The next morning, watching Belisarius approach him on the training field, Sittas decided that his friend had spent too much time in the Syrian sun. His brains were obviously fried.
Belisarius' challenge had been idiotic in the first place. On foot, with swords, Sittas suspected that his friend would carve him like a roast. But on horseback, in full armor, in a lance charge—well! The shrimp didn't stand a chance in hell.
Sittas was not guessing. Facts were facts. Sittas did not have Belisarius' speed and reflexes, but that mattered little in a lance charge. In a lance charge, wearing full armor atop a huge war-horse that was itself half-armored, weight and strength were what mattered.
Sittas almost slapped his great belly in self-satisfaction. He'd jousted with Belisarius before, several times, and always with the same result. Belisarius, on his ass, contemplating the futility of matching skills with the best lancer in Byzantium.
And now! The fool wasn't even holding his lance properly! Belisarius was carrying his lance cradled under his arm, instead of in the proper overhand position. Ridiculous! How could he expect to bring any force into the lance thrust? Any novice knew the only way to drive a lance home, on horseback, was to bring the whole weight of the back and shoulder into a downward thrust.
Off to the side of the training field, perched on a stone wall, Sittas spotted a small group of boys watching the joust. From their animated discourse, it was obvious that even barefoot street urchins were deriding Belisarius' preposterous methods.
Seeing Belisarius begin his charge, Sittas set his own horse into motion. As they neared each other, Sittas saw that his friend's bizarre method of holding his lance had the one advantage of accuracy. The blunted tip of the practice lance was unerringly aimed right at Sittas' belly.
He almost laughed. Accuracy be damned! There wouldn't be any force at all behind an underhand thrust. His shield would deflect it easily.
The moment was upon them. Sittas saw that Belisarius' lance would strike first. He positioned his shield and raised his own lance high above his head.
Some time later, after a semblance of consciousness returned, Sittas decided he had collided with a wall. How else explain his position? On the ground, on his ass, feeling like one giant bruise.
He gazed up, blearily. Belisarius was looking down at him from atop his horse.
"Are you alive?"
Sittas snarled. "What happened?"
"I knocked you on your ass, that's what happened."
"Crap! I ran into a wall."
Belisarius laughed. Sittas roared and staggered to his feet.
"Where's my horse?"
"Right behind you, like a good warhorse."
Sure enough. Sittas saw his lance lying on the ground nearby. He grabbed it and stalked to his horse. He was so furious that he even tried to mount the horse unassisted. The attempt was hopeless, of course. After a few seconds of futility, Sittas left off and began leading his horse to the mounting platform at the edge of the field.
He was spared that little indignity, however. One of the urchins on the wall leapt nimbly onto the field and hurried to fetch him a mounting stool. As he clambered back upon his horse, Sittas favored the boy with a growling thanks.
" 'Twere just bad luck, lord," piped the lad. Then, with the absolute confidence possessed only by eight-year-old boys: "Yon loon don't no nothin' 'bout lance work!"
"Quite right," snarled Sittas. To Belisarius, in a bellow: "Again! Pure luck!"
This time, as the collision neared, Sittas concentrated almost entirely on his shield work. He had already decided that his mishap had been due to overconfidence. He'd been so preoccupied with planning his own thrust that he hadn't deflected Belisarius' lance properly.
Oh, but he had him now—oh, yes! His shield was perfectly positioned and solidly braced against his chest. Ha! The luck of Thrace was about to run out!
Some time later, after a semblance of consciousness returned, Sittas decided he had collided with a cathedral. How else explain his position? On the ground, flat on his back, feeling like one giant corpse.
Hazily, he saw Belisarius kneeling over him.
"What happened?" he croaked.
Belisarius smiled his crooked smile. "You ran into a stirrup. A pair of stirrups, I should say."
"What the hell kind of cathedral is a stirrup?" demanded Sittas. "And what idiot put two of them on a training field?"
Later, as they rode back toward his mansion along a busy commercial thoroughfare, Sittas uttered words of gentle reproach.
"You cheated, you stinking bastard!" he bellowed, for the hundredth time. For the hundredth time, he glared down at the—stirrups. No wild boar of the forest ever glared a redder-eyed glare of rage.
"Marvelous, aren't they?" beamed Belisarius. He stood up straight in the saddle, twisting back and forth, bestowing his cheerful gaze upon the various merchants watching from their little shops.
"Improves visibility, too. See, Sittas! You can look all around, without ever having to worry about your balance. You can even draw your bow and shoot straight over your back as you're withdrawing."
