As she was carried through the doors, her eyes met those of Anthony. He returned her smile, but his gaze was filled with concern.
She was carried to the altar and set back on her feet. Turning, she saw that the grenadiers and their wives were rapidly pouring in behind. Within two minutes, the great cathedral was filled. All the Syrians stood there, silently, staring at her.
Many years before, as a young woman, Antonina's mother had given her some brief training as an actress. In the event, Antonina had never pursued her mother's career, having found a different one which—though just as disreputable—was considerably more renumerative. But she still remembered the lessons. Not her mother's meager talents as a thespian, but her skills at projecting her voice.
All the grenadiers in the room—as well as the cataphracts who had joined them—almost jumped. Such a small woman, to have such a great, powerful voice.
I have little to say, my soldiers. My friends.
Little needs to be said.
Our enemies are gathering. You can see their bonfires. You can hear their coarse shouts of triumph.
Do not fear them.
They are nothing.
Nothing.
Assassins. Street thugs. Murderers. Rapists. Thieves. Pimps. Gamblers.
Nothing.
Nothing!
She paused, waited. The grenadiers—one or two, at first—took up the chant. Softly, at first. Then, louder and louder.
"Nothing. Nothing."
We will shatter them back into their nothing. We will drive them back into their sewers.
"Nothing! Nothing!"
We will hound them into their burrows. We will follow them into their ratholes. We will savage them till they plead for mercy.
"NOTHING! NOTHING!"
There will be no mercy.
For nothing, there is nothing.
The shouts now shook the cathedral itself. Antonina pointed to the cataphracts. The shouts died away. The grenadiers listened to her with complete attention.
Our plan is simple. The traitors are gathering their forces in the Hippodrome. We will go there. The cataphracts will lead the way, but we will be God's hammer.
We will hammer nothing—into nothing.
She strode forward, heading down the aisle. The grenadiers parted before her and then immediately closed behind. She moved through that little sea of humanity like a ship in full sail.
As she reached the door, Anthony Cassian stepped forward. For a moment, she embraced her old friend.
"May God be with me," she whispered.
"Oh, I believe He is," replied the Bishop softly. "Trust me in this, Antonina." With a quirk of a smile: "I am quite a reputable theologian, you know."
She returned his smile, kissed him on the cheek, and strode past.
By now, a large crowd of onlookers had gathered in the street. Not even the glares of cataphracts could hold back their curiosity. But then, hearing the sound of many approaching horses—heavy, armored horses—the crowd eddied back, pressed against the houses and fences which lined the boulevard.
Down that street, in a prancing trot, came two hundred cataphracts. The remainder of the Thracian bucellarii, returning from their own triumph.
When the cataphracts reached the cathedral they drew to a halt. The cataphracts in the lead tossed the residue of their vengeance at Antonina's feet.
Gasping and hissing, the crowd of bystanders plastered themselves against the walls. A few, timidity overcoming curiosity, scuttled hastily into the houses and fenced yards.
Twenty or so severed heads, rolling in the street, can chill even the most avid onlooker.
The grenadiers, on the other hand, seeing the grisly trophies, erupted with their own savage glee.
"NOTHING! NOTHING! NOTHING!"
Antonina moved toward her horse. Maurice, with two cataphracts in tow, met her halfway.
"Put these on," commanded Maurice. "I had them specially made."
The cataphracts with him extended a cuirass and a helmet.
"The helmet was easy," commented Maurice. "But the cuirass was a bit of a challenge for the armorer. He's not used to cleavage."
Antonina smiled. With Maurice's help, she donned the unfamiliar equipment. The smile vanished. "This stuff is heavy."
"Don't complain, girl. Just be thankful it's only half-armor. And be especially thankful that we're in Constantinople in the winter, instead of Syria in the summer."
Antonina grimaced at the thought. Then, with a sly little smile:
"Don't I get a sword, too?"
Maurice shook his head.
"I've got something better."
He drew a scabbarded knife—a large and odd knife, judging from the sheath—and handed it to her.
Antonina drew the blade out of the scabbard. She could not restrain a little gasp.