During my spare moments I watched Belisarius drill these extraordinary troops on the plain beyond the landward walls of Constantinople. I marvelled at their discipline and skill at manoeuvring, even at full gallop, and thanked God I was on their side as I watched them practise on lines of dummies stuffed with straw. The horsemen were required to put at least four arrows into the dummies as they charged, and then close in and impale or behead them with lances and spathas. High rank and pay went to those soldiers who displayed the most skill.
Hundreds of ships were needed to convey the army to North Africa, and upwards of twenty thousand men drafted from Egypt and Cilicia to build and man them. One day Narses summoned me to the harbour of the Golden Horn, where we could watch the fleet being constructed.
“Five hundred transports for the troops,” the eunuch remarked, pointing out where some of the larger ships were clustered, “varying from thirty to five hundred tons. They will be escorted on the voyage by ninety-two dromons — you see those smaller vessels?”
To me the dromons appeared too small and flimsy for warships, though I refrained from saying so. They were only big enough to contain twenty sailors and a single bank of oars, protected from enemy missiles by a wooden covering.
Narses seemed to share my opinion. “In the days of antiquity,” he sighed, drawing his furred cloak about him tighter against the morning chill, “Rome would have assembled a mighty fleet of biremes and triremes. You should have seen those ships, Coel. Multi-decked monsters stuffed with legionaries and armed with battering rams and ballistas.”
“As for the army,” he said ruefully, “we have come to depend on a rabble of foreign mercenaries. Belisarius has done his best, but it is a poor show, Coel, a poor show.”
“Fifteen thousand men, lord,” I ventured, “is still a host to be reckoned with.”
“Three legions. That is what fifteen thousand men amounts to. In the days of her glory, Rome would have not have sent anything less than twelve legions to conquer a territory as vast as North Africa. We are pygmies, standing on the shoulders of giants.”
I knew Narses had not summoned me to pour out his doubts and fears, and waited patiently for the dagger-thrust.
“The Empress wishes to see you in private,” he said abruptly, “I cannot imagine why, and there is not much that escapes my imagination. You knew her in a former life, is that not so?”
“Yes, lord,” I replied cautiously, “when I was at the Circus.”
Narses sniggered. “How Theodora hates to be reminded of her past. I try not to mention it in her presence more than two or three times a day. Perhaps she wishes to discuss old times with you. Were you friends?”
He placed a slight emphasis on the last word, and raised one of his carefully plucked eyebrows.
“Not as such, lord,” I said, “I had the opportunity to befriend her, but rejected it.”
His eyes widened, and he gave a low whistle. “Rejected,” he repeated, “oh dear. Not many dare to reject Theodora. She nurses grudges like her own children. Rather better, in fact. Is there anything else I should know?”
I hesitated, but only for a moment. “She had a dear friend of mine murdered. I have no proof of her guilt, but am sure of it.”
He placed a finger to his lips. “Hush. You are not the first to make such accusations. One does not rise from the gutter to an imperial throne without stepping over a few bodies on the way. Whatever ill-will you bear the Empress, I advise you to smother it.”
I nodded sullenly.
“Good. Now listen. I have told her that your presence on the expedition to Africa is necessary, but not why. The less that woman knows is better for everyone. The Emperor also knows nothing of your connection with the sword. Caesar possesses many virtues, but keeping secrets from his wife is not one of them. If the Empress asks you why Belisarius values you so much, tell her that he wishes to interrogate you about Britain and the customs of its people.”
“But I left my homeland when I was just a child,” I protested, “and remember little of it.”
Narses shrugged. “Then make it up, Coel. Invent. Theodora is an ignorant woman in many ways, and will not be any the wiser. Tell her the Britons like to paint their backsides purple, and go into battle wielding clubs made of dried dung. Appeal to her prejudices. Anything you like. Just don’t tell her the truth.”
He gave me a reassuring pat. “This is politics,” he said, “a dirty business, and one I spend my life wallowing in. Just do as I say, and you might get out of the audience chamber alive.”
I was escorted to the palace by a troop of guardsmen. Within an hour of meeting Narses I found myself standing in an upper-level chamber similar to Belisarius’s, and again overlooking the sea. Unlike the general’s sparse furnishings, this room was decked out like the chamber of a rich whore — which, of course, Theodora was.
The walls were covered in silk hangings and tapestries that depicted hunting scenes, the exploits of Achilles and Hector, and lovers walking naked among sylvan forests and ivy-grown ruins. Religious and devotional scenes were noticeably absent. Thick Persian rugs covered the floor, and a number of comfortable couches were arranged in a square in the middle of the room. The air was thick with the heady smell of incense. A silver door at the southern end of the room led to the Empress’s private bedchamber.
Theodora herself was spread out on one of the couches, and gazing out of the doorway that led to the balcony. The soft winds blowing in from the sea stirred the clingy purple gauze she was wearing and accentuated the well-fed curves of her body. She didn’t seem to notice our entrance until the captain of the guard stamped his feet and saluted. Only then did she turn her face away from the sea. Her eyes looked heavy, and she had clearly been drinking.
“Wait outside with one of your men,” she said to the captain, “dismiss the others, and don’t eavesdrop.”
Theodora’s voice was throatier than ever, and she stifled a little yawn as the soldiers filed out.
“Britannicus,” she said with a little smile, shading her eyes to get a better look at me, “is that really you? How different you look.”
I said nothing. She stretched out one bare arm and beckoned me closer.
“Don’t be so stiff,” she said crossly when I took a few hesitant steps towards the couch, “sit beside me, and have a cup of wine.”
“I prefer to stand, Majesty,” I replied, resorting to the soldier’s trick of not looking directly at a superior officer.
Theodora raised herself onto one elbow. Her thin robe was slashed almost to the waist, exposing the curve of her thigh. Doubtless she was used to men slavering over her body, but I found myself suppressing an urge to retch.
“What a dull man you are,” she said, stretching and giving another little yawn, “Belisarius should have recommended you for the church rather than the army. Why did he want a worn-out charioteer for a soldier?”
Crude and direct, you see, and typical of her. “I volunteered to fight for him during the riots, Majesty,” I replied, “perhaps he was impressed with my loyalty.”
Cold sweat prickled on my skin. My composure was starting to slip. I thought I could hear the shade of Felix, urging me to avenge his murder.
Theodora’s slender neck was within reach. Her guards had taken my sword, but the Heruli had taught me how to kill with my bare hands. Her death would be swift and easy. Mine, at the hands of the Emperor’s torturers, would be slow and agonising.
She sniffed, and poured out some more wine. “You and Belisarius are a pair,” she said contemptuously, “stiff-backed, dutiful bores. I daresay you will be very happy together. Why have you grown that ridiculous beard?”
“It is the custom of the Heruli to grow their beards, Majesty. I am one of them now.”