Chapter 23
Constantinople
Winter 530 AD
Five minutes into her meeting with Balban, Antonina knew that something was not right. The Malwa spymaster was not listening to her carefully enough.
He seemed to be, true. To almost anyone but Antonina, Balban would have appeared to be the very model of attentiveness. He was sitting on the edge of his chair-almost perched, in fact-leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees. His eyes were riveted on the woman sitting across the small room from him. He was utterly silent, apparently engrossed in the information which Antonina was giving him.
The information alone should have guaranteed his interest, even if it wasn't being imparted by a beautiful woman. The Malwa spymaster was learning every single detail of every current or planned troop movement of every Roman military unit of any consequence in Syria, the Levant and Egypt. For a man who stood at the very center of a plot to overthrow the Roman Emperor-a plot which was finally coming to fruition-such information was literally priceless.
Wonderful information, too-in every respect. Wonderful, not just in the fact that he had it, but wonderful in its own right. The gist of Antonina's report was that no Roman military unit from the great southern and eastern provinces could possibly arrive in Constantinople in time to prevent the planned coup d'etat.
But he was not paying any attention. Not to the information, at least.
For a moment, Antonina wondered if Balban's indifference stemmed from his knowledge that everything she was telling him was a lie. In actual fact, Theodora had sent word to Daras weeks before that the plot was coming to a head. Antonina's grenadiers had been in Constantinople for ten days, disguised as pilgrim families. They, along with all the Thracian cataphracts, had been transported aboard a small fleet of swift transports. The units from Sittas and Hermogenes' armies, carried on slower grain ships, had just arrived the day before. They were still hidden in the holds of those ships, anchored in the Portus Caesarii.
But Antonina dismissed that possibility almost instantly. She detected no hostility from Balban, not a trace-which she surely would have, did the spymaster suspect her duplicity.
No, it was simply that Balban was not interested in the information, one way or the other. He did not disbelieve; but he did not believe, either. He simply didn't care.
He was interested in her-in the same way that almost every man was, who found himself in her company. Few men of her acquaintance were able to ignore Antonina's beauty. That was just a simple fact of life.
But, beyond that-nothing.
Antonina was chilled to the bone. She realized exactly what was happening. And what was planned.
They are going to kill me.
Had Balban known how perfectly Antonina was reading him, he would have been absolutely shocked. The Malwa was a master of his trade. He would have sworn that no one could have detected a trace of murderous intent in his perfectly maintained composure.
And, in truth, almost no one in the world could have done so. With the exception of a woman who, in her earlier days, had been one of the most exclusive and sought-after courtesans in the entire Roman empire.
Antonina, unlike Balban, was not an expert in the subjects of espionage, and assassination. But she was an expert-one of the world's greatest experts, in fact-on the subject of men, and their moods. Her success as a courtesan had been partly due to her physical beauty, of course. But many women were beautiful. Antonina's great skill had been her ability to keep men interested. Not simply in her beauty, but in the pleasure of her company.
Over the years, she had learned to detect the danger signs. Sooner or later-until she met Belisarius-the men who sought her company would lose interest. Not in her, necessarily. They might well retain a powerful desire for her body. But they would lose interest in her company.
She had always been able to tell when that moment came. And she had always broken off such relationships immediately. Or, at least, as soon as she could do so gracefully.
Her relationship with Balban had never been sexual in the least. But, with him too, that moment had come.
In the brief time that it took to finish her report, she quickly assessed her options.
They would not kill her in Balban's own villa. Of that, she was certain. The Malwa had always taken great pains to maintain a low profile in Constantinople. Even Irene, with all her expertise and the vast resources which Theodora had placed at her disposal, had only discovered the whereabouts of the Malwa military base a few days before. Balban had managed to smuggle several hundred elite Indian soldiers into the Roman capital-and keep them hidden, for weeks-without being spotted.
Such a man would not risk drawing attention to himself at this penultimate hour.
Nor, she thought, would he employ the services of Ajatasutra or any other Malwa agent. There was always the risk, should her assassination fail, that such agents might be captured and traced back to him.
She would be murdered by Roman thugs, hired for the occasion through intermediaries.
The streets of Constantinople had become increasingly rowdy over the past few days. The Hippodrome factions which had been bribed by the Malwa grew more assertive and self-confident by the hour. Gangs of Blue and Green thugs roamed freely, disrupting the capital's tranquillity with impunity. The military units stationed in Constantinople had withdrawn to their barracks-just as Irene had predicted months earlier. The officers in command of those units could sense the coming coup, and they intended to sit on the sidelines until the outcome was clear.
Antonina was certain of the Malwa plan.
It was already very late in the afternoon. By the time she left Balban's villa, it would be dusk. As instructed, she had come alone to the meeting, following the same route she always took. On her way back, she would be accosted by a gang of street thugs. Not closer than three blocks away, but not farther than six. The attack would take place near a deserted building or some other secluded location. She would be dragged off the street and taken out of sight. Then, she would be robbed, probably raped, and murdered. When her body was discovered-which might not be for days-the crime would be dismissed as an unfortunate episode during the current chaos.
She managed, barely, not to heave a sigh of relief.
Professional assassins, like Ajatasutra, were probably beyond her capability. Street thugs, she thought she could handle.
Her mind now (more or less) at ease, Antonina had no difficulty getting through the final few minutes of her meeting with Balban. Her biggest problem was restraining her impatience at Balban's protracted social pleasantries. The hour ahead of her was dangerous in the extreme, but Antonina was the kind of person who just wanted to be done with it.
As soon as possible, she rose and made her exit. Balban escorted her to the door. On the way, they passed Ajatasutra in the corridor. Antonina smiled at him pleasantly, and walked by without flinching. It was not easy, that-after all, she might be wrong.
But Ajatasutra did nothing beyond return her nod with a polite smile.
Balban opened the door, mumbling some final courtesies. Antonina strode through the courtyard to the open gate which led to the street beyond. Even before she passed through the gate, she heard the door close behind her.
Balban, shaking his head, turned away from the door. To his surprise, Ajatasutra was still standing in the corridor.
"A pity," muttered Balban. "Such a beautiful-"