In the Heart of Darkness(132)

Just before they came within Balban's hearing range, Ajatasutra whispered:



"What does the boat look like?"



"Like it wants to leave Constantinople in a very big hurry," was the eunuch's only reply.





Maurice waited until the cataphracts circled the monastery before he would let Antonina or Irene dismount. The Thracian cavalrymen were in a grim, grim mood. The small crowd of curious onlookers, which began to gather from the nearby residences, quickly drew back under their hard gaze.



"Marvelous," muttered Antonina. "Just marvelous."



She glared at Maurice. The hecatontarch returned her hot gaze with placidity.



"So much for keeping the whereabouts of the Theodoran Cohort secret," she growled.



Maurice shrugged. He pointed toward the southwest.



"Take a look. The time for secrets is over."



Antonina and Irene twisted in their saddles. They were not far from the Column of Marcian. The monastery, and the cathedral which adjoined it, were located just inside the old walls of the capital—the "walls of Constantine." The heart of Constantinople, the corner of the city which held the Great Palace and the Hippodrome, was not more than two miles away.



In the vicinity of the Hippodrome, the two women could see smokeplumes produced by bonfires which the gathering Blue and Green factions had set aflame to warm their toughs. They could hear the faint roar of the mob, even at the distance.



Antonina asked Irene: "What's the situation at the Great Palace?"



"Tense. Very tense. Justinian called for a meeting of the high council for today, at noon. He's still listening to John of Cappadocia, however, who assures him that most of the army units will stand by the throne. So he's living in a fool's paradise. He doesn't realize that the only military forces he has left are his own excubitores—all five hundred of them!—and the forces which we're bringing."



Irene turned her head, looking to the south.



"Sittas and Hermogenes should be in position at the Harbor of Hormisdas. I'd better leave now and tell them where your forces stand."



Antonina nodded. Maurice ordered a squad of cataphracts to escort the spymaster.



A commotion drew Antonina's attention.



A mob of grenadiers and their wives were pouring out of the monastery's doors, heading toward her. All of them were staring at her, their faces full of worried concern.



"You told them," she said to Maurice, accusingly.



Maurice chuckled.



"Told them? I sent ten cataphracts over here this morning, to regale them with the tale. Every last gruesome, gory, grisly great moment of it!"



Antonina sighed with exasperation. Maurice edged his horse next to her. Leaning over—all humor gone—he whispered harshly: "Listen to me, girl, and listen well. You're at war, now, and you're the commander. A female commander—the first one in Roman history outside of ancient legends. You need all the confidence you can get from your soldiers. And they need it even more than you do."



Antonina stared into his gray eyes. She had never noticed, before, how cold those eyes could be.



"Do you think I'd let an opportunity like this pass?" he demanded. Then, with a harsh laugh: "God, now that it's over, I'm almost ready to thank Balban! What a gift he gave us!"



He leaned back in his saddle. "Antonina, my toughest cataphracts are in awe of you. Not one in ten would have survived that ambush—unarmored, with no weapon but a dagger—and they know it. How do you think these Syrian peasants feel? Now—about their little woman commander?"



It was obvious how the peasants felt. The grenadiers and their wives were surrounding Antonina, gazing up at her silently. Their expressions were easy to read. A mixture of sentiments: relief at her obvious well-being; fierce satisfaction in her victory; pride in their commander—and self-pride that she was their commander.



Most of all—it was almost frightening to Antonina—was a sense of quasireligious adoration. The simple Syrians were gazing at her much as they might have gazed at a living saint.



She was blessed by God's grace.



Just as the prophet Michael had foretold.



For a moment, Antonina felt herself shrink from that crushing responsibility.



Then, drawing on the fierce will which had always been a part of her—since her girlhood in the hard streets of Alexandria—she drove all hesitation aside.



"I am quite well," she assured her grenadiers loudly. She began dismounting from her horse, but immediately found a dozen hands were helping her down. The same hands then carried her toward the cathedral. Hurriedly, monks and priests appeared to open the great doors. Among them, she saw the plump figure of Bishop Cassian.