"You cheated, you dog!"
"And, of course, you already saw how much more effectively you can wield a lance. No more of that clumsy overhand business! No, no. With stirrups you can use a lance properly, with all your own weight and the weight of your mount behind the thrust, instead of being a spear-chucker sitting awkwardly on a horse."
"You cheated, you—"
"You could always have a pair of them made for yourself, you know."
Sittas glared down, again, at the stirrups.
"Believe I will," he muttered. Another red-eyed glare at Belisarius.
"Then we'll have another duel!"
Belisarius grinned.
"Oh, I don't see any point to that. We're getting on in years, Sittas. We're responsible generals, now. Got to stop acting like foolish boys."
"You cheater!"
When they rode into the courtyard of Sittas' mansion, Antonina and Irene were standing there waiting. Both women seemed worried.
"He cheated!" roared Sittas.
"Not quite the conversationalist he used to be, is he?" commented Belisarius cheerfully as he dismounted.
Sittas began to roar again, but Irene silenced him.
"Shut up! We've been waiting for you two idiots to return. Belisarius! You've got an audience with Theodora—and you're already late!"
Antonina shook her head angrily. "Look at them! Refusing to admit they're getting on in years. You're responsible generals, now, you clowns! You've got to stop acting like foolish boys!"
Sittas clamped shut his great jaws.
"You've already set up an audience with Theodora?" demanded Belisarius, gaping.
Irene smiled. "Yes. I'd like to claim it's due to my talents as an intriguer, but the truth is that Antonina was the key. I'd always heard Theodora considered Antonina her best friend, but I hadn't really believed it until now."
The smile vanished, replaced by a frown.
"We have to go immediately, but—"
"He can't go in full armor!" protested Antonina.
"I'll be dressed in a moment," said Belisarius. He clattered into the mansion.
"Watch out for the rugs!" roared Sittas.
"Please," muttered Irene. "Make sure you gouge up as many as possible." She smiled sweetly at Sittas.
"What happened to you, anyway?"
"Yes, Sittas," added Antonina, smiling just as sweetly. "We're curious. Did you run into a wall?"
"Looks more like he ran into a cathedral," mused Irene. "You see that one great bruise? There—on his—"
"He cheated!"
"Stop worrying, Antonina. Of course I'll support Belisarius in this elaborate scheme of yours."
The Empress stared out the window of her reception room. The view was magnificent, the more so since the Empress could well afford the finest glass. The panes of glass in her windows had not a trace of the discolorations and distortions which most glass contained.
Theodora never tired of the view from the Gynaeceum, the women's quarters of the Great Palace. It was not so much the scenery beyond—though the sight of the great city was magnificent—as it was the constant reminder of her own power. Within the women's quarters, the Empress was supreme. That had been Byzantine custom even before she mounted the throne, and it was a custom into which Theodora had thrust the full force of her personality.
Here, Theodora ruled unchallenged. She was the sole mistress not only of her own chambers but of the public offices as well. And it was here, in the Gynaeceum, that the silk goods, which were a royal monopoly, were woven. Those silk goods were one of the major sources of imperial wealth.
Without Theodora's permission, not even the Emperor could enter the Gynaeceum. And it was a permission which Theodora never gave him. She had too much to hide. Not lovers, of course. Theodora knew that were she to entertain lovers, word would get to Justinian. But the temptation never arose, in any event. Theodora had no interest in men, except Justinian.
No, not lovers; but there were other things to hide. Religious leaders, mostly. Monophysite heretics seeking refuge from the persecution that was developing again could find sanctuary in the secret rooms of the Gynaeceum.
Theodora scowled. For all that he was personally tolerant, and knew his own Empress to be a Monophysite, Justinian was seeking closer ties with the See of Rome. He hoped, Theodora knew, to gain orthodox approval for his projected reconquest of the western Empire. That approval came with a price—eradicate heresy.
It was a price which Theodora, for reasons of state even more than personal preference, thought far too costly for the prospective gain. The real strength of the Empire was in the Monophysite east—in Syria and Palestine and, especially, in Egypt. Why enfeeble the Empire's hold over those great provinces in order to gain the approval of a miserable pope squatting in Italy, surrounded by semibarbarian Goths? Who were Arian heretics themselves. No, it—
She shook her head, driving away the thoughts. Later. For now, there was this other matter.
She turned away from the window and smiled at Antonina. Then she smiled at Belisarius. The first smile was heartfelt. The second was—not. Or, at least, not very.
