The Emperor’s scream, while it lasted, seemed to shake the very walls of the chamber. But it was brief; very brief. Within seconds, sheer agony had driven consciousness from Justinian’s brain. The bodyguard holding his head relinguished his grip. A moment later, so did the excubitores holding his arms. The Emperor collapsed onto the floor.
There was no blood. The red-hot tip of the iron rod had cauterized the terrible wounds as soon as it made them.
Which John of Cappadocia immediately pointed out.
“You see how merciful I am, Theodora?” he demanded. Another mocking bow. “A different man—such as the cruel and despicable creature you have so often proclaimed me to be—would have murdered your husband. But I satisfy myself with mere blinding.”
Gaily: “And an expert blinding at that!” Then, with the casual insouciance of a connoisseur:
“It’s quite an art, you know. Most people don’t appreciate that. It’s very difficult to blind a man without killing him outright. Less than one out of ten survive the average torturer.” He gestured grandly at the gauntleted man who had mutilated the Emperor. “But I use only the best! The very best! I estimate—” He paused, studying Justinian’s sprawled body with exaggerated studiousness. Concluded: “—that your husband has—one chance in three!”
Throughout, Theodora said nothing. She did not look at Justinian. She simply kept her eyes on John of Cappadocia. Black eyes, like the gates of damnation.
Even John, in his triumph, flinched from that hell-gaze.
“There’ll be none of your haughty ways now, bitch,” he snarled. He pointed to Justinian.
“One chance in three, I say. Unless he’s given immediate medical attention. The best medical care.”
Sneering: “Which, of course, I also happen to have available. For a price.”
Theodora said nothing. The hell-gaze never wavered.
John looked away. His eyes fastened on Justinian. The Cappadocian seemed to draw strength from that piteous sight. Although his eyes avoided Theodora, his voice was cold and certain:
“Now that Justinian has been blinded, he can no longer be Emperor. You know the law of Rome, Theodora. No mutilated man can wear the purple. Neither the Senate, nor the populace, nor the army will accept him. As Emperor, he is finished.”
The sneer returned in full force. But, still, his eyes avoided Theodora’s.
“You may—may—still be able to save his life. What there is of it. If you offer no further resistance. If you publicly hail Hypatius as the new Emperor.”
When Theodora finally spoke, her voice matched her gaze. Hell-voice.
“I will do no such thing. If you bring the worm Hypatius before me, I will spit on him. If you drag me to the Hippodrome, I will curse him before the mob.”
She jerked her right arm loose from the excubitores who held it. Pointed to Justinian:
“All you have done is blind a man who would someday have been blinded by death. You threaten to kill a man, when no man lives forever. Do it, then. Kill me with him. I am the Empress. I would rather die than yield.”
She reared in her throne. “There is an ancient saying, which I approve: Royalty is a good burial-shroud.”
Hell-gaze; hell-voice:
“Do your murder, then, traitor. Kill us, coward.”
John clenched his fist, opened his mouth. But before he could utter a word, one of his bucellarii sprinted into the room. He skidded to a halt, almost tripping over the rumpled carpet. Sweat poured from his brow. He gasped for air.
Half-shouting; half-whispering:
“The Army of Bithynia’s been routed at sea! Half their ships burned! Most of the survivors fled back to Chalcedon!”
Gasping:
“They say an army’s moving toward the Hippodrome. Cataphracts. They say”—gasp—“the whore Antonina is leading them.”
Hoarsely:
“And they say—Belisarius is here!”
Theodora’s pealing laugh had no more humor in it than Satan’s own.
Hell-laugh.
“You are all dead men. Kill us, traitors! Do it, cowards! As surely as the sun rises, you will join us before sundown.”
Every traitor in the room stared at the Empress.
John of Cappadocia was famous for his sneer. But Theodora’s sneer, compared to his, was like the fangs of a tigress matched to a rodent’s incisors.
“Do it, cowards! Boast to Belisarius that you killed his Emperor and Empress. Do it! Tell the loyal man of your treachery. Do it! Tell the man of honor that you are murderers. Do it!”