"David Drake - Belisarius 2 - In The Heart Of Darkness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

prospects that much the dimmer. So they all thought, silently.
Narses said nothing. Nor, after a minute or so, did he pay any attention to
the words. Let them babble, and play their witless games.
Pointless games. The Grand Chamberlain, old as he was, eunuch that he was,
knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that there was no more chance of Belisarius
betraying his oath to Justinian -- less chance; much, much less chance -- than
that a handful of street thugs could cut him down from ambush.
The image of Belisarius came to his mind, as sharp as if the Thracian were
standing before him. Tall, handsome, well-built. The archetype of the simple
soldier, except for that crooked smile and that strange, knowing, subtle gaze.
Narses stared up at the ceiling, oblivious to the chatter around him, grimly
fighting down the pain.
Balban's voice penetrated.
"So, that's it. I think we're all agreed. We'll hope for the success of Lord
Venandakatra's effort to win over Belisarius. In the meantime, here in
Constantinople, we'll step up our efforts to turn his wife Antonina. As you
all know, she arrived a month ago from their estate in Syria. Ajatasutra has
already initiated contact with her."
Narses' eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. He listened to Ajatasutra:
"It went well, I think, for a first approach. She was obviously shaken by my
hint that Emperor Justinian is plotting with the Malwa to assassinate
Belisarius while he is in India, far from his friends and his army. I am to
meet her again, soon, while she is still in the capital."
John of Cappadocia's voice, coarse, hot:
"If that doesn't work, just seduce the slut. It seems the supposedly reformed
whore hasn't changed her ways a bit. Not according to Belisarius' own
secretary Procopius, at any rate. I had a little chat with him just the other
day. She's been spreading her legs for everybody since the day her doting
husband left for India."
Lewd laughter rippled around the room. Narses rolled his head on the couch,
slightly. Just enough to bring John of Cappadocia under his reptilian gaze.
Not for you, she hasn't. And never will. Or for anyone, I suspect. Only a
cretin would believe that malicious gossip Procopius.
Narses levered himself upright, and onto his feet.
"I'm leaving, then," he announced. He nodded politely to all the men in the
room, except John of Cappadocia. Courtesy was unneeded there, and would have
been wasted in any event. The Praetorian Prefect was oblivious to Narses. His
eyes were blank, his mind focussed inward, on the image of the beautiful
Antonina.
So Narses simply stared at the Cappadocian for a moment, treasuring the sight
of that twisted obsession. When the time came, the eunuch knew, after the
triumph of their treason, John planned to finally sate his lust for Antonina.
Narses turned away. The Cappadocian's guard would be down then. It would be
the perfect time to have him murdered.
Fierce satisfaction flooded him. In his own bitter heart, hidden away like a
coal in his icy mind, Narses had compiled a list of all those he hated in the
world. It was a very, very, very long list.
John of Cappadocia's name ranked high on that list. Narses would enjoy killing
him. Enjoy it immensely.
The pleasure would alleviate, perhaps, the pain from his other crimes. The