Narses struck.
Ajatasutra, watching, was impressed. The old eunuch stabbed like a viper. The little knife seemed to come from nowhere, before it sank into John’s ribcage.
John screamed, staggered, dropped his sword. The knife was still protruding from his side.
Narses stepped back.
The bucellarii bellowed, raised their swords, and took a step toward the eunuch.
One step. They got no further.
Ajatasutra slew the three bucellarii in as many seconds. Three quick blows from his dagger into the bodyguards’ backs. Each blow—powerful, swift—slid expertly between gaps in the armor, severing spinal cords. Ajatasutra’s victims died before they even realized what had happened. The bodyguards simply slumped to the floor.
John of Cappadocia had already fallen to the floor. But his was no lifeless slump. The praetorian prefect’s face was twisted with agony. He was apparently trying to scream, but no sound escaped from the rictus distorting his face.
“It’s quite a nasty poison,” remarked Narses cheerfully. “Utterly paralyzing, for all the pain. Deadly, too. After a time.”
Ajatasutra quickly cleaned his dagger, but he did not replace it in its hidden sheath.
“Explain,” he commanded.
Narses began to sneer. But then, seeing the expression on the assassin’s face, thought better of it. “Do you still have any illusions, Ajatasutra?” he demanded. The eunuch pointed toward a nearby wall. Through that wall, thick as it was, came the sounds of combat. Grenade explosions, shouts, screams.
“It’s over,” he pronounced. “We lost.”
Ajatasutra frowned. Without being conscious of the act, the assassin hefted his dagger.
Narses was conscious of that act. He spoke hurriedly:
“Think, Ajatasutra. Where did Antonina get the grenades? She didn’t steal them from us. She had them made. That means she’s been planning this for months. It means everything that fool Procopius told that fool Balban was duplicity. Not his—the gossiping idiot!—but hers. Antonina hasn’t been holding orgies on her estate—she’s been training an army and equipping them with gunpowder weapons.”
Ajatasutra’s frown deepened. “But she couldn’t have the knowledge—”
He got no further. Theodora’s cawing laugh cut him short. The assassin, seeing the triumph in her face, suddenly knew that Narses was right.
He lowered the dagger. Lowered it, but did not sheathe the weapon. “There’s still a chance,” he said. “From what I saw, she doesn’t have much of an army. Balban still has the kshatriya, and the mob.”
Narses shook his head.
“No chance at all, Ajatasutra. Not with Belisarius here.”
The eunuch shook his head again. The gesture had a grim finality to it.
“No chance,” he repeated. “Not with Belisarius here. He’s already shattered the Army of Bithynia. Even if Balban manages to defeat Antonina in the Hippodrome, he’ll still have to face Belisarius. With what? A few hundred kshatriya? Faction thugs?”
Narses gestured scornfully at the bodies of John’s bucellarii. “Or do you think these lap dogs are capable of facing Belisarius—and his cataphracts?”
Ajatasutra stared at the three corpses. Not for long, however. The sounds of combat were growing louder.
He slid the dagger into its sheath. “You’re right. Now what?”
Narses shrugged. “We escape. You, me, and Pompeius. We’ll need him, to mollify your masters. We can at least claim that we salvaged the ‘legitimate heir’ from the wreckage. The Malwa can use him as a puppet.”
The assassin winced. “Nanda Lal’s going to be furious.”
“So?” demanded Narses. “You weren’t in charge—Balban was. You warned him that Antonina was deceiving us. I’ll swear to it. But Balban wouldn’t listen.”
Ajatasutra glanced at Pompeius. The nobleman was leaning against the far wall. His face was pale, his eyes unfocussed. He seemed completely oblivious to everything except his own terror.
The assassin’s eyes moved to the Empress. Theodora glared back at him.
Black, black eyes. Hating eyes.
“Her?” he asked.
The old eunuch’s face was truly that of a serpent, now. For a moment, Ajatasutra almost drew his dagger again. But, instead, he simply murmured:
“Who would have ever thought Narses would commit an act of personal grace?”
Smiling, the assassin strode over to Pompeius, seized the nobleman by the arm, and dragged him to the door. There, he stopped, waiting for Narses.
The eunuch and the Empress stared at each other.