She clutched the rail, glaring at the still-unseen people who would resist her will. The same people—the same type of people, at least—who had sneered at her all her life.
Had a shark, in that moment, caught sight of the small woman at the prow of the Roman warship, it would have recognized her. It would not have recognized the body, of course—Antonina’s shapely form did not evenly remotely resemble that of a fish—nor would its primitive brain have understood her intellect.
But it would have known. Oh, yes. Its own instincts would have recognized a kindred spirit.
Hungry. Want meat.
Chapter 23
MESOPOTAMIA
Summer, 531 a.d.
At Peroz-Shapur, Belisarius ordered the first real break in the march since they had left Constantinople, three months earlier. The army would rest in Peroz-Shapur for seven days, he announced. All the soldiers were given leave to enjoy the pleasures of the city, save only those assigned—by all units, on a rotating basis—to serve as a military police force.
After announcing this happy news, before the assembled ranks of the army, Belisarius departed for his tent as quickly as possible. (Ten minutes, in the event, which was the time the troops spent cheering his name.) He left it to Maurice to make the savage, bloodcurdling and grisly warnings regarding the fate of any miscreant who transgressed the proper bounds of Persian hospitality.
The army was not taken aback by Maurice’s slavering. His sadistic little monologue was even cheered. Though not, admittedly, for ten minutes. The grinning soldiers had no doubt that the threats would be made good. It was simply that the warnings were quite superfluous.
Those soldiers were in a very good mood. As well they should be.
First, there was the prospect of a week with no marching.
Second, there was the prospect of spending that week in a large and well-populated city. The Persians had already arranged billeting. Beds—well, pallets at least.
Finally—O rapturous joy!—there was the delightful prospect of spending those days in a large and well-populated city when every single man in the army had money to burn.
More money that most of them had ever seen in their lives, in fact. Between the Persian Emperor’s involuntary largesse—there might have been three ounces of gold left in the villa when the army departed; probably not—and the considerable booty of the destroyed Malwa army, Belisarius’ little army was as flush as any army in history.
They knew it—and the Persians in Peroz-Shapur knew it too. The Roman soldiers would have been popular, anyway, even if they had been penniless. Belisarius and his men had just scored the only great defeat for the Malwa since they began their invasion of Persia. And while Kurush and his seven hundred lancers received their fair share of the glory, most of it went to the arms of Rome.
The citizens of Peroz-Shapur had just been relieved of any immediate prospect of a siege, and the men who had eliminated that threat were also in position—literally overnight—to produce a massive infusion of cash into the city’s coffers.
Hail the conquering heroes!
As the Romans marched into Peroz-Shapur, the streets were lined with cheering Persians. Many of those were simply there to applaud. Others—merchants, tavern-keepers, prostitutes, jewelers—had additional motives. Simple, uncomplicated motives, which suited the simple and uncomplicated Roman troops to perfection.
So, as he retired to his tent, Belisarius was not concerned that there would be any unfortunate incidents during the army’s stay in Peroz-Shapur. Which was good, because the general needed some time for himself, free of distraction.
He wanted to think. And examine a possibility.
Baresmanas visited him in his tent, in midafternoon of the third day.
“Why are you not staying in the city?” he asked, after being invited within. The sahrdaran glanced around at the austere living quarters which Belisarius always maintained on campaign. Other than an amphora of wine, and the cooling breeze which blew in through the opened flaps, the general’s tent showed no signs of a man enjoying a well-deserved rest.
Belisarius looked up from the pallet where he was sitting, half-reclined against a cushion propped next to the chest which contained his personal goods. Smiling, he closed the book in his hand and gestured toward the chair at his little writing desk. The chair and the desk were the only items of furniture in the tent.