Fortune's stroke

Eon nodded happily. 'She's smart, too. Did you know she can actually read? And she's funny. Even before I lifted the veil I thought I would be enamored. She told a little joke, while the priests were droning on and on. I almost died, trying not to laugh.'

He was silent, for a few seconds, admiring his wife. Rukaiya was the center of attention for the crowd-and had been, since the feast started. At the moment, she was surrounded by many of the young girls who had spent the days in the harem with her. Antonina, watching the ease with which Rukaiya handled that little mob of admirers-who had, not so long ago, been her rivals-congratulated herself once again.

She'll make a great queen.

The final reward came. Eon took her hand and gave it a little squeeze.

'Thank you,' he whispered. 'You have been like a mother for me.'

Toward the end of the feast, Rukaiya sought her out. The young queen drew Antonina aside, into a corner of the great chamber. She clutched Antonina's hands in her own.

'I'm so nervous,' she whispered. 'Eon and I will be leaving, very soon. For his private chamber. I am so nervous. So scared.'

Antonina smiled reassuringly, almost placidly. The expression was hard to maintain. She was waging a ferocious battle-not against giggles, but uproarious laughter.

What a lot of crap! Do you think you can fool me, girl? You're not scared. You just can't wait to get laid, that's all.

But a mother's instinct came to the rescue, again.

'Relax, Rukaiya. Forget what you might have heard. Most men, believe it or not, don't mount their wives like a bull mounting a heifer. They actually talk, first.'

Some of them, anyway. Eon will.

Rukaiya's eyes were boring into her own, like a disciple staring at a prophet.

Hell with it. Antonina did laugh.

'Relax, I say!' She pried loose one of her hands and stroked the girl's cheek. Humor faded away, under the intensity of Rukaiya's gaze. Half-dreading; half-hopeful; half-eager; half-curious; half-. .

That's way too many halves. This girl's got too many emotions going on at once.

'Trust me, Rukaiya,' she said softly. 'When the time comes, Eon will be very gentle. But it may not come as soon as you think. Maybe not at all, tonight.'

Rukaiya's mouth gaped wide.

Antonina's hand went from the girl's cheek to her lustrous, long black hair. Still stroking, she said: 'Remember, girl, he recently lost concubines that he loved very much. It will be hard for him, too, when you are alone. He will be reminded of them, and be saddened. And he will be nervous himself. He's not a virgin, of course-'

She fought down a giggle. To put it mildly!

'— but he's still a young man. Not much older than you. In the beginning, I think, he will just want to talk.'

Slowly, Rukaiya's mouth closed. The girl thought on Antonina's words for a time, as the Roman woman kept stroking her hair. The words, and the caresses, began to calm her.

'I know how to do that,' Rukaiya announced. 'I'm good at talking.'

The next morning, at the breakfast feast, Garmat began grumbling again.

'What were you thinking, Antonina?'

The old adviser was sitting right next to her, in a position of honor near the head of the great table. Ousanas was seated on her other side. The two positions at the very head of the table, of course, were reserved for the King of Kings and his new queen. Judging from the fanfare of the drums, they were about to make their entrance.

'What were you thinking?' he repeated. 'I just discovered the girl can read, on top of everything else. Wonderful. Two bookworms. They probably spent the whole night talking philosophy.' He shook his head sadly. 'The dynasty is doomed. There will be no heirs.'

Eon and Rukaiya swept into the dining hall and took their seats. Ousanas took one glance at their faces and pronounced the obvious.

'You are a doddering old fool, Garmat. And Antonina is still a genius.'

Yes, I am, she thought happily. A true and certain genius.

Chapter 22

Persia

Summer, 532 A.D.

'It looks like he's coming alone,' said Damodara, squinting at the tiny figure in the distance. The Malwa lord cocked his head toward the tall Rajput standing next to him. 'Am I right? Your eyes are better than mine.'

Sanga nodded. 'Yes. He's quite alone.' The Rajput king watched the horseman guiding his mount toward them. The parley had been set on the most open patch of ground which Sanga's trackers had been able to find in this stretch of the Zagros. But the bleak, arid terrain was still strewn with rocks and small gullies.

'That is his way, Lord Damodara.' Sanga's dark eyes were filled with warm admiration. 'His way of telling us that he trusts our honor.'

Damodara gave Sanga a quick, shrewd glance. For a moment, he felt a twinge of envy. Damodara was Malwa. Practical. He did not share Sanga's code of honor; nor, even, the prosaic Roman version of it possessed by Belisarius. But Damodara understood that code. He understood it very well. And he found himself, as he had often before, regretting that he felt no such certainty in the face of life's chaos.

Damodara was certain of nothing. He was a skeptic by nature-and had been, since his earliest memories as a boy. He was not even certain of the new gods which ruled his fate.

He did not doubt their existence. Like Sanga himself-the Rajput king was the only man who had ever done so beyond Malwa's dynasty-Damodara had spent time alone with Link. Damodara, like Sanga, had been transported into visions of humanity's future. He had seen the new gods, and the destiny they brought with them.

No, Damodara did not doubt those gods. He did not even doubt their perfection. He simply doubted their certainty. Damodara did not believe in fate, and destiny, and the sure footsteps of time.

Belisarius was close enough now for Damodara to make him out clearly. That, Damodara believed in. That, and the reality of the Rajput standing next to him in the shade of the pavilion. He believed in horsemen riding across stony ground, under the light of a mid-morning sun. He believed in the sun, and the rocks, and the cool breeze. He believed in the food resting on platters at the center of the low table in the pavilion. He believed in the wine which was in the beaker next to the food, and he believed in the beaker itself.

None of those things were perfect. Even the sun, on occasion, had spots. And they were very far from being certain, beyond the next few hours. But they were real.

Damodara was Malwa. Practical. Yet he had discovered, as so many practical men before him, that being practical was a lot harder than it looked. So, for a moment, he envied Sanga's certainties.

But only for a moment. Humor came to his rescue. Damodara had a good sense of humor. Practical men needed it.

'Well, we can't have that!' he proclaimed. 'A commander should have a bodyguard.'

Damodara turned his head and whispered something to Narses. The eunuch nodded, and passed the message to the young Rajput who was serving as their attendant in the pavilion. A moment later, the youth was on his horse and cantering toward the Rajput camp a short distance away.

And so it was, by the time Belisarius drew up his horse before the small pavilion in which the parley would be