by Eric Flint
A deck which was packed with heavily armored cataphracts.
The scene on that ship was pure horror. At least a dozen cataphracts were being roasted alive in their iron armor. Several of them, driven to desperation, leapt off the ship into the sea. There, helplessly dragged down by the weight of their equipment, they drowned.
But they were dead men, anyway. At least their agony was over. Those who remained aboard were like human torches. In their frenzied movements, they helped to spread the flames further. John's hellish concoction was like Satan's urine. It stuck to everything it touched-and it burned, and burned, and burned, and burned. Within thirty seconds, the entire deck of that ship was a holocaust.
Then, the holocaust spread. The steersman, seeing the fiery doom coming toward him, made his own leap into the sea. Unlike the cataphracts, he was not encumbered with armor and could hope to swim.
Swim where? Presumably, to the nearest ship. Unfortunately, by deserting his post he caused the burning ship to head into the wind and waves. The corbita coming immediately behind was unable to avoid a collision.
The flames now spread to that ship. Most of the spreading came from the entangled sails. But some of it came from the frenzied human torches which clambered aboard.
Two ships were now completely out of action.
Neither Belisarius nor Valentinian paid much attention. They were too busy dealing with their next victims.
For Belisarius, that victim was the same as his first. Coming closer to the ship whose bow he had already set afire-now, at a range of three hundred yards-the general aimed his scorpion amidships.
He was deliberately trying to imitate Valentinian's shot. His first shot missed-too low, scattering flames across the sea fifty yards before the target. But, after a quick adjustment of the trough's strut, he succeeded with the next shot. His firebomb ruptured against the enemy ship's railing and spewed destruction across its packed deck.
That ship was out of action.
As he waited for his artillerymen to rearm the scorpion, Belisarius observed Valentinian's next shot. Valentinian was also trying to copy his first success.
He misjudged, however, and his shot went a little high.
No matter. Both he and Belisarius learned another lesson in the brand new world of naval artillery warfare.
Sails and rigging, struck head-on by a firebomb, burn like oil-soaked kindling. Within five seconds, that ship was effectively dismasted, wallowing helplessly in the waves.
Yet-
The cataphracts standing on the deck below were-for the moment at least-unharmed.
Unharmed, and filled with fury. Belisarius could see dozens of them beginning to bring their powerful bows to bear. Less than three hundred yards away-well within range of cataphract archery. In moments, his little ship would be swept by a volley of arrows. The rowers below would be reasonably safe in their enclosed shelters. But all of the men on the wood-castle had only the low walls to protect them.
"Ready!" cried the loader.
Belisarius threw his weight against the heavy trough. The loader and the claw-man helped swivel the scorpion around. As soon as it bore, Belisarius yanked the trigger.
The cataphracts on the enemy ship were just starting to draw back their bows. Some of them loosed their arrows-but, flinching, missed their aim. Most of the cataphracts, seeing the firebomb speeding right at them, simply ducked.
The side of their ship erupted in a ball of flame. There was not the instant destruction which they feared, true. Belisarius' shot struck too far below the rail to scatter the naphtha across the deck in that horrible waterfall of flame. But, soon enough, they would be dead men. And they knew it.
Trapped on a vessel which would burn to the waterline. Trapped in heavy armor. Trapped in the middle of the Bosporus.
Belisarius' ship plowed past them at a range of two hundred yards. He could see some of the enemy cataphracts, through gaps in the black and oily smoke. They were no longer even thinking about their bows, however. All of them that he could see were frantically getting out of their armor.
In less than ten minutes, he realized, he had destroyed half of the Army of Bithynia's cataphract force.
But he did not have time to find any satisfaction in the deed. Belatedly, he realized that his reckless straight-ahead charge, for all its immediate effectiveness, had placed he and his men in mortal peril. Instead of standing off at a distance and bombarding his enemy, he was plunging straight into their massed fleet of ships. There were archers on all of those ships-hundreds of them. Thousands of them.
Within two minutes, they would be inundated with arrows.
