Destiny's shield

And there is no cure for cancer. Not, at least, anything that will be within your capability for many, many years. Centuries.

Belisarius took a deep breath.

'Yes, Justinian. You are right. Regardless of what else happens, Theodora will die of cancer in seventeen years.'

The former emperor sighed. 'They burned out my tear ducts, along with my eyes. I damn the traitors for that, sometimes, even more than my lost vision.'

Shaking himself, Justinian rose to his feet and began pacing about the room.

The plethora of statuary which had once adorned his room was gone, now. Theodora had ordered them removed, during Justinian's convalescence, worried that her blind husband might stumble and fall.

That fear had been quickly allayed. Watching the former Emperor maneuver through the obstacles littering the floor, Belisarius was struck again by the man's uncanny intelligence. Justinian seemed to know, by sheer memory, where every one of those potential obstructions lay, and he avoided them unerringly.

But the obstacles were no longer statuary. Justinian had no use, any longer, for such visual ornament. Instead, he had filled his room with the objects of his oldest and favorite hobby-gadgets. Half the floor seemed to be covered by odd contrivances and weird contraptions. Justinian even claimed that his blindness was an asset, in this regard, since it forced him to master the inner logic of his devices. Nor could Belisarius deny the claim. The general stared at one of the larger mechanisms in the room, standing in a corner. The device was quiescent, at the moment. But he had seen it work. Justinian had designed the thing based on Belisarius' own description of a vision given to him by Aide.

The first true steam engine ever built in Rome-or anywhere in the world, so far as he knew. He had not seen its like even during his long visit to Malwa India. The thing itself was not much more than a toy, but it was the model for the first locomotive which was already being planned. The day would come when Belisarius would be able to shuttle his troops from one campaign to another in the same way he had seen Aide describe in visions. Visions of a terrible carnage in the future which would be called the American Civil War.

A voice drew him back to the present.

'Seventeen years,' mused Justinian sadly. 'Whereas I, according to the jewel, will live to a ripe old age.' Pain came to his ravaged face. 'I had always hoped she might outlive me,' he whispered. Justinian squared his shoulders.

'So be it. I will give her seventeen good years. The best I can manage.'

'Yes,' said Belisarius.

Justinian shook his head. 'God, what a waste. Did the jewel ever show it to you, Belisarius? That future that would have been, had the Malwa never risen? The future where I had you ravage the western Mediterannean in the name of reconstituting Roman glory? Only to see half the Empire die from the plague while I used the royal treasury to build one grandiose, useless monument after another?'

'The Hagia Sophia was not useless, Justinian,' demurred Belisarius. 'It was-would have been-one of the world's genuine glories.'

Justinian snorted. 'I will allow that one exception. No-two. I also codified Roman law. But the rest? The-' He snapped his fingers. 'That secretary of yours. You know, the foul gossip. What's his name?'

'Procopius.'

'Yes, him. That fawning toad even wrote a book glorifying those preposterous structures. Did you see that?'

'Yes.'

Michael spoke. 'I hear you've dispensed with the reptile's services, now that you no longer need him to pass false rumors to the enemy. Good riddance.'

Belisarius chuckled. 'Yes, I did. I doubt very much that Malwa spies place any more credence in his claims that Antonina was spending all her time at our estate in Syria holding orgies in my absence.'

'Not after she showed up at the Hippodrome with her force of Syrian grenadiers and smashed the Nika insurrection!' barked Justinian. The former emperor rubbed his eye-sockets. 'Since he's out of work, Belisarius, send him to me. I'll give him a book to write. Just the kind of fawning propaganda he wrote for me in another future. Only it won't be called The Buildings. It'll be called The Laws, and it will praise to the skies the Grand Justiciar Justinian's magnificent work providing the Roman Empire with the finest legal system in the world.'

Justinian resumed his seat. 'Enough of that,' he said. 'There's something else I want to raise. Belisarius, I am a bit concerned about Antonina's expedition to Egypt.'

The general cocked an eyebrow. 'So am I!' he exclaimed. 'She's my wife, you know. I'm not happy at the idea of sending her into a battle with only-'

'Nonsense!' snapped the former emperor. 'The woman'll do fine, as far as any battles go. Don't underestimate her, Belisarius. Any woman that small who can slaughter half a dozen street thugs in a knife fight can handle that sorry bastard Ambrose. It's the aftermath I'm worried about. Once she's crushed this mini-rebellion, she'll be moving on. To the naval side of your campaign. What then?' He leaned forward, fixing Belisarius with his eyeless gaze.

'Who's going to keep Egypt under control?'

'You know our plans, Justinian. Hermogenes will assume command of the Army of Egypt and-'

The former Emperor snorted. 'He's a soldier, man! Oh, a damned fine one, to be sure. But soldiers aren't much use, when it comes to suppressing the kind of religious fanatics who keep Egypt in a turmoil.' He sighed heavily. 'Trust me, Belisarius. I speak from experience. If you use a soldier to squash a monk, all you create is a martyr.'

Justinian now turned to face Michael. 'You're the key here, Michael. We will need your religious authority.'

'And Anthony's,' qualified the monk.

Justinian waved his hand impatiently. 'Yes, yes, and the Patriarch's help, of course. But you are the key.'

'Why?' demanded Michael.

Belisarius replied. 'Because changing an empire's habits and customs-built through the centuries-will require religious fervor. A popular movement, driven by zeal and conviction. I don't disagree with Justinian, on that point. He's right-soldiers just create martyrs.' He cleared his throat. 'And, for the other-well, Anthony is as kindly, even saintly, a man as I ever hope to meet. The ideal Patriarch. But-'

A wintry smile came to the monk's gaunt face. 'He is not given to smiting the unrighteous,' concluded Michael. The Macedonian shifted position in his chair, much like a hawk sets his talons on a tree limb. 'I have no such qualms, on the other hand.'

'Rather the contrary,' murmured Justinian.

The former Emperor smiled grimly. He quite approved of Michael of Macedonia. The Stylite monk was a holy man, which Justinian most certainly was not. Yet they shared a certainly commonality of spirit. A Thracian peasant and a Macedonian shepherd, as youths. Simple men, ultimately. And quite savage, each in their own way.

Belisarius spoke again, shaking his head. 'We've already decided to send Michael's monks to Egypt, Justinian. I agree that they'll help. The fact remains, however, that without military force those monks will just wind up another brawling faction in the streets. Our military forces were already stretched-and now, I will be taking what few troops we can spare to combat the Malwa in Persia. We cannot divert those forces, Justinian, and the imperial treasury is too bare to finance the creation of a new army.'

Suddenly, images flashed through Belisarius' mind.

Ranks of cavalrymen. Their weapons and armor, though well made, were simple and utilitarian. Over the armor, they wore plain tunics. White tunics, bearing red crosses. Parading through the main thoroughfare of a great city. Behind them marched foot soldiers, also wearing that simple white tunic emblazoned with a huge red cross.

The general burst into laughter.

Thank you, Aide!

He turned to Michael. 'Have you chosen a name for your new religious order?'

The Macedonian grimaced. 'Please, Belisarius. I did not create that order. It was created by others-'

'Inspired by your teachings,' interjected Justinian.