by David Drake
The naval officer's grin was quite wolfish.
"Why not? I can't be designing fantastical weapons all the time." A sudden, happy thought. "Well, actually, perhaps I can. But to operate effectively I'll need to be kept up to date with all the latest secret information. Spymaster-type information, you know. Oh, yes. Daily briefings. Essential."
"You stay away from my paramour," growled Sittas. But it was a tepid, tepid growl.
A chuckle swept the room.
Irene patted his hand gently. "Now, now. Don't you worry, dear. I really think I'm capable of dealing with the occasional wolf."
"Greek lady eat wolf for lunch," commented Ousanas. John of Rhodes cast a dark look upon the dawazz. Belisarius, from experience, could have told him it was a waste of effort. Ousanas simply grinned, and added:
"I ignorant savage, of course. Miserable slave, too. Know almost nothing. But know enough not to chase woman ten times smarter than me."
Belisarius cleared his throat. "We seem to be getting side-tracked. Other than artisans—and the books you talked about—will there be anything else you need?"
John frowned, thought for a moment.
"Nothing much, Belisarius. Some equipment, and a few more tools, but nothing fancy. Substances, of course. Elements. Chemicals. Some of those will be a bit expensive."
Sittas' eyes became slits.
"How expensive? And what kind of—elements?"
Very narrow slits.
"Are we talking gold here? Seems to me every time you alchemist types start anything you right off begin yapping about—"
John laughed. "Relax, Sittas! I have no use for gold, I assure you. Or silver. One of the reasons they're precious metals is because they're inert."
A questioning glance. Sittas' eyes practically disappeared in response.
"I know what inert means! You—"
"Enough," said Belisarius. The room became instantly silent. Almost.
"My, he does that well," remarked Irene softly. To Sittas, in the sort of whisper which can be heard by everyone: "Maybe you should try that, dear. Instead of that bellowing roar you so favor."
"Enough." Now, even Irene was silent.
Belisarius rose. "That's it, then. Whatever you need, John, while I'm gone, you can either get from Antonina or"—here a sharp stare—"Sittas."
Sittas grimaced, but did not protest his poverty. Belisarius continued:
"As for the rest of us, I think our course is clear. As clear, at least, as circumstances permit. When I return from India, hopefully, I'll bring with me enough information to guide us further. Until then, we'll just have to do our best."
He looked at his wife. "And now—I would like to spend the rest of the day, and the evening, with my wife and my son."
Once Photius drowsed off, early in the evening, Belisarius and Antonina were alone. They had never been separated for long, since the day they first met. Now, they would be separated for at least a year.
Future loss gave force to present passion. Belisarius got very little sleep that night.
Antonina did not sleep at all. Once her husband finally succumbed to slumber, from sheer exhaustion, she stayed awake through the few hours left in that night. That precious night. That—last night, she feared.
By the time the sun arose, Antonina was awash in grief. Bleak certainty. She would never see him again.
Her son rescued her from that bottomless pit. At daybreak, Photius wandered into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Will Daddy be coming back?" he asked, timidly. His little face was scrunched with worry.
The boy had never called Belisarius by that name before. The sound of it drove all despair from her soul.
"Of course he will, Photius. He's my husband. And he's your father."
* * *
At midmorning, Belisarius and his companions rode out of the villa. At the boundary of the estate, they took the road which led to Antioch and, beyond, to Seleuceia on the coast. At Seleuceia they would board ship for the voyage to Egypt and, beyond, to Adulis on the Red Sea. And beyond, to Axum in the Ethiopian highlands. And beyond, to India.
Belisarius rode at the head of the little party. Eon rode on his left, Garmat on his right. Behind them rode the two sarwen. Behind the sarwen, the three cataphracts.
Ousanas traveled on foot. The dawazz, it developed, had a pronounced distaste for all manner of animal transport. Belisarius thought his attitude was peculiar, but—the man himself was peculiar, when you came right down to it. The cataphracts thought he was probably mad. The sarwen, from long experience, were certain of it.
Early on in the journey, young Menander made so bold as to ask the dawazz himself.
