The tide of victory b-5 Read online

  Throughout the course of his checkered career, however, two things about John of Rhodes had remained constant. He was still a womanizer, although-under Antonina's blood-curdling threats-he had managed to keep his attentions away from the wives of Roman officers and Persian notables. And he was perhaps the most dyspeptic man Antonina had ever encountered. His preceding silence, while Ousanas scowled and sneered, was the surest indication that even John of Rhodes was a bit leery of his new invention.

  Finally, however, he rallied. "The thing is perfectly safe!" he bellowed. John began stumping about the deck of the warship, gesticulating madly. "I got the idea from Belisarius himself! And none other than Aide gave him the design!" Stump; stump. "For your information, O great hunter from Africa"-here, he and Ousanas matched magnificent sneers-"this device insured the supremacy of Rome at sea for centuries in-in-"

  His right hand groped, trying to point to that unknown and unseen future which would have been, if the "new gods" of the future had not intervened in human history. The gesture was vague and uncertain. John had tried to seduce Irene Macrembolitissa on several occasions. The attempts had been quite futile, of course. Irene was not in the least susceptible to the charms of seducers. But, in her own lioness way, she had enjoyed toying with a would-be predator. So, on one occasion, she had fended off John's advances by a learned explanation of the logical complexities involved in changing the past by intervening from the future. Notions like the "river of time" had mingled freely with "paradox" and "conundrum." By the time she was done, John was exhausted, utterly confused, and resigned to a night of celibacy.

  "— in that other history," he concluded lamely.

  He rallied again, pointing with a stiff finger to the gadget. " 'Greek fire' they'll call it! The scourge of Rome's enemies at sea."

  Ousanas' thundering rejoinder was cut short by Ezana. "Why don't we try the thing out," he suggested mildly. "After all, what's the harm?"

  The Ethiopian admiral's eyes scanned the Roman ship in whose bow the "gadget" was positioned. Christened the Theodora Victrix-whatever else he was, John of Rhodes was no fool-she was the latest warship to join the Roman fleet in the Erythrean Sea. And, though the ship had been built in Adulis by Ethiopian shipwrights, she was not an Axumite vessel. So-

  "Worst that happens," Ezana concluded serenely, "is that the ship burns up."

  John glared at him, but remained silent.

  "That's it, then," decided Antonina. She headed for the gangway connecting the ship to the dock. She fluttered her hand toward Ousanas. "No doubt the aqabe tsentsen will wish to remain on board during the trial, scrutinizing every step of the operation with his keen hunter's eye."

  Ousanas refrained from trampling Antonina in his hurry to get off the ship. But he only did so by the simple expedient of picking her up and carrying her off in his arms.

  Ezana, oddly enough, decided to remain. Afterward, of course, he would claim he did so to maintain the reputation of Axum's seamen. Bold, valiant-fearless as lions. But, in truth, the Ethiopian naval officer was simply curious. And he was not enough of a hunter himself to understand the absurdity of a tame lioness.

  * * *

  In the end, the trial was a roaring success. Quite literally. Once the Theodora Victrix and her two accompanying ships were completely out of sight of land, the cargo vessel being towed by the Axumite galley on which Antonina and Ousanas were safely perched was cut loose. Wallowing in the gentle waves of the Persian Gulf, while John made his final approach, the hulk seemed like a witless calf at the mercy of a lioness.

  As soon as the Theodora Victrix was within range, John ordered his chief gunner Eusebius to activate the Greek fire cannon. This took a bit of work, since the "cannon" was more in the nature of a primitive pump than anything else. The gadget was temperamental as well as dangerous. But, soon enough, a satisfying gush of roaring flames spouted from the barrel and fell upon the target vessel.

  Within seconds, the cargo hulk was a raging inferno. John of Rhodes began capering about on the deck of the Victrix, making gleeful-and, from the distance, suspiciously obscene-looking-gestures at Ousanas on the observer ship. Within minutes, he was helping Eusebius and the other gunners to pour amphorae full of sand on those portions of the warship's bow which had been set aflame by the last dribbles of the Greek fire cannon.

