Something’s afoot, he thought to himself. There are hidden currents here, deep ones. I think this is a very good time for a young officer to keep his mouth shut, shut, shut. No harm in listening, though.
Maurice spoke again.
“There’s an Arab officer in our cavalry-well, he’s half-Arab-a hecatontarch by the name of Mark. Mark of Edessa. His mother’s family lives near Hira, but they’re not affiliated to the Lakhmids. Bedouin stock, mostly. I’ll speak to him. He might be able to arrange something.”
“I’d appreciate it,” said John. A moment later, the naval officer rose from the table.
“I’m to bed,” he announced. “Tomorrow I’ve got to rebuild that damned workshop. Again.”
As he left, he and Antonina exchanged smiles. There was nothing in that exchange, noted Hermogenes, beyond a comfortable friendship. He thought back on the bizarre, leering expression which had crossed Antonina’s face earlier in the evening, in the presence of Procopius.
Deep currents. Coming from a hidden well called Belisarius, if I’m not mistaken. I do believe my favorite general is up to his tricks again. So. Only one question remains. How do I get in on this?
Maurice arose. “Me, too.” The hecatontarch glanced at Hermogenes.
“I believe I’ll stay a bit,” said Hermogenes. He extended his cup to Irene. “If you would?”
Maurice left the room. Antonina yawned and stretched.
“I’d better look in on Photius. He wasn’t feeling well today.” She rose, patted Irene on the shoulder, and looked at Hermogenes.
“How long will you be staying?”
“Just for the night,” replied Hermogenes. “I’m leaving early in the morning. I really can’t be absent from the army for long. Sittas seems to have finally gotten lance charges out of his system, and he’s beginning to make noises about general maneuvers.”
“Come again, when you can.”
“I shall. Most certainly.”
Moments later, he and Irene were alone in the room. Hermogenes and she stared at each other in silence, for some time.
He understood the meaning in her gaze. A question, really. Is this man staying at the table to seduce me? Or He smiled, then.
I’ve done some foolish things in my life. But I’m not dumb enough to try to seduce her. As my Uncle Theodosius always said: never chase women who are a lot smarter than you. You won’t catch them, or, what’s worse, you might.
“So, Irene. Tell me about it. As much as you can.”
The next morning, Antonina arose early, to give her regards to Hermogenes before he left. As she walked out of the villa, the sun was just coming up. She found the young merarch already in the courtyard, holding his saddled horse. He was talking quietly with Irene.
Antonina was surprised to see the spymaster. As a rule, Irene viewed sunrise as a natural disaster to be avoided at all costs.
When she came up, Hermogenes smiled and bowed politely. Antonina and the merarch exchanged pleasantries, before he mounted his horse and rode off.
Antonina glanced at Irene. The spymaster yawned mightily.
“You’re up early,” she commented.
Irene grimaced. “No, I’m just up later than usual. I haven’t slept.”
She nodded toward the diminishing figure of Hermogenes, who was now passing through the gate. “He’s quite a bright fellow, you know. He figured out much more than I would have expected, just from watching the people around him.”
“Is that why he stayed at the table? I assumed it was because he had intentions toward you.”
Irene shook her head, smiling. “Oh, no. His conduct was absolutely impeccable. Propriety incarnate. No, he wanted to join the conspiracy. Whatever it is. He doesn’t care, really, as long as Belisarius is involved. A bad case of hero worship, he’s got.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Enough. Not too much. But enough to make him happy, and win his allegiance. I think quite highly of that young man, Antonina. He’s everything Belisarius said, and more.”
Antonina put her arm around her friend’s waist and began to guide her back into the villa.
“Fill me in on the details later. You look absolutely exhausted, Irene. You need to get to bed.”
Irene chuckled. “ Back to bed, actually.” Feeling Antonina’s little start of surprise, Irene grinned wearily.
“I said I hadn’t slept, Antonina. We didn’t talk about conspiracies the whole damned night.”
“But-”
Irene’s grin widened. “I find handsome young men who are smart enough not to try to seduce me to be quite irresistible.”
Chapter 21
Gwalior
Autumn, 529 AD
“I believe I owe Venandakatra an apology,” remarked Belisarius.
Garmat frowned. “Why in the world would you owe that swine an apology?” he demanded crossly.
“Oh, I have no intention of giving it to him. That’s an obligation which wears very lightly on my shoulders. But I owe it to him nonetheless.”
Belisarius gestured ahead, to the enormous procession which was snaking its way along the right bank of the Narmada.
The small Roman/Axumite contingent was located far back from the head of the caravan. The general and Garmat were riding next to each other, on horseback. Just behind them came Valentinian and Anastasius, and the slave scribe, also on horseback. The rest of their party were borne by the two elephants given them by the Malwa. Ezana and Wahsi served as mahouts for the great beasts. Eon and the Maratha women rode in the howdah atop one elephant. The Kushan women and Menander rode in the other. The young cataphract had protested the arrangement, insisting that he was quite capable of riding a horse. But Belisarius had insisted, and truth be told, the lad’s protest had been more a matter of form than content. Menander might not yet be well enough to ride a horse, but, in certain other respects, his health had improved dramatically. Judging, at least, from the cheerful and complacent look on his face, on those rare occasions when the curtains of his howdah were opened.
Ousanas, as always, insisted on traveling by foot. Nor was he hard-pressed by the chore. The caravan’s pace could barely be described as an ambling walk.
Belisarius smiled. “I accused Venandakatra, you may recall, of putting together this grandiose exhibition for purely egotistical motives.”
“So? He is an egotist. A flaming megalomaniac.”
Belisarius smiled. “True, true. But he’s also an intelligent megalomaniac. There’s a purpose to this spectacle, beyond gratifying his vanity. Are you aware that this is not the normal route from Bharakuccha to the Gangetic plain?”
“It isn’t?”
Belisarius shook his head. “No. We are traveling south of the Vindhyas.” He pointed to the mountain range on their left. The mountains were not high-not more than a few thousand feet-but they were heavily forested and looked to be quite rugged.
“At some point we shall have to cross those mountains, which, by all accounts, is not an easy task. Especially for a caravan like this one.”
“This isn’t a caravan,” grumbled Garmat. “It’s a small army!”
“Precisely. And that’s the point of the whole exercise. The normal route, according to my cataphracts-who got the information from their Kushan ladies-would take us north of the Vindhyas. Semidesert terrain, but well traveled and easily managed. But that route, you see, goes through Malwa territory.”
“So does this one.”
“Today, yes. But this is newly conquered land, Garmat. Until a year ago”-he gestured toward the surrounding countryside-“all this was part of the Andhra Empire.”
Comprehension dawned. “Ah,” muttered Garmat. “So this procession is designed to grind down the new subjects even further. Remind them of their status.” He examined the scenery. The great forest which seemed to carpet the interior of India had been cleared away, at one time. But the fields were untended, as were the thatched mud-walled huts of the peasantry scattered here and there. The area seemed almost uninhabited, despite the fact that it was obviously fertile land. A warrior himself, in his younger days, Garmat had no difficulty recognizing war-ravaged terrain.