The Emperor’s paralysis was broken by the slight, encouraging smile on the ambassador’s face.
“—the Basileus of Iran and non-Iran,” he quickly corrected himself.
The ambassador’s smile widened. A very friendly gleam came into his brown eyes. For a moment—a blessed moment—the Roman Emperor was reminded of his father. His old father.
He glanced at the mutilated face of his new father, the former Emperor Justinian. That sightless face was fixed upon him, as if Justinian still had eyes to see. That sightless, harsh, bitter face.
It’s not fair, whimpered the Emperor in his mind. I want my old father back. My real father.
The ambassador was backing away. The Emperor of Rome began to sigh with relief, until, catching a hint of Theodora’s disapproval, he stiffened with imperial dignity.
Maybe he won’t be mean to me, after all.
The ambassador was fifteen feet off, now. He still seemed to be smiling.
It’s not fair. The Sassanids are from Fars, too, so why can’t we call them Persians?
Now, he did sigh, slightly. He felt the Empress Regent’s disapproval, but ignored it.
It’s too much to remember all at once.
Another sigh. The Empress Consort hissed. Again, he ignored her reproof.
I’m the Emperor. I can do what I want.
That was patently false, and he knew it.
It’s not fair.
I’m only eight years old.
The ambassador was thirty feet away, now. Out of hearing range. Theodora leaned over.
The Emperor braced himself for her reproach.
Nasty lady. I want my old mother back.
But all she said was:
“That was very well done, Photius. Your mother will be proud of you.” Then, with a slight smile: “Your real mother.”
“I’m proud of you, Photius,” said Antonina. “You did very well.” She leaned over the throne’s armrest and kissed him on the cheek.
Her son flushed, partly from pleasure and partly from guilt. He didn’t think being kissed in public by his mother fit the imperial image he was supposed to project. But, when his eyes quickly scanned the throne room, he saw that few people were watching. After the Empress Regent had left, to hold a private meeting with the Persian ambassador and his father (both of his fathers), the reception had dissolved into a far more relaxed affair. Most of the crowd were busy eating, drinking and chattering. They were ignoring, for all practical purposes, the august personage of the Emperor. No-one standing anywhere near to him, of course, committed the gross indiscretion of actually turning their back on the throne’s small occupant. But neither was anyone anxious to ingratiate themselves to the new Emperor. Everyone knew that the real power was in the hands of Theodora.
Photius was not disgruntled by the crowd’s indifference to him. To the contrary, he was immensely relieved. For the first time since the reception began, he felt he could relax. He even pondered, tentatively, the thought of reaching up and scratching behind his ear.
Then, squaring his shoulders, he did so. Scratched furiously, in fact.
I’m the Emperor of Rome. I can do what I want.
“Stop scratching behind your ear!” hissed his mother. “You’re the Emperor of Rome! It’s undignified.”
The Emperor sighed, but obeyed.
It’s not fair. I never asked them to make me Emperor.
Chapter 1
CONSTANTINOPLE
Spring, 531 a.d.
As soon as Antonina put Photius to bed, she hastened to the imperial audience chamber. By the time she arrived, the Persian ambassador was reaching the conclusion of what had apparently been a lengthy speech.
Taking her seat next to Belisarius, Antonina scanned the room quickly. Except for the guards standing against the walls, the huge chamber was almost empty. The usual mob of advisers who sat in on Theodora’s audiences was absent. The only Romans present to hear the Persian ambassador were Theodora, Justinian, and Belisarius.
Baresmanas himself was the only Persian present. Antonina knew that the extremely limited participation had been at the request of the Persians. That fact alone made clear the seriousness with which they took this meeting. She focussed her attention on the ambassador’s final remarks.
“And so,” said Baresmanas sternly, “I must caution you once again. Do not think that Roman meddling in the current internal situation in Persia will go unchallenged. Your spies may have told you that our realm verges on civil war. I, for one, do not believe that is true. But even if it is—all Aryans will unite against Roman intrusion. Do not doubt that for a moment.”