by Eric Flint
As soon as he entered the palace grounds, Belisarius made a quick survey of the area. Hermogenes' troops had already formed a well-ordered perimeter, within which Sittas and his men were drawing up into their own formations. The cataphracts were a bit disorganized. The checkerboard arrangement of the palace grounds—gardens next to small patios next to open-sided porticoes—was hardly ideal terrain for heavy cavalrymen.
Belisarius was not concerned. Enemy cataphracts would be equally handicapped and he doubted if, as individuals, they would match Sittas' elite horsemen. He would use Sittas and the cataphracts as a mailed fist, if necessary. But he was really depending on the infantry.
That infantry—that excellent infantry—had already given him the advantage. Their speedy swarming over the wall had obviously caught the traitors completely off guard. Lying near the gates, Belisarius could see the bodies of perhaps thirty men. Most of them, from their uniforms, he took to be John of Cappadocia's retainers. Other than that, the only enemy soldiers in sight were a handful scuttling away in rapid retreat.
Excellent. But—
Here and there, scattered among the corpses of the Cappadocian's bucellarii and a few of Hermogenes' infantry, he also saw the bodies of men dressed in the livery of excubitores. And he could hear, dimly, the sound of combat in the direction of the Gynaeceum.
He turned to Irene.
"Where is Justinian? And Theodora?"
She pointed to the northeast, at one of the more distant buildings.
"They were going to hold an emergency council in the audience chamber of Leo's Palace."
"I know which one it is," said Belisarius. He began trotting in that direction.
"Hermogenes!" he shouted. The infantry general, a few yards away, looked at him. Belisarius, still trotting, pointed toward the building.
"Half of your men—send them with me! You take the other half and secure the Gynaeceum!"
Sittas came galloping up, followed by his mounted cataphracts. Still trotting, Belisarius waved his hand in a circle.
"Sittas—clear the palace grounds!"
Sittas grinned. The burly general reined his horse around.
"You heard the man!" he bellowed. He jumped his horse over a low hedge and began galloping toward the center of the complex. His cavalrymen followed, pounding through gardens, courtyards and porticoes. Vegetation was trampled underfoot, statuary was shattered or upended. The fountains survived, more or less intact. So, of course, did the columns upholding the porticoes—although many of the beautiful floor tiles were shattered into pieces, and a few of the wall mosaics suffered in passing from casual contact with the armored shoulders and lance butts of cataphracts.
At the very center of the palace complex, Sittas encountered two hundred of John's bucellarii. Most of them were mounted. The ones who weren't were in the process of doing so—a laborious process, for armored cataphracts. All of them seemed confused and disorganized.
Sittas gave them no chance at all. He didn't even bother to shout any orders. He simply lowered his lance and thundered into the mob. His five hundred cataphracts came right behind, following his lead.
The result was a pure and simple massacre. The Cappadocian's bucellarii were surprised and outnumbered. By the time they realized the danger, Sittas and his men were almost upon them. At that range, bows were useless. Most of John's retainers had time to raise their lances, but—
They didn't have stirrups. Sittas and his cataphracts went through them like an ax through soft wood. Half of the Cappadocian's bucellarii either died or were badly wounded in the first lance charge. Thereafter, matching sword and mace blows with men who were braced by stirrups, the remainder lasted less than a minute. At the end, not more than twenty of the retainers were able to surrender. The rest were either dead, badly injured, or unconscious.
Hermogenes, meanwhile, led a thousand of his infantrymen into the Gynaeceum. Once inside the labyrinth of the womens' quarters, Hermogenes followed the sounds of fighting. Two minutes after entering the complex, he and his men were falling on the backs of the bucellarii fighting what was left of Theodora's excubitores.
The battle in the Gynaeceum was not as bloody as the cavalry melee in the courtyards, for the simple reason that John's retainers surrendered almost immediately. They were hopelessly trapped between two forces; and they were, at bottom, nothing but mercenaries. Whatever his other talents, John of Cappadocia had none when it came to cementing the loyalty of bucellarii.
