When the Ethiopians finished, John of Rhodes leaned back in his chair and began tapping his hands on his knees. He was frowning slightly, and his eyes seemed a bit unfocussed.
“It’s not much to go on, is it?” asked Antonina, somewhat apologetically.
“Quite the contrary,” replied the naval officer. “Our friends here from Axum have provided me with the most important fact of all.”
“What’s that?” demanded Sittas.
John of Rhodes looked at the Greek general and smiled thinly.
“The most important fact is that these weapons exist, Sittas.” He shrugged. “What they are, and how they work, remains a complete mystery. But the fact that they do exist means that it is a problem to be solved, rather than a fantasy to be speculated about. There’s a world of difference between those two things.”
He arose and began stumping about, with his hands clasped behind his back. “We shall need to compile a library here. Unfortunately, the books which I own myself relate to seafaring only.”
“Books are expensive,” grumbled Sittas.
“So?” retorted Antonina. “You’re stinking rich. You can afford them.”
“I knew it,” growled Sittas. “I knew it. Soak the rich Greek, that’s all anybody—”
Irene cut him off. “What books do you need?” she asked John.
The naval officer frowned. “It’s obvious to me, from listening to what the Axumites have told us, that the Malwa weapons involve more than