“Where are the rest of the cataphracts, Maurice?” she demanded. “There’s not more than a hundred here.”
Maurice’s jaws tightened.
“The rest of them are busy, at the moment. But they’ll be joining us soon enough. They’ll meet us at the monastery when they’re done.”
Antonina peered at him suspiciously.
“Busy? ‘Done’? Doing what?”
The hecatontarch’s face was like stone.
“What do you think, girl?”
“Oh, no,” whispered Antonina.
Irene hissed: “Maurice—you can’t. It’ll alert the Malwa! They’ll know—”
“I don’t give a damn what the Malwa know,” snarled Maurice. He glared at both women.
“I am not a spymaster,” he grated. “I am not an intriguer. I am the leader of the general’s bucellarii and those”—he pointed to the mounted Thracians—“are my lord’s cataphracts.”
He stalked over to his horse and seized the reins.
“If some stinking pig thinks he can try to have you murdered—without consequences—he is one sadly mistaken son-of-a-bitch.”
He swung himself into the saddle and stared down at Antonina and Irene. Like a statue. Immovable.
Antonina blew out her cheeks. Then, sighing, headed for her own horse.
Less than a minute later, she and Irene rode out together through the gates of the villa. Once in the street, the two women were surrounded by over a hundred cataphracts. The small army began making its way toward the inner city.
After a while, Irene muttered: “Oh, well. Balban probably doesn’t think you’re still working for him, anyway.”
Antonina giggled. “Do you think his suspicions will be aroused? When two hundred cataphracts tear his villa down around him?”
Balban poured tea into Narses’ cup. The eunuch immediately sipped at the beverage appreciatively.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “Just the thing for a cold morning.”
“The weather’s clear, I hope?” asked Balban.
Narses nodded. “Oh, yes.” Smiling thinly: “Other than the cold, it’s a perfect day for an insurrection. Not a cloud in the sky.”
“Good,” muttered Balban. “The last thing we need is bad weather. How do things seem in the Great Palace?”
“Just about perfect, I’d say. The more Justinian’s position worsens, the more tightly he clings to John of Cappadocia and myself.”
Narses set down his cup.
“That’s why I came here. Justinian ordered me to leave the Great Palace and round up more troops. Since I had the opportunity, I thought I’d come by for a last-minute conference.” He laughed harshly. “Troops. Justinian still doesn’t realize that he has no troops, except his palace excubitores. Every other army unit in the capital has locked themselves into their barracks, waiting out the storm. We won’t even need Aegidius and his Army of Bithynia. The Blues and Greens alone should be enough.”
Balban nodded. “Not much to confer about, then. The factions should start gathering by noon. My kshatriya will have seized the Hippodrome within the hour. All we have to do is make our appearance and”—scowling—“hope Hypatius shows up to be acclaimed the new Emperor.”
Narses sneered.
“He’ll show up. Or if he doesn’t, Pompeius will. We’ll have to provide the new Emperor with fresh trousers, of course. I’m sure both of the nephews have already shat in the ones they’re wearing. But they’ll be there. Their ambition is greater than their terror.”
Balban chuckled. Then, more seriously: “What about Theodora?”
Narses winced. “That’s the one small problem. She knows almost everything, Balban—I’m quite sure of that. Her new spymaster—that young woman Irene Macrembolitissa—is fiendishly capable. But,” he shrugged, “Justinian’s not listening to her at all, anymore. And now he’s run out of time.”
Balban grunted. “Still—” He hesitated, then shrugged himself.
“No doubt you’re right. By nightfall, it won’t matter anyway. Her corpse will join Justinian’s, feeding the fish in the Sea of Marmara.”
Narses pressed his lips together, fighting down the anguish. Fiercely, he reminded himself of his ambition. To hide his feelings, he leaned forward and reached for the teacup resting on the table.
His hand stopped. The teacup was rattling.
Ajatasutra burst into the small salon. “Out!” he hissed. “Now!”
The assassin strode to a door against the far wall. Flinging it open, he began hastily dragging aside the heavy chest which sat on the floor of the closet beyond.
Balban rose, frowning angrily. “Just what do you think you’re—”