Photius! Photius!
* * *
At the entrance to the aivan, Baresmanas assisted the third of the horse’s burdens in her descent. The task was a bit difficult, not because his daughter Tahmina was a weakling, but simply because her wedding costume was heavy and cumbersome.
When she was securely planted on her feet, Baresmanas leaned over and whispered. “So. Who was right? I, or your mother?”
Tahmina’s smile was faintly discernable through the veil. “I never doubted you, father. Even before I read the book you gave me.”
Baresmanas started slightly. “Already? All of it? Herodotus?”
As Baresmanas handed the reins of the horse to one of his chief dehgans, Tahmina straightened. “All of it,” she insisted. “My Greek has become almost perfect.”
A moment’s hesitation, before the girl’s innate honesty surfaced. “Well . . . For reading, anyway. I think my accent’s still pretty horrible.”
Side by side, father and daughter walked slowly toward the aivan. The entrance to the aivan was lined with soldiers. Persian dehgans on the left, Roman cataphracts on the right.
“Then you understand,” said Baresmanas. He did not have to gesture at the chanting crowd to make his meaning clear.
“Yes, father.”
Baresmanas nodded solemnly. “Learn from this, daughter. Whatever prejudices you may still have about Romans, abandon them now. You will be their empress, before the day is done, and they are a great people worthy of you. Never doubt that for a moment. Greater than us, in many ways.”
He studied the soldiers standing at their posts of honor alongside the aivan’s entrance. To the Persians, he gave merely a glance. Baresmanas’ dehgans were led by Merena, the most honorable of their number.
But it was the leader of the Roman contingent which was the focus of the sahrdaran’s attention. An odd-looking soldier, in truth. Unable to even stand without the aid of crutches. The man’s name was Agathius, and he had lost his legs at the battle of the Nehar Malka where Belisarius destroyed a Malwa army.
Agathius was a lowborn man, even by Roman standards. But he was counted a duke, now, by Persians and Romans alike. Merena’s own daughter had become his spouse.
“A thousand years ago,” Baresmanas said harshly, “a time that we ourselves have half-forgotten, daughter, but they have not. A thousand years ago, one of their finest historians explained to his people the Aryan way of raising a manchild.”
“Teach him horsemanship, and archery,” murmured Tahmina. “And teach him to despise all lies.”
“That is the Emperor of Rome’s pledge to you, daughter, and to all of the Aryans,” said Baresmanas. “A boy not yet eleven years old. Do you understand?”
His daughter nodded. She turned her head slightly, studying the cheering crowd. Photius! Photius! “I am so astonished,” she whispered.
Baresmanas chuckled. “Why? That a half-Greek, half-Egyptian bastard whoreson would understand us so well?”
She shook her head, rippling the veil.
“No, father. I am just surprised—”
Photius! Photius! They were entering the blessed coolness of the aivan, the huge open-air entrance hall so distinctive of Persian architecture. The soldiers began closing in behind them.
A whisper:
“It had never occurred to me before this moment. Not once. That I might be able to love my husband.”
* * *
Inside the huge aivan, the Roman empress regent was scowling. Of course, there was nothing new about that. Theodora had been scowling since she arrived in Persia. For any number of reasons.
One. She hated to travel.
Two. She especially hated to travel in the desert.
Three. She didn’t much like Persians. (A minor point, this. Theodora, as a rule, didn’t much like anybody.)
Four. She had now been standing in her heavy official robes for well over an hour. Hadn’t these stupid Persians ever heard of chairs? Idiots! Even the Aryan Emperor Khusrau was standing.
Five . . .
* * *
“I hate being proved wrong,” she hissed.
“Shhh,” hissed Antonina in return. “This is supposed to be a solemn occasion. And your scowl is showing, even through the veil.”
“And that’s another thing,” grumbled Theodora. “How is a woman supposed to breathe with this monstrous thing covering her face? Especially in the heat of late afternoon?”