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.

“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.

“No.”

The priest opened his mouth.

“Absolutely not.”

“You must go below!”

“Under no conditions will we do so.”

At that moment Anastasius lumbered out of the tent, with Menander close behind. Both cataphracts were fully armed and armored, except for their lances. They were also bearing Belisarius and Valentinian’s weapons and armor. Their arrival distracted the priest, who began gobbling further protests. His protests became positively shrill when he spotted the two sarwen charging out of their own tent, likewise laden with weapons. An abundance of weapons-each sarwen was carrying a cluster of javelins as well as swords, shields, and huge-bladed spears.

Within moments, all the Romans and Axumites were busily donning their armor and taking up their weapons. The priest was now practically gibbering.

“Anastasius,” commanded the general. “Do something impressively unfriendly.”

Anastasius immediately seized the priest by the scruff of the neck and his crotch and tossed him back toward the cluster of priests amidships. The priest managed to land on his feet, more or less, but he immediately stumbled out of control and hurtled into his cohorts, bowling two of them right over.

Venandakatra screeched with fury. A small crowd of Ye-tai warriors surged forward.

Without any orders from Belisarius, all three cataphracts immediately notched arrows and drew their bows. The two sarwen raised their javelins. Eon and Garmat hefted their stabbing spears. Belisarius drew his sword. Ousanas lounged against the rail.

“What are you playing at?” hissed Menander.

Ousanas gaped. “Me? Miserable slave! Not fit for noble type foolishness.”

“Ousanas!” commanded Eon.

The dawazz sighed. “Most unreasonable prince.” He lazed forward. “Play old game?” he asked.

Eon immediately gave Ousanas his great spear. The prince shed his baldric and sword and then began to walk, unarmed, toward the Malwa crowd. Behind him, Ousanas motioned the Ye-tai warriors to clear a lane. Puzzled, but hearing no countervailing orders from the priests, the Ye-tai did as the dawazz bade them.

Eon walked right through the silent Malwa crowd until he reached the cabin which was built around the base of the mainmast. As soon as he reached the cabin, the prince turned and backed up against it. He crossed his arms and spread his legs about a foot apart. He was standing about twenty yards from the Axumites and Romans in the bow.

Ousanas casually jabbed the stabbing spear into the deck of the ship. The huge blade sank a full inch into the hard wood and stood erect. Without a word, one of the sarwen handed him a javelin. The dawazz hefted the javelin lightly and then, with a motion whose speed and power stunned everyone watching, hurled the javelin across the length of the deck.

The weapon sank into the wall of the cabin almost the full length of the blade. The shaft of the weapon quivered like a tuning fork. About two inches from the prince’s left ear.

A moment later, another javelin was sailing across the deck. This one plunged into the wood about two inches from Eon’s right ear. Not seconds later, a third javelin thundered into the cabin wall right between the prince’s legs. About two inches below his crotch.

“Mary, Mother of God,” whispered Valentinian.

Anastasius drew a deep breath. “That’s incredible spear work. Amazing!”

“Fuck the spear work,” growled Valentinian. “The kid never even blinked! That’s amazing. I may never fuck again, just from watching.”

The prince suddenly laughed. He and his dawazz exchanged huge grins across the deck of the ship.

“Very foolish prince,” mused Ousanas, shaking his head. “But got elephant heart. Been that way since boy.”

Ousanas plucked the great stabbing spear out of the deck and sauntered toward Eon. The warriors and priests scuttled out of his way. The dawazz smiled upon them beatifically.

“Intelligent persons!” he exclaimed. “Very most sane and logical Indian people!” He bestowed a particularly engaging grin upon Venandakatra.

When Ousanas reached Eon, he and the prince assisted each other in withdrawing the javelins from the cabin walls. More than anything else, perhaps, it was the obvious effort being exerted by these two very strong men which drove home just how ferocious those javelin casts had been.

Belisarius sheathed his sword and strode over to Venandakatra.

“We are soldiers,” he told the Indian lord sternly, “not children. We will not be penned in the hold during an attack.”

He matched Venandakatra’s glare with one of his own. After a moment, the Vile One looked away.

“Besides,” added Belisarius, turning away and pointing to the approaching fleet of pirate vessels, “you may find you are glad to have us, soon enough.”