Briefly, the Empress examined her feelings in that cold and dispassionate way that was one of her great strengths. In truth, she liked Belisarius. It was just that she found it impossible to trust any man. She did not even trust Justinian, for all that she genuinely loved him. But—as men went, Belisarius was not bad. He had been good to Antonina, after all. And Theodora thought, approvingly, that his wife had the general well under her thumb. Whether or not Belisarius could be trusted, she trusted Antonina.
The Empress resumed her seat upon the throne which sat in a corner. The throne fit awkwardly in the confines of the private reception room. True, the room itself was luxurious. The floors were covered with exquisite Armenian rugs, the walls with even more exquisite mosaics and tapestries. Still, it was much too small a room to manage the bulk of a throne properly.
Yet even here, in the privacy of her own quarters, Theodora insisted on a throne. A relatively modest throne, to be sure, nothing like the monstrosity upon which she sat in the great reception hall of the palace. But it was a throne nonetheless.
It was one of her own foibles, she knew. The throne was not as comfortable as a normal chair would have been, but—she remembered the years of poverty and powerlessness. The years when she obeyed men, rather than the other way around. And so, everywhere she planted her very attractive imperial rump, she insisted on a throne.
"I just don't like to have my intelligence insulted," she growled. The Empress straightened. As tall as she was, sitting high up on a throne, the pose made her loom over her audience. Exactly as she intended.
"It's perfectly obvious that you're looking for an excuse to get away from Justinian's insanely jealous eye, Belisarius."
Seeing the slight look of startlement on the general's face, Theodora laughed.
"You think it strange that I understand my husband's peculiarities?"
Belisarius examined the Empress. She was a beautiful woman, very shapely in a slender sort of way. An Egyptian like Antonina, she shared his wife's dark complexion. But where Antonina's green eyes were a startlement in her dusky face, the Empress' eyes were so deep a brown as to be almost black. Her hair also was black, as little of it as could be seen in the jewel-encrusted coiffure.
He decided that honesty was probably the best course, under the circumstances. He did not know Theodora well, but he did not mistake the cold intelligence in those dark eyes.
"I am not surprised that you understand the Emperor's—characteristics. I am simply a bit puzzled that you understand him so well and—" He faltered. This was perhaps pushing honesty a bit far.
The Empress concluded for him.
"And still love him?"
Belisarius nodded. "Yes." He took a deep breath. Hell with it. The general knew from experience that it was unwise to change strategy in midbattle. "And are quite devoted to him. Even a man as removed as I am from the imperial court can tell that much."
The Empress chuckled. "I suggest you don't try to understand it. I don't myself, not entirely, and I suspect I'm much better than you at understanding such things. But the fact is, I do love Justinian, and I am quite devoted to him. Do not ever doubt it." She bestowed upon him a cold, deadly, imperial gaze. But only for a few seconds. Belisarius, she realized, was not one to be intimidated. Nor, she thought, was there any reason to do so.
Theodora smiled again. "One of the facts which is, and unfortunately, remains, is that my husband is prone to extreme jealousy. An imperial kind of jealousy, to boot, which is the worst variety."
She sighed. "It would be so much better if he'd fret himself over my fidelity, like most men. There'd be nothing in it, and I could spend some pleasurable hours reassuring him of his potency. But, not Justinian. He frets only royal frets, I'm afraid. The greatest of which is being overthrown by a rival. Especially a successful general.
"In fact, the threat's real enough. In general, at least. I just wish Justinian would stop being obsessed with the matter."
She mused. "At the moment, the two most successful and esteemed generals of the empire are you and Sittas." A small laugh. "Not even Justinian worries about Sittas! Outside of war, Sittas is the laziest man alive. And he can't stand the duties of a general in Constantinople—everyone knows it. He's been pestering Justinian for months to be reassigned to a field army, whereas an ambitious general couldn't be pried out of the capital with a lever."
She gave Belisarius a cold smile. "That leaves you. You alone, to be the focus of Justinian's worries."
Belisarius began to speak, but Theodora cut him off.
"Spare me, Belisarius. There's no point in making reassurances. I don't need them, and Justinian won't believe them."
She waved her hand. "No, the right course is exactly the one you propose." Another laugh. "Although even in my wildest dreams I never would have thought of sending you to Axum and India! God, Justinian will be ecstatic!"
The Empress was silent for a moment, lost in thought. "And it's not a bad idea, in any event, even leaving Justinian's jealousies aside."
