Belisarius I Thunder at Dawn

by David Drake

  "You've still got your own soldiers and—if you provide some leadership—that huge faction mob. Get down there! Now!"

  Balban neither argued nor protested. Immediately, the spymaster began clambering over the wall.

  Narses grabbed Hypatius and shoved him to the wall. "Go with him!" he commanded. "You're the new Emperor! You need to rally the Hippodrome crowd!"

  Hypatius babbled protest. Narses simply manhandled the "Emperor" over the stone rampart. Despite his terror, Hypatius was no match for the old eunuch's wiry strength. Half-sprawled over the wall—on the wrong side of the wall—Hypatius stared up at Narses.

  "Do it!" ordered the eunuch. His eyes were fixed on Hypatius like a snake on its prey. An instant later, Narses tore Hypatius' clutching fingers off the wall. The "Emperor" landed in a collapsed heap on the stone platform below.

  Hypatius immediately lunged to his feet and jumped at the wall.

  Hopeless. That wall had been designed to keep assassins from the Emperor. A strong and agile man could have leapt high enough to grasp the top of the wall. Hypatius was neither.

  The new "Emperor" gobbled terror.

  "Do it!" commanded Narses.

  Hypatius gasped. He turned his head and spotted Balban. The spymaster was racing around the upper tiers of the Hippodrome, heading for the kshatriya rocketeers. He was already forty yards away.

  Gibbering with fear, Hypatius staggered after him.

  In the kathisma, Narses turned from the wall and confronted John of Cappadocia.

  "Where are the rest of your bucellarii?" he demanded.

  The Cappadocian glared at him.

  "That's none—"

  "You idiot!" snarled the eunuch. "Kept them in the palace, didn't you? Planned to keep them unharmed, didn't you? So you'd have them available for later use."

  John was still glaring, but he did not deny the charge.

  Narses pointed to the chaos in the Hippodrome.

  " 'Later use' is now, Cappadocian. Get them! With your thousand bucellarii added to the brew, we might still win this thing."

  John started to protest. The eunuch drove him down.

  "Do it!"

  John argued no further. The Cappadocian charged down the corridor leading to the Great Palace. Narses went after him, dragging Pompeius by the arm. Before following, Ajatasutra ordered the kshatriya still in the kathisma to join Balban. As he left the kathisma—now unoccupied—the kshatriya were already climbing over the wall and dropping down into the Hippodrome.

  In the corridor, Ajatasutra quickly caught up with Narses and Pompeius.

  Smiling, the assassin leaned over and whispered:

  " 'Years of civil war,' you said."

  Narses glanced at him, but said nothing. The eunuch was concentrating his attention on forcing the gibbering Pompeius forward. The new "Emperor's" brother was practically paralyzed with fear.

  "If you don't start moving," snarled Narses, "I'll just leave you here."

  Pompeius suddenly began running down the corridor.

  Narses let him go.

  "At least he's headed in the right direction," grumbled the eunuch. "We'll catch him later. He'll stumble into a faint, somewhere up ahead."

  The eunuch began trotting. Ajatasutra matched his pace easily.

  Again, the assassin leaned over and whispered. Still smiling:

  " 'The Roman Empire will be in chaos for a generation,' you said."

  Narses ignored him.

  Ajatasutra, grinning:

  " 'Much better than just letting Justinian fight his stupid wars,' you said."

  Narses ignored him.

  They reached the end of the corridor. Now, they found themselves in one of the many buildings of the Great Palace. They could hear the sound of fighting coming from somewhere in the outer complex.

  As Narses had predicted, Pompeius was waiting for them. In a manner of speaking: the nobleman was squatting on the floor, leaning his head against a wall, sobbing.

  Narses leaned over, seized Hypatius by his hair, and dragged the "Emperor's" brother to his feet.

  "The only place you're safe now is with me," hissed the eunuch. "If you collapse again—if you disobey me in any way—I'll leave you." Narses released his grip and stalked toward one of the corridors leading to another building in the complex. Ajatasutra strode alongside. Hypatius followed.

  The sound of fighting grew louder. Among those sounds, Narses recognized the heavy thundering of a cavalry charge. So did Ajatasutra. Both men picked up their pace.

  "Where are we going?" whispered the assassin. "And why"—he pointed with a thumb over his shoulder—"are you so intent on hauling that creature with us?"

  "I'll need him," growled Narses.

  They reached the end of the corridor. They were in another large room in yet another building. Narses plunged through a door against the left wall.

  Again, a short corridor. Again, another room in yet another building. Again, Narses led the way through another door. Again, another corridor.

  Ajatasutra, though he had an abstract knowledge of the Great Palace's layout, was by now completely disoriented.

  "Where are we going?" he repeated.

  "I have something to attend to," muttered Narses.