Venandakatra scowled, but said nothing. Belisarius returned to the bow of the ship and began giving directions to the Roman and Axumite warriors. After a few moments, it became clear that the Indians had decided to leave the defense of the bow in the hands of their unwanted guests.

Belisarius had never encountered Axumite warriors in battle, neither as friend nor foe. He hesitated for a moment, wondering how best to use their skills.

What he could glean of the Ethiopian way of fighting was odd. They seemed singularly unconcerned about bodily protection, for one thing. The Axumites, when not constrained by Greek custom, never wore anything except a short-sleeved tunic, kilt, and sandals. Now, preparing for battle, they removed their tunics and stood bare from the waist up. Each of them, except Ousanas, took up a buffalo-hide shield. The shields were round and small-no wider than a forearm. Those little shields, apparently, constituted the entirety of their armor.

Each Ethiopian carried a sword slung behind his back from a leather baldric which crossed the right shoulder diagonally. The haft of the sword stuck up right behind the shoulder blade, where it could be easily grasped. The swords were purely cutting implements. They were short, very wide and heavy, and ended in a square tip. They resembled a butcher’s cleaver more than anything else.

The swords, however, were obviously secondary weapons. For their main armament, each Ethiopian carried javelins and those enormous spears. The Axumite stabbing spear was about seven feet long. The blade was almost a foot and a half long, shaped like a narrow leaf, heavy and razor sharp. The spear shaft was also heavy-as thick and solid as a cavalry lance. The last foot or so of the haft was sheathed with iron bands, and the very end of the haft bore a solid iron knob about two inches in diameter. The weapon could obviously double as a long mace.

Garmat spoke quietly.

“I suggest you use us as a reserve, Belisarius. As you can see, we do not match your cataphracts for sheer weight of armor and weapons. It is not the Axumite method. But I think you will find us very useful when the enemy presses.”

“What about him?” asked the general, nodding toward Ousanas. The dawazz carried neither a shield nor a sword. He seemed content merely with his javelins and his spear-a spear which, in his case, was a foot longer and much heavier than those borne by the other Ethiopians.

Garmat shrugged. “Ousanas is a law unto himself. But I think you will have no cause for complaint.”

Belisarius smiled his crooked smile. “A miserable, ignorant slave, is he?”

As often before, Ousanas surprised him with his acute hearing.

“Most miserable!” cried the dawazz. “Especially now! With cruel pitiless Arabs approaching!” Ousanas cast a longing glance at the sea. “Would flee in abject shrieking terror except too ignorant to know how to swim.”

“You swim like a fish!” snapped the Prince.

The dawazz goggled. “Do I? Imagine such a wonder!” He shook his head sadly. “Slavery terrible condition. Make me forget everything.”

Belisarius turned away and resumed his examination of the Indians. He saw that the bamboo troughs had now been set up along the port rail of the deck, facing northward. The troughs were spaced about ten feet apart. The Malwa kshatriyas then placed great bundles of hide at the ship-end of the troughs. The grey hides were tightly rolled into barrel-shapes which were about half the size of actual barrels.

“That’s elephant hide,” commented Garmat quietly.

Now, the kshatriyas began dipping buckets into the sea and hauling them up with ropes. As soon as the buckets were drawn aboard, the seawater was poured over the hide rolls. Once the hide rolls were completely waterlogged, the kshatriyas began pouring the seawater over every exposed surface of the ship. After a hurried consultation with Venandakatra, two of the kshatriyas advanced to the bow. Making clear with gestures and facial expressions that their intentions were pacific, the kshatriyas began soaking the bow of the ship with seawater also. The Romans and Ethiopians, at Belisarius’ command, stood aside and made no objection, even when the Malwa soaked the leather walls of their own tents.

After the kshatriya left the bow, Belisarius whispered to Garmat: “For some reason, they seemed terrified of fire. Is that because of the Arabs, do you think?”

Garmat shook his head. “Can’t be. Arab navies are known to use fire arrows, on occasion, but these are not naval forces. They are pirates. What would be the point of burning this ship? They want to capture it.”

Belisarius nodded his head. “So-it must be due to their own weapons.”