A voice, pouting:
I told you so.
Sulky self-satisfaction:
Cross the T. Cross the T.
Valentinian had already reached the same conclusion.
"We're in a back alley knife fight, now. Only one thing to do."
Belisarius nodded. He knew the answer to their dilemma.
Valentinian had taught it to him, years ago.
Chop the other mindless idiot first.
He turned to Honorius. The seaman's face was pale-he, too, recognized the danger-but was otherwise calm and composed.
"Straight ahead," he commanded. "As fast as you can. We'll try to cut our way through."
As he brought his scorpion to bear on the next ship in line, he caught a glimpse of Valentinian crouched over his own weapon. An instant later, the cataphract's scorpion bucked. The deck of a nearby corbita was transformed into the same hell-on-earth which had already visited four cataphract-laden akatoi.
Valentinian grinned, like a weasel.
Seeing that vicious grin, Belisarius found it impossible not to copy it. Time after time, in years gone by, as he trained a young officer in bladesmanship, Valentinian had lectured him on the stupidity of fighting with a knife in close quarters.
Valentinian should know, of course. It was a stupidity he had committed more than once. And had survived, because he was the best close-quarter knife-fighter Belisarius had ever met.
He heard his loader:
"Ready!"
The closest enemy ship was a corbita, but Belisarius aimed past it, at the next approaching akatos. He feared the archery of those cataphracts more than he did the bowmanship of common soldiers.
He fired. Missed. Although the ship was hardly pitching at all, it was still rolling, and his shot had been twenty yards too far to the right.
His men rearmed the scorpion and Belisarius immediately fired. Another miss-too high, this time. The bomb sailed right over the akatos' mast.
Windlasses spun, the men turning them grunting with exertion. The loader quickly placed the bomb, the claw-man checked the trigger.
"Ready!" called the loader. Belisarius took aim-more carefully, this time-and yanked the trigger.
For a moment, he thought he had fired too high again. But his firebomb caught the mast two-thirds of the way up and engulfed the akatos' rigging in flames.
Behind him, he heard Honorius call out an order to the steersman. Belisarius could not make sense of the specific words-they were spoken in that peculiar jargon known only to seamen. But, within seconds, as he saw their ship change its heading, he understood what Honorius was doing. The seaman was also learning-quickly-some of the principal lessons of the new style of naval warfare.
That akatos is out of action, but its cataphracts can still use their bows. Solution? Simple. Sail somewhere else. Stay out of archery range. Let it burn. Let it burn its way to hell.
He started to tell Valentinian to pick out the cataphract-bearing akatoi first, but saw there was no need. Valentinian was already doing so. His next shot sailed past a nearby corbita, toward an akatos at the extreme range of almost five hundred yards. Valentinian was as good with a scorpion as he was with a bow. He had deliberately shot high, Belisarius saw, knowing that a strike in the rigging was almost as good as one of those terrible deck-sweeping rail shots.
Another akatos began burnin
g furiously.
"Ready!" called his loader.
Belisarius scanned the ship-crowded sea hastily, looking for one of the two remaining akatoi.
He saw none. Hidden, probably, behind the close-packed corbita. Their swift charge had placed them in the middle of the enemy armada.
There was no time to waste. One of those corbita was within two hundred yards. Common soldiers could shoot arrows also. Not as well as cataphracts, true, but-at close range-good enough. Already, arrows from that approaching corbita were plunging into the sea within yards of their ship.
He aimed his scorpion. Missed. Fired again. By luck-he had been aiming at the rigging-his shot struck the rail and poured fury across the enemy's deck.
Valentinian struck another corbita. Then, cursed. His shot had been low. The firebomb had erupted almost at the waterline. The enemy's hull was starting to burn, but very slowly.
Hurriedly, Valentinian fired again. This time, cursed bitterly. He had missed completely-his shot sailing ten feet over the enemy's deck.
Meantime, Belisarius set another corbita's rigging aflame. Then, after two misses, set another aflame.
