"I want half of them as well," snapped Irene. The pain was making her grouchy. "And three-fourths of the powder and bullets. Your damned dehgans can't use the things properly anyway-and you know it as well as I do!"
Baresmanas shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I foresaw this. Even warned the emperor!" He sighed again, and shook his head ruefully. "Ah, well. We Aryans have always been noted for our chivalry. I am a pawn in your hands."
Irene eased herself back into her own chair, again using the pressure of her hands on the armrests to stifle the pain in her spine. Then, smiled cheerfully. "Oh, don't be so gloomy. Khusrau can hardly punish you very severely, after all. Not with your own daughter being the new Empress of Rome! That might start a new war."
* * *
Three days later, the entire Kushan army departed Marv, leaving Baresmanas and his Persians in sole possession of the fertile oasis. With them went all of the Kushan artisans whom Lord Damodara had resettled in Marv the year before, in the course of his own campaign in the Persian plateau. The Kushan artisans wanted no part of Aryan rule. The Persians were notorious for their haughty ways.
But, still more, they were fired with enthusiasm for the Kushan cause. Most of them, after all, had come from Begram in the first place. And that city-the largest Kushan city in the world, and the center of Kushan industry and craftsmanship-was where Kungas proposed to march next. March upon it-and take it.
* * *
So, as Irene minced her way toward her horse, the Kushan camp followers and the new artisan families which had joined them cheered her on her way. Even more loudly than the Kushan soldiers, who were themselves cheering.
Before she reached the horse, several Kushan soldiers trotted up bearing a palanquin. They urged her to avail herself of the device-even offered, against all custom, to bear it themselves instead of putting slaves to the purpose.
Irene simply shook her head and minced past them. Behind her back, she could hear the gleeful sounds of the wagers being settled.
"The next time I see Antonina," she muttered bitterly, under her breath, "I'm going to have some harsh words to say to her on the subject of staring at a horse."
* * *
Three hours into the march, a party of Kushan women trotted their horses up to ride alongside her. Five of them, there were, all quite young. The oldest was no more than twenty, the youngest perhaps fifteen.
Irene was surprised. Not by the sight of Kushan women on horseback, which was uncommon but by no means considered outlandish. But by the fact that all five of them had swords belted to their waists, had bows and quivers attached to their saddles, and held lances in their hands.
"We're your new bodyguard," announced the oldest proudly. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise!"
"The king said it was suitable," said the youngest. Very stiffly, as if she expected contradiction and argument.
The oldest, apparently fearing the same, rushed further words to the fore. "We checked with the oldsters. Every one of us-every one! — has Sarmatian ancestors." A bit uncertainly: "Some ancestors, anyway. All Kushans do, after all."
Irene grinned. "Splendid! I couldn't have asked for a better bodyguard. I feel better already."
The queen's sarcastic wit had already become famous among her Kushan subjects. So, still uncertain, the young women stared at her anxiously.
Irene erased whatever trace of humor might have been on her face. "I'm quite serious," she said serenely. "I'm sure you'll do well enough, if I'm ever attacked. But what's even more important is that you'll guard me against the real enemy."
The oldest girl laughed. "Boredom! Men never know what to talk about, on a march. Except their stupid wagers."
At the mention of wagers, all the girls looked smug. Irene was quite certain that every one of them had just gained a significant increase in their wealth.
"Do any of you know how to read?" she asked.
Seeing the five girls shake their heads, Irene's sarcasm returned in full force.
"Typical! Well, there'll be none of that, my fine young ladies. If you expect to be my bodyguard, you'll damned well learn how to read! I can teach you from saddleback-you watch and see if I can't."
Serene calm returned. "That way we'll really have some fine conversations, in the weeks and months ahead. Not even women, when you get right down to it, are superhuman. Ha! I sometimes wonder what those stupid illiterate goddesses talked about, other than sewing and seduction."
Chapter 14
Charax
Summer, 533 A.D.
Antonina surveyed the large crowd piled into the reception chamber of Emperor Khusrau's palace. Whatever else changes, she thought ruefully, Persians will always insist on their pomp and ceremony.
The palace had once belonged to the imperial official in charge of overseeing Charax. After they seized the city, the Malwa had made the building their military headquarters. Then, once Belisarius had retaken the city, the palace had been returned to the Persians. But since Khusrau had decided to plant himself in Charax for the duration of the war, the building had assumed full imperial trappings. True, the Persians had not insisted on reconstructing the entire edifice. Not with the dynamic and practical Khusrau as their emperor. But they had patched up the war damage, repainted every surface, hauled every conceivable manner of statuary and decoration from the imperial capital of Ctesiphon. And, most of all-or so it seemed to Antonina, scanning the scene-packed it with every grandee in the far-flung Persian empire.
God, will you look at that crowd! Like sardines in an amphora.
She spotted Ousanas and a handful of Axumite officers in a nearby alcove off the main audience chamber. The Ethiopians had brought some of their beloved stools, and were ensconced upon them circling a small table piled high with goblets and wine jugs. The table was obviously Persian in design, and Antonina wondered idly how the Axumites had managed to obtain the thing. There was not a single table to be seen anywhere else in the jam-packed audience hall, or any of the other alcoves she could see.
Probably by threatening mayhem on the majordomo. She emitted a faint chuckle. Which also explains the relative population scarcity in that alcove. Even Persian grandees get nervous around testy Axumites.
The Axumites, like the Romans, were now allies of the Persian empire. But the Ethiopians had very little of the Roman patience with imperial protocol and the elaborate social finery which went with it. There had been any number of minor clashes between the Axumites and the Persians. None of those clashes had been violent, other than a handful of brawls in the dock area between sailors, but the Persian grandees generally avoided the company of Ethiopians except when it was absolutely necessary. An attitude which the Axumites reciprocated in full.
Ousanas spotted her and waved a hand, inviting her to join them. Antonina smiled, shook her head, and wiggled her fingers. Understanding the meaning of the gesture, Ousanas grinned at her and went back to his carousing.
Antonina sighed. "Somebody," she grumbled under her breath, "has to maintain diplomatic appearances."
Glumly, she eyed the mob between her and the emperor. Khusrau, perched on a throne atop a dais at the far end of the audience hall, was the only person sitting in the entire chamber. Antonina estimated that it would take her ten minutes to squeeze her way up to Khusrau's august presence in order to tender her official Roman diplomatic regards.