At that moment, more kshatriyas began emerging from the hold. They were bearing knobby, odd-looking, short-poles?

“Are those bamboo?” asked Belisarius.

“Yes,” replied Garmat. “Each of those poles is simply a length of bamboo with some kind of bundle at one end. I think the bundle is just a wider length of bamboo jammed over the end of the pole and bound to it with leather. See? That’s the end they’re placing in the troughs to face outward. The other end has a-a tail, let’s call it. That’s just a short length of bamboo split length-wise.”

“What are these things called?”

Garmat shrugged. aim seized the moment. In a paroxysm of determination, it drove the facets toward a single point. A pure focus, a narrow salient in the barrier, a simple thrust. Had aim understood the human way of siegecraft, it would have called itself a battering ram guided toward the hinge of the gate. Perhaps-yes! Yes! Yes!

“It’s called a-a rocket,” whispered Belisarius. “More,” he commanded. “More!”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Garmat. The old adviser was gazing at the general as if Belisarius were demented. Belisarius grinned at him.

“I’m not mad, Garmat, believe me. Just-I can’t explain, now. Something important is happening. I am-let’s say, I am understanding things.”

Again aim drove the facets. Again, it regained the focus. Again, the battering ram. Again-the breach!

“Yes,” whispered Belisarius. “I see it, yes! It could be turned around. Made its opposite. Expel its interior rather than be expelled by it. Yes!”

He frowned, concentrating, concentrating. For a moment-for he was well acquainted with the human way of siegecraft-he even envisioned himself as a battering ram. And, with that vision, made his own breach in the wall.

“Then it would be called a- cannon.”

He sagged, almost staggered. Garmat steadied him with a hand.

“Truly,” muttered the adviser, “truly I hope you have not gone mad. This is a poor time for it.” He shook the general’s arm. “Belisarius! Snap out of it! The pirates are almost within bow range.”

Belisarius straightened, looked seaward, then glanced down at the Axumite. He shook his head, smiling.

“You are exaggerating, Garmat. The Arabs will not be within bow range for two minutes. But-the pirates are within rocket range. Watch!”

At that moment, a strange hissing sound was heard, like a dragon’s rage. Startled, Garmat looked back amidships and gaped. One of the- rockets — was hurtling itself toward the pirates. Behind it, a ball of flame billowed on the deck, surrounding the hide roll at the back of the trough from which the rocket had soared. The kshatriyas were obviously expecting the phenomenon, for, within a second or two, buckets of water were poured over the smoldering hide bundle. The ball of flame became a small cloud of steam.

Belisarius watched the flight of the rocket. He was struck, more than anything, by the serpentine nature of the bamboo device’s trajectory. It did not fly with the true arc of an arrow or a cast spear. Instead, the rocket skittered and snaked about. He realized, after a moment, that there was some connection between the rocket’s movements and the erratic red flare that jetted from its tail.

Crude, blunt thoughts suddenly emerged through the barrier. They entered his mind like dumb creatures lumbering into a cave. poor mix. bad powder.

Mix? He wondered. Powder? What could powder-dust-have to do with-? powder is force.

“How? And what kind of powder?” he wondered aloud. Again, Garmat glanced at him worriedly. Belisarius began to smile reassuringly, but the smile faded. He could feel the alien presence in his mind retreating; could sense its discouragement.

The rocket began to drift downward toward the sea. It was obvious, long before it struck, that the device had been badly aimed. It would land far from any pirate craft.

“Is it aimed at all?” he muttered. Next to him, Garmat shook his head. The Axumite seemed relieved that Belisarius’ mumblings were now connected to reality.

“I do not think so, General. I think they are simply shot forth in the general direction of the enemy. You saw how it flew. How could such a capricious weapon be aimed?”

The rocket hit the sea. There was a sudden plume of water and steam, then-nothing. The multitude of Arabs aboard the pirate vessels gave out a great jeering cry.

The pirates were now close enough for examination.

There were a total of thirteen galleys approaching. Each was rowed on two banks, with a lateen sail and a huge crew. At a rough guess, Belisarius estimated that each ship carried over a hundred men. Most of the pirates were armed with swords or spears. A number had bows. Very few, however, wore much in the way of armor. Nor, for that matter, did many of the Arabs even carry shields.

