Antonina’s intelligence was every bit as high as her husband proclaimed it to be. Her back grew rigid as a board, her face as stiff as a sheet of iron.
“Because everyone’s suspicion will have another target,” she said bitterly.
“Yes.” The general’s voice was calm; calm but utterly unyielding.
The bishop’s eyes widened slightly. He looked from husband to wife, and back again. Then looked away, stroking his beard.
“Yes, that would work,” he murmured. “Work perfectly, in fact. But-” He gazed up at the general. “Do you understand-”
“ Leave us, Anthony,” said Belisarius. Calmly, but unyieldingly. “If you please. And you also, Michael.”
Michael and Cassian arose and made their way to the door. There, the bishop turned back.
“If you are still determined on this course, Belisarius, after discussing it with Antonina, there is a perfect way to implement it quickly.”
Antonina stared straight ahead. Her dusky face was almost pale. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. Belisarius tore his gaze away and looked at the bishop.
“Yes?”
“A man approached me, recently, seeking my help in gaining employment. Newly arrived in Aleppo, from Caesaria. I know his reputation. He is a well-trained secretary, very capable by all accounts, and quite an accomplished writer. A historian. Such, at least, is his ambition. You have no secretary, and have reached the point in your career where you need one.”
“His name?”
“Procopius. Procopius of Caesaria. In addition to serving as your secretary, I am quite certain he will broadcast your talents to the world at large and be of assistance to your career.”
“He is a flatterer, then?”
“An utterly shameless one. But quite talented at it, so his flattering remarks are generally believed, by the world at large if not by his employer.”
“And?”
The bishop looked unhappy. “Well-”
“Speak plainly, Anthony!”
Cassian’s lips pursed. “He is one of the vilest creatures I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. A flatterer, yes, but also a spiteful and envious man, who complements his public flattery with the most vicious private rumor-mongering. A snake, pure and simple.”
“He will do marvelously. Send him to me. I will hire him at once. And then I will give him all he needs, both for public flattery and private gossip.”
After Cassian and Michael left, Belisarius sat by his wife and took her hand.
His voice was still calm, and still unyielding, but very gentle.
“I am sorry, love. But it is the only course I can see which will be safe. I know how much pain it will cause, to have people say such things about you, but-”
Antonina’s laugh was as harsh as a crow’s.
“Me? Do you think I care what people say about me?”
She turned her head and looked him in the eyes.
“I am a whore, Belisarius.” Her husband said nothing, nor was there anything but love in his eyes.
She looked away. “Oh, you’ve never used the word. But I will. It’s what I was. Everyone knows it. Do you think a whore gives a fig for what people say about her?” Another harsh laugh. “Do you understand why the Empress Theodora trusts me? Trusts me, Belisarius. As she trusts no one else. It is because we were both whores, and the only people whores really trust- really trust-are other whores.”
For a moment, tears began to come back into her eyes, but she wiped them away angrily.
“I love you like I have never loved anyone else in my life. Certainly more than I love Theodora! I don’t even like Theodora, in many ways. But I would not trust you with the knowledge of my bastard son. Yet I trusted Theodora. She knew. And I trusted another whore, Hypatia, to raise the boy.” Her voice was like ice. “Do not concern yourself, veteran, about what I feel when people talk about me. You cannot begin to imagine my indifference.”
“Then-”
“But I do care what people say about you!”
“ Me? ” Belisarius laughed. “What will they say about me that they don’t already?”
“ Idiot,” she hissed. “ Now they say you married a whore. So they mock your judgment, and your good taste. But they see the whore does not stray from your side, so they-secretly-admire your manhood.” Incongruously, she giggled, then mimicked a whispering voice: “ ’He must be hung like a horse, to keep that slut satisfied.’ ” The humor vanished. “But now they will call you a cuckold. They will mock you, as well as your judgment. You will become a figure of ridicule. Ridicule, do you hear me?”
Belisarius laughed again. Gaily, to her astonishment.
“I know,” he said. “I’m counting on it.” He arose and stretched his arms. “Oh, yes, love, I’m counting on it.” He mimicked the whispering voice himself: “ ’What kind of a man would let his wife flaunt her lovers in front of him? Only the most pathetic, feeble, weak, cowardly creature.’ ” His voice grew hard as steel. “And then word will get to the enemy, and the enemy will ask himself: and what kind of a general could such a man be? ”
She looked up at him, startled.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted.
“I know. But this is all beside the point. You are lying, Antonina. You don’t really care what people say about me, any more than I care what people say about you.”
She looked away, her lips tight. For a moment, she was silent. Then, finally, the tears began to flow.
“No,” she whispered, “I don’t.”
“You are afraid I will believe the tales.”
She nodded. The tears began pouring. Her shoulders shook. Belisarius sat by her side and enfolded the small woman in his arms.
“I will never believe them, Antonina.”
“Yes, you will,” she gasped, between sobs. “Yes, you will. Not at once, not soon. Not for years, maybe. But eventually, you will. Or, at least, you will wonder, and suspect, and doubt, and distrust me.”
“I will not. Never.”
She looked up at him through teary eyes. “How can you be sure?”
He smiled his crooked smile. “You do not really understand me, wife. Not in some ways, at least.” His eyes grew distant. “I think perhaps the only person who ever understood me, in this way, was Raghunath Rao. Whom I’ve never met, except in a vision. But I understand him, kneeling in the woods below Venandakatra’s palace, praying with all his heart that the princess he loved would allow herself to be raped by the Vile One. More than allow it-would smile at her defiler and praise his prowess. I, too, would have done the same.”
Belisarius took his wife’s head in his hands and turned her face toward him.
“Raghunath Rao was the greatest warrior the Maratha produced in centuries. And the Maratha are the great warrior people of India, along with the Rajput. Yet this great warrior, kneeling there, cared nothing for those things warriors care for. Pride, honor, respect-much less virginity and chastity-meant nothing to him. And that is why he was so great a warrior. Because he was not a warrior, at bottom, but a dancer.”
Antonina couldn’t help laughing. “You’re the worst dancer I ever saw!”
Belisarius laughed with her. “True, true.” Then, he became serious. “But I am a craftsman. I never wanted to be a soldier, you know. As a boy, I spent all my time at the smithy, admiring the blacksmith. I wanted to be one, when I grew up, more than anything.” He shrugged. “But, it was not to be. Not for a boy of my class. So a soldier I became, and then, a general. But I have never lost the craftsman’s way of approaching his work.”
He smiled. “Do you know why my soldiers adore me? Why Maurice will do anything for me-such as this little trip to Antioch?”
Now on treacherous ground, Antonina kept silent.
“Because they know that they will never find themselves dying in agony, on a field of battle somewhere, because their general sent them there out of pride, or honor, or valor, or vainglory, or for any other reason than it was the best place for them to be in order to do the work properly.” The smile grew crooked. “And that’s why Maurice will see to it that a certain pimp named Constans gets his deserts.”