In the Heart of Darkness(129)

"Belisarius!"



Antonina grinned.



"Precisely. Balban must have gotten new orders from India. Which means that my dear husband has done something to completely infuriate the Malwa. And it also means that he's escaped from their clutches."



"Of course," hissed Irene. The spymaster began pacing slowly.



"If they had their hands on him, they'd have even greater leverage over you than they thought they had. There would have been no reason to have you murdered. Quite the contrary."



By now, Antonina had finished dressing and was lacing on her boots. She nodded her head. "That's right. Which means he'll be arriving in Constantinople, sooner or later."



"When, do you think?"



Antonina shrugged.



"There's no way to know. We have no idea what route he's taking to get out of India. Most likely, he'll return by ship to Axum. If he does, Ashot and his men will be there to meet him."



She headed toward the door. Added: "Ashot's instruction were very clear. They'll sail up the Red Sea, portage to the Nile, and then take the river to Alexandria. There'll be a ship waiting to bring them straight to Constantinople."



Once in the corridor, Antonina strode hurriedly toward the villa's entrance. "They could get here almost any time. Or—not for weeks."



Behind her, Irene grimaced.



"I wish we knew. It would—"



Antonina gestured the thought away. "Don't even think about it, Irene! We can't make any plans based on my husband's return. We can only forge ahead. Speaking of which—have all the grenades arrived?"



They reached the foyer. Maurice was there, waiting for them. Like Antonina, he had changed his garments. But his helmet and half-armor were the same he had been wearing earlier. He had simply cleaned them off. That kitchen had not been his first slaughterhouse. The new stains were lost amid the relics of old gore.



Maurice answered her question.



"Yes. And they've already been taken to the monastery."



"Let's go, then," said Antonina.



Maurice held the door open. Antonina strode through into the courtyard, shivering a bit from the cold of a December morning. Then, seeing the mounted cataphracts in the courtyard and the street beyond, she stopped. Did a quick little count. Spun around.



"Where are the rest of the cataphracts, Maurice?" she demanded. "There's not more than a hundred here."



Maurice's jaws tightened.



"The rest of them are busy, at the moment. But they'll be joining us soon enough. They'll meet us at the monastery when they're done."



Antonina peered at him suspiciously.



"Busy? 'Done'? Doing what?"



The hecatontarch's face was like stone.



"What do you think, girl?"



"Oh, no," whispered Antonina.



Irene hissed: "Maurice—you can't. It'll alert the Malwa! They'll know—"



"I don't give a damn what the Malwa know," snarled Maurice. He glared at both women.



"I am not a spymaster," he grated. "I am not an intriguer. I am the leader of the general's bucellarii and those"—he pointed to the mounted Thracians—"are my lord's cataphracts."



He stalked over to his horse and seized the reins.



"If some stinking pig thinks he can try to have you murdered—without consequences—he is one sadly mistaken son-of-a-bitch."



He swung himself into the saddle and stared down at Antonina and Irene. Like a statue. Immovable.



Antonina blew out her cheeks. Then, sighing, headed for her own horse.



Less than a minute later, she and Irene rode out together through the gates of the villa. Once in the street, the two women were surrounded by over a hundred cataphracts. The small army began making its way toward the inner city.



After a while, Irene muttered: "Oh, well. Balban probably doesn't think you're still working for him, anyway."



Antonina giggled. "Do you think his suspicions will be aroused? When two hundred cataphracts tear his villa down around him?"





Balban poured tea into Narses' cup. The eunuch immediately sipped at the beverage appreciatively.



"Thank you," he murmured. "Just the thing for a cold morning."



"The weather's clear, I hope?" asked Balban.



Narses nodded. "Oh, yes." Smiling thinly: "Other than the cold, it's a perfect day for an insurrection. Not a cloud in the sky."



"Good," muttered Balban. "The last thing we need is bad weather. How do things seem in the Great Palace?"



"Just about perfect, I'd say. The more Justinian's position worsens, the more tightly he clings to John of Cappadocia and myself."