As individuals, Belisarius decided, they were not particularly fearsome. The danger was in their great numbers.

Four more rockets were fired. Again, the skittering serpentine trajectories-and again, none of them came near their mark. The pirates were now jeering madly.

“They’re gaining on us,” groused Eon. “What a miserable ship this beast is! In these heavy seas, with this good wind, we should be leaving them behind easily.”

Six rockets were fired. And now, finally, the strange weapons showed their true power. Two of them struck the same pirate vessel. The Arab ship seemed to burst into flame and fury. Several pirates were hurled into the air as if they had been struck by the hand of an invisible titan.

“Force!” exclaimed Belisarius. “Yes-that’s what-” He fell silent.

“That’s what? ” demanded Garmat.

Belisarius glanced at him, pursed his lips in thought, then shook his head.

“Never mind, Garmat. I was just noticing that these weapons are not simply fire-weapons. They bear some other power with them as well. Some unknown- force — which acts like a blow as well as a flame.”

Garmat looked back at the pirate vessel. Now that the cloud of smoke had cleared, it was obvious that the ship had been struck as well as burnt. Where one of the rockets had collided, an entire section of the ship’s hull had been caved in. The vessel was already listing badly, and its crew was beginning to jump overboard. It was clear that the craft was doomed. The only uncertainty was whether it would sink before the flames could engulf it.

Again, suddenly, an alien thought moved into Belisarius’ mind. explosion. force is explosion.

Tantalizingly, Belisarius almost caught the image which the jewel was emitting. But it withdrew, faded-then surged back. Just for an instant, the general saw a barrel containing a blazing and furious fire. The fire produced a vast volume of gasses which pressed against the walls of the barrel until “Yes!” he cried. “Yes-I was right! It is fire!”

He suddenly realized that a number of people were staring at him. Not just Romans and Axumites, either. Several of the Ye-tai warriors stationed nearby were frowning at him, as well as a Mahaveda priest.

Keep your mouth shut, idiot. Observe in silence.

Another volley of rockets. Six rockets, six misses-but the jeer from the pirates was notably more subdued. The Arab craft were now less than two hundred yards away. A few Arab archers loosed shafts, but their arrows fell short of the mark.

“Weaklings,” sneered Anastasius. The giant Thracian drew his great bow. Belisarius almost winced, watching. The general had tried to draw that bow, once. Tried and failed miserably, for all that Belisarius was a strong man.

Powerful as he was, Anastasius was actually not a great archer. He had nothing like the skill with a bow possessed by Valentinian. But, aiming at those closely packed, mobbed vessels, it hardly mattered. His arrow sailed across the distance and plunged into the crowd aboard one ship. A shriek was heard.

“Most blessed arrow!” cried Ousanas. “Graced by God Himself!”

Anastasius grinned. Valentinian snorted.

“He’s not praising you, stupid. He’s saying you were lucky.”

Anastasius frowned at Ousanas. The dawazz shook his head sadly.

“Valentinian tells false lie. Very wicked Roman man! Not said you were lucky. Said you stood most high in Deity’s esteem.”

“See?” demanded Valentinian.

Anastasius gestured angrily. “Let’s see you do any better!” he demanded.

Ousanas grinned. “Too far. Arrows cheap as dirt. Javelins precious. Very important point in theology. God wanton with His blessings on arrows. Stingy with javelins.”

The dawazz pointed to the easternmost craft.

“You see him steersman? That ship?”

Anastasius nodded.

Again, Ousanas shook his head sadly. “Him great sinner. Soon be taken by Shaitan.”

“How soon?” demanded Anastasius.

“Soon as skill allow. Javelin weapon of skill. God very stingy with javelin. Miser, almost.”

Anastasius snorted and turned away. Again, he drew his bow. Again, his arrow found a mark in the crowd.

The pirates drew closer. There had been no rocket volleys for some time, but now another six were fired off. Belisarius noted that the kshatriyas manning the rockets had adjusted the angle of the firing troughs. Where before the bamboo half-barrels had been tilted upward, they were now almost level.