  The eunuch broke into a trot. The corridor made a bend. Once around the bend, Ajatasutra could see that the corridor ended in a massive set of double doors. One of the doors was ajar. Beyond, Ajatasutra heard the sound of indistinct voices.

  Once they got within ten feet of the half-open door, Ajatasutra recognized one of the voices in the room beyond.

  John of Cappadocia's voice.

  Narses hissed. "That bastard. I knew he'd come here first."

  The eunuch turned his head. Reptilian eyes focussed on Ajatasutra. "Decide," he commanded.

  Ajatasutra hesitated for only a second. Then, with a half-smile:

  "You're the best of a bad lot."

  Narses nodded. He gestured toward Pompeius, who was just now staggering up.

  "Keep him safe," muttered the eunuch. "And deal with the bucellarii."

  Narses turned away and slid through the door. Ajatasutra followed, dragging Pompeius by the arm.

  Inside, they found a dramatic tableau.

  Theodora was on her knees, cradling Justinian. The Emperor, though still unconscious, was beginning to moan.

  John of Cappadocia loomed above her, with a sword in his hand. His three bucellarii were standing a few feet away, between John and Narses. Hearing the eunuch enter, the bodyguards turned hastily and raised their weapons. Then, recognizing him, they lowered the swords and stepped aside. Narses slid past them, heading toward John and the Empress.

  Ajatasutra relinguished his grip on Pompeius and sidled close to the bucellarii.

  The Cappadocian glared down at the Empress. He began to snarl something.

  Theodora, her face like a mask, sneered:

  "Stop talking, traitor. Do it, coward."

  John raised his sword.

  Narses, hissing like a snake:

  "Stop, you idiot! We're going to need her. Alive."

  Startled, John turned away from the Empress. His sword lowered, slightly.

  "Why?" he demanded. "We were going to kill her, anyway, after she hailed the new Emperor. She and Justinian both. There's no reason to wait, now." He scowled. "And why are you here?"

  Narses strode forward.

  "I swear, Cappadocian, you've got the brains of a toad."

  Closer, closer.

  "Think, John—think."

  Closer, closer. The eunuch pointed to the Empress. John turned his head, following the pointing finger.

  Narses struck.

  Ajatasutra, watching, was impressed. The old eunuch stabbed like a viper. The little knife seemed to come from nowhere, before it sank into John's ribcage.

  John screamed, staggered, dropped his sword. The knife was still protruding from his side.

  Narses stepped back.

  The bucellarii bellowe
d, raised their swords, and took a step toward the eunuch.

  One step. They got no further.

  Ajatasutra slew the three bucellarii in as many seconds. Three quick blows from his dagger into the bodyguards' backs. Each blow—powerful, swift—slid expertly between gaps in the armor, severing spinal cords. Ajatasutra's victims died before they even realized what had happened. The bodyguards simply slumped to the floor.

  John of Cappadocia had already fallen to the floor. But his was no lifeless slump. The praetorian prefect's face was twisted with agony. He was apparently trying to scream, but no sound escaped from the rictus distorting his face.

  "It's quite a nasty poison," remarked Narses cheerfully. "Utterly paralyzing, for all the pain. Deadly, too. After a time."

  Ajatasutra quickly cleaned his dagger, but he did not replace it in its hidden sheath.

  "Explain," he commanded.

  Narses began to sneer. But then, seeing the expression on the assassin's face, thought better of it. "Do you still have any illusions, Ajatasutra?" he demanded. The eunuch pointed toward a nearby wall. Through that wall, thick as it was, came the sounds of combat. Grenade explosions, shouts, screams.

  "It's over," he pronounced. "We lost."

  Ajatasutra frowned. Without being conscious of the act, the assassin hefted his dagger.

  Narses was conscious of that act. He spoke hurriedly:

  "Think, Ajatasutra. Where did Antonina get the grenades? She didn't steal them from us. She had them made. That means she's been planning this for months. It means everything that fool Procopius told that fool Balban was duplicity. Not his—the gossiping idiot!—but hers. Antonina hasn't been holding orgies on her estate—she's been training an army and equipping them with gunpowder weapons."

  Ajatasutra's frown deepened. "But she couldn't have the knowledge—"

  He got no further. Theodora's cawing laugh cut him short. The assassin, seeing the triumph in her face, suddenly knew that Narses was right.

  He lowered the dagger. Lowered it, but did not sheathe the weapon. "There's still a chance," he said. "From what I saw, she doesn't have much of an army. Balban still has the kshatriya, and the mob."

  Narses shook his head.

  "No chance at all, Ajatasutra. Not with Belisarius here."

  The eunuch shook his head again. The gesture had a grim finality to it.

  "No chance," he repeated. "Not with Belisarius here. He's already shattered the Army of Bithynia. Even if Balban manages to defeat Antonina in the Hippodrome, he'll still have to face Belisarius. With what? A few hundred kshatriya? Faction thugs?"

