An Oblique Approach by David Drake and Eric Flint

Sittas glared down, again, at the stirrups.

“Believe I will,” he muttered. Another red-eyed glare at Belisarius.

“Then we’ll have another duel!”

Belisarius grinned.

“Oh, I don’t see any point to that. We’re getting on in years, Sittas. We’re responsible generals, now. Got to stop acting like foolish boys.”

“You cheater!”

When they rode into the courtyard of Sittas’ mansion, Antonina and Irene were standing there waiting. Both women seemed worried.

“He cheated!” roared Sittas.

“Not quite the conversationalist he used to be, is he?” commented Belisarius cheerfully as he dismounted.

Sittas began to roar again, but Irene silenced him.

“Shut up! We’ve been waiting for you two idiots to return. Belisarius! You’ve got an audience with Theodora—and you’re already late!”

Antonina shook her head angrily. “Look at them! Refusing to admit they’re getting on in years. You’re responsible generals, now, you clowns! You’ve got to stop acting like foolish boys!”

Sittas clamped shut his great jaws.

“You’ve already set up an audience with Theodora?” demanded Belisarius, gaping.

Irene smiled. “Yes. I’d like to claim it’s due to my talents as an intriguer, but the truth is that Antonina was the key. I’d always heard Theodora considered Antonina her best friend, but I hadn’t really believed it until now.”

The smile vanished, replaced by a frown.

“We have to go immediately, but—”

“He can’t go in full armor!” protested Antonina.

“I’ll be dressed in a moment,” said Belisarius. He clattered into the mansion.

“Watch out for the rugs!” roared Sittas.

“Please,” muttered Irene. “Make sure you gouge up as many as possible.” She smiled sweetly at Sittas.

“What happened to you, anyway?”

“Yes, Sittas,” added Antonina, smiling just as sweetly. “We’re curious. Did you run into a wall?”

“Looks more like he ran into a cathedral,” mused Irene. “You see that one great bruise? There—on his—”

“He cheated!”

“Stop worrying, Antonina. Of course I’ll support Belisarius in this elaborate scheme of yours.”

The Empress stared out the window of her reception room. The view was magnificent, the more so since the Empress could well afford the finest glass. The panes of glass in her windows had not a trace of the discolorations and distortions which most glass contained.

Theodora never tired of the view from the Gynaeceum, the women’s quarters of the Great Palace. It was not so much the scenery beyond—though the sight of the great city was magnificent—as it was the constant reminder of her own power. Within the women’s quarters, the Empress was supreme. That had been Byzantine custom even before she mounted the throne, and it was a custom into which Theodora had thrust the full force of her personality.

Here, Theodora ruled unchallenged. She was the sole mistress not only of her own chambers but of the public offices as well. And it was here, in the Gynaeceum, that the silk goods, which were a royal monopoly, were woven. Those silk goods were one of the major sources of imperial wealth.

Without Theodora’s permission, not even the Emperor could enter the Gynaeceum. And it was a permission which Theodora never gave him. She had too much to hide. Not lovers, of course. Theodora knew that were she to entertain lovers, word would get to Justinian. But the temptation never arose, in any event. Theodora had no interest in men, except Justinian.

No, not lovers; but there were other things to hide. Religious leaders, mostly. Monophysite heretics seeking refuge from the persecution that was developing again could find sanctuary in the secret rooms of the Gynaeceum.

Theodora scowled. For all that he was personally tolerant, and knew his own Empress to be a Monophysite, Justinian was seeking closer ties with the See of Rome. He hoped, Theodora knew, to gain orthodox approval for his projected reconquest of the western Empire. That approval came with a price—eradicate heresy.

It was a price which Theodora, for reasons of state even more than personal preference, thought far too costly for the prospective gain. The real strength of the Empire was in the Monophysite east—in Syria and Palestine and, especially, in Egypt. Why enfeeble the Empire’s hold over those great provinces in order to gain the approval of a miserable pope squatting in Italy, surrounded by semibarbarian Goths? Who were Arian heretics themselves. No, it—

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