These rockets did not soar upward like a javelin. They sped in a more or less flat trajectory barely a few feet above the water. And they struck with devastating impact. At that range, they could hardly miss. Belisarius was fascinated to see one rocket hit the sea at a shallow angle and then bounce back upward, like a flat-thrown stone skipping across water. That rocket did as much damage as any when it slammed into the bow of an Arab ship.

Almost half of the pirate fleet had now been struck by the missiles. Two ships were listing badly and had ceased their forward motion. Two others were burning furiously, and their crews were jumping overboard.

But it was obvious the Arabs had no intention of breaking off the attack. The pirate vessels now began to scatter, spreading out in such a way as to give less of a massed target for the rockets. The sailors on the surviving galleys helped those who had jumped from stricken ships to clamber aboard.

Five pirate vessels were now sinking or burning out of control, and at least one other seemed out of the action. But Belisarius did not think that the actual number of warriors had been significantly reduced. Most of those who had jumped into the sea had been taken aboard other vessels. The remaining craft were now jammed with men.

Another volley of rockets was fired. All of them but one missed, however, soaring through the space now vacated by the galleys. Even the one which struck a ship simply glanced off harmlessly. That rocket continued to soar across the sea until, suddenly, it erupted in a ball of flame and smoke.

Belisarius scratched his chin. It occurred to him that the rockets did not actually seem to- explode — on contact. He remembered, now, that several of the rockets had exploded a few seconds after striking a ship. The effect had been the same, however, for the force of their flight had driven the rockets right through the thin planking of the Arab ships. And, regardless of the timing of the explosions, the rockets burned so fiercely that they almost invariably set the ships afire.

Still “With the right armor and tactics,” he mused aloud, “I don’t think these rockets would be all that dangerous.”

Valentinian turned to him with a questioning look.

“Play hell with horses, General,” commented the cataphract.

“True,” agreed Belisarius. “Those shrieking hisses and explosions would panic the brutes. No way to control them.” Suddenly, he grinned. “I do believe the infantry has just made a great comeback!”

“Shit,” muttered Anastasius. “He’s right.”

Valentinian groaned. “I hate walking.”

“ You hate it?” demanded Anastasius. “You haven’t got an ounce of fat on you! How do you think I feel?”

Garmat interrupted worriedly. “Night has almost fallen.”

It was true enough. It was still barely possible to make out the intact pirate ships in the gathering darkness, but not by much.

“New moon, too,” added Eon. “There won’t be any light at all in a few minutes.”

Another volley of rockets was fired. Belisarius noted that the kshatriyas had angled all six of the troughs around so that all of the rockets were fired toward a single ship. Even so, only one of the rockets struck. Fortunately, the missile hit directly amidships and exploded with a satisfying roar. That vessel, clearly enough, was doomed.

Just before the last glimmer of daylight faded, it was possible to see the pirate galleys beginning to surround the Indian ship. They were now keeping a distance, however, waiting for nightfall. Between that distance, and being widely spread out, it was obvious that the rockets were no longer of much use.

Two more wasted volleys made the point before Venandakatra began calling out new orders. Immediately, three of the rocket crews began transferring their troughs to the starboard rail of the ship. For their part, the three remaining rocket crews began spacing their troughs more widely down the port length of the ship. The Malwa, it was obvious, were positioning the rocket launchers to repel boarders.

Venandakatra shouted new orders. Listening, Belisarius could begin to understand the meaning. He realized that the jewel was once again working its strange magic. The Malwa language was called Hindi, and Belisarius knew not a word of it. But, suddenly, the language came into focus in his mind. The shrill words spoken by several kshatriyas in response to Venandakatra’s commands were as clear as day.

“The Indian rocket-men are not happy,” whispered Garmat. “They are complaining that-”

“They will be burned if they do as Venandakatra orders,” completed Belisarius absently.

The Axumite adviser was startled. “I did not realize you spoke Hindi.”

Belisarius began to reply, closed his mouth. Garmat, again, was staring at him strangely.

I’m going to have to come up with an explanation for him, when this is all over. Damn all shrewd advisers, anyway!

Venandakatra shouted down the protests. His Mahaveda priests added their own comments, prominent among them the promise to bring the mahamimamsa “purifiers” from the hold below.