She arose and walked slowly back to the window. Belisarius was struck by the regal grace of her movements, as encumbered as Theodora must have been by those incredible imperial robes. (Which, Antonina had told him, Theodora insisted on wearing at all times.) She looked every inch the ideal image of an Empress.
For a brief instant, Belisarius caught a glimpse of the woman's inner demons: that fierce, driving ambition which had carried her and her husband to the throne from the lowest of beginnings. Justinian, a semiliterate peasant from Thrace—who had, of course, long since become as literate a man as any in the Empire, applying his own fierce intelligence. Theodora, a whore from Alexandria.
But Theodora had been no sophisticated courtesan like Antonina, gaily choosing her few consorts and reveling in the charm and wit of their company. Belisarius knew Theodora's own history from Antonina. The Empress had been sold into prostitution by her own father at the age of twelve, to a pimp who had sold her in turn to every ruffian who hung about the Hippodrome.
He watched the still, beautiful face staring out the window. Watched the pride in the stillness, and the icy intelligence in the beauty, and thought he understood Theodora. Understood her, and understood her unshakable devotion to Justinian.
I swore an oath to Justinian, which I will always keep. But I wish I had sworn it to her. She would have made a far better Emperor.
"I don't trust this Venandakatra," Theodora said softly. "Even before Antonina told me of Irene's suspicions, I had my own." She glanced at Belisarius. "You've not met him?"
The general shook his head.
"I shall introduce you to him tomorrow. Justinian is having a reception for Venandakatra."
She stared back out the window. "Trade envoy!" she sneered. "That man has enough arrogance in him to be Lord of the Universe. A foul creature, he is! As vile a man as ever lived, I suspect."
Belisarius restrained his start of surprise. Antonina, he knew, had simply passed on that much of what they knew about Venandakatra which could reasonably have been spied out by Irene. There had been no mention of his vision.
Venandakatra the Vile. Apparently, the cognomen had been no personal fancy of Raghunath Rao.
Theodora shook her head. "No, I don't like this Venandakatra. The Malwa are playing a deep and dark game. And we know almost nothing about them. Yes, best we find out what we can, as soon as possible."
She turned back. "But there's something more important. You'll have plenty of time to get to know this Venandakatra creature. Much more, I assure you, than you'd ever want. In the meantime, however, there are other people you must get to know immediately. The Axumite embassy will also be present at the reception, which is doubling—as an afterthought, I'm afraid—as their departing ceremony. They are returning to Axum the next day."
She resumed her seat on the throne. "To my mind, your proposed visit to Axum is even more important than the trip to India. For one thing, I'm not sure how much you'll actually be able to find out in India. Whatever else he is, Venandakatra's no fool, and he'll have his own suspicions of you."
"Will he agree?" asked Antonina. "To Belisarius accompanying him back to India?"
Theodora waved the concern away. "He can't very well refuse, can he? After all, he's supposedly a mere trade envoy. How could he refuse an imperial request to carry a Roman envoy back to his homeland?" She shook her head. "No, he'll agree, however grudgingly. What I am much more concerned about, at the moment, is whether the Axumites will agree to that side of your proposal."
"I thought they were on good terms with Rome," commented Belisarius.
The Empress tightened her lips. "Yes, they were. Whether they still are, after the shameful way they've been treated since their arrival, is another matter."
"They've been insulted?" asked Antonina.
"Not directly. But Justinian's indifference to them was soon detected by the courtiers, who—" She snorted. "It's the first rule of the courtier: if the Emperor breaks wind, you shit a mountain."
Belisarius chuckled. Theodora shook her head.
"It's not really funny. Justinian is so preoccupied with—well, never mind. Let's just say that he has forgotten the first rule of the emperor. Do not trample over old friends in your eagerness to make new ones."
"What's your impression of the Axumites?" asked Antonina.
Theodora frowned. "The adviser, Garmat, strikes me as shrewd. I don't think he'll be a problem. It's rather the prince who concerns me."
She spoke the prince's name slowly, savoring the words: "Eon Bisi Dakuen. Do you know what the name means?"
Belisarius and Antonina shook their heads.
"The Axumites are warriors. We forget that, here, because we only encounter them as traders and seamen. But they are a warrior people, with their own proud history. It is a tradition which is particularly ingrained in the ruling clan. It shows in their royal nomenclature."
She closed her eyes, calling up memory. "The official name for the king of the Ethiopians is Kaleb Ella Atsbeha, son of Tazena, Bisi Lazen, King of Axum, Himryar, Dhu Raydan, Saba, Salhen, the High Country and Yamanat, the Coastal Plain, Hadramawt, and all their Arabs, the Beja, Noba, Kasu, and Siyamo, servant of Christ."
