No sooner had she established her temporary headquarters than the entire city council appeared outside the palace, demanding the right to present their petitions and their grievances. She had invited them in—well over a hundred of the self-important folk—simply in order to gauge the attitude of Alexandria's upper crust.
Within ten minutes after they surged into the audience chamber, they had made their sentiments clear. As follows:
One. The Empire was ruled by a madwoman.
Two. The mad Empress had sent another madwoman to spread the madness to Alexandria.
Three. They, on the other hand, were not mad.
Four. Nor would they tolerate madness.
Five. Not that they themselves, of course, would think of raising their hands in violence against the Empress and her representive—perish the thought, perish the thought—even if they were nothing but a couple of deranged females. But—
Six. The dreaded mob of Alexandria, always prone to erupt at the slightest provocation, was even now coming to a furious boil. Any moment now, madness would be unleashed in the streets. Which—
Seven. Was the inevitable fate for madwomen.
Eight. Who were, they reiterated, utterly mad. Insanity personified. Completely out of their wits. Bereft of all sense and reason. Raving—
Antonina had had enough. "Arrest them," she said. Demurely. Ladylike. "The whole lot."
A little flip of the hand. "Stow them in the hold of one of the grain ships, for now. We'll figure out what to do with them later."
As Ashot and his cataphracts carried out her order, Antonina ignored the squawls of outrage issued by the city's notables as they were hog-tied and frog-marched out of the palace. She had other problems to deal with.
Some of those problems were simple and straightforward.
Representatives from the very large Jewish population of the city inquired as to their likely welfare. Antonina assured them that the Jews would be unmolested, both in their civil and religious affairs, so long as they accepted her authority. Five minutes later, the Jewish representatives were ushered out. On their way, Antonina heard one of them mutter to another, "Let the damned Christians fight it out, then. No business of ours."
Good enough.
Next problem:
Representatives of the city's powerful guilds demanded to know what the Empire's attitude would be toward their ancient prerogatives.
Complicated, but not difficult.
Antonina assured them that neither she, nor Emperor Photius, nor the Empress Regent, had any desire to trample on the guilds' legitimate interests. Other than, in the case of the shipbuilding and metalworking guilds, providing them with a lot of work. Oh, yes, and work for the huge linenmakers guild also. Sails would be needed for all the new ships they'd be building. And no doubt there'd be some imperial money tossed at the glassworkers guild. The Empress Regent—as everyone knew—was exceedingly fond of fine glasswork.
The papyrus-makers, of course, were sitting pretty. The influx of imperial officials would naturally increase the demand for paper. As for the jewelers, well, what with the enormous booty that'd soon be rolling in from the Malwa, writhing in defeat and humiliation, all of the soldiers—the many, many, many soldiers—who would be arriving to strengthen Egypt's garrison would naturally want to convert their bulky loot into items which were both portable and readily liquifiable, of which—O happy coincidence—fine jewelry took pride of place, especially the jewelry produced in Alexandria, which city was famed throughout the Empire—O happy coincidence—for the unexcelled craft of its gold- and silversmiths.
Now, as to the matter of grain-shipping guilds, well, soldiers are strapping lads. Need to eat a lot. So—
Two hours later, the representatives of the city's commercial and manufacturing guilds tottered out of the palace, reeling dizzily at the thought of their newfound wealth.
Other problems, of course, were hard as nails. But those, at least, Antonina did not have to spend hour after hour sitting on a chair to deal with. Those problems could only be dealt with in the streets.
Hermogenes stalked into the audience chamber just as the last guild representatives were leaving. He strode directly to Antonina's chair, leaned over, and whispered, "It's starting. Paul just finished a sermon at the Church of St. Michael, calling on the city's faithful to reject the Whore of Babylon."
"Which one?" asked Antonina whimsically. "Me? Or Theodora?"
Hermogenes shrugged. "From what our spies report, the Patriarch wasn't specific. The former Patriarch, I should say."
Antonina shook her head. "He's still the Patriarch, Hermogenes. In fact, if not in name. Theodosius may have the title, but it means nothing until we can install him in the Church of St. Michael and keep him there."
She cast a glance at the man in question. Theo-dosius was standing twenty feet away, conferring with two of the deacons who served as his ecclesiastical aides. Zeno, the commander of the Knights Hospitaler, was standing next to him, along with two of his own subordinates.
Antonina was pleased to note that Theodosius seemed neither agitated nor apprehensive.
I don't know about his theology, but the man's got good nerves. He'll need them.
She looked back at Hermogenes. "What about Ambrose?"
Hermogenes scowled. "The bastard's holed up at the army camp in Nicopolis. With all of his troops."
Ashot and Euphronius arrived just in time to hear the last words.
"Only thing he can do, for the moment," said Ashot. "He's a general in the army, subject to the Empire's stringent rules governing mutiny. Whereas"—the Armenian cataphract sneered—"the Patriarch can give sermons, and claim afterward that he was just preaching to his flock. No fault of his if he was misunderstood when he denounced the Whore of Babylon. He was just cautioning men against sin. He certainly didn't intend for a huge mob to assault the Empress' representative. He is shocked and distressed to learn that the unfortunate woman was torn limb from limb."
By this time, Theodosius and Zeno had joined the little circle around Antonina. "It's happened before," commented the Knights Hospitaler. "The prefect Petronius was stoned by the mob, during Augustus' reign. And one of the Ptolemies was dragged out into the streets and assassinated. Alexander II, I think it was."
Antonina pursed her lips. "How long do you think Ambrose will sit on the sidelines, Ashot?"
The commander of her Thracian bucellarii shrugged. "Depends on his troops, mostly. Ambrose only has three options." He held up his thumb. "One—accept his dismissal."
"Not a chance," interjected Hermogenes. "I know the man. Sittas was being polite when he called him a stinking bastard. Ambitious, he is."
Ashot nodded. "Rule out that option, then. That only leaves him two." He held up his other thumb. "Mutiny. But—"
Hermogenes started shaking his head.
"—that'd be insane," continued Ashot. "Every one of his soldiers knows the penalty for mutiny in the Roman army. The risk isn't worth it unless—" He held up his forefinger alongside his thumb.
"Option two. Ambrose declares himself the new Emperor. His soldiers hail him, start a civil war, and hope to enjoy the bounty if they win."
Hermogenes nodded vigorously. "He's right. A Patriarch can play games with street violence. A general can't. For him, it's all or nothing."
Antonina looked back and forth between the two officers. "You still haven't told me how long I've got before he decides."