In the Heart of Darkness(47)

He rose.



"I will give you that peasant."



On his way out, Michael bestowed a considering look upon Sittas. Like a just-fed eagle considers a mouse. Future prospects, excellent.



"Always a bad idea, baiting a holy man," murmured Maurice.



"It's true," he insisted, in the face of Sittas' glare. He drained his cup. "Ask any peasant."





The next morning, the two generals accompanied John of Rhodes out to the training field, eager to experiment with the grenades. Maurice was waiting there for them, with a dozen peasant volunteers. The Syrians were quite nervous, in the beginning. Even after their prowess at grenade-hurling earned them the praise of the generals, the young men were abashed in the company of such noble folk.



Soon enough, however, Michael of Macedonia made his appearance. He said nothing, neither to the generals nor to the peasants. But it was amusing, to Maurice, to watch the way in which the monk's presence transformed the Syrian boys. Into young eaglets, in the presence of giant mice.



By mid-afternoon, the eaglets were arguing freely with the giant mice.



Not over tactics, of course, or military formations. (Although the Syrians did have some valuable advice on the practical realities of slinging grenades. Most of it concerned the pragmatics of fuses, and their length.) The young men were not foolish. Uneducated and illiterate, yes. Stupid, no. They did not presume to understand the art of war better than such men as Sittas and Hermogenes. (Or, especially—they had their own peasant view of such things—Maurice.)



But they had quite strong opinions on the question of barracks, and the nature of military camps.



Their children would not like barracks, though they would probably enjoy the tent life of camps. Their wives would like neither, but would tolerate the camps. They were simple women. Practical.



Barracks, however, simply wouldn't do. No privacy. Immodest. Their wives were simple women, but decent. They were not camp followers.



They wanted huts. Each family its own hut. (A tent, of course, would do for the route camps.)



The generals explained the absurdity of such an arrangement. Violation of military tradition.



The peasants explained the absurdity of military tradition.



In the end, while a monk watched—smiling, smiling—young peasants disciplined generals.



No huts?



No grenadiers.





In a different way, another clash of wills was taking place in the villa.



"It is much too dangerous, Antonina," insisted the bishop. "I thought so last night, and I feel even more strongly about it today." He pushed his plate of food away. "Look!" he said accusingly. "I've even lost my appetite."



Antonina smiled, studying his rotund form. As modest and plain-living as Bishop Cassian undoubtedly was, no-one had ever mistaken him for an ascetic. Not, at least, when it came to meals.



She shrugged. "It could be, yes. Not for the moment, however. I assure you, Anthony, the last thing the Malwa will do is harm me. I'm their pride and joy. The very apple of their eye."



Cassian stared stubbornly at his uneaten lunch. Antonina sighed.



"Can't you understand, Anthony? After Ajatasutra 'trapped' me—quite a trap, too!—what with me being overheard by two deacons crying out for the death of Justinian!—they had me in a vise. As they see it. They're squeezing for all it's worth. Before I left Constantinople, they got from me every detail of the Hippodrome factions' internal politics."



She broke off for a moment, grimacing.



"I still don't know why they're so fascinated by that subject. Mother of God, it's all I ever heard about from my father, growing up. This Blue did this and that Green did that, and those Blues are so many clowns but keep your eyes out for that set of Greens."



She threw up her hands with exasperation.



"I even had to track down some of my father's old cronies—the ones I could find in Constantinople, at any rate—in order to bring my knowledge of the factions up to date. God in Heaven, what a sorry lot of ruffians!"



"Were they pleased to see you again?" asked Cassian mildly. "After all this time?"



Antonina looked startled. Then she grinned, quite merrily.



"To tell the truth, they fawned all over me. Local girl makes good, comes back to visit the home folks. I hadn't realized how famous Belisarius has become among those circles."



She shrugged. "So, in the end, I was able to give Balban every detail of the doings of the Hippodrome factions. And I still don't know why the Malwa—"



"I don't think it's so odd, Antonina," interrupted Cassian. "There must be twenty or thirty thousand of those bravos in Constantinople. Not an insignificant military force, potentially."