"That's a mouthful," commented Antonina.
Theodora opened her eyes, smiling. "Isn't it? But don't shrug it off as royal grandiosity. It's quite accurate, except for the `Ella Atsbeha' part, and accurate in significant ways."
"What does `Ella Atsbeha' mean?" asked Belisarius.
"It means `he who brings the dawn.' " Theodora shrugged. "That part of the title we can ignore. But the rest—ah, there's what's interesting. The long list of territories ruled, for instance, is quite precise. And the Axumites are punctilious about it. The listing of Himryar, for instance, as well as the Hadrawmat, is recent. The Axumites add and remove territories to the name of their ruler in strict accordance to the facts on the ground, so to speak."
She cast a shrewd glance at Belisarius.
"What does that tell you, General?"
"It tells me they prize accurate intelligence, even formally." Belisarius smiled crookedly. "That's a rather rare trait in rulers."
"Isn't it? But the Axumites are rigorous about it. I had my historians check the records." She went on. "The `ella' name is only given to ruling monarchs. Who, by the way, are properly known as the negusa nagast, which means `King of Kings.' My historians are not certain, but they think the title is also quite accurate. From old records of the first missionaries, it seems that Axum was forged by conquest and that it rules over many subordinate monarchs in the region of Ethiopia. Even Meroe and Nubia, it seems."
"And the `bisi' name?" asked Belisarius. "It must mean something. I notice that both the King—the negusa nagast—and his son share the name. It's a title, I imagine."
"Yes. And that's the most interesting part. King Kaleb's oldest son Wa'zeb is named `Wa'zeb Bisi Hadefan, son of Ella Atsbeha.' He is granted the patronymic, because he is the heir. The younger son who is the envoy here, Eon, is stripped down the bare essentials. `Eon Bisi Dakuen.' That's the only name he has, because it's the only name Axumite royalty considers essential."
"It's a military title," guessed Belisarius.
Theodora nodded approvingly. "Quite right. The Axumite army is organized into long-standing regiments. They call them sarawit. I believe the singular is sarwe. `Bisi' means `man of.' Hence the Prince, Eon, has as his only identity the fact that he is a man of the Dakuen sarwe. Just as his father, before all else, is a man of the Lazen sarwe; and his older brother Wa'zeb, the heir, is before all else a man of the Hadefan sarwe."
Antonina looked back and forth between the Empress and the general. "I think I'm missing something here," she said.
Belisarius pursed his lips. "Lord in Heaven, even the Spartans didn't take it that far."
He turned to his wife. "What it means, Antonina, is that the Axumites look at the world through the hard eyes of warriors. Proud ones. Proud enough that they name their kings and princes after regiments; and prouder still, that they disdain to claim territories which they don't actually rule."
Theodora nodded. "And these are the people who've been treated as unwanted guests since they arrived. Brushed off by insolent courtiers who don't know one end of a lance from the other, and by officious bureaucrats who don't even know what a lance looks like in the first place."
"Oh, my," said Antonina.
Belisarius eyed Theodora. "But you don't think the adviser—Garmat, is it?—is the problem."
The Empress shook her head.
"He's an adviser, after all. Probably a warrior himself, in his youth, but he's long past that now. No, the problem's the boy. Eon Bisi Dakuen. As proud as any young warrior ever is—much less a prince!—and mortally offended."
Theodora was startled to hear Belisarius laugh.
"Oh, I don't think so, Empress! Not if he's really a warrior, at least. And, with that name, I suspect he is." For a moment, the look on the general's face was as icy as that of the Empress. "Warriors aren't mortally offended all that easily, Theodora, appearances to the contrary. They've seen too much real mortality. If they survive—well, there's pride, of course. But there's also a streak of practicality."
He arose. "I do believe I can touch that practicality. As one warrior to another."
Antonina rose with him. The audience was clearly at an end, except—
"You'll arrange an interview with Justinian?"
Theodora shook her head. "There won't be any necessity for a private interview. Justinian will agree to your plan, I've no doubt of it." The Empress pondered. "I think the way to proceed is to have Belisarius' mission announced publicly at tomorrow's reception. That will box Venandakatra, and it may help to mollify the Axumites."
"You can arrange it that quickly?"
Theodora's smile was arctic. "Do not concern yourself, General. It will be arranged. See to it that you make good your boast concerning the young prince."