First, there would be no repercussions against the nobles who had stepped aside and remained neutral in the battle. Not even those who had fled outright. She was simply trying to establish firm imperial control over the city. Many—most—of the orthodox Greek nobility, especially in Alexandria, would remain hostile to the dynasty no matter what she did. So long as that hostility remain muted—a thing of whispers in the salons, rather than riots in the streets—she would ignore it.
Second—a lesser decision flowing from the first—she would instruct Dubazes to make sure the palace was in pristine condition when she left to take up her new residence at the Prefect’s palace. The new Prefect had been officially installed the previous evening. There had been no opposition. His predecessor, along with the deposed Patriarch Paul, had fled to the military quarter at Nicopolis to take refuge with Ambrose and his Army of Egypt.
She snorted quietly. When the nobleman, whoever he was, eventually crept back into his palace, he would be surprised to discover it had not been ransacked and vandalized. The discovery would not dispose him any more favorably to the imperial authority, of course. But the calm certitude behind that little act of self-discipline might help strengthen his resolve to keep his head down.
Good enough.
Finally, a small thing, but—
She turned to her maid, and examined the girl. Under that scrutiny, the maid lowered her head timidly.
Egyptian. Not twenty years of age. From the Fayum, I’m willing to bet. Her Greek is good, but that accent is unmistakable.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Koutina,” said the maid.
“You are Monophysite?”
Koutina raised her eyes, startled. Antonina did not miss the fear hidden there.
She waved her hand reassuringly. “It means nothing to me, Koutina. I simply—” Want to know your loyal-ties. An Egyptian Monophysite from the Fayum. Yes.
She switched from Greek to the girl’s native tongue. Antonina’s own Coptic was still fluent, even if her long residence in Constantinople had given it a bit of an accent.
“I’ll be leaving here today, Koutina. My regular maid will not recover from her illness soon. In fact, I will be sending her back to Constantinople to be with her family. So I will need a new maid. Would you like the job?”
Koutina was still staring at her uncertainly. The question about her religious loyalties had obviously unsettled the girl. Paul’s persecution had been savage.
“I would prefer a Monophysite, Koutina.” She smiled, patting the heavy cuirass. “I’m not wearing this grotesque thing for protection from heretics, you know.”
Koutina began to return the smile. “You are very famous,” she said softly. “I was frightened when you came.” Her eyes flitted to the blade buckled to Antonina’s waist. “We all heard about the Cleaver, even here in Alexandria.”
“It has never been used against any but traitors.”
“I know,” said Koutina, nodding. “Still—”
Suddenly, all hesitation fled. “I would be delighted.” She was beaming now. “It would be so exciting! You are going to fight the Malwa, everyone says so. Can I come there too?”
It was Antonina’s turn to be startled. She had only intended to keep the girl in her service during her stay in Alexandria. But now, seeing the eagerness in Koutina’s face, she began to reconsider. The young Egyptian was obviously not worried about the risks involved. Boredom, not danger, was the girl’s lifelong enemy.
It was an enemy which Antonina herself well remembered, from her own girlhood. The grinding, relentless, tedious labor of a woman born into Egypt’s poor masses. Koutina had probably left the Fayum seeking a better life in Alexandria—only to find that she had exchanged the toil of a peasant for the drudgery of a domestic servant.
She could not refuse that eager face. True, the girl might find her death, in Antonina’s company. But she would not be—bored.
And besides, I need servants whose loyalty I can absolutely trust. Dubazes is not enough. I am certain the Malwa have infiltrated spies into my expedition. I must be certain they don’t penetrate my own household.
Koutina, from the Fayum. Yes. I know that breed. The Malwa will have nothing to offer her except money, and I—