What is Mauros doing? Why does he stay silent? Why do I not hear from him? What plots is he hatching? If he dare not speak to me of what he purposes, does he think me a blind man, unable to see these things for myself? I know what he has in his mind. I know what he must have in his mind. He can have only one thing in his mind.
Treason.
Were he loyal, I should have heard of him long since. Since I have not heard, he cannot be loyal. What is he doing, up there in Kherson? He must have taken Bardanes' cock up his arse, to choose the stinking rebel over me. Let them come. Let them all come. We shall see how happy they are once they try to take the Queen of Cities from me. Bardanes and Helias shall have no stinking Khazars to bail them out then.
No one takes me by surprise. Like hundred-eyed Argos in the pagan myth, I see everything. Nothing escapes me. But I cannot see Kherson so well as I should like, not from Constantinople I cannot. I must watch the rebels as close as I can. Too much can happen in Kherson before word of it reaches the imperial city. I must be nearer, to get news sooner.
Where, then? Where? Amastris? No- closer than Constantinople, but not close enough. What of Sinope? Aye, Sinope! Nowhere closer to Kherson, not on this side of the Black Sea. I have men from the military district of the Thrakesians here in the capital, a couple of regiments. Have to pick up more troops along the way. The men of the military district of the Opsikion. Barisbakourios and his men. If they are not loyal, no one is.
And Tervel is with me. He lent me some soldiers to send to Kilikia to fight the Arabs. I will use them to fight the usurper instead.
Look at this. Look at these words. Hardly Greek at all. Where are the balanced clauses? The participles? The genitive absolutes? How my old pedagogue would scorn this style. What was his name? I still do not remember. As for the Greek, I do not care. After Bardanes is dead, and Helias, and Mauros, I will make it worth reading. Now it sets down my thoughts as I have them. It is enough.
On to Sinope! No time to lose!
Fight with Theodora in the tent here. Once too often, she says, "You should not have left Constantinople."
"I have to see," I tell her. "I must know what Bardanes is doing, the instant he does it. I cannot wait. I dare not wait."
"You should have stayed," she says again. "Here, marching through the countryside, you are a turtle out of its shell."
"A turtle that stays in its shell is a turtle that can't see," I say. "I must know what they are doing. I must, I tell you."
Stupid bitch, she cannot see what is in front of her. "You stick your head out of your shell, you see them chop it off," she says. "You stay in where you belong, they never get you. They never have a chance to get you."
I cannot go back. I must not go back. Why does she keep trying to put second thoughts in my head? Does she plot against me, too? "Shut up!" I scream. "Shut up! Shut up!"
"No!" She shouts, too. "You need to listen to me, Justinian! You are making a mistake. You should have stayed back in-"
I hit her then. The back of my hand. Hard across her face. Her eyes- big, big. Red on her cheek. Her mouth bleeds. A little. Not much. Only a little. I am the man. I am the Emperor. I have the right.
She is a barbarian. She does not understand. Tries to hit me. I am too fast. Too strong. Grab her arm. Throw her down on the folding bed. Stand over her. Breathing hard. Hard. Yes, hard. Jump down onto her.
"No!" she screams again.
I am the man. I am the Emperor. I have the right. No is not for me. She fights. I am too strong. Take her. Take that! Argue with me? Wonderful! Best since that yellow-haired Sklavinian toy. No rape since then. Long time. Too long. Should not have waited.
She claws my face when I pull out. The Sklavinian baggage hanged herself. This one may stick a knife in me. Ha! Let her try. I set drawers to rights. She starts to cry.
First Kill Bardanes. Kill Helias. Kill Mauros. Kill the Khersonites, the Phanagorians, the Goths in Doros. Kill them all. Then Theodora will be happy.
Amastris. Dreadful hole. No won der Cyrus left. Makes Kherson look like a city. Christ, what a thing to say! But true, true. Marched by now. Halfway to Sinope. More than halfway. Faster. Must push faster.