Antonina grinned, then tried to focus her thought.
“Everything you said—” Her own grand gesture; pitifully collapsing in midair. “Back then, earlier tonight—whenever—made sense.”
She managed to restrain her own hiccup, beamed triumphantly at her friend, continued:
“About remaining on Sittas’ payroll. But—weren’t you even tempted? I mean, Theodora is stinking rich. Makes Sittas look like a pauper. She really would pay you a lot more. A whole lot more.”
Irene reached out her hand, grasped the arm of the couch, and levered herself up slowly. She tried to focus her eyes, but couldn’t quite manage the feat. So she satisfied herself with her own beaming, triumphant grin.
“You don’t really understand me, dear friend. Not here, at least, not in—this thing. You and Theodora grew up—you know. Poor. Money means something to you. I was raised in a rich family—” A very grand sweep of the arm. Too grand, much too grand. She overbalanced and slipped off the couch onto her knee. Then, laughing, stumbled back onto it. Then, raising her head high with pride, demonstrated to a doubting universe that she hadn’t lost her train of thought:
“—and so I take money for granted. The truth is—” Suppressed belch; grim face; bitter struggle against the slanderous hint of insobriety.
“Truit is—truth is—I don’t even spend half the money Sittas pays me.” Again, suppressed belch; again—the short, chopping blows of desperate battle:
“Personally. I mean. On myself. Don’t need it.”
Victorious against all odds, she flopped against the back of the couch, staring blearily at one of the magnificent tapestries on the opposite wall. She couldn’t really see it, anymore, but she knew it was magnificent. Incredibly magnificent.
In the way that it happens, at such times, exultant triumph collapsed into maudlin tears.
“What matters to me is that the Empress of Rome wants me for her spymaster. That’s”—hiccup—“enormously gratifying to my vanity, of course. But it also means I now have access tomb pelear—to imperial—resources. Resources.”
She twirled her finger in a little gesture which encompassed the entire villa.
“Look at this! It’s nothing but a damned stake-out, for Chrissake.”
She beamed upon her friend, beamed upon the tapestry, sprang to her feet, and spread her arms in a great gesture of pure exultation.
“Oh, God—I’m going to have so much fun.”
Antonina tried to catch her on the way down, but only succeeded in flopping onto the floor herself. From her belly, cheek pressed against the parquet, she did manage to focus on Irene long enough to be sure her friend was not hurt. Just, finally, dead drunk.
“Woman can’t handle her liquor,” she muttered; although, to a cold-hearted observer, the word “liquor” would have sounded suspiciously like a snore.
“Come on, Hermogenes, let’s get them to bed.”
Maurice bent, scooped the little figure of Antonina into his thick arms, and carried her through the door. He padded down the corridor effortlessly. Hermogenes followed, with like ease. Irene was taller than Antonina, but, slim rather than voluptuous, weighed not a pound more.
Antonina’s room came first. Maurice, turning backward, pushed his way through the door and lowered Antonina onto her bed. Like every other piece of furniture in the villa, the bed was splendid. Very well made, very luxurious, and—very large.
Maurice turned and looked at Hermogenes. The young general was standing in the doorway, Irene cradled in his arms. Maurice gestured him in.
“Bring her here, Hermogenes. We may as well let them sleep it off together.”
Hermogenes hesitated for an instant, looking down at Irene’s slack, lolling head. A tiny little twitch in his mouth gave away his regrets.
“Come on,” chuckled Maurice. “You won’t be enjoying her company tonight. If you put her in her own bed, you won’t get any sleep yourself, since you’re sharing it with her. You’ll just wind up sleeping on a couch. She’ll be snoring like a pig, you know it as well as I do.”
Hermogenes smiled, ruefully, and brought Irene into the room. Gently, he lowered her onto the bed next to Antonina. On that huge expanse, the two women looked like children.
“I’ve never seen her get drunk before,” said Hermogenes softly. There was no reproach in his voice, just bemused wonder. “I’ve never even seen her get tipsy.”