  * * *

  "We'll call it a roaring success," Antonina pronounced. She pursed her lips, studying the frantic activities of the men on the Victrix's bow. Then, cocking her head at Menander, added: "But make sure that we put in another requisition for amphorae. And you'd better tell John to start experimenting with different kinds of sand."

  Menander sighed. "Telling John" anything was akin to giving orders to a temperamental predator. Best done from a distance-best of all, by somebody else.

  Ousanas snorted. "Tame lioness!"

  * * *

  But Menander's qualms proved unfounded. By the time the two ships arrived back at the docks in Charax, John of Rhodes was in splendid spirits. The minor mishap at the end, clearly enough, was beneath contempt. Indeed, he even pranced off the ship proclaiming himself the need to find slightly more suitable chemicals for extinguishing fires at sea than simple desert sand.

  "Chalk, maybe," he opined cheerfully. Standing on the docks, arms akimbo, John surveyed the landscape surrounding Charax with great serenity. "Got to be some, out there. For that matter, sea salt might do the trick. Plenty of that. And who knows? Maybe dried camel dung. Plenty of that stuff!"

  Antonina left the matter to him. She was already surrounded by a small horde of Roman officers and Persian officials, each of whom was clamoring for her attention on some other matter of pressing concern. Throughout, Antonina maintained her composure, and issued the necessary orders. By now, she was an accomplished general in her own right, and had long since learned one of the basic axioms of war. Amateurs study tactics; professionals study logistics.

  * * *

  By sundown, she was able to relax in the comfort of the small villa she had obtained in Charax's best quarter. More or less.

  "Do we have to settle the question of the camel provender?" she demanded crossly, pausing in the act of pouring herself a goblet of wine. "Tonight?"

  A sheepish expression came upon Menander's face. "Well. No, actually. It can wait. Not as if there's any shortage of Arabs eager and willing to provide it for us." Perched on a chair across from the divan where Antonina lounged, Menander scowled. "It's just- Damned hagglers! Always got to allow extra time dickering with Arabs."

  The Thracian villager surfaced: "Bad as Greeks!"

  Antonina smiled. Then, after savoring the first sip of wine and cocking an eye at Ezana and Ousanas-also lounging on nearby divans; no alert chair-perching for them-she murmured: "Don't you have another pressing engagement yourself tonight, Menander?"

  The Roman officer flushed. His eyes were riveted on Antonina, as if by sheer force of will he would keep them from flitting to the fearsome figure of his paramour's half-brother.

  Thankfully, Ezana was in a good mood. So he eased Menander over the hurdle.

  "Best run, boy. Keep my eager sister waiting and she'll likely take up with some passing stray Arab." Smugly: "Who will not-given the way Deborah looks-waste any time at all in haggling."

  Seeing the look of sudden alarm which now flitted across Menander's face, Antonina could not stop herself from giggling. "Go!" she choked, waving her hand. A moment later, Menander did as he was commanded.

  When he was gone, Antonina looked at Ezana. "She wouldn't really, would she?"

  Ezana shrugged. "Probably not. The silly girl's quite infatuated with the lad."

  Antonina's head now swiveled to bring Ousanas under her gaze. The humor left her eyes entirely.

  "Speaking of infatuation."

  Glaring at Ousanas, in the scale of "waste of effort," ranked somewhere in the vicinity of the labors of Sisyphus. Ethiopia's aqabe tsentsen responded with the same grin with which the former slave dawazz h
ad greeted similar scowls from Axumite royalty.

  "I fail to see the problem," he said. "True, the girl was a virgin. But-"

  He waved his own hand. Ousanas, like Belisarius' cataphract Anastasius, was a devotee of Greek philosophy. The gesture carried all the certainty of Plato pronouncing on a small problem of ontology. "That is by the nature of things a temporary state of affairs. Certainly with a girl as lively and pretty as Koutina. Who better than me to have assisted her through that necessary passage?"

  Antonina maintained the glare, even in the face of that peerless grin.

