Sittas almost slapped his great belly in self-satisfaction. He’d jousted with Belisarius before, several times, and always with the same result. Belisarius, on his ass, contemplating the futility of matching skills with the best lancer in Byzantium.
And now! The fool wasn’t even holding his lance properly! Belisarius was carrying his lance cradled under his arm, instead of in the proper overhand position. Ridiculous! How could he expect to bring any force into the lance thrust? Any novice knew the only way to drive a lance home, on horseback, was to bring the whole weight of the back and shoulder into a downward thrust.
Off to the side of the training field, perched on a stone wall, Sittas spotted a small group of boys watching the joust. From their animated discourse, it was obvious that even barefoot street urchins were deriding Belisarius’ preposterous methods.
Seeing Belisarius begin his charge, Sittas set his own horse into motion. As they neared each other, Sittas saw that his friend’s bizarre method of holding his lance had the one advantage of accuracy. The blunted tip of the practice lance was unerringly aimed right at Sittas’ belly.
He almost laughed. Accuracy be damned! There wouldn’t be any force at all behind an underhand thrust. His shield would deflect it easily.
The moment was upon them. Sittas saw that Belisarius’ lance would strike first. He positioned his shield and raised his own lance high above his head.
Some time later, after a semblance of consciousness returned, Sittas decided he had collided with a wall. How else explain his position? On the ground, on his ass, feeling like one giant bruise.
He gazed up, blearily. Belisarius was looking down at him from atop his horse.
“Are you alive?”
Sittas snarled. “What happened?”
“I knocked you on your ass, that’s what happened.”
“Crap! I ran into a wall.”
Belisarius laughed. Sittas roared and staggered to his feet.
“Where’s my horse?”
“Right behind you, like a good warhorse.”
Sure enough. Sittas saw his lance lying on the ground nearby. He grabbed it and stalked to his horse. He was so furious that he even tried to mount the horse unassisted. The attempt was hopeless, of course. After a few seconds of futility, Sittas left off and began leading his horse to the mounting platform at the edge of the field.
He was spared that little indignity, however. One of the urchins on the wall leapt nimbly onto the field and hurried to fetch him a mounting stool. As he clambered back upon his horse, Sittas favored the boy with a growling thanks.
“ ’Twere just bad luck, lord,” piped the lad. Then, with the absolute confidence possessed only by eight-year-old boys: “Yon loon don’t no nothin’ ’bout lance work!”
“Quite right,” snarled Sittas. To Belisarius, in a bellow: “Again! Pure luck!”
This time, as the collision neared, Sittas concentrated almost entirely on his shield work. He had already decided that his mishap had been due to overconfidence. He’d been so preoccupied with planning his own thrust that he hadn’t deflected Belisarius’ lance properly.
Oh, but he had him now-oh, yes! His shield was perfectly positioned and solidly braced against his chest. Ha! The luck of Thrace was about to run out!
Some time later, after a semblance of consciousness returned, Sittas decided he had collided with a cathedral. How else explain his position? On the ground, flat on his back, feeling like one giant corpse.
Hazily, he saw Belisarius kneeling over him.
“What happened?” he croaked.
Belisarius smiled his crooked smile. “You ran into a stirrup. A pair of stirrups, I should say.”
“What the hell kind of cathedral is a stirrup?” demanded Sittas. “And what idiot put two of them on a training field?”
Later, as they rode back toward his mansion along a busy commercial thoroughfare, Sittas uttered words of gentle reproach.
“You cheated, you stinking bastard!” he bellowed, for the hundredth time. For the hundredth time, he glared down at thestirrups. No wild boar of the forest ever glared a redder-eyed glare of rage.
“Marvelous, aren’t they?” beamed Belisarius. He stood up straight in the saddle, twisting back and forth, bestowing his cheerful gaze upon the various merchants watching from their little shops.
“Improves visibility, too. See, Sittas! You can look all around, without ever having to worry about your balance. You can even draw your bow and shoot straight over your back as you’re withdrawing.”
“You cheated, you dog!”
“And, of course, you already saw how much more effectively you can wield a lance. No more of that clumsy overhand business! No, no. With stirrups you can use a lance properly, with all your own weight and the weight of your mount behind the thrust, instead of being a spear-chucker sitting awkwardly on a horse.”
“You cheated, you-”
“You could always have a pair of them made for yourself, you know.”
Sittas glared down, again, at the stirrups.
“Believe I will,” he muttered. Another red-eyed glare at Belisarius.
“ Then we’ll have another duel!”
Belisarius grinned.
“Oh, I don’t see any point to that. We’re getting on in years, Sittas. We’re responsible generals, now. Got to stop acting like foolish boys.”
“You cheater!”
When they rode into the courtyard of Sittas’ mansion, Antonina and Irene were standing there waiting. Both women seemed worried.
“He cheated! ” roared Sittas.
“Not quite the conversationalist he used to be, is he?” commented Belisarius cheerfully as he dismounted.
Sittas began to roar again, but Irene silenced him.
“Shut up! We’ve been waiting for you two idiots to return. Belisarius! You’ve got an audience with Theodora-and you’re already late!”
Antonina shook her head angrily. “Look at them! Refusing to admit they’re getting on in years. You’re responsible generals, now, you clowns! You’ve got to stop acting like foolish boys!”
Sittas clamped shut his great jaws.
“You’ve already set up an audience with Theodora?” demanded Belisarius, gaping.
Irene smiled. “Yes. I’d like to claim it’s due to my talents as an intriguer, but the truth is that Antonina was the key. I’d always heard Theodora considered Antonina her best friend, but I hadn’t really believed it until now.”
The smile vanished, replaced by a frown.
“We have to go immediately, but — ”
“He can’t go in full armor!” protested Antonina.
“I’ll be dressed in a moment,” said Belisarius. He clattered into the mansion.
“Watch out for the rugs!” roared Sittas.
“Please,” muttered Irene. “Make sure you gouge up as many as possible.” She smiled sweetly at Sittas.
“What happened to you, anyway?”
“Yes, Sittas,” added Antonina, smiling just as sweetly. “We’re curious. Did you run into a wall?”
“Looks more like he ran into a cathedral,” mused Irene. “You see that one great bruise? There-on his-”
“He cheated!”
“Stop worrying, Antonina. Of course I’ll support Belisarius in this elaborate scheme of yours.”
The Empress stared out the window of her reception room. The view was magnificent, the more so since the Empress could well afford the finest glass. The panes of glass in her windows had not a trace of the discolorations and distortions which most glass contained.
Theodora never tired of the view from the Gynaeceum, the women’s quarters of the Great Palace. It was not so much the scenery beyond-though the sight of the great city was magnificent-as it was the constant reminder of her own power. Within the women’s quarters, the Empress was supreme. That had been Byzantine custom even before she mounted the throne, and it was a custom into which Theodora had thrust the full force of her personality.
Here, Theodora ruled unchallenged. She was the sole mistress not only of her own chambers but of the public offices as well. And it was here, in the Gynaeceum, that the silk goods, which were a royal monopoly, were woven. Those silk goods were one of the major sources of imperial wealth.