"Who is mad, boy? I? Not think so. Madmen place lives on top great beasts with good reason wish men dead. I be horse or donkey or camel, boy, you be squashed melon right quick. I be elephant, you be squashed seeds."
When Menander reported the conversation to his veteran seniors—not, be it said, without a certain concern, and a questioning glance at his own horse—Anastasius and Valentinian shrugged the matter off. They were far too deep into their own misery to fret over such outlandish notions.
"Perfect duty, it was," whined Valentinian.
"Ideal," rumbled Anastasius, with heartful agreement. "Best garrison post I ever saw."
"A villa, no less."
"Wine, women, and song."
"Fuck the songs."
"And now—!"
Mutter, mutter, mutter.
"What was that?"
"I think he said `fuck adventurous leaders,' " replied Menander. The lad frowned. "But maybe not. I can't always understand him when he mutters, even though he does it a lot. Maybe he said: `fuck avaricious feeders.' "
The frown deepened. "But that doesn't make a lot of sense either, does it? Especially on a trip—" A sudden thought; a sudden worry; a quick glance at his mount.
"Do you old-timers know something about horses that I don't?"
The conversation at the head of the little column, on the other hand, was not gloomy at all. Even Belisarius, once the estate fell out of sight, regained his usual good spirits. And then, not an hour later, great spirits.
There are many sweet pleasures in this world. Among those—unsung though it is—ranks the pleasure of being asked a question which you were trying to figure out how to ask yourself.
Garmat cleared his throat. "General Belisarius. Prince Eon and I have been discussing—for some time now, actually, but we only came to a decision last night—well, the negusa nagast will naturally have to make the final decision, but we are quite certain he will agree—well, the point is—"
"Oh, for the love of Christ!" exclaimed Eon. "General, we would like to accompany you and your men to India." The prince closed his mouth with a snap, straightened his back, stared firmly ahead.
Belisarius smiled—and not crookedly. "I would be delighted!" He turned in his saddle—so easy, that motion, with stirrups!—and looked behind.
"All of you?" he asked. "Including the sarwen?" The general examined the two Ethiopian soldiers. Outlandish men, they were, from a little known and mysterious country. But he knew their breed perfectly.
"Oh, yes," replied Garmat. "They are sworn to Prince Eon's personal service."
Belisarius now looked to Ousanas. The dawazz was striding alongside his prince.
"And you, Ousanas?"
"Of course! Must keep fool prince out of trouble."
"You don't consider this trouble?"
The dawazz grinned. "Voyage to distant India? Enter Malwa gaping maw with madman foreign general intent on stealing Malwa teeth? Sanest thing fool prince ever do."
Belisarius laughed. "You call that sane?"
For once, the grin disappeared. "Yes, Belisarius. For prince of Axum, in new Malwa world, I call that sane. Anything else be folly."
Chapter 15
THE ERYTHREAN SEA
Summer, 529 AD
"It's quite a ship," remarked Belisarius, gazing f
rom the bow down the length of the Indian embassy vessel. "It must be as big as the Alexandrian grain ships—even the Isis."
"It's a tub," pronounced Eon. The young prince's gaze followed that of Belisarius, but with none of the general's admiration.
The ship was almost two hundred feet long, and about forty-five feet wide. It was as big as the largest sailing ships ever built by Romans, the great grain-carrying vessels which hauled Egypt's wheat from Alexandria to Constantinople and the western Mediterranean. The famous Isis was one of those ships.
Like those grain ships, the Indian vessel had two lower decks as well as the main deck. And, also like the grain ships, the Indian craft was a pure sailing vessel. It had no rowing capability at all. With its enormous carrying capacity of two thousand tons, oars would have been almost futile.
There the resemblance ended. The grain ships were three-masted vessels. The Indian ship was single-masted, although the great square sails of the huge mainmast were assisted by a lateen sail in the stern. Another difference lay in the superstructure. Where the Mediterranean tradition was to build up a poop deck in the stern, the Malwa concentrated their superstructure amidships, surrounding the base of the great mainmast. The wood used throughout the Indian vessel was teak, and the rigging was coir. Mediterranean ships were built of fir or cedar, with some oak, and the cordage was typically hemp or flax (although the Egyptians often used papyrus, and the Spaniards favored esparto grass).
