The Tide of Victory

Normally, Belisarius would have been delighted to receive a letter from Antonina. But this one . . . He reached for it gingerly.

"She's quite firm in her opinion, needless to say."

She was, indeed. Gloomily, as he read Antonina's letter, Belisarius could foresee furious times ahead of him. Negotiations with his Persian allies which would be almost—not quite—as ferocious as his battles with the Malwa.

Somewhere in the middle of his reading, a part of his mind noticed that Menander and Eusebius had come charging into his headquarters. (Which was still a pavilion. Permanent construction was taking place all over the Iron Triangle, but it was devoted to the necessities of war, not the creature comfort of officers. Although the Persians were starting to make noise about requiring a "suitable residence" for Khusrau, when he came to visit.) But Belisarius paid no attention to their eager words, or the way they were waving around the design sketches Justinian had brought with him. Not until Aide jolted him out of his misery.

You really might want to pay attention to this, you know. Persians are Persians. The war goes on. And I personally think you need to squelch any idea about a submarine before it even gets started—hopeless, that is—but Justinian's ideas about spar torpedoes strike me as having some promise. Let the Malwa fuss around with those clumsy ironclads! We can circumvent them entirely, the way Justinian's thinking runs. With great satisfaction: Smart man, now that he's not burdened with all that imperial crap.

Startled, Belisarius looked up. To his surprise, he saw that Justinian was grinning at him again.

"So, my favorite General. Are you still glad to see me?"

This time, Belisarius didn't even have to think about it.

"Yes, I am."

An empress and her grief

By the time Rukaiya was finally able to speak, Antonina felt her ribs might be on the verge of breaking. The sobbing Queen of Axum had been clutching her like a drowning kitten.

"Thank you," Rukaiya whispered, wiping away her tears. "I have been so terrified since the news came—more for Wahsi than myself—that I was not even able to grieve properly. I was afraid that if anyone saw even a sign of weakness . . . Horrible enough that Eon is dead. To have his son murdered also . . ."

Antonina stroked the girl's hair, nestling her head in her shoulder. "It won't happen, Rukaiya. I promise. Between me and Ousanas and Ezana, you have nothing to fear. Wahsi is the negusa nagast, and there's an end to it. There will be no struggle over the succession. No Ethiopian version of the Diadochi."

Again, the young queen burst into tears. "I loved him so! I can't believe he's gone."

Rukaiya said nothing further for quite a while. Antonina was glad of it, despite the additional stress on her ribcage. No widow that young should be faced with anything in such a time, other than her own grief. Just . . .

Weep, and weep, and weep.

A ruler and her decrees

"As long as she needs," said Antonina firmly. "Weeks, months, whatever it takes. Grieving must be done properly."

Seated on the imperial throne elevated on its great dais, she stared down at the crowd of notables assembled in the audience chamber. The large room was packed with such men, Ethiopian and Arab alike. Officials, military leaders, merchant princes—all of Axum's elite was gathered there.

"As long as she needs," Antonina repeated. She scanned the crowd with cold eyes, daring anyone to challenge her.

The crowd was mute. Clearly enough, from their expressions, any number of the notables would have liked to utter a protest. Of some kind. Trade will be disrupted! Decrees must be made! Legal disputes must be settled! Promotions to the officer ranks—now more than ever, with all the losses—must be made!

"I will rule in her stead," decreed Antonina. "Until the queen is able to resume her responsibilities. Her new responsibilities, as the regent until the negusa nagast is old enough to rule on his own."

She stared down the crowd, daring them to challenge her. That they wanted to, she didn't doubt for a moment. But—