The kshatriyas snarled, but hurried to obey. All of the troughs were now tilted until they were pointing at a slight angle downward. More hide bundles were piled up at the rear of the troughs, but it was obvious from the kshatriyas’ worried frowns that they did not think the hides would suffice to completely shield them from the rocket flames. The fire which would erupt from the rocket tails would now be shooting upward.

Another alien thought seeped through the barrier. back-blast.

Darkness was now complete, except for the faint light thrown by the few lanterns held by Ye-tai warriors. Belisarius saw Venandakatra staring at him. A moment later, with obvious reluctance, the Indian lord made his way toward the bow of the ship.

When he reached Belisarius, the general spoke before Venandakatra could even open his mouth.

“I am well aware that the pirates will concentrate their attack on the bow and stern, where the-where your fire-weapons cannot be brought to bear. Look to the stern, Venandakatra. There will be no breach at the bow.”

Venandakatra frowned. “There are not many of you,” he said. “I could send some-”

“No. More men would simply crowd the bow, making it more difficult for us. And I do not have time to learn how to incorporate Malwa warriors into our tactics. Whereas Romans and Axumites are old allies, long accustomed to fighting side by side.” The lie came smooth as silk.

Garmat’s face was expressionless. The sarwen grunted loud agreement, as did Anastasius and Valentinian. Eon started slightly, but a quick poke from his dawazz brought stillness. Menander looked confused, but the Indian was not looking his way, and almost immediately, Valentinian changed the young Thracian’s expression with a silent snarl.

“You are certain?” demanded Venandakatra.

Belisarius smiled graciously. “I said you would be glad to have us, soon enough.”

Venandakatra’s face grew pinched, but the Indian forebore further comment. After a moment, he scurried away and began shouting new orders. Belisarius could understand the words, and knew that the commands which Venandakatra was shrilling were utterly redundant and pointless. A disgruntled grandee making noise to assure himself of his importance, that was all.

“Verily, a foul man,” muttered Garmat. “Long ago, the Axumites had a king much like him. The sarawit assassinated the wretch and created the institution of dawazz the next day.”

“Do you really think they’re going to attack?” asked Menander suddenly. Seeing all eyes upon him, the young cataphract straightened.

“I’m not afraid!” he protested. “It’s just-it doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m afraid it does,” countered Garmat. The adviser grimaced. “I am myself half-Arab, and I know my mother’s people well. The tribes of the Hadrawmat”-he pointed to the southern shore of Arabia, now lost in the darkness-“are very poor. Fishermen, mostly, and smugglers. A great ship like this represents a fortune to them. They will gladly suffer heavy casualties in order to capture it.”

Ousanas chuckled. “Believe wise old mongrel, young Roman. Most despicable people in world, the Arabs. Full of vice and sins!”

Garmat squinted.

“O many vices! Many sins!”

Garmat looked pained.

“Lechery! Avarice! Cruelty!”

Garmat frowned.

“Treachery! Sloth! Envy!”

Garmat glowered.

“Would be great gluttons if not so poor!”

Garmat ground his teeth.

“Alas, Arabs unfamiliar with cowardice.”

Garmat smiled. Ousanas shook his head sadly.

“Is because Arabs so stupid. Cowardice mankind’s only useful vice. Naturally Arabs know nothing of it.”

“I heard a story years ago,” mused Anastasius, “that there was a cowardly Arab living somewhere in the Empty Quarter.” He spit into the sea. “I didn’t believe it, myself.”

“They’re coming,” announced Valentinian. “I can’t see them, but I can hear them.”

Belisarius glanced at Valentinian. As so often before on the verge of battle, the cataphract reminded the general of nothing so much as a weasel. The sharp features; the long, lean whipcord body; the poised stillness, like a coiled spring; and, most of all, the utter intensity of the killer’s concentration. At these moments, Valentinian’s senses were almost superhuman.

Belisarius sighed. The choice was now upon him and could no longer be postponed.

Secrecy be damned, he decided. These men-all of them-are my comrades. I cannot betray them.

The general stepped to the very prow of the ship.

“There are two ships approaching us,” he announced. He pointed, and pointed again. “There, and there. The one on the right is closer.”

He heard a slight cough behind him.

“Trust me, Garmat. I can see them almost as well as if it were daytime. They are there, just as I have described.”

He looked over his shoulder and smiled crookedly.