Belisarius himself faced no enemies at all, beyond a small group of bucellarii—not more than forty—whom he encountered leaving Leo's Palace just as he was approaching. The cataphracts were in the process of mounting their horses.
There was no battle. The bucellarii took one look at the thousand infantrymen charging toward them and fled instantly. Those of them who had not managed to mount their horses in time retreated also, lumbering in the heavy way of armored cavalrymen forced to run on their own two legs.
Belisarius let them go. He had much more pressing concerns. He plunged into the building. Followed by his infantry, he raced through the half-remembered corridors, searching for the audience chamber.
Hoping against hope, but fearing the worst.
"Who is that?" squawked the "Emperor" Hypatius, leaning over the wall separating the kathisma from the Hippodrome. He stared at the little army pouring through the southwestern gate. Then, goggled, seeing them slinging grenades at the huge mob of faction thugs on the other side of the Hippodrome.
"Where did they get grenades?" he shrieked.
A new battle cry was heard: "Antonina! Antonina!"
Ajatasutra leaned over the wall and examined the invaders. His eyes were immediately drawn to a small figure bringing up the rear. Helmeted; armored—but unmistakeably feminine for all that.
He smiled bitterly, turning away. He looked at Balban and gestured with his thumb.
"That's what you called the sheep."
Hypatius was now gobbling with sheer terror. Pompeius, the same.
Someone began pounding on the rear entrance to the kathisma, the barred door which led to the Great Palace. Narses recognized John of Cappadocia's voice: "Open up! Open up!"
At Balban's command, the kshatriya guarding the door unbarred and opened it.
John of Cappadocia burst into the kathisma, trailing three of his bucellarii.
"Belisarius is here!" he shouted. "His whore Antonina has some kind of army—" He fell abruptly silent, seeing the scene in the Hippodrome.
"She's here already!" snarled Balban, pointing over the wall. "And she's got grenades!"
Narses sighed.
Too clever by half.
The eunuch rose. Strode forward. Took charge.
"Have you blinded Justinian?" he demanded.
John of Cappadocia nodded.
"Theodora?"
"She's under guard in the palace."
Narses took Balban by the arm and pointed over the wall separating the kathisma from the Hippodrome. He was pointing to the hundreds of kshatriya manning the rockets. The four hundred kshatriya, unlike the thousands of milling and confused faction thugs, were already forming their battle lines. Most of them were opening baskets of grenades. The kshatriya manning the rockets were hastily re-aiming the troughs.
"You've still got your own soldiers and—if you provide some leadership—that huge faction mob. Get down there! Now!"
Balban neither argued nor protested. Immediately, the spymaster began clambering over the wall.
Narses grabbed Hypatius and shoved him to the wall. "Go with him!" he commanded. "You're the new Emperor! You need to rally the Hippodrome crowd!"
Hypatius babbled protest. Narses simply manhandled the "Emperor" over the stone rampart. Despite his terror, Hypatius was no match for the old eunuch's wiry strength. Half-sprawled over the wall—on the wrong side of the wall—Hypatius stared up at Narses.
"Do it!" ordered the eunuch. His eyes were fixed on Hypatius like a snake on its prey. An instant lat
er, Narses tore Hypatius' clutching fingers off the wall. The "Emperor" landed in a collapsed heap on the stone platform below.
Hypatius immediately lunged to his feet and jumped at the wall.
Hopeless. That wall had been designed to keep assassins from the emperor. A strong and agile man could have leapt high enough to grasp the top of the wall. Hypatius was neither.
The new "Emperor" gobbled terror.
"Do it!" commanded Narses.
Hypatius gasped. He turned his head and spotted Balban. The spymaster was racing around the upper tiers of the Hippodrome, heading for the kshatriya rocketeers. He was already forty yards away.
Gibbering with fear, Hypatius staggered after him.
In the kathisma, Narses turned from the wall and confronted John of Cappadocia.
"Where are the rest of your bucellarii?" he demanded.
The Cappadocian glared at him.
"That's none—"
"You idiot!" snarled the eunuch. "Kept them in the palace, didn't you? Planned to keep them unharmed, didn't you? So you'd have them available for later use."
