“Well, that’s that,” he pronounced. “Signed, sealed, and delivered.”
He bent down to Theodora.
“And now, Your Majesty, with your permission?”
Theodora nodded.
Sittas stepped forward, facing the grenadiers. Spread his heavy arms. Beamed, like a hog in heaven.
“This calls for a drink!” he bellowed. “The casks await us outside! Your fellows—all the villagers—have already started the celebration! While we, poor souls”—a hot-eyed boar glared at the cowering elders, baring his tusks—“were forced to quell our thirst.”
Once a village elder, always a village elder.
“The expense,” complained one.
“We’ll be ruined,” whined another.
Sittas drove them down.
“Nothing to fear, you fools! I’m a rich man. I’ll pay for it all!”
“I’m not sure I can handle this much longer,” muttered Theodora, watching the eager peasants pour from the room. “One more miracle and I’m a dead woman, for sure.”
She shook her head. “Talismans from God. Messengers from the future. Magic weapons. New armies. Women commanders. Saints walking about.”
Grump. “And now—Sittas, with generous pockets. What next?” she demanded. “What next? Talking horses? Stars falling from the sky?”
She rose. “Come,” she commanded. “We should join our new army in a toast to their success. Quickly. Before the wine turns into water.”
Three days later, early in the morning, the Empress departed the estate.
Unhappy woman.
“You’re sure this is your tamest beast?” she demanded.
Maurice managed not to smile.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He patted the old mare’s neck. Then, helped Theodora into the saddle. The task was difficult, between Theodora’s clumsiness and the stern necessity of never planting a boosting hand on the imperial rump.
Now astride the horse, Theodora looked down at Antonina.
“Remember, then. As soon as I send the word, get your cohort to Constantinople. And don’t forget—”
“Be on your way, Theodora,” interrupted Antonina, smiling. “I will not forget any of your instructions. Hermogenes has already picked out his regiments. Sittas is doing the same. The Bishop’s making the secret arrangement for the ships. And the ten cataphracts left for Egypt yesterday.”
“Ashot’s in command,” stated Maurice. “One of my best decarchs. When Belisarius finally arrives, he’ll get him here—or to the capital, whichever’s needed—as fast as possible.”
Theodora sat back in her saddle, nodded.
Then, looking down at her horse:
“Maybe there’ll be sieges, after all,” she muttered grimly.
She put her horse into motion awkwardly. Her last words:
“Keep that in mind, horse.”
The next day, Maurice wiped the grins off the faces of the grenadiers.
“To be sure, lads, Antonina’s your commander,” he said, pacing up and down their ranks. “But commanders are aloof folk, you know. Very aloof. Have nothing to do with the routine of daily training.” He stopped, planted his hands on hips. “No, no. That’s trivial stuff. Always leave that sort of thing in the hands of lowly hecatontarchs.”
Grimly: “That’s me.”
The grenadiers eyed him warily. Eyed the grinning cataphracts who stood nearby. The announcement had just been made that they were to be the new trainers.
Maurice gestured in their direction.
“These are what we call—cadre.”
Very evil grins, those cataphracts possessed.
“Oh, yes,” murmured Maurice. “Now your training begins in earnest. Forget all that silly showpiece stuff for the Empress.”
He resumed his pacing. “I will begin by introducing you to the First Law of Battle. This law can be stated simply. Every battle plan gets fucked up as soon as the enemy arrives. That’s why he’s called the enemy.”
He stopped, turned, smiled cheerfully.
“Your own plans just got fucked up.”
Grinned ear to ear.
“I have arrived.”
Yes, the grins disappeared from their faces. But the smile in the hearts of those young peasants did not. Not ever, in the weeks which followed, for all the many curses which they bestowed upon Maurice. (Behind his back, needless to say.)
No, not once. The young Syrians were not foolish. Not even the men, and certainly not their wives. Uneducated and illiterate, yes. Stupid, no. For all their pleasure in their new-found status, they had never really thought it was anything but a serious business.
They were a practical folk. Serious business, they understood. And they had their own peasant estimate of serious folk.