“Jesus,” he whispered. “Forgive us our sins.”
Belisarius turned his eyes to follow Maurice’s gaze. No expression came to his face. He might have been a simple village blacksmith, studying the precision of his work.
When he spoke, his voice was harsh. “A man told me once that war is murder. Organized, systematic murder—nothing more, and nothing less. It was the first thing that man said to me, on the day I assumed command as an officer. Seventeen years old, I was. Green as the springtime.”
“You were never as green as the springtime,” murmured Maurice. “Day you were born, you were already thinking crooked thoughts.” He sighed. “I remember, lad. It was true, then, and it’s true now. But I don’t have to like it.”
Belisarius nodded. Nothing further was said.
A few minutes later, he and Maurice turned their horses and rode down to the bank of the Nehar Malka, ready to join the army in its crossing.
The job was not finished, not yet. Neither of them knew when it might be. But they knew when a day’s work was done.
Done well. They could take satisfaction in that, at least, if not in the doing.
Craftsmen at their trade.
EPILOGUE
A throng and its thoughts
From her position on the dais against the east wall, Antonina surveyed the scene with satisfaction. The great audience chamber of the Prefectural Palace was literally packed with people. Servants carrying platters of food and drink were forced to wriggle their way through the throng like so many eels. The noise produced by the multitude of conversations was almost deafening.
“Very gratifying,” pronounced Patriarch Theodosius, seated on a chair next to her.
“Isn’t it?” Antonina beamed upon the mob below them. “I think the entire Greek aristocracy of Alexandria showed up tonight. As well as most of the nobility from all the major Delta towns. Even some from the valley. The Fayum, at least, and Antin-oopolis.”
A slight frown came.
“Actually, I’m a bit puzzled. Hadn’t really expected such a massive turnout. I thought for sure that a good half of the nobility would boycott the affair.”
Theodosius’ eyes widened. “Boycott? A public celebration in honor of the Emperor’s ninth birthday? God forbid!” The Patriarch smiled slyly. “Actually, Antonina, I am not surprised. Left to their own devices, I’m quite sure that half of Egypt’s Greek noblemen would never have come. But their wives and daughters gave them no choice.”
He nodded toward the middle of the great room, where the crowd was thickest. At the very center of that incredible population density, a cup of wine in one hand, stood a handsome young Roman officer.
“Egypt’s most eligible bachelor,” stated the Patriarch. “The merarch of the Army of Egypt. Newly elected to the Senate—and already quite rich on his own account, due to his share of the spoils from Mindouos.”
Antonina stared at Hermogenes. A bit of sadness came to her, for a brief moment, thinking about Irene. The host of women who surrounded Hermogenes were all younger than Irene, and—with perhaps one or two exceptions—considerably prettier.
“Put all their brains together,” she muttered, “and they could maybe match Irene. When she’s passed out drunk. Maybe.”
“What was that, Antonina?” asked Theodosius.
Antonina shook her head.
“Never mind, Patriarch. I was just thinking about a dear friend.” Sigh. “Who will never, I fear, find a husband.”
“Too pious?” asked Theodosius.
Antonina bit off a laugh. “No, no. Just too—much.”
She rose from her seat. “I will take my leave, now. The event is clearly a roaring success. I think we can safely conclude that Alexandria and Egypt have been returned to the imperial fold. But I’m tired, and I don’t think that crowd will object to my absence.”
Theodosius suppressed his own humor, now, until after Antonina had walked out. Then he did laugh, seeing the mob below heave a great collective sigh of relief.
The Patriarch was quite certain he could read their minds, at that moment.
Thank God! She’s gone!
No real woman has tits that big.
Satan’s spawn, that’s what she is.
The Whore From Hell. Ba’alzebub’s Bitch.
But they kept those thoughts to themselves. Oh, yes. Discreet, they were. Reserved.