An oblique approach b-1

by David Drake

  Everyone in the room stared at Irene. She smiled whimsically. “Actually, I own most of Heron’s writings. I also have the Mechanics, Siegecraft, Measurement, and Mirrors. I almost got my hands on a copy of his Automaton-making last year, but some damned Armenian beat me to it.”

  Some of the men in the room were now goggling her; Sittas was gaping.

  “I like to read,” explained Irene dryly. Slyly.

  Antonina started laughing.

  “It’s unnatural!” choked Sittas. “It’s-”

  “Marry me,” said John of Rhodes.

  “Not a chance, John. I know your type. You’re just lusting after my books.”

  The naval officer grinned. “Well, yes, to a degree. But-”

  “Not a chance!” repeated Irene. She was laughing now herself.

  “What is the world coming to?” demanded Sittas. “My mother never opened a book, much less owned one!” He frowned. “ I don’t own any books, come to that.”

  “Really?” asked Irene. “I am astonished.”

  Sittas glared at his spymaster. “You are mocking me, woman. I know you are.”

  Belisarius couldn’t help laughing himself. “Nonsense, Sittas!” he exclaimed. “I’m sure Irene was speaking the simple truth. I’m astonished myself, actually.”

  Sittas transferred his glare to the Thracian.

  “Don’t you start on me, Belisarius! Just because you own a copy of Caesar’s-”

  Prince Eon interrupted.

  “Do you own a copy of Xenophon’s Anabasis?” he asked Irene eagerly.

  The spymaster nodded.

  “May I borrow-” The prince fell silent. “Oh. It’s probably also at your villa. In Constantinople.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  The prince began frowning thoughtfully.

  “Maybe we could go back-”

  “Enough, Eon!” cried Garmat. “We are not going back to Constantinople to get you a book!”

  “It’s the Anabasis,” whined Eon. “I’ve been wanting to read that since-”

  “No! Absolutely not! Your father is waiting for us at Axum-at Adulis, probably. And have you forgotten-”

  “It’s the Anabasis,” wailed Eon.

  “Spoken like a true bibliophile,” said Irene admiringly. She grinned at the despondent prince and waved her hand airily. “These heathens simply don’t understand, Eon. You have to resign yourself to it. Like a saint of old subjected to barbarian tortures and ordeals.”

  “The Anabasis,” moaned Eon.

  “Ousanas!” barked Garmat. “Do your duty!”

  “What duty?” demanded the dawazz. “Love of books prince’s best quality. Only thing keep him away from mischief.”

  The dawazz leaned forward and tapped the prince on top of the head. Very lightly. “Nevertheless. Is still matter of deadly Malwa danger. Anxious father awaiting report of beloved son. Anxious negusa-nagast-type father. Not wise to keep such fathers waiting while hunting up book. Not wise. Anxiety turn to reproach. Negusa-nagast-type reproach.”

  The two sarwen grunted agreement. Eon sulked.

  “How soon can we get Heron’s book here?” asked Antonina.

  Irene shrugged. “With a special courier-”

  Sittas interrupted. “Do you know how much it costs to send a special-”

  John of Rhodes laughed. “Why is it that the richest men are always the stingiest? Relax, Sittas. We won’t strain your purse.”

  To Irene: “There’s no need for a special courier. I’ve got weeks of work ahead of me before I can even start thinking about our project. We’ll need to find chemical supplies, equipment, tools-everything. All I have at the moment is a few odds and ends.”

  “Do you need the help of artisans?” asked Belisarius.

  John shook his head.

  “Not yet, Belisarius. I wouldn’t know what to tell them to do or make. Be a waste of their time and your money. Six months from now, maybe. Maybe.”

  The general frowned. “You think it’s going to take that long?”

  John scowled fiercely. “That long? Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do?”

  The naval officer began to rise, in obvious preparation for a heavy session of stumping about, but Belisarius waved him back to his seat.

  “Relax, John. I wasn’t criticizing. I’m just-just worried, that’s all. I don’t know how much time we have at our disposal, before our future enemy falls upon us.”

  John was still not mollified, quite. But before he could say anything further, Irene spoke:

  “That’s your job, General.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Buying us time. That’s your job. Mine also, to an extent. But mostly yours.”

  “You’ve done it before,” said Sittas. The big Greek general smiled. “Of course, that was against a bunch of dumbass Goths. Maybe you’re not smart enough to tie sophisticated Indians into knots.”

  “Don’t bait my husband, Sittas,” said Antonina.

  “I’m not baiting him. I’m prodding his vanity.”

  “My husband is not vain.”

  A sad shake of the head.

  “Poor woman. The wife is always the last to know. Belisarius is the vainest man in creation. He’s so vain that he’s not vain about the things modest men are vain about-their fame, their riches, their good looks, their wives’ good looks. Oh no, not Belisarius. He’s only vain about his lack of vanity, which is the worst vanity there is.”

  Everyone in the room except Irene frowned, trying to follow the tortured logic.

  “That makes no sense at all,” said Eon. Uncertainly, to Irene: “Does it make sense to you?”

  Irene laughed gaily. “Of course it does! But you have to remember-I’m the only other Greek in the room. Except John, but he’s from Rhodes. A practical folk, the Rhodesmen. Lapsed Greeks, I’m afraid.”

  John said nothing, but his gaze was full of interest. Irene laughed again.

  “Don’t even think about it, John.”

  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 doe
s 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.”

  David Drake Eric Flint

  An oblique approach

  Chapter 15

  The Erythrean Sea

  Summer, 529 AD

  “It’s quite a ship,” remarked Belisarius, gazing from 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.