north. We could join forces to defeat them. Unfortunately, Jovinian doesn’t see the danger. He’s too focused on controlling every aspect of life within the Empire to see what’s really happening on his doorstep.”

We reached the end of the lane.

Cassius swept his frail arm toward the immense plaza that opened in front of us. “Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

The massive square was bordered on all sides by columned buildings. In the center was a statue of a man astride, holding a spear and shield, as tall as ten men standing on each other’s shoulders.

“The Imperator Priscian.” Cassius nodded in its direction. “He commissioned many of these buildings two hundred years ago: the great palace, to our right; the barracks, over there; the senate chambers; and, of course, that wall is the side of the Circodrome, where the chariot races are held. Perhaps you can see the Bronze Gate in the opposite corner. That’s the beginning of the Mese, where you saw Calpurnia’s litter yesterday.”

I struggled to take it all in. Men in colorful togas strode purposefully across the plaza in all directions, passing the huge statue without so much as a glance. A small contingent of soldiers in blue marched along in even rows. A busy messenger station with horses and carts for hire stood to our left.

Beyond the palace I could see a golden dome shining in the distance. “What is that?”

“That,” Sebastianus said, moving us out of the path of a line of marching soldiers, “is the temple to Gurgexenes, which Jovinian built. It’s called the Diluvion. The gold you see on that dome was melted down from statues of other gods taken from older temples across the city.”

“Ruined, empty temples,” Cassius said in a melancholy voice. “Ancient things, now gone forever. This way, Anna.”

The building to which he directed us had massive marble stairs leading up to a columned porch and entry, but instead of going up the steps, we walked around the corner to a small side door at ground level.

“Down here?” Sebastianus asked sharply.

“Believe me, we’re lucky it’s here at all,” Cassius said as he put a steadying hand on the wall. “Many precious objects have been moved from more prominent places to these bowels.”

At the bottom of the stairs we were greeted by a tall, thin-faced young bureaucrat who had been half asleep at a table. He looked us over with a puzzled expression that quickly turned to alarm. He got stiffly to his feet. “Your Grace, pardon me. I did not recognize you at first. But we don’t usually allow visitors in here.”

“This woman is a scholar under the patronage of the Archidux,” Cassius said with a tone of wheezy authority. “We would like to see the orrery.”

The young man looked uneasy, but with another glance at Sebastianus, he waved us past.

We followed Cassius into a small side chamber lit by torches. In the center of the room, a wooden cube about the size of a crate of apples sat on a simple marble table.

“Come closer,” Cassius said. “Don’t be shy.”

I wasn’t shy. I was frozen in place with awe.

One side of the cube showed a large circular brass face, similar to a clock, with seven rotating hands: one tipped with a golden ball for the sun, another with a silver-tipped hand for the moon, and one for each of the five fixed stars, decorated with colored balls. On the top of the cube, a rotating brass sphere showed the phases of the moon.

“Look here, on the back,” Cassius said.

I walked around to the other side, where two dials were displayed. Each had a needle that followed a spiral groove. “What are these for?”

“This one is a calendar. It shows us where in the year we are. And this here will show when the lunar and solar eclipses occur.”