Beyond those obvious differences, Belisarius was lost. Prince Eon, it seemed, was not.
"A tub," he repeated forcefully.
"Very big tub," added Ousanas cheerfully. "Most obscene large tub."
"So what?" demanded Eon. "Size isn't everything."
The tall dawazz smiled down at his charge. Under that cheerful regard the Prince tightened his jaw.
"Size isn't everything," he repeated.
"Certainly not!" agreed Garmat. The old adviser smiled. "As a short man, I agree full-heartedly. However, as a short man, I must immediately add that I have always found it wise to take size into consideration. What do you think, General?"
Belisarius tore his gaze away from the ship.
"Eh? Oh—yes, I agree. Although, as a tall man, I have found the converse to be true as well."
"What do you mean?" asked Garmat.
"I mean that I find it wise to take other things than size into consideration. I have never found, for instance, that the size of an army plays as much of a factor in the outcome of battles as the skill of the troops and its leadership."
The prince looked smug. Ousanas immediately piped up: "Belisarius great diplomat!"
Eon majestically ignored the barb, staring out to sea. Belisarius smiled crookedly.
"Why do you call the ship a tub?" he asked the prince.
Eon gazed at him sideways. There was a slight hint of suspicion in his eyes. Even though Belisarius was not given to teasing him—one of many things which the prince had found to like in the Byzantine—still, Eon was a young man, somewhat unsure of himself for all his outward pride.
"Explain," commanded the general.
After a moment's hesitation, Eon launched into a voluminous recital of the huge ship's many faults and shortcomings. Belisarius, no seaman, was immediately lost in the technical details. The gist of it, he concluded, was that Eon thought the great vessel was clumsily designed and operated by even clumsier sailors. He had no idea if Eon was right. But he was deeply impressed by the young Ethiopian's obvious expertise in nautical matters. That simple fact drove home to him, as nothing had before, the seriousness with which the Axumites took their navy. No Roman or Persian prince could have matched that performance.
As soon as Eon finished his recital of the ship's woes, Ousanas commented:
"Axumites notorious braggarts about seamanship."
Garmat cleared his throat. "Actually, I agree with the prince."
"Arabs even worse," added Ousanas.
"You don't agree?" asked Belisarius. The dawazz shrugged.
"Have no idea. Hunter from savanna. Avoid sea like all sane persons. Boats unnatural creatures. But is well known Ethiopians and Arabs think they world's best seamen." A sly glance at the general. "Except Greeks."
"I'm not Greek," came the immediate response. "I'm Thracian. I tend to agree with you, actually. I can't stand boats."
"How are you feeling?" asked Garmat pleasantly.
"I'd rather not think about it," said Belisarius stiffly. "Please continue."
Garmat cleared his throat again. "Well, Eon is perhaps putting the matter too forcefully—"
"It's the simple truth!"
"—but, on balance, I agree with him. The Indians are not, you know, famous for their abilities at sea."
"No, I do not know."
"Ah. Well, it is true. Ethiopians and Arabs ridicule them for it. North Indians, at least. Some of the southern nations of India are quite capable seamen, by all accounts, but we have little contact with them. Their trade is primarily with the distant East." The adviser stroked his beard. "In its own impressive way, this great ship is evidence of my point. The design, as the prince says, is clumsy. And the workmanship is rather poor. Unusually so, for Indians."
Belisarius examined the ship.
"It seems solidly made."
"Oh, it is! That's the point. It's much too solid." Here Garmat launched into his own technical discourse, the gist of which, so far as Belisarius could tell, was that the Indians substituted brute strength for craftsmanship. And again, he was struck by the naval expertise of high-ranked Axumites.
"A tub," concluded Garmat.
"Slow as a snail," added Eon, "and just as awkward."
"Big as a monster," chimed in Ousanas. "Run right over clever little Arab and Axumite boats."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Prince.
