I was lonely as well as bored, and like most soldiers eased my loneliness with the company of prostitutes. One of the girls who plied their bodies at the wine-shop, a slender black-haired Macedonian, reminded me forcefully of Elene. She was happy to take my money, if less so to listen to my drunken ramblings about the woman I had lost. After a few nights she vanished. The innkeeper smilingly refused to tell me where she had gone, and encouraged me to drown my sorrows in yet more of his indifferent wine.
I was sitting alone one night in this sorry condition, staring mournfully at the dregs in my cup and the handful of pennies in my hand, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Glancing up, I saw a pale slice of face half-hidden under a dark blue hooded mantle. The face belonged to a young girl with eyes like green crystals and a nervous look about her.
“You’re a new one,” I said, reaching up to pull her onto my lap, “but you need not play the startled faun. Some men find that arousing, but not me. I prefer confident whores.”
She batted away my hand. “I am no whore,” she said in a voice with ice and daggers in it, “but was sent here to summon you to the palace. Your presence is required.”
My first thought was that Belisarius must want me, though it seemed strange to use a serving-girl as a messenger. On the other hand, I was aware of his present difficulties, and like Pharas had learned to detect the smell of politics.
“Lead on, then,” I said, rising, “my purse is nearly empty anyway. There is little joy in watching other men drink and make fools of themselves.”
She led me through the groups of off-duty soldiers, laughing and drinking and dicing, and out onto the street. The night was warm, and the hour late. I leaned on the wall for a moment to compose myself, breathing in fresh air and wishing I had eaten before pouring bad wine down my throat.
“Hurry,” the girl snapped. I didn’t like her tone. It was arrogant and impatient, that of one used to being obeyed.
You are no serving-girl, I thought, but said nothing and meekly followed her along the street and through an adjoining forum to the steps of the palace.
We entered via a side-entrance, guarded by a soldier who nodded and stepped aside when the girl whispered in his ear. Wary of receiving a blade in the back, I kept a firm hold on Caledfwlch as we entered a narrow passage and the door slammed shut behind us.
“Politics, politics,” I mumbled to myself. She gave me a nasty look and hurried on down the passage and through an archway. I followed, aware of her slender, tight young body under the blue robes and regretful that I was unlikely to get better acquainted with it. The wine fumes were still swilling around my head, and like a fool I paid no attention to where we were going.
The bare stone corridors widened out into spacious hallways, the walls decorated with mosaics and tapestries showing the triumphs of Genseric and his descendents. There was no-one about, and the girl flitted noiselessly over the marble floors.
We came to a doorway, twice as tall as me and made of some red lacquered wood, that stood ajar before us. The girl halted by the door and gestured at me to enter. Stifling a belch, I gave her a wink and stepped through.
The interior was a large, shadowy chamber, heavy with a pleasant if slightly overpowering smell of incense and perfume. Somewhere a lyre was playing a delicate, haunting melody that added to the soporific atmosphere. There was no furniture, save for a few marble busts of constipated-looking Carthaginian generals, and a thick coverlet was spread over the middle of the floor.
I heard the door slide shut and felt warm, gently spiced breath on my face. The next thing I knew a tongue was playing about my lips, and a small but strong hand had taken a firm hold of my crotch.
As female advances went, this was welcome but impolite. I seized a pair of slender arms and pushed my would-be seducer away. At first her face was lost in the gloom.
My heart skipped a beat as I recognised the pale, kittenish features of Antonina.
“Coel,” she breathed, “have I shocked you? I do apologise. I have waited a long time for this.”
I fought for words, but my throat had dried up. I released her arms as though they were made of hot lead and tried to retreat. My back pressed against the door.
Antonina swayed towards me. Her superb dancer’s body was wrapped in a shift made of some thin white gauzy stuff that accentuated her curves and willowy grace. She looked like an impossibly beautiful ivory statue come to life. Torn between lust and drunkenness and terror and revulsion, I cringed when her fingers reached out to stroke my cheek.
“How beautiful,” she murmured, tracing with her forefinger the line of the scar imprinted on my cheek by a rival charioteer’s whip, so many years ago, “a man should carry scars. They are proof of his courage. You are a brave man, are you not, Coel? My husband says so.”
I slid away and fled to the middle of the room. “What is this?” I croaked. “I am nothing to you.”
Antonina leaned against the door and folded her hands together, as demure as any Vestal Virgin. “I take my pleasures where I can,” she said, “life on campaign is very dull for a woman, who can take no part in strategy and fighting. Belisarius regards me as an ornament, a pretty face to encourage the troops.”
I looked around, half-expecting him to emerge from the shadows. “Where is he?” I demanded, “my God, if he knew what was happening here…”
“Both our lives would be forfeit. Mine, certainly. It is a game of chance I like to play.”
She advanced on me again, and the rustle of her silken robe was like a death-rattle in my ears.
“Keep away,” I warned, reaching for Caledfwlch, “I will not be party to any betrayal of your husband.”
“No?” Antonina stopped. She was almost unbearably beautiful. My head filled with a vision of me striding across the room and seizing her, tearing away her garment and bulling her for all I was worth.
“No,” I managed, “you underestimate me, madam. I am not so stupid as to imagine that you desire me for my own sake. You are great friends with the Empress. She has instructed you to destroy me.”
Antonina’s laugh was as light and cruel as the rest of her. “Theodora instructs me to do nothing,” she said. “We are equals, and share the same ambitions. But she has nothing to do with this. Belisarius speaks of the exploits of few of his officers. You are one. There is some vitality about you, a different and fascinating quality. I like to take such men to my bed. It makes a change from slaves and guardsmen.”
My jaw dropped at this shameless admission of infidelity, but I would not be fooled. “You lie, madam,” I said. “Every word you utter is loaded with deceit. Let me pass.”
I moved towards the door, hoping to God she wouldn’t call my bluff. If she chose to make a scene, to scream and call for her guards, I was lost. Belisarius was slavishly devoted to his wife and would believe her word over mine, even though he was fond of me.
Antonina stepped aside. “Run away, then,” she said softly. “And think on what might have been, the next time you wake up next to some foul dockside slut. I do not offer myself twice.”
“I count on it,” I said, and thrust the door open. I expected to find the girl who had brought me here on the other side, but she had gone. There was nothing, save darkness and a faint draught that made the torches flicker and cast alarming shadows on the walls.
Chapter 25
I stumbled through an unfamiliar part of the palace, startling a number of dozing servants and hounds, until I found my way to barracks. There I was admonished by the officer on duty for disappearing into the night on my own.
“You’re lucky not to have ended up in the gutter with a knife in your liver,” he grumbled, but thankfully he asked no questions.