by David Drake
Another chariot. A bit longer, and wider. Also drawn on a single axle, also open to the rear. Again, a single charioteer handled the reins. But now, the warrior who accompanied him wore only light leather armor and no hand weapon beyond a semi-spatha scabbarded to his waist. He was not a spearman, but a rocketeer. Rising from the center of the chariot was a solid pole, five feet tall. Atop the pole, swiveling on a simple joint, was a bundle of six tubes—three abreast, in two tiers. The warrior aimed the launchers ahead and to the side, at an enemy army advancing some few hundred yards distant. He called out a signal. He and the charioteer crouched. The rocketeer touched a slowmatch to quick fuses. An instant later, a half-dozen rockets were hissing their way toward the approaching army.
The charioteer turned the horses, raced away. Behind, other chariots copied the same maneuver. Within not more than a minute, the ranks of the enemy were being shredded by a hail of rockets. The missiles were not very accurate, but made up for the lack by their numbers and the manner of their explosion.
Fragmentation warheads, came the thought from Aide. This time, the thought was saturated with satisfaction. Shrapnel.
Belisarius slumped back, sighing. He rubbed his eyes wearily.
"Yes, there's promise there." Again, he scratched his chin. "But these—katyushas—will only work on level ground. In mountain terrain, we'll need something different. Something that a small squad of men can carry by hand, and that can be fired over hills."
The facets flashed excitement.
Mortars.
Belisarius' eyes widened. "Show me," he commanded.
A small motion caught his eye. The Maratha slave had finished his prayers and was lying down on his pallet in preparation for sleep. His face could not be seen, for it was turned away. Belisarius put aside his dialogue with Aide, and devoted a moment to contemplating the man Dadaji Holkar.
Aide did not object, nor interrupt. There were many things about humanity which Aide did not understand. Of no human, perhaps, was that more true than of Belisarius. Belisarius, the one human of the ancient past whom the crystals had selected as the key to preserving their future. The choice had been theirs, but they had been guided by the Great Ones.
Find the general who is not a warrior.
Belisarius, the great general.
That strange thing Aide was coming to know, slowly, haltingly, gropingly.
Belisarius, the man. That stranger thing Aide already knew.
So Aide waited patiently. Waited during that moment of sorrow for another man's anguish. Waited, patiently, not because it understood grief but because it understood the future. And knew that its own future was safeguarded not by the weapons it was showing the general, but by the nature of the man himself.
The moment passed. The man receded.
"Show me," commanded the general.
Chapter 4
Constantinople
Spring 530 AD
"You're positive?" demanded Theodora. "There's no mistake?"
The Empress of Rome leaned forward in her luxurious chair. No expression showed on her face beyond a certain tense alertness. But the knuckles of her hands, gripping the armrests, were white as snow, and the tendons stood out like cables.
Irene met the dark-eyed gaze squarely.
"I am certain, Your Majesty. I've only met Narses face-to-face on three occasions, but I know him quite well. I've studied the man for years, as one professional—and possible competitor—will study another. I could not possibly mistake his appearance, undisguised. Nor he mine, for that matter—that's why I took such elaborate precautions with our disguises."
Theodora transferred her piercing gaze to Hermogenes. The young general winced, shrugged.
"I can't vouch for it myself, Your Majesty, one way or the other. I've never met Narses." He took a deep breath. "But I do know Irene, and if she says it was Narses—"
The Empress stilled him with a curt gesture. The black eyes moved on to Maurice.
"It was Narses," growled Maurice. "I've met the man many times, Empress, in the service of my lord Belisarius. We've never been personally introduced, and I doubt if he'd recognize me. But he's a distinctive-looking man. I'd know him anywhere, as long as he was undisguised and the light was good." The grey-haired veteran took his own deep breath. "The man was undisguised. His face—his whole figure—was clearly visible the moment he stepped out of Balban's villa to wait for his palanquin. And the light was good enough. A half-moon in a clear sky."
The Empress looked away. Still, there was no expression on her face.
Irene spoke hesitantly: "It's possible he's playing a double game. Simply trying to draw out treason before he—"
The Empress shook her head. The gesture was short, sharp, final. "No. You do not understand, Irene. Narses and I have been close—very close—for many years. If he suspected treason, and wanted to draw it out, he would have told me. There is only one explanation for his presence at that meeting."
She turned, raised her head imperiously, looked at Maurice and Hermogenes.
"Thank you, gentlemen," she said. Her voice was cold, perhaps a bit choked. A bit, no more. The Empress turned her head slightly, staring at the wall.
"Now—please leave. I wish to be alone with Antonina and Irene."
The two men in the room immediately left. After they closed the door behind them, they looked at each other and puffed their cheeks with relief.
"Let the women handle it now, lad," muttered Maurice. He stumped down the corridor, Hermogenes in tow, making no attempt to soften his footfalls.