John was still glaring, but he did not deny the charge.
Narses pointed to the chaos in the Hippodrome.
" `Later use' is now, Cappadocian. Get them! With your thousand bucellarii added to the brew, we might still win this thing."
John started to protest. The eunuch drove him down.
"Do it!"
John argued no further. The Cappadocian charged down the corridor leading to the Great Palace. Narses went after him, dragging Pompeius by the arm. Before following, Ajatasutra ordered the kshatriya still in the kathisma to join Balban. As he left the kathisma—now unoccupied—the kshatriya were already climbing over the wall and dropping down into the Hippodrome.
In the corridor, Ajatasutra quickly caught up with Narses and Pompeius.
Smiling, the assassin leaned over and whispered:
" `Years of civil war,' you said."
Narses glanced at him, but said nothing. The eunuch was concentrating his attention on forcing the gibbering Pompeius forward. The new "Emperor's" brother was practically paralyzed with fear.
"If you don't start moving," snarled Narses, "I'll just leave you here."
Pompeius suddenly began running down the corridor.
Narses let him go.
"At least he's headed in the right direction," grumbled the eunuch. "We'll catch him later. He'll stumble into a faint, somewhere up ahead."
The eunuch began trotting. Ajatasutra matched his pace easily.
Again, the assassin leaned over and whispered. Still smiling:
" `The Roman Empire will be in chaos for a generation,' you said."
Narses ignored him.
Ajatasutra, grinning:
" `Much better than just letting Justinian fight his stupid wars,' you said."
Narses ignored him.
They reached the end of the corridor. Now, they found themselves in one of the many buildings of the Great Palace. They could hear the sound of fighting coming from somewhere in the outer complex.
As Narses had predicted, Pompeius was waiting for them. In a manner of speaking: the nobleman was squatting on the floor, leaning his head against a wall, sobbing.
Narses leaned over, seized Hypatius by his hair, and dragged the "emperor's" brother to his feet.
"The only place you're safe now is with me," hissed the eunuch. "If you collapse again—if you disobey me in any way—I'll leave you." Narses released his grip and stalked toward one of the corridors leading to another building in the complex. Ajatasutra strode alongside. Hypatius followed.
The sound of fighting grew louder. Among those sounds, Narses recognized the heavy thundering of a cavalry charge. So did Ajatasutra. Both men picked up their pace.
"Where are we going?" whispered the assassin. "And why"—he pointed with a thumb over his shoulder—"are you so intent on hauling that creature with us?"
"I'll need him," growled Narses.
They reached the end of the corridor. They were in another large room in yet another building. Narses plunged through a door against the left wall.
Again, a short corridor. Again, another room in yet another building. Again, Narses led the way through another door. Again, another corridor.
Ajatasutra, though he had an abstract knowledge of the Great Palace's layout, was by now completely disoriented.
"Where are we going?" he repeated.
"I have something to attend to," muttered Narses.
The eunuch broke into a trot. The corridor made a bend. Once around the bend, Ajatasutra could see that the corridor ended in a massive set of double doors. One of the doors was ajar. Beyond, Ajatasutra heard the sound of indistinct voices.
Once they got within ten feet of the half-open door, Ajatasutra recognized one of the voices in the room beyond.
John of Cappadocia's voice.
Narses hissed. "That bastard. I knew he'd come here first."
The eunuch turned his head. Reptilian eyes focussed on Ajatasutra. "Decide," he commanded.
Ajatasutra hesitated for only a second. Then, with a half-smile:
"You're the best of a bad lot."
Narses nodded. He gestured toward Pompeius, who was just now staggering up.
"Keep him safe," muttered the eunuch. "And deal with the bucellarii."
Narses turned away and slid through the door. Ajatasutra followed, dragging Pompeius by the arm.
Inside, they found a dramatic tableau.
Theodora was on her knees, cradling Justinian. The Emperor, though still unconscious, was beginning to moan.
John of Cappadocia loomed above her, with a sword in his hand. His three bucellarii were standing a few feet away, between John and Narses. Hearing the eunuch enter, the bodyguards turned hastily and raised their weapons. Then, recognizing him, they lowered the swords and stepped aside. Narses slid past them, heading toward John and the Empress.
