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.