He placed a woven basket on the floor of the chamber, and Augustus instinctively raised his feet from off the stones.

“I bring my serpents to battle,” Usem said, removing the cover from the basket. Several snakes slithered from the basket as the Psylli moved his arm into the air. The snakes arced their bodies in mimicry of it, coiling themselves into a rippling design.

“These are my warriors,” the Psylli informed Augustus. “They can travel anywhere you desire. They can seek out the traitors who hide your enemy from you. They can find those who serve your enemy.”

Augustus let himself relax, slightly. “And what else do you have for me?”

“Is this not enough for you, emperor of Rome? I see you are an intelligent man. My tribe controls the Western Wind.”

“Like a slave? Does it always obey you, then?” Augustus asked.

“Just as we obey Rome,” Usem said, and smiled. “When Rome fattens our purses. Still, it pleases the wind to serve our friends and plague our enemies.”

“And which are we to you?” Augustus asked him.

A sudden breeze appeared in the room, guttering the candles. In the flickering light, Augustus saw Agrippa’s hand tighten on his sword. The shuttered window flew open, rattling in a quick and drenching storm.

“We are friends,” said the Psylli. “Or have I misunderstood?”

“Certainly,” replied Augustus, shaken. “We are friends.”

“There is a price for my service,” Usem continued.

Of course. The emperor had been prepared for exactly this eventuality. He signaled to a slave, who wheeled in a barrow of treasure taken from Alexandria, but the Psylli laughed.

“I do not desire gold,” Usem said.

“Your people have always taken our gold.”

“Not for this task. It is too large,” the Psylli said. “If I deliver what you ask for, you will close the Gates of Janus. My people will no longer cower in their tents when they hear hoofbeats. We will no longer travel our desert fearing war, fearing poisoned waters, fearing kidnapping and slavery. My people do not fear the wind, and we should not fear Rome.”

Augustus was shocked. He looked at Marcus Agrippa. What had the man been thinking? This should have been negotiated and refused already. Since the founding of Rome, the nation had always been at war, fighting off invaders, yes, but also invading and gaining territories through bloodshed. The closing of the Gates of Janus by the emperor of Rome would announce that the empire was at war no longer. The Psylli demanded peace from end to end of the Roman world.

Agrippa shrugged.

“It was not for me to refuse. You requested sorcerers, and you knew that it would not be inexpensive.”

The emperor could not imagine it. The gates had been open his entire life. It was a ridiculous request.

“You require my assistance,” the Psylli said, standing before Augustus, his jaw tight. The wind whipped about Augustus, shifting his garments. “The wind has told me of your trouble with the queen Cleopatra.”