"Certainly, perhaps in Sicily. The disturbances in Africa afford the best excuse for sending a fleet into those waters. And as soon as the net is sunk Belisarius must draw it together."
"But who shall sink it?"
Theodora reflected for a few moments; then she said:
"The most gifted man in the West; Cethegus Cæsarius, the Prefect of Rome, the friend of my youth."
"Quite right. But not he alone. He is a Roman, no subject of mine; and I am not sure of him. Whom shall I send? Once again Alexandros?"
"No," said Theodora, "he is too young for such a task. No." And she became thoughtfully silent. "Justinian," she said at last, "you shall see that I can sacrifice my personal dislikes for the sake of the empire, when it is necessary to choose the right man. I propose my enemy, Petros, the cousin of Narses, the fellow-student of the Prefect, the sly rhetorician--send him!"
"Theodora!" cried the Emperor, embracing her; "God himself has given you to me! Cethegus--Petros--Belisarius. Barbarians! you are lost!"
CHAPTER XVI.
The morning following this conversation the beautiful Empress rose in great good-humour from her swelling cushions, which were filled with the delicate neck-feathers of the Pontian crane, and covered with pale yellow silk.
Before the bed stood a tripod holding a silver basin, representing Oceanus; in it lay a massive golden ball. The Empress lifted the ball and let it fall clanging into the basin. The clear tone roused the Syrian slave who slept in the ante-room. She entered, and, approaching the bed of the Empress with her arms crossed upon her bosom, drew back the heavy violet-coloured curtains of Chinese silk. Then she took a soft Iberian sponge, which, soaked in asses' milk, lay in a crystal dish, and carefully wiped off the coating of oily paste with which the neck and face of her mistress were covered during the night.