  Narses gestured scornfully at the bodies of John's bucellarii. "Or do you think these lap dogs are capable of facing Belisarius—and his cataphracts?"

  Ajatasutra stared at the three corpses. Not for long, however. The sounds of combat were growing louder.

  He slid the dagger into its sheath. "You're right. Now what?"

  Narses shrugged. "We escape. You, me, and Pompeius. We'll need him, to mollify your masters. We can at least claim that we salvaged the 'legitimate heir' from the wreckage. The Malwa can use him as a puppet."

  The assassin winced. "Nanda Lal's going to be furious."

  "So?" demanded Narses. "You weren't in charge—Balban was. You warned him that Antonina was deceiving us. I'll swear to it. But Balban wouldn't listen."

  Ajatasutra glanced at Pompeius. The nobleman was leaning against the far wall. His face was pale, his eyes unfocussed. He seemed completely oblivious to everything except his own terror.

  The assassin's eyes moved to the Empress. Theodora glared back at him.

  Black, black eyes. Hating eyes.

  "Her?" he asked.

  The old eunuch's face was truly that of a serpent, now. For a moment, Ajatasutra almost drew his dagger again. But, instead, he simply murmured:

  "Who would have ever thought Narses would commit an act of personal grace?"

  Smiling, the assassin strode over to Pompeius, seized the nobleman by the arm, and dragged him to the door. There, he stopped, waiting for Narses.

  The eunuch and the Empress stared at each other.

  The eunuch's was a gaze of sorrow. Theodora's—

  "I will never forgive you. You are a dead man."

  Narses nodded. "I know." A rueful little smile came to his face. "But I might still win. And I'm an old man, anyway. Even if I lose, I may well be dead before you kill me."

  The smile faded. Sorrow remained.

  The eunuch turned away, and began walking toward the door. Theodora's voice halted him.

  "Why, Narses?"

  For the first time, there was anguish as well as hatred in her voice. Narses, without turning, simply shrugged.

  "Ambition," he said.

  "No. Not that. Why this?"

  Narses turned his head. His eyes met those of Theodora's. There was a hint of tears in her eyes. Just a hint.

  Narses fought back his own tears.

  "There was no need. And—"

  He could not face those eyes. He looked away. Harshly: "I did not stop loving you, child, simply because I planned to murder you."

  Anguish fled the Empress. Only the hell-voice remained:

  "You should have killed me, traitor. You will regret it, coward."

  Narses shook his head.

  "No, Theodora, I won't. Not ever."

  A moment later, he was gone. Theodora gazed down at her husband. Justinian's moans were growing louder. Soon, he would regain consciousness and begin to scream.

  The Empress lifted his head off her lap and set it gently on the carpet.

  She had something to attend to.

  Crawling on her hands and knees, Theodora made her way to the body of the nearest soldier. She drew a dagger from the corpse's sword-belt.

  Then, still crawling, she began making her way toward John of Cappadocia.

  The Empress did not crawl because she was unable to stand, or because she was injured, or because she was in a state of shock.

  No. She crawled simply because she wanted the Cappadocian to see her coming.

  He did. And then, despite the agony which held him paralyzed, tried to scream.

  But he couldn't. He couldn't make a sound; couldn't move a muscle. He could only watch.

  Theodora crawled toward him, the dagger in her hand. Her eyes were fixed on those of the praetorian prefect.

  She wanted those eyes.

  Hell-gaze. Hell-crawl.

  It was the last thing John of Cappadocia would ever see, and he knew it.

  Three minutes later, Belisarius burst into the room. Behind him came his cataphracts and Irene.

  All of them skidded to a halt.

  Irene clapped her hand over her mouth, gasping. Menander turned pale. Anastasius tightened his jaws. Valentinian grinned.

  Belisarius simply stared. But he too, for a moment, was transfixed by the sight.

  Transfixed, not by the sight of the bodies littering the chamber. Not by the sight of Justinian, moaning, blinded. Not even by the sight of the praetorian prefect, prostrate, screaming in a silent rictus, his back arched with agony.

  No, it was the sight of the Empress. Squatting over the dying traitor, a bloody knife in one hand, her imperial robes held up by the other. Urinating into the empty eyesockets of John of Cappadocia.

  Chapter 28

  The rocket soared up into the sky and exploded high above the wall s of the Hippodrome. A thundering cry followed, from the assembled mob within.

  "NIKA! NIKA!"

  " 'Victory,' is it?" hissed Antonina. She leaned over her saddle and whispered to Maurice:

  "Tell me what to do."

  Maurice smiled. "You already know what to do." He pointed forward. They were approaching the looming structure from the southwest. Ahead of them, fifty yards away, began a broad stone staircase which swept up to a wide entrance. The entrance was thirty yards across, and supported by several columns.