  "Besides, Antonina, you know perfectly well that having the secure loyalty of your personal maid is essential to the success of our enterprise. Koutina will be at the top of the list for every enterprising Malwa spy here in Charax. Of which there are probably several hundred by now, at least half of which are superb seducers-and just as good once they get the girl in bed as they were getting her there in the first place."

  Again, Ousanas made that philosophical gesture. "So I view my activities as a necessary concomitant of my diplomatic duties. So to speak. Foiling the machinations of the wicked enemy with my own incomparable stroke of statecraft. So to speak."

  Antonina hissed: "If she gets pregnant-"

  Finally, the grin faded. For once, there was nothing of the brazen jester in Ousanas' expression. "I have already asked her to become my concubine, Antonina," he said softly. "Once the war is over. And she has agreed."

  He did not add any further promise. There was no need. Of many things, people might wonder about the strange man named Ousanas. Of his honesty, no one had any doubt at all.

  Certainly not Antonina. Indeed, she was quite taken aback by the aqabe tsentsen's statement. She had simply intended to obtain a promise from Ousanas to see to it that her maid was taken care of properly, once the dalliance was over. She had never expected-

  "Concubine," in Axum's elite, was a prestigious position. The position of wife, of course, was reserved for diplomatic and political necessities. But an officially recognized concubine was assured a life of security and comfort-even wealth and power, in the case of the aqabe tsentsen's concubine.

  Koutina was a peasant girl from the Fayum, born into the great mass of Egypt's poor. Her own children would now enter directly into the world of status, with not even the slight blemish which Roman society attached to such offspring.

  Ousanas' grin made its triumphant reentry. "So? Are there any other concerns you wish to raise?"

  Antonina cleared her throat. From long experience, she knew it was essential to rally in the face of Ousanas' grin.

  "Yes!" she piped. Sternly: "We must see to the final preparations for the landing at Barbaricum. Belisarius, you know, insists on accompanying Valentinian and the others up to the very moment when they are set ashore in India. Even-so he told me in his last message-if he has to leave his army before they finish the march to Charax."

  Ezana groaned. "Antonina, that's already the best-planned and best-prepared military expedition in the history of the world." Scowling: "The only uncertainty-you said so yourself, just this morning! — was the reliability of the Greek fire weapon. Which we just tested this very day!"

  Rally. "There are still some minor logistical matters to be settled!" Antonina insisted.

  Ezana groaned again. Ousanas clapped his hands.

  "Ridiculous!" he stated. "Petty stuff which can be well enough handled by your host of underlings." The aqabe tsentsen drained his goblet and placed it on the small side table nearby.

  "We have much more important matters to discuss. I got into an argument with Irene, just the day before she and Kungas set off on that harebrained expedition of theirs. Can you believe that the crazed woman has been studying these idiot Buddhist philosophers lately? Mark my words! Give it a year and she'll be babbling the same nonsense as that Raghunath Rao fellow. Maya, the so-called 'veil of illusion.' All that rot!"

  Ousanas leaned forward on his divan, hands planted firmly on knees. "Our duty is clear. We must arm ourselves in advance-re-arm ourselves, I should say-with the principles of Greek philosophy. I propose to begin with a survey of the dialectic, beginning with Socrates."

  Antonina and Ezana stared at each other. Even the black Ethiopian's face seemed pale.

  "Logistics," choked Ezana. "Critical to any successful military enterprise." Hastily he rose and began pacing about. "Can't afford to overlook even the slightest detail. The matter of the brass fittings for the stays is particularly critical. Can't ever have enough! And the metalsmiths here in Charax are already overworked."

  He slammed hard fist into firm palm. "So! I propose the following-"

  Chapter 8

  Barbaricum

  Spring, 533 A.D.

  The first rocket was a flare, one of the newly designed ones with a small parachute. After it burst over the ramparts at Barbaricum, it drifted down slowly, lighting the area with an eerie glow. Within seconds, several other flares came to add their own demonic illumination.

  "Open fire!" roared John of Rhodes.

  Immediately, the small fleet of Roman warships under John's command began firing their cannons into the shipping anchored in the harbor. Under cover of night, John had sailed his flotilla into gunnery range without being spotted by the sentries on the walls of the city. The larger fleet of Ethiopian warships following in his wake began adding their own gunfire to the brew.