In the room, the Empress continued to stare blindly at the wall, maintaining her rigid posture, until the sound of the receding soldiers faded completely away. Then she broke, not like a stick, but like a stone might crumble. Before the first tears had even appeared, Antonina was out of her own chair and cradling Theodora's head against her stomach. The Empress clutched her, sobbing, her face buried completely in Antonina's skirts. The tiara on her head was pushed back onto her hair, making a mess of the elaborate coiffure.
Irene remained in her seat. Her face showed her own distress. But, when she made a motion to rise and come to Antonina's assistance, Belisarius' wife stopped her with a look and a small shake of the head.
Irene sat back, understanding. The understanding, then, brought a different distress.
Fear. A fear much like that of an experienced seaman sensing hidden reefs and treacherous currents.
Irene Macrembolitissa was one of the best professional spymasters in the Roman Empire. One of the very best intriguers—in an era where intrigue was so prevalent, and so skilled, that it would bequeath the very name Byzantine to the lexicon of future languages.
She was in dangerous waters, now. The number of people alive who had ever seen Theodora in such a state could be counted on the fingers of one hand. It was both a privilege and a peril.
After a minute or so, the sobbing ceased. Irene noted, with the detached interest of a spymaster, that for all their bitter anguish the sobs had been almost silent. The Empress Theodora would never wail. Like any woman, she could have her heart broken. But it was a small, tough, stony heart. Its wounds healed very quickly, and simply added more scar tissue.
As soon as the sobs stopped, the Empress turned her head against Antonina's belly and fixed Irene with her gaze. The spymaster crouched in her chair, still, frozen by those cold black eyes. She felt like a rabbit being examined by a hawk.
"Tell me, Antonina," commanded Theodora. There was still a trace of raw anguish in that voice, but not much of one. It was a cold, black voice.
"She is my dear friend, Theodora," said Antonina. Her own voice, though soft, was even colder. "I love her as much as I trust her."
Silence followed, for a time which seemed to Irene to stretch on for hours. But it was less than half a minute before the Empress pushed herself away from Antonina.
"Good enough," she murmured. The Empress took a deep breath, leaned back into her chair. Throughout, her eyes
never left Irene. But a smile came to her face. It was not much of a smile, true. But Irene suddenly discovered she could breathe.
Theodora laughed. It was like a raven's caw.
"Welcome to the old whores' club, Irene," she rasped. A majestic wave of the hand. "I make you an honorary member."
Theodora craned her head up, looking at Antonina. Finally, now, something other than pain entered her face.
"Thank you, Antonina," she whispered. "As always."
Then she sat erect. Automatically, as if to bring reassurance, her hand rose to the tiara. Finding it askew, she tried to force it back into place. The attempt failed, stymied by the disheveled mass of hair.
"Oh, the hell with it," muttered the Empress. She snatched the tiara off her head and placed it on the floor.
Irene almost laughed then, seeing the look of astonishment on Antonina's face. Often, in the year gone by, Antonina had told her of Theodora's obsession with maintaining her imperial regalia.
The Empress waved Antonina back to her chair.
"Let's to business," she commanded. Then, after her friend had resumed her seat:
"First of all, Antonina, you will pursue the contact this Indian—what was his name again?—"
"Ajatasutra."
"Yes—that this Ajatasutra initiated. He'll be seeking to draw you into some treasonous statement, you understand?"
Antonina nodded, saying:
"Of course. And there'll be an impeccable witness hidden somewhere nearby. John of Cappadocia, perhaps."
Irene shook her head. "It won't be him. Too many people wouldn't believe that filthy bastard if he claimed the sun rose in the east and set in the west. No, it's more likely to be one or the other—better yet, both—of the two churchmen." She shrugged. "Or someone else we don't even know yet."
Theodora pressed on:
"It's essential that you make such a statement, Antonina. That's the key that'll keep the door open. As long as the Malwa think they have something on you, they'll trust you."
Antonina chuckled. "You call that trust?"
The Empress smiled. "It's what passes for trust in that world. Our world, I'm afraid."
"Good as gold," chipped in Irene. "Better than gold, even. There's nothing an intriguer trusts more than someone he's successfully blackmailed."
Antonina made a little grimace of distaste. "And then what?" she asked.
Theodora shrugged. "We'll have to see. After the Malwa think they have you properly blackmailed, they'll demand that you perform some service. Give them some secret information, probably. When we find out what it is they want to know, that will tell us what's important to them."
Antonina considered the Empress' words for a moment.
"Makes sense," she said. Then, fixing Theodora with a level, serene gaze, added: "So be it."
The Empress returned the gaze. Nothing was said, for a full minute. When the Empress looked away, Irene noted that color had now fully returned to her face.
"Thank you, Antonina," whispered Theodora. "Again."
