Destiny's Shield

The other, a Thracian born into the lower ranks of Rome's parvenu aristocracy, never even thought of nobility. Thought, not once, of honor or of valor. He simply waited for the oncoming enemy, patiently, like a blacksmith waits for iron to heat in the furnace.

A craftsman at his trade. Nothing more.

And nothing less.

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Framed

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Chapter 31

ALEXANDRIA

Autumn, 531 A.D.

"This is madness!" shouted one of the gym-nasiarchs. The portly notable was standing in the forefront of a small crowd packed into the audi-ence chamber. All of them were men, all of them were finely dressed, and most were as fat as he was.

Alexandria's city council.

"Madness!" echoed another member of the council.

"Lunacy!" cried a third.

Antonina was not certain which particular titles those men enjoyed. Gymnasiarchs also, perhaps, or possibly exegetai.

She did not care. The specific titles were meaningless—hoary traditions from the early cen-turies of the Empire, when the city council actually exercised power. In modern Alexandria, membership in the council was purely a matter of social prestige. The real authority was in the hands of the Praetorian Prefect, the commander of the Army of Egypt, and—above all—the Patriarch.

After disembarking her troops, Antonina had immediately seized a palace in the vicinity of the Great Harbor. She was not even sure whose palace it was. The owner had fled before she and her soldiers occupied the building, along with most of his servants.

Each of the many monarchs who had ruled Egypt in the eight hundred and sixty-two years since the founding of Alexandria had built their own palaces. The city was dotted with the splendiferous things. Over the centuries, most of those royal palaces had become the private residences of the city's high Greek nobility.

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.