In the Heart of Darkness(42)

Of the various types of Malwa governorships, none was so prestigious as "Goptri." (The term, as closely as possible, could have been translated in the western lands as: Warden of the Marches.) No ordinary governor, Venandakatra, to be assigned to a small and placid province. Not even an ordinary satrap, Venandakatra, assigned to a large and placid region. No, Venandakatra, blessed by his Emperor, had been given the entire Deccan, and, trusted by his Emperor, had been charged with bringing that fractious land to heel.



As much as they detested him, many Malwa officials, watching him go, almost felt sorry for the man.



Three days later, the Emperor's own army began its march. (Stately progress, it might be better to say.) A march which was much shorter, and to the east, and—for the Emperor and his immediate entourage—no march at all. The Emperor and the high Malwa rode down the Jamuna in the comfort of the world's most luxurious barges, escorted by a fleet of slim war galleys.



Most of the Emperor's army, however, marched. As did the horde of camp followers who surrounded the army. And a small band of foreigners, like a chip in a slow moving ocean of humanity.





Chapter 9


DARAS

Summer 530 ad




The first day, after her return to Daras, Antonina spent with her son. Photius was ecstatic to see his mother, after a separation of several months—the more so when he saw the small mountain of gifts which she had brought back for him from fabled Constantinople. Yet, for all that the boy kept one eager, impatient eye upon his fascinating new toys, he spent the first day cuddling with his mother.



The seven-year-old's delight in the reunion   was the product of simple joy, not relief. He had obviously been well treated during her absence. Indeed, suspected Antonina, hefting his weight, he had been spoiled outright.



By the second day, of course, the imperative demand of new toys overwhelmed all filial devotion. At the crack of dawn, Photius was at his play. When his mother appeared, an hour or so later, the boy gave her no more than perfunctory words of greeting. Mothers, after all is said and done, are mothers. As cherishable as the sunrise, to be sure, but equally certain. Toys, now—who knows when they might vanish, into whatever magic realm brought them forth?



Antonina watched him at his play, for a bit. On another occasion, there might have been a touch of rueful regret in her son's preoccupation. But Antonina, in truth, was impatient to get on with her own pressing tasks. So it was not long before she headed off to the workshop where John of Rhodes awaited her.



The workshop, she saw at a glance, had been considerably expanded during the months of her absence. And, as she drew nearer, she realized that John was no longer working alone. Through the open door of the workshop, she could hear the sound of voices.



At first, the realization disconcerted her. She was swept with uneasiness. The past weeks in Constantinople had left her with a heightened sense of secrecy and security.



Within seconds, however, uneasiness was pushed aside by another emotion. There could be only one reason that John had brought other men into his work.



So it was hope, not anxiety, which quickened her last steps into the workshop.



What she encountered, entering, melded both sentiments in an instant.



A loud, crashing noise caused her to flinch.



Fortunately. The flinch gave her the momentum to duck.



Fortunately. The unknown missile whizzing by missed her head by a comfortable margin.



Unlike the ricochet, which struck her squarely on the rump.



The ricochet had little force behind it, however. It was surprise, more than pain, which tumbled her squawking to the floor.



"In the name of Christ, Antonina!" bellowed John of Rhodes. "Can't you read a simple sign?"



The naval officer arose from behind an upended table and stalked toward her. It was obvious, from its neat and tidy placement, that the table had been upended deliberately.



John reached down a hand and hauled Antonina to her feet. Then, not relinquishing his grip on her wrist, he dragged her back through the doorway she had just entered.



Outside, he spun her around. "Right there!" he roared. "Where everyone can see it!"



He pointed triumphantly above the door.



"In plain and simple Greek! It says—"



Silence. Antonina rubbed her rump, scowling.



"Yes, John? It says what?"



Silence. Then:



"Eusebius—come here!"



A moment later, an apprehensive young man appeared in the doorway. He was short, thick, swarthy—rather evil-looking, in fact. Not at all the image of the innocent cherub he was desperately trying to project.



John pointed accusingly at the empty space above him.