Now, as to the matter of grain-shipping guilds, well, soldiers are strapping lads. Need to eat a lot. So—
Two hours later, the representatives of the city’s commercial and manufacturing guilds tottered out of the palace, reeling dizzily at the thought of their newfound wealth.
Other problems, of course, were hard as nails. But those, at least, Antonina did not have to spend hour after hour sitting on a chair to deal with. Those problems could only be dealt with in the streets.
Hermogenes stalked into the audience chamber just as the last guild representatives were leaving. He strode directly to Antonina’s chair, leaned over, and whispered, “It’s starting. Paul just finished a sermon at the Church of St. Michael, calling on the city’s faithful to reject the Whore of Babylon.”
“Which one?” asked Antonina whimsically. “Me? Or Theodora?”
Hermogenes shrugged. “From what our spies report, the Patriarch wasn’t specific. The former Patriarch, I should say.”
Antonina shook her head. “He’s still the Patriarch, Hermogenes. In fact, if not in name. Theodosius may have the title, but it means nothing until we can install him in the Church of St. Michael and keep him there.”
She cast a glance at the man in question. Theo-dosius was standing twenty feet away, conferring with two of the deacons who served as his ecclesiastical aides. Zeno, the commander of the Knights Hospitaler, was standing next to him, along with two of his own subordinates.
Antonina was pleased to note that Theodosius seemed neither agitated nor apprehensive.
I don’t know about his theology, but the man’s got good nerves. He’ll need them.
She looked back at Hermogenes. “What about Ambrose?”
Hermogenes scowled. “The bastard’s holed up at the army camp in Nicopolis. With all of his troops.”
Ashot and Euphronius arrived just in time to hear the last words.
“Only thing he can do, for the moment,” said Ashot. “He’s a general in the army, subject to the Empire’s stringent rules governing mutiny. Whereas”—the Armenian cataphract sneered—”the Patriarch can give sermons, and claim afterward that he was just preaching to his flock. No fault of his if he was misunderstood when he denounced the Whore of Babylon. He was just cautioning men against sin. He certainly didn’t intend for a huge mob to assault the Empress’ representative. He is shocked and distressed to learn that the unfortunate woman was torn limb from limb.”
By this time, Theodosius and Zeno had joined the little circle around Antonina. “It’s happened before,” commented the Knights Hospitaler. “The prefect Petronius was stoned by the mob, during Augustus’ reign. And one of the Ptolemies was dragged out into the streets and assassinated. Alexander II, I think it was.”
Antonina pursed her lips. “How long do you think Ambrose will sit on the sidelines, Ashot?”
The commander of her Thracian bucellarii shrugged. “Depends on his troops, mostly. Ambrose only has three options.” He held up his thumb. “One—accept his dismissal.”
“Not a chance,” interjected Hermogenes. “I know the man. Sittas was being polite when he called him a stinking bastard. Ambitious, he is.”
Ashot nodded. “Rule out that option, then. That only leaves him two.” He held up his other thumb. “Mutiny. But—”
Hermogenes started shaking his head.
“—that’d be insane,” continued Ashot. “Every one of his soldiers knows the penalty for mutiny in the Roman army. The risk isn’t worth it unless—” He held up his forefinger alongside his thumb.
“Option two. Ambrose declares himself the new Emperor. His soldiers hail him, start a civil war, and hope to enjoy the bounty if they win.”
Hermogenes nodded vigorously. “He’s right. A Patriarch can play games with street violence. A general can’t. For him, it’s all or nothing.”
Antonina looked back and forth between the two officers. “You still haven’t told me how long I’ve got before he decides.”
“A day, at the very least,” said Ashot immediately. “He’s got to have the support of his soldiers. Most of them, anyway. That’ll take time.”
“Speeches,” amplified Hermogenes. “Perorations to the assembled troops. Negotiations with his top officers. Promises to make to everybody.”
“For sure he’ll promise a huge annona if he takes the throne,” added Ashot immediately. All the officers nodded, their faces grim. The annona was the pay bonus which Roman emperors traditionally granted their troops upon assuming the throne. During the chaotic civil wars three centuries earlier, when Rome often had two or three simultaneous emperors—few of whom survived more than a year or two—the claimants for the throne had bid for the loyalty of the armies by promising absurd bonuses.