  John's ships, pure sailing craft, would be limited to one pass at the Malwa shipping. The Axumite vessels, with their oared capability, would wind up doing most of the damage even though none of those galleys carried the same weight of cannon. Without the necessity of tacking back upwind in order to escape-not something John wanted to do once the huge siege cannons on Barbaricum's walls began firing-the Ethiopians would be able to take the time to launch the fireships.

  For that reason, John was all the more determined to wreak as much havoc as he could in the short time available. In particular, he was determined to strike at the Malwa warships-which, unfortunately, were moored behind a screening row of merchant vessels. Now that the flares were burning brightly, he could see those war galleys moored against the piers.

  "Closer!" he bellowed, leaving it to his sailing master to translate the command into nautical terms.

  Standing on the deck at John's side, Eusebius winced. Through his thick spectacles-another of the many new inventions which Aide's counsel had brought into the Roman world-the gunnery officer could see the mouths of the siege cannons overlooking the harbor, illuminated by the cannon fire and the flares. Once they came into action, those guns would be firing stone balls weighing more than two hundred pounds. True, the siege cannons were as awkward to load and fire as they were gigantic, and the weapons were wildly inaccurate. Unlike smaller cannons, whose bores could be hand-worked into relative uniformity and for which marble or iron cannon balls could be polished to a close fit, the giant siege guns and their stone missiles were the essence of crudity. But if one of those balls did hit a ship.

  Eusebius winced again.

  "Closer, damn you!" bellowed John.

  * * *

  A few miles further south along the Indus delta, Belisarius had a dazzling view of the battle which was taking shape in Barbaricum's harbor. At the distance, of course, he couldn't see any of the details. Not even with his telescope. But the visual and auditory display was truly magnificent. Which, when all was said and done, was the whole point of the exercise. Whatever damage John and the Ethiopians succeeded in inflicting on the Malwa at Barbaricum, the true purpose of that bombardment was to divert attention from Belisarius' doings.

  "All right, General," growled Valentinian. "You can stop smiling so damned crookedly. I admit that you were right and I was wrong." Sourly: "Again."

  In the darkness, there was no way Valentinian could have spotted that smile on Belisarius' face, not even standing next to him. Still, the general removed the smile. He reflected, a bit ruefully, that Valentinian knew him more than we
ll enough to know Belisarius' characteristics.

  So did Aide, for that matter. Damned stupid crooked smile, came his own surly thought.

  There was no moon that night. There was not even a starblaze. India's monsoon season had begun, and the sky was heavily overcast. Except for the distant glare of the flares and cannon fire, the nearby coast was shrouded in darkness.

  In that same darkness, Valentinian and Anastasius and Kujulo began lowering themselves into the river barge which had pulled alongside their vessel. The barge had been towed all the way from Charax. It was one of the Indian vessels which had been captured after the Malwa invasion of Persia was defeated the year before. Belisarius had chosen it because it would be indistinguishable from the other barges plying their trade along the Indus river.

  Lowering themselves slowly and carefully-falling into the sea laden with armor and weapons was the fastest way to drown that the human race had ever discovered-the three leaders of the expedition eventually found the security of the barge's deck. As their accompanying party of Kushan soldiers followed, Anastasius' voice came up out of the darkness.

  "Any last instructions?" the giant Thracian cataphract asked.

  "No. Just be careful."

  That statement was met by the sound of muttering. Valentinian's last words, Belisarius was quite certain, consisted of pure profanity.

  Don't blame him, said Aide. The thought was almost a mutter itself. Aide had reconciled himself to Belisarius losing his best bodyguards, but he was still not happy with the situation.

  Belisarius made no reply to either voice. In truth, he was not feeling any of the usual surety which accompanied his decisions. This expedition-everything about it-was dictated by the logic of spycraft, not warcraft. That was not a realm of human endeavor in which the Roman general felt completely at ease. He was relying heavily on Irene's advice, coupled with his own estimate of an old eunuch. A traitor, to boot.