“The steersman you pointed out earlier is on that closer ship, Ousanas. Make good your boast.”

For once, the dawazz was not grinning. Ousanas stared into the darkness for a moment, then looked back at the general.

“You are witch,” he announced.

Belisarius made a face.

The grin made its inevitable appearance. Ousanas’ skin was so black that he was almost invisible except as a shape. Against that darkness, the grin was like a beacon of good cheer.

“Is not problem,” said the dawazz. Ousanas gestured toward the other warriors.

“These other men be civilized folk, Axumites and Romans. Hence filled with silly superstitions. Think witchcraft evil. I savage from far south, too ignorant to be confused. I know witchcraft like everything else in this world. Some good. Some bad.”

A great laugh suddenly rang out, startling in its loudness.

“Most excellent!” pronounced the dawazz. “Never had good witch before, on my side.”

“Can you truly see that well, in the night?” asked the prince shakily. “How is that possible?”

“Yes, Eon, I can. How is it possible?” Belisarius hesitated, but only for an instant. The die was cast.

“There is no time now. But after the battle, I will explain.” A glance at Garmat. “I will explain everything.” A glance at his cataphracts and the sarwen. “To all of you.”

Ousanas lounged forward, hefting his javelin.

“Where is steersman?” he asked idly. Belisarius pointed again. Ousanas squinted.

“Still too dark,” he muttered.

At that moment, Venandakatra’s voice cried out a command. A volley of rockets was fired in all directions. Several kshatriyas squealed with pain, caught by the back-blasts which flared over the hide mounds.

“Fucking idiot,” growled Anastasius. “The cowardly bastard, he’s just panicking.”

It was true enough. The volley was completely unaimed. The six rockets snaked their fiery path into nothingness. A total waste.

To all, that is, save Ousanas. For the rockets’ glare had, whatever else, bathed the sea with a sudden flare of red illumination. The pirate ships were clearly visible, and even, with difficulty, individual members of their crews.

“I see him steersman!” cried the dawazz gleefully. He hurled the javelin like a tiger pouncing on its prey. The weapon vanished into the fading red glare. Almost at once it was invisible, to all save Belisarius.

The general watched the javelin rise, and rise, and rise. He had never seen such a tremendous cast. Then, the general watched it sail downward. Downward, and truer than Euclidean dreams.

A terrible, brief cry filled the night.

Anastasius hunched his shoulders, staring grimly out to sea.

“I can’t bear to look, Valentinian. Is that damned black bastard grinning at me?”

Valentinian chuckled. “It looks like the Pharos at Alexandria. A blinding beacon in the night.”

A sudden little flight of arrows came out of the darkness. None of them came close, however. The pirates were simply reacting out of rage.

“It won’t be long now,” announced Belisarius. He smiled. “By the way, you might want to shift over to the other side, Anastasius. The ship on your side isn’t the closest, anymore. In fact, it’s wallowing in the waves. No steersman.”

Anastasius grunted his disgust. Ousanas took up another javelin.

“Maybe fucking idiot cowardly bastard Indian lord fire another useless volley,” he said cheerfully. “Then I make other pirate galley wallow in waves.”

“I’ll kill him,” muttered Anastasius.

“I doubt it,” retorted Valentinian. Suddenly, he too was grinning. “And don’t be a spiteful idiot. You’re like some petty boy in a playground. Would you rather he was chucking those spears the other way?”

Anastasius winced. “No, but-”

He got no further. A pirate ship loomed out of the darkness, like a dragon rising from the sea. A medley of war cries erupted from it. A moment later, another volley of rockets flared.

Now all was bright glare, redness and fury, and the ancient battle clangor. Anastasius drew his great bow and slew a pirate, and then another, and another, and another, and another. At that range, his arrows split chests like a butcher splits a chicken. Even had the pirates been wearing full armor, it would have made no difference. At that range, the arrows of Anastasius drove through shields.

And now, when he saw the other pirate galley suddenly wallow in the waves, bereft of its steersman, there was no emotion in his heart beyond a fierce surge of comradeship. For the cataphract Anastasius was not, in truth, a spiteful schoolboy filled with petty pride. He was a soldier plying his trade.

And he was very, very good at it.