The intensity with which the words were spoken startled Irene, at first. Until she realized what had just happened. With that realization, she transferred her sharp eyes to the face of Antonina.
There was nothing to be seen on the Egyptian woman's face, beyond green-eyed, dark-haired, olive beauty. And serenity.
In the months since she had first met Antonina, she had often been impressed by her. But never more than at that moment.
A little chuckle from the Empress drew Irene's eyes. To her surprise, she found Theodora watching her.
"Good, Irene. You understand, then. Precious few people ever have."
Irene blew out her cheeks. "Not many women would agree to incriminate themselves on behalf of an Empress whose husband, well-placed rumor has it, is trying to have their own husband murdered. Without asking so much as a question. That's a different kind of trust than I usually encounter."
"Than anyone encounters," replied Theodora. For a moment, her lips tightened with anger. "I'm sure you've heard that my close friendship with Antonina is due to the fact that we're both former whores from Alexandria? Birds of feather, as it were, flocking together."
Irene nodded. "Any number of times."
"Idiots," snarled the Empress. "I know—knew, at least—plenty of Alexandrian whores who'd slit their own sister's throat for two denarii."
Antonina murmured: "That's not fair, Theodora. Antiochene whores, maybe. Any self-respecting Egyptian whore would hold out for a solidus."
Theodora cawed harshly. The Empress leaned forward in her seat, bracing her hands on her knees.
"I need you to be my spymaster, Irene."
Interpreting correctly the slight hesitation in the woman's face, Theodora made a little flipping motion with her hand, as if brushing something aside.
"I'll settle it with Sittas. He doesn't need your services half as much as I do. And I'll pay more than he does. Rich as he is, I'm a lot richer. And unlike Sittas, I'm not a stingy tightwad."
Irene chuckled, glancing around the lavishly furnished room. "You certainly aren't!"
When Irene had approached Theodora, a week earlier, with her charges against Narses and her plan to trap him in a treasonous meeting, it had been the Empress who had purchased this villa to serve as their command post. Purchased it—a huge, luxurious villa. Just—bought it. Like a matron buys fruit from a grocer.
The spymaster shook her head. "There's no point in that, Theodora. I can serve as your spymaster while staying on Sittas' payroll. It'd be much better that way. The fewer people who know of our relationship, the better. Money trails are the easiest to track. If I'm on your payroll, even secretly, someone will find out."
"The same objection applies to your being on Sittas' payroll," countered the Empress. "More so. I'm sure my security is better than Sittas'. "
Irene shrugged. "So what? Let our enemies find out that I'm Sittas' spymaster. I'm sure they already know, anyway. Good. Excellent. Let them keep thinking that. Sittas they are not worried about. He's just a fat general who hates palace duty in Constantinople. Stuck way out there in Syria. Good at his trade, sure, but lazy and unambitious."
Theodora ran fingers through her elaborate coiffure, thinking. Almost immediately, the fingers became tangled in that incredible structure. Suddenly, vigorously, she plunged her fingers into the mass and pulled it all loose. Long black tresses cascaded over her shoulders. Her hair, now truly visible, was quite beautiful.
"God, I've wanted to do that for the longest time!"
Again, the women laughed. But it was a very brief moment of levity.
Theodora nodded. "You're right. Whatever their plot is, it does not appear to focus on the army. I noticed that no military figures attended that meeting tonight."
"No, they didn't. I'm pretty sure they've suborned a few officers, but not many. The only one of significance is Aegidius, the commander of the army in Bythinia. I'm not positive, but I think he's one of them. An underling, though, not a ringleader."
Theodora scowled. "I never liked that greasy bastard. God, my husband has the worst taste in generals!"
An apologetic nod to Antonina: "Belisarius aside, of course. And Sittas."
Again, the Empress ran her fingers through her hair, disheveling it even further. Her sensual pleasure in the act was obvious, but it did not distract her from her thoughts.
"Doesn't that seem odd to you, Irene? That lack of attention to the army? Every other treasonous plot I can remember has put the military on center stage. For obvious reasons."
"Actually, it's a cunning move on their part. They know that Justinian's suspicions will always be centered on the army. So they stay away from it, by and large, and spread their poison in darker corners."
"I still don't understand it." Theodora's voice was dark with frustration. "I take your point, but—so what? What good does it do to plot treason if you can't carry it out when the time comes? And for that you need military force. A lot more force t
han the Bythinian army provides. What is that army—ten thousand strong? At the most?"
"Eight," replied Irene. "Not enough to take power, but enough to neutralize loyal units. Especially if many of those units decide to stay on the sidelines until the dust settles. Which, unfortunately, many military units do during a coup." The spymaster began to add something, but fell silent. She glanced quickly at Antonina.
Theodora did not miss it.
"The two of you know something," she announced.
Silence.
"Tell." The voice of the Empress, that, not Theodora.