Theodora nodded graciously. Then:
“Would you like to schedule another meeting?”
Baresmanas’ nod was abrupt, almost curt.
“Yes. Tomorrow, if possible.”
“Certainly,” replied Theodora.
Antonina ignored the rest of the interchange between the Empress and Baresmanas. Diplomatic formalities did not interest her.
What did interest her was Irene.
“What do you think?” she whispered to Belisarius. “Is she going to be the first person in history to actually explode?”
Belisarius shook his head. He whispered in return:
“Nonsense. Spontaneous human eruption’s impossible. Says so in the most scholarly volumes. Irene knows that perfectly well. She owns every one of those tomes, after all.”
“I don’t know,” mused Antonina, keeping a covert eye on her friend against the wall. “She’s starting to tremble, now. Shiver, quiver and quake. Vibrating like a harp string.”
“Not possible,” repeated Belisarius. “Precluded by all the best philosophers.”
Baresmanas was finally ushered out of the room.
Irene exploded.
“It’s on! It’s on! It’s on! It’s on! It’s on!”
Bouncing like a ball. Spinning like a top.
“The Malwa invaded Mesopotamia! Attacked Persia!”
Quiver, shiver; quake and shake.
“My spies got their hands on the message! Khusrau’s instructed Baresmanas to seek Roman help!”
Vibrating like a harp string; beating like a drum.
“See?” demanded Antonina.
Chapter 2
Three nights later, the imperial audience chamber was again the scene of a meeting. After concluding an initial round of discussions with Baresmanas, Theodora had summoned her top advisers and officials.
Theodora had a multitude of advisers, but the ten people in that room constituted the majority of what both she and Belisarius thought of as the “inner circle.” Membership in that circle depended not on formal post or official position—although post and position generally accompanied them. Membership in the inner circle depended on two far more important things:
First, the personal trust of Belisarius and what passed for “personal trust” from the perennially suspicious Theodora.
Second, knowledge of the great secret. Knowledge of the messenger from the future, the crystalline quasi-jewel which called itself Aide, who had attached itself to Belisarius and warned the Roman Empire’s greatest general that his world had become the battleground for powerful and mysterious forces of the far distant future.
Theodora herself occupied a place in her circle of advisers, sitting below a great mosaic depicting Saint Peter. The seating arrangement was odd, for an imperial conference—the more so in that Theodora was not sitting on a throne, but a simple chair. (“Simple,” at least, by imperial standards.) Traditionally, when Roman sovereigns discussed affairs of state with their advisers, the advisers stood on their feet while the monarchs lounged in massive thrones.
But—
“Of course we should accept the Persian proposal,” came a harsh voice.
The Empress cocked her head and examined the speaker. He returned her gaze, with his scarred and empty eye-sockets.
Justinian was the cause of that peculiar seating arrangement. By custom, the former Emperor could no longer sit by her side. Officially, he was nothing now but one of her advisers. But Theodora had not been able to bear the thought of humiliating her husband further, and so she had gladly accepted Belisarius’ suggestion that she solve the problem in the simplest way possible. Henceforth, when she met with her advisers, Theodora would sit with them in a circle.
“Explain, Justinian,” said Anthony Cassian. The newly-elevated Patriarch of Constantinople leaned forward in his chair, clasping his pudgy hands.
“Yes, do,” added Germanicus forcefully. The commander of the Army of Illyria was scowling.
Germanicus nodded to Theodora. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I do not view any alliance with Persia favorably. Damn the Medes, anyway! They’ve always been our enemy. Persia and the Malwa Empire can claw each other to pieces, as far as I’m concerned.”
A murmur of protest began to rise from several of the people sitting in the room.
“Yes, yes,” snapped Germanicus, “I know that Malwa is our ultimate enemy.” He glanced at Belisarius’ chest, where the “jewel” from the future lay nestled in a pouch under the general’s tunic. “But I don’t see why—”
Justinian’s harsh voice interrupted. “Damn the Persians. And the Malwa! It’s the dynasty I’m thinking about.” Justinian’s bony hands clenched the arms of his chair. “Don’t fool yourselves,” he snarled. “Do you really think the aristocracy is happy with the situation? Do you really?” He cawed a harsh, humorless laugh. “This very night—I guarantee it—half the Greek nobility is plotting our overthrow.”