"We find out soon," commented Ousanas dryly. He pointed off the port bow.
The small party of Ethiopians and Romans followed his pointing finger. The southern coast of Arabia was a reddish gloom in the rays of the setting sun. But, against that dark background, a multitude of sails was visible.
"Oh, shit," muttered Valentinian. The pentarch straightened up from his slouch against the rail a few feet distant. He nudged Anastasius next to him. The huge cataphract jerked awake from his doze.
"Get our gear," commanded Valentinian. "And drag Menander out here."
"The kid can't hardly move," protested Anastasius. "He says he doesn't have any guts left."
"Get him! If he complains, tell him he's about to find out what being gutted really means."
Startled, Anastasius followed Valentinian's hard gaze.
"Oh, shit," he muttered. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Arab pirates!" cried Ousanas. He grinned widely. "Not to worry! Very small boats. True, very many of them. Oh, very very very many. Each one loaded with very very many nasty vicious men bent on wickedness. But" —here he gestured grandly— "the great General Belisarius assures that size of army matters nothing."
"Yeah, I've heard him say that before," grumbled Valentinian. "Just before all hell broke loose."
Anastasius was already entering the tent which the Romans had set up in the bow. Loud cries and shouts rang over the ship. The Indian crewmen had also seen the approaching fleet of galleys.
Valentinian marched to the port side and leaned over the rail, gripping it in his lean, sinewy hands. The dark-eyed cataphract glared toward the approaching pirate vessels. His scarred, pock-marked face twisted into a grimace. "Just once," he growled bitterly, "just once, I'd like to outnumber the enemy for a change. Fuck skill. Fuck cunning. Fuck strategy. Fuck tactics. Give me numbers, dammit!" His voice trailed off into muttering.
"What was that last?" asked Belisarius mildly. Valentinian was silent.
"Sounded like `fuck philosophical generals,' " said Ousanas brightly.
Valentinian glowered at him. The dawazz spread his hands. "Maybe not. Ignorant worthless slave. Speak terrible Greek. Fierce
cataphract maybe said `fuck philandering genitals.' Very ethical sentiment! Most inappropriate for occasion, but very moral. Very moral!"
Belisarius' attention was distracted by a commotion. Venandakatra had made his appearance on the deck. He emerged from his cabin amidships, followed by a gaggle of Mahaveda priests.
The Byzantines and Ethiopians had seen almost nothing of him since they had embarked on the Indian vessel at Adulis. Venandakatra's representatives had explained the Indian lord's apparent rudeness as being due to seasickness.
Watching the spry, if waddling, manner in which Venandakatra scurried about, Belisarius had his doubts.
"Seasick!" snorted Eon.
Venandakatra was shouting orders in his shrill, high-pitched voice. Within seconds, dozens of Ye-tai warriors scrambled out of their own tents and began lining the rail. They were bearing bows, swords, and shields, and quickly began donning helmets and half-armor.
The Ye-tai were followed by a dozen warriors whom Belisarius recognized as Malwa kshatriyas. These emerged from the hatch located in the deck just forward of Venandakatra's cabin. They were bearing no weapons beyond short swords, and wore only the lightest leather armor. But they were heavily burdened nonetheless. Divided into pairs, each pair was carrying a large trough made of some odd, lumpy wood which Belisarius had never seen before.
"That's bamboo," explained Garmat. "It's hollow on the inside, like a pipe. They've split it down the middle and carved out the internal partitions."
"This is what you were telling John of Rhodes about, isn't it?"
Garmat nodded. "Yes. I have never seen the Indian weapons myself, but these are quite as described by those of our traders who have seen them in action. From a distance only, however. I think we are about to get a firsthand view."
"Venandakatra's not happy about that," commented Eon.
Belisarius gazed at the Indian lord. Venandakatra was consulting with his cluster of priests. All of them were casting unfriendly glances toward the Romans and Axumites standing in the bow. After a moment, one of the priests detached himself from the group and headed toward them.
"I'll handle this," said Belisarius.
When the priest reached them, Belisarius didn't even give him the chance to speak.
