In the Heart of Darkness

She strode forward, heading down the aisle. The grenadiers parted before her and then immediately closed behind. She moved through that little sea of humanity like a ship in full sail.

As she reached the door, Anthony Cassian stepped forward. For a moment, she embraced her old friend.

"May God be with me," she whispered.

"Oh, I believe He is," replied the Bishop softly. "Trust me in this, Antonina." With a quirk of a smile: "I am quite a reputable theologian, you know."

She returned his smile, kissed him on the cheek, and strode past.

By now, a large crowd of onlookers had gathered in the street. Not even the glares of cataphracts could hold back their curiosity. But then, hearing the sound of many approaching horses—heavy, armored horses—the crowd eddied back, pressed against the houses and fences which lined the boulevard.

Down that street, in a prancing trot, came two hundred cataphracts. The remainder of the Thracian bucellarii, returning from their own triumph.

When the cataphracts reached the cathedral they drew to a halt. The cataphracts in the lead tossed the residue of their vengeance at Antonina's feet.

Gasping and hissing, the crowd of bystanders plastered themselves against the walls. A few, timidity overcoming curiosity, scuttled hastily into the houses and fenced yards.

Twenty or so severed heads, rolling in the street, can chill even the most avid onlooker.

The grenadiers, on the other hand, seeing the grisly trophies, erupted with their own savage glee.

"NOTHING! NOTHING! NOTHING!"

Antonina moved toward her horse. Maurice, with two cataphracts in tow, met her halfway.

"Put these on," commanded Maurice. "I had them specially made."

The cataphracts with him extended a cuirass and a helmet.

"The helmet was easy," commented Maurice. "But the cuirass was a bit of a challenge for the armorer. He's not used to cleavage."

Antonina smiled. With Maurice's help, she donned the unfamiliar equipment. The smile vanished. "This stuff is heavy."

"Don't complain, girl. Just be thankful it's only half-armor. And be especially thankful that we're in Constantinople in the winter, instead of Syria in the summer."

Antonina grimaced at the thought. Then, with a sly little smile:

"Don't I get a sword, too?"

Maurice shook his head.

"I've got something better."

He drew a scabbarded knife—a large and odd knife, judging from the sheath—and handed it to her.

Antonina drew the blade out of the scabbard. She could not restrain a little gasp.

"You recognize it, I see," said Maurice. His voice was full of satisfaction. "The shopkeeper drove a hard bargain for it, but I thought it was fitting."

Antonina stared back and forth from Maurice to the cleaver.

The hecatontarch's lips twisted into a grim smile.

"Ask any veteran, Antonina. They'll all tell you there's nothing as important in a battle as having a trusty, tested blade."

Suddenly, the feel of that simple cooking utensil in her hand filled Antonina with a great rush of confidence.

"I do believe you're right, Maurice."

She sensed, from the murmuring voices around her, that the cataphracts were passing the news to the grenadiers. Seconds later, the grenadiers began a new chant:

"CLEAVE THEM! CLEAVE THEM!"

With Maurice's help, she clambered into her saddle, suppressing a curse at the awkward weight of the helmet and armor. Once securely seated, she raised the butcher knife over her head, waving it.

The grenadiers roared. The cataphracts joined their voices to the cry:

"NOTHING! NOTHING!"

Antonina suppressed a laugh.

For all the world like a warrior of legend, waving a mystic sword of renown!

Which, though she did not know it yet, she was; and which, to her everlasting surprise, that humble cleaver would become.

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Framed

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Chapter 25

When John of Rhodes saw the approaching dromon, he began cursing bitterly.

Some of his curses were directed at Irene Macrembolitissa. The spymaster had not warned him that the traitorous General Aegidius had obtained a war galley to clear the way for his troop transports. John could already see the first of those transports, bearing the lead elements of the Army of Bithynia. Four of the tubby sailing ships were just now leaving the harbor at Chalcedon, heading across the Bosporus toward Constantinople.

But most of his curses were aimed at life in general. He did not really blame Irene for the failure in intelligence. In all fairness, the spymaster could not be expected to know everything about their enemy.

"That's just the way of it," he muttered. "War's always been a fickle bitch."