“I did not interfere, however, when she pressed ahead with your team on her own initiative, and I understand from her reports that you have been successful. She took great pleasure in relating to me the events of your pursuit in the Subura. I am, I was, pleased by your success. You have proved your ability enough to win you and your men a place here, on this expedition.”
Now the girl cracked the smallest of smiles. Galen did not smile back; he was not finished.
“Our situation here is different. I have noted in my admittedly limited time here in the city that the Eastern officers are even more traditionally minded, more constrained in their thinking than mine. I do not believe that you are going to be useful here in an… open way.”
Galen held up a hand to still the young woman’s incipient protest.
“In the rolls of the expedition, you are listed as one of my couriers, a member of my staff. I am uneasy at bringing you to the general meeting tonight, but I do not want you to be unfamiliar with the other officers. I put this question to you. Can your optio, Nikos, go in your stead?”
Storm clouds gathered in Thyatis’ gray eyes. Only the ceaselessly drummed lessons of Krista and Anastasia kept her from launching into a stream of invective suitable to a sailor. Instead, she breathed deeply and seriously considered the Emperor’s request. “Augustus Caesar, Nikos is a steady man with many useful skills, but he is not the leader of my team, I am. The men follow me because I have won their respect and fear. If he goes in my stead, then my authority will be challenged and I will lose that respect. I urge you to reconsider your decision.”
Galen frowned. The girl, no-the centurion, was all too right. He would not undermine the authority of any of his other officers in such a way. Though it would cause trouble with the Eastern officers, he could see no way to avoid taking* the minotaur by the horns.
“I don’t suppose you can be unobtrusive?” he asked, re signed to an even longer and more contentious staff meeting than usual. If she proves too much trouble, he thought, I’ll send her back to Italia.
Thyatis suddenly smiled and the room, to Galen’s surprise, seemed suddenly brighter.
“Imperator,” she said, “you won’t even notice that I’m there.”
True to Thyatis’ suspicion, the quarters that she and her men were assigned were in no way “royal.” Beneath the Palace of Justinian were a series of great vaulted cisterns, now long dry and replaced in function by the cistern of Philoxenus, beyond the Hippodrome. Now they were crowded with engineers, servants, great heaps of equipment, wicker baskets of grain, and other goods. At the back of the far chamber, in stuffy darkness, she found Nikos and the rest of her detachment. The rest of the interview had gone well, the Emperor finally becoming just a harried and overburdened army commander to her rather than a suspicious near enemy. Unlike some who had gone before, this Emperor was irritated by the practices of the court and seemed more of a provincial landowner like one of her uncles than a living god.
She couldn’t help grinning to herself. Her right hand flexed unconsciously and drifted to the hilt of her sword. The mechanics of a plan, the hundreds of options and possibilities inherent to violent action, swam in her mind, rising and falling in a lake of possibilities. As they had always done since she was a little girl, her thoughts coalesced into a strategy and intent. She slapped her hand against her thigh in delight.
Nikos had not been idle, waiting for her return. The men were quartered behind a great pile of wicker baskets in a corner of the vast room. Most were inspecting their gear for rust or broken links when she walked up; the others were huddled in a corner of the little camp, engrossed in the rattle of dice. The optio looked up, then cleared off the overturned crate that he had been using to fletch arrows on. Thyatis grunted and slid the whole smoked ham off her left shoulder. It made a meaty thwack on the wood.
Nikos grinned. “Been to the kitchens, I see. Was there wine as well?” His dark eyes glittered in the light of the nearest lamp.
Thyatis snorted in amusement. “By the example of the Divine Julius, the favored drink of the legionnaire is vinegar.”
Nikos rolled his eyes and pulled a wineskin from under the crate. “No matter, I’ve my own. Was there trouble at the commander’s office?”
Thyatis shook her headv “No, we got along fine. He was concerned that my delicate nature would be offended by attending the general staff meeting tonight, with the officers in the Eastern army. He wanted you to go instead.”
Nikos paled. The prospect of hobnobbing with more than a hundred officers, nearly all of them of noble birth, filled him with dread. Better a thousand screaming woad-blue Picts charging your position than a general staff meeting. Thyatis was still smiling though, so it couldn’t be that bad.
“Settle down,” she said, pulling a knife from her belt and spinning the blade around its point on the top of the crate. “I disagreed, politely, and promised to be unobtrusive. There seems to be trouble brewing between the two armies. He doesn’t want to rock the galley right now.”
Nikos rubbed his nose, thinking.
“How are you going to avoid notice?” he asked, thinking of her with her looks and hair and attitude among the bearded nobles of the East or the stiff-backed Western officers. There was surely going to be trouble of it. The word that the Legion commanders were at each other’s throats was all over the city. Brawling between the soldiers only one incident away. Though neither Heraclius nor Galen had affected to notice it yet did not make it go away.
Much of the problem sprang from the simple fact that while the Western Empire had clung tenaciously to the mil itary organization of the early Empire, the East had not. Where the Western forces were in the numerical minority, they had a clearly defined chain of command. The Eastern army that was gathering was more a collection of personal retainers, each under its own warlord, than a professional army. The Western officers expected there to be a single overall commander, preferably their own Emperor, while the Eastern lords all demanded a voice in the course of the expedition. The Western troops and officers spoke Latin, the Easterners Greek or Aramaic. This was just the beginning of the difficulties, mused Nikos, watching his commander with a worried eye.
How will they accept her? he wondered. We accept her, even though she is younger than most of us, save Tycho, and a woman besides. Why is that? he questioned himself. We follow her without question, she is our commander, yet by no precedent should that be so…He shook the thought away. It was not germane to the situation. She was his commander. Even when he had first met her, it seemed only natural that she should lead and he should follow. Her shoulders are broad enough to carry us, he thought, and nodded to himself.
Thyatis had turned away from her lieutenant and threw an apple core at the crowd of gamblers in the corner. It bounced off the partially turbaned head of a Syrian. The Syrian looked up, scandalized, but his handsome face cleared when he saw who had thrown it.
“Anagathios, get your perfumed buttocks over here. I’ve a question.”
The Syrian gathered up the pile of coin in front of him, pocketed the dice, and sauntered over to the little desk. He knelt on the floor next to Thyatis and prostrated himself with a great flourish.
Thyatis grinned but cuffed him on the side of his head. “Stop trying to look up my dress, I’m not wearing one.” She grabbed on his ears and dragged his head up. He put on a pained expression, and his mouth dragged down in a doleful grimace. He spread his hands wide in supplication.
Thyatis leaned close. “Do you still have your box of mummers’ paints?”