Ajatasutra relinguished his grip on Pompeius and sidled close to the bucellarii.
The Cappadocian glared down at the Empress. He began to snarl something.
Theodora, her face like a mask, sneered:
"Stop talking, traitor. Do it, coward."
John raised his sword.
Narses, hissing like a snake:
"Stop, you idiot! We're going to need her. Alive."
Startled, John turned away from the Empress. His sword lowered, slightly.
"Why?" he demanded. "We were going to kill her, anyway, after she hailed the new Emperor. She and Justinian both. There's no reason to wait, now." He scowled. "And why are you here?"
Narses strode forward.
"I swear, Cappadocian, you've got the brains of a toad."
Closer, closer.
"Think, John—think."
Closer, closer. The eunuch pointed to the Empress. John turned his head, following the pointing finger.
Narses struck.
Ajatasutra, watching, was impressed. The old eunuch stabbed like a viper. The little knife seemed to come from nowhere, before it sank into John's ribcage.
John screamed, staggered, dropped his sword. The knife was still protruding from his side.
Narses stepped back.
The bucellarii bellowed, raised their swords, and took a step toward the eunuch.
One step. They got no further.
Ajatasutra slew the three bucellarii in as many seconds. Three quick blows from his dagger into the bodyguards' backs. Each blow—powerful, swift—slid expertly between gaps in the armor, severing spinal cords. Ajatasutra's victims died before they even realized what had happened. The bodyguards simply slumped to the floor.
John of Cappadocia had already fallen to the floor. But his was no lifeless slump. The praetorian prefect's face was twisted with agony. He was apparently trying to scream, but no sound escaped from the rictus distorting his face.
"It's quite a nasty poison," remarked Narses cheerfully. "Utterly paralyzing, for all the pain. Deadly
, too. After a time."
Ajatasutra quickly cleaned his dagger, but he did not replace it in its hidden sheath.
"Explain," he commanded.
Narses began to sneer. But then, seeing the expression on the assassin's face, thought better of it. "Do you still have any illusions, Ajatasutra?" he demanded. The eunuch pointed toward a nearby wall. Through that wall, thick as it was, came the sounds of combat. Grenade explosions, shouts, screams.
"It's over," he pronounced. "We lost."
Ajatasutra frowned. Without being conscious of the act, the assassin hefted his dagger.
Narses was conscious of that act. He spoke hurriedly:
"Think, Ajatasutra. Where did Antonina get the grenades? She didn't steal them from us. She had them made. That means she's been planning this for months. It means everything that fool Procopius told that fool Balban was duplicity. Not his—the gossiping idiot!—but hers. Antonina hasn't been holding orgies on her estate—she's been training an army and equipping them with gunpowder weapons."
Ajatasutra's frown deepened. "But she couldn't have the knowledge—"
He got no further. Theodora's cawing laugh cut him short. The assassin, seeing the triumph in her face, suddenly knew that Narses was right.
He lowered the dagger. Lowered it, but did not sheathe the weapon. "There's still a chance," he said. "From what I saw, she doesn't have much of an army. Balban still has the kshatriya, and the mob."
Narses shook his head.
"No chance at all, Ajatasutra. Not with Belisarius here."
The eunuch shook his head again. The gesture had a grim finality to it.
"No chance," he repeated. "Not with Belisarius here. He's already shattered the Army of Bithynia. Even if Balban manages to defeat Antonina in the Hippodrome, he'll still have to face Belisarius. With what? A few hundred kshatriya? Faction thugs?"
Narses gestured scornfully at the bodies of John's bucellarii. "Or do you think these lap dogs are capable of facing Belisarius—and his cataphracts?"
Ajatasutra stared at the three corpses. Not for long, however. The sounds of combat were growing louder.
He slid the dagger into its sheath. "You're right. Now what?"
Narses shrugged. "We escape. You, me, and Pompeius. We'll need him, to mollify your masters. We can at least claim that we salvaged the `legitimate heir' from the wreckage. The Malwa can use him as a puppet."
