In the Heart of Darkness

The Empress shook her head. The gesture was short, sharp, final. 'No. You do not understand, Irene. Narses and I have been close-very close-for many years. If he suspected treason, and wanted to draw it out, he would have told me. There is only one explanation for his presence at that meeting.'

She turned, raised her head imperiously, looked at Maurice and Hermogenes.

'Thank you, gentlemen,' she said. Her voice was cold, perhaps a bit choked. A bit, no more. The Empress turned her head slightly, staring at the wall.

'Now-please leave. I wish to be alone with Antonina and Irene.'

The two men in the room immediately left. After they closed the door behind them, they looked at each other and puffed their cheeks with relief.

'Let the women handle it now, lad,' muttered Maurice. He stumped down the corridor, Hermogenes in tow, making no attempt to soften his footfalls.

In the room, the Empress continued to stare blindly at the wall, maintaining her rigid posture, until the sound of the receding soldiers faded completely away. Then she broke, not like a stick, but like a stone might crumble. Before the first tears had even appeared, Antonina was out of her own chair and cradling Theodora's head against her stomach. The Empress clutched her, sobbing, her face buried completely in Antonina's skirts. The tiara on her head was pushed back onto her hair, making a mess of the elaborate coiffure.

Irene remained in her seat. Her face showed her own distress. But, when she made a motion to rise and come to Antonina's assistance, Belisarius' wife stopped her with a look and a small shake of the head.

Irene sat back, understanding. The understanding, then, brought a different distress.

Fear. A fear much like that of an experienced seaman sensing hidden reefs and treacherous currents.

Irene Macrembolitissa was one of the best professional spymasters in the Roman Empire. One of the very best intriguers-in an era where intrigue was so prevalent, and so skilled, that it would bequeath the very name Byzantine to the lexicon of future languages.

She was in dangerous waters, now. The number of people alive who had ever seen Theodora in such a state could be counted on the fingers of one hand. It was both a privilege and a peril.

After a minute or so, the sobbing ceased. Irene noted, with the detached interest of a spymaster, that for all their bitter anguish the sobs had been almost silent. The Empress Theodora would never wail. Like any woman, she could have her heart broken. But it was a small, tough, stony heart. Its wounds healed very quickly, and simply added more scar tissue.

As soon as the sobs stopped, the Empress turned her head against Antonina's belly and fixed Irene with her gaze. The spymaster crouched in her chair, still, frozen by those cold black eyes. She felt like a rabbit being examined by a hawk.

'Tell me, Antonina,' commanded Theodora. There was still a trace of raw anguish in that voice, but not much of one. It was a cold, black voice.

'She is my dear friend, Theodora,' said Antonina. Her own voice, though soft, was even colder. 'I love her as much as I trust her.'

Silence followed, for a time which seemed to Irene to stretch on for hours. But it was less than half a minute before the Empress pushed herself away from Antonina.

'Good enough,' she murmured. The Empress took a deep breath, leaned back into her chair. Throughout, her eyes never left Irene. But a smile came to her face. It was not much of a smile, true. But Irene suddenly discovered she could breathe.

Theodora laughed. It was like a raven's caw.

'Welcome to the old whores' club, Irene,' she rasped. A majestic wave of the hand. 'I make you an honorary member.'

Theodora craned her head up, looking at Antonina. Finally, now, something other than pain entered her face.

'Thank you, Antonina,' she whispered. 'As always.'

Then she sat erect. Automatically, as if to bring reassurance, her hand rose to the tiara. Finding it askew, she tried to force it back into place. The attempt failed, stymied by the disheveled mass of hair.

'Oh, the hell with it,' muttered the Empress. She snatched the tiara off her head and placed it on the floor.

Irene almost laughed then, seeing the look of astonishment on Antonina's face. Often, in the year gone by, Antonina had told her of Theodora's obsession with maintaining her imperial regalia.

The Empress waved Antonina back to her chair.

'Let's to business,' she commanded. Then, after her friend had resumed her seat:

'First of all, Antonina, you will pursue the contact this Indian-what was his name again?-'

'Ajatasutra.'

'Yes-that this Ajatasutra initiated. He'll be seeking to draw you into some treasonous statement, you understand?'

Antonina nodded, saying:

'Of course. And there'll be an impeccable witness hidden somewhere nearby. John of Cappadocia, perhaps.'

Irene shook her head. 'It won't be him. Too many people wouldn't believe that filthy bastard if he claimed the sun rose in the east and set in the west. No, it's more likely to be one or the other-better yet, both-of the two churchmen.' She shrugged. 'Or someone else we don't even know yet.'

Theodora pressed on:

'It's essential that you make such a statement, Antonina. That's the key that'll keep the door open. As long as the Malwa think they have something on you, they'll trust you.'

Antonina chuckled. 'You call that trust?'

The Empress smiled. 'It's what passes for trust in that world. Our world, I'm afraid.'

'Good as gold,' chipped in Irene. 'Better than gold, even. There's nothing an intriguer trusts more than someone he's successfully blackmailed.'

Antonina made a little grimace of distaste. 'And then what?' she asked.

Theodora shrugged. 'We'll have to see. After the Malwa think they have you properly blackmailed, they'll demand that you perform some service. Give them some secret information, probably. When we find out what it is they want to know, that will tell us what's important to them.'

Antonina considered the Empress' words for a moment.

'Makes sense,' she said. Then, fixing Theodora with a level, serene gaze, added: 'So be it.'

The Empress returned the gaze. Nothing was said, for a full minute. When the Empress looked away, Irene noted that color had now fully returned to her face.

'Thank you, Antonina,' whispered Theodora. 'Again.'

The intensity with which the words were spoken startled Irene, at first. Until she realized what had just happened. With that realization, she transferred her sharp eyes to the face of Antonina.

There was nothing to be seen on the Egyptian woman's face, beyond green-eyed, dark-haired, olive beauty. And serenity.

In the months since she had first met Antonina, she had often been impressed by her. But never more than at that moment.

A little chuckle from the Empress drew Irene's eyes. To her surprise, she found Theodora watching her.

'Good, Irene. You understand, then. Precious few people ever have.'

Irene blew out her cheeks. 'Not many women would agree to incriminate themselves on behalf of an Empress whose husband, well-placed rumor has it, is trying to have their own husband murdered. Without asking so much as a question. That's a different kind of trust than I usually encounter.'

'Than anyone encounters,' replied Theodora. For a moment, her lips tightened with anger. 'I'm sure you've heard that my close friendship with Antonina is due to the fact that we're both former whores from Alexandria? Birds of feather, as it were, flocking together.'

Irene nodded. 'Any number of times.'

'Idiots,' snarled the Empress. 'I know-knew, at least-plenty of Alexandrian whores who'd slit their own sister's throat for two denarii.'

Antonina murmured: 'That's not fair, Theodora. Antiochene whores, maybe. Any self-respecting Egyptian