They were surrounded by enemy ships, now, several of them within bow range. Arrows were pouring down on them like a hail storm. The rowers' shelter sprouted arrows like a porcupine. In his own little cabin at the stern of the ship, the steering officer was crouched low. The thin walls of his shelter had been penetrated by several arrow-heads. But he kept calling out his orders, calmly and loudly.
Arrows thunked into the walls of the wood-castle. Fortunately, due to the height of the fighting platform, the men on it were sheltered from arrows fired on a flat trajectory from the low-hulled corbita. But some of those arrows, fired by better or simply luckier archers, were coming in on an arched trajectory.
One of the windlass-crankers suddenly cried out in pain. An arrow had looped over the walls and plunged into his shoulder. He fell-partly from pain, and partly from a desire to find shelter beneath the low wall. His relief immediately stepped forward and began frantically cranking the windlass.
As he waited-and to give himself something to think about other than oncoming missiles-Belisarius watched Valentinian fire a third firebomb at the same misbegotten corbita.
Belisarius had never seen Valentinian miss anything, three times in a row. He didn't now, either. The shot was perfect. The firebomb hit the rail right before the mast, spewing death over the deck and destruction into the rigging.
His loader:
"Ready!"
Belisarius turned, aimed-
Nothing. Empty sea.
They had sailed right through the enemy fleet.
A movement in the corner of his eye. He swiveled the scorpion hurriedly, aimed-
A dromon, scudding across the waves, right toward them. John of Rhodes, standing in the bow, hands on hips, scowling fiercely.
His first words, in the powerful carrying voice of an experienced naval officer:
"Are you out of your fucking mind?"
His next:
"You could have wrecked my ship!"
A minute later, after the galley was drawn alongside, the Rhodesman scampered aboard and stalked across the deck. Before he even reached Belisarius, he was gesturing with his hands. Making an odd sort of motion, as if cutting one hand with the other.
"What were you thinking?" he demanded hotly. "What were you thinking?" In full stump now, back and forth, back and forth: "Imbecile! This is a fucking artillery ship!" One hand sawing across the other: "In the name of God! Even a fucking general should have been able to figure it out! Even a fucking landsman! You stay away from the fucking enemy! You try to bring your artillery to bear without getting close! You-you-"
Hands sawing, hands sawing.
Belisarius, smiling crookedly: "Like `crossing a T,' you mean to say?"
John's eyes widened. His hands paused in their sawing. Fury faded, replaced by interest.
"Hey. That's a good way of putting it. I like that. `Crossing the T.' Got a nice ring to it."
Another voice. Sulky. Self-satisfied:
I told you so.
Belisarius chuckled.
"I suppose my naval tactics were a bit primitive," he admitted.
Image:
A man. Stooped, filthy, clad in rough-cured animal skins. In his hand he clutches an axe. The blade of the weapon is a crudely shaped piece of stone, lashed to the handle with rawhide.
He is standing on a log, rolling wildly down a river. Hammering fiercely at another man, armed and clad as he is, standing on the same log.
Stone ax against stone ax.
Just ahead is a waterfall.
Chapter 26
After Belisarius and Valentinian were aboard the dromon, Belisarius stared up at John of Rhodes standing on the pamphylos' wood-castle.
"Are you certain, John?" he asked.
The naval officer nodded his head firmly.
"Be off, Belisarius!" Then, with a wicked grin:
"I'll say this much-you may be the craziest ship captain who ever tried to commit suicide, and certainly the most lethal."
He waved his hand about, encompassing half the Bosporus in that gesture.
"You destroyed six out of the eight akatoi and another half dozen corbita. And I sank three corbita with the galley. That's well over a third of Aegidius' entire army and three-fourths of his cataphracts. Look at them!"
Belisarius scanned the Bosporus. Even to his landsman's eye, it was obvious that the enemy fleet was scattering in fear and confusion.
A sudden thought came to his mind. John voiced it before he could speak.
"Besides, I think Aegidius is dead. He was probably aboard one of the akatoi, which means that the odds against his survival are three-to-one."
Belisarius nodded.
"That has all the signs of a leaderless army, if I'm reading the ship movements correctly."
John snorted. "They're like so many motherless ducklings paddling every which way." Again, he waved his hand.
"Be off, Belisarius. You're needed in Constantinople now, not here. The dromon will bear you to shore faster than any of those ships can reach land. I, meanwhile-" He patted the scorpion next to him. The wicked grin returned in full force. "-will continue to put the fear of God in those bastards." With a fierce glower: "From a distance, like an intelligent man."
Belisarius smiled and turned away. Then, hearing John's next words, smiled broadly. " `Crossing the T.' I like that!"
At the general's signal, the war galley's keleustes-the rowing officer; literally, the "orderer"-immediately began calling the time. The galley's oars dipped into the water. Swiftly, the dromon headed to shore.
For a time, Belisarius watched the enemy ships milling around aimlessly in the Bosporus. The ones nearest to John's artillery vessel, he saw, were already trying to evade the Rhodesman's approach. One of those enemy ships, apparently, had had enough. The corbita was heading directly back to Chalcedon, on the Asian side of the Straits.
Soon enough, a half-dozen of the corbita were following. Among the remaining ships in the enemy armada, confusion still reigned. A small cluster of the ships-seven in all, led by one of the surviving akatoi-were heading toward Portus Caesarii. Someone among the surviving cataphracts in the Army of Bithynia-Aegidius himself, possibly; more likely, one of his top subordinates-had apparently decided to continue with their treasonous scheme. But, cautiously, they were now planning to land in the more distant harbor.
A wordless cry of triumph coming from Menander drew his eyes back to the main fleet. One of the corbita in that milling mob of ships, he saw, was burning fiercely. John had struck his first blow.
The confusion in the main body of the traitor fleet was dispelled. The majority of the remaining ships, within a minute, were fleeing back across the Bosporus. Only four of them-including, unfortunately, the last of the cataphract-bearing akatoi-decided to make for Portus Caesarii.
Belisarius noticed that Ashot was now standing nex
t to him. Ashot was the Armenian cataphract who led the small party which Antonina had sent to meet him in Egypt. Antonina and Maurice had chosen him for that mission, among other things, because Ashot was one of the few cataphracts among Belisarius' bucellarii who had any experience as a seaman.
"What do you think?" he asked.
Ashot immediately understood all the parameters of the question. The Armenian pointed toward the artillery vessel.
"If I were John, I'd follow the ships retreating back to Chalcedon. Harry them mercilessly. Put them completely out of the action. Leave the ones heading toward Portus Caesarii for Sittas and Hermogenes to deal with. They shouldn't have any trouble."
For a moment, Ashot gauged the eleven ships now heading for the westernmost harbor on Constantinople's southern shore.
"Two akatoi," he murmured, "and nine corbita. To be on the safe side, let's call it three hundred cataphracts and three thousand infantry. Against Sittas' five hundred cataphracts and the two thousand infantrymen Hermogenes brought."
Ashot spat into the sea. "Lambs to the slaughter," he concluded.
Belisarius smiled at the Armenian's ferocious expression. Then, curious to see Ashot's reaction, he remarked:
"Heavy odds, against the infantry."
The Armenian sneered.
"Are you kidding? Against Hermogenes' infantry?" The cataphract shook his head firmly. "You've been gone for almost a year and a half, general. You haven't seen what Hermogenes has done with his troops. And the ones he brought to Constantinople were his best units. The finest Roman infantry since the days of the Principate. They'll chew their way right through that Bithynian garbage."
Belisarius nodded. He was not surprised. Still, he was gratified.
"The enemy'll be disheartened, too," added Ashot. "Confused-half-leaderless, probably-scared shitless."
Again, he spat into the ocean. "Lambs to the slaughter. Lambs to the slaughter."
Belisarius saw that John had apparently reached the same conclusion as Ashot. The artillery ship was veering off in pursuit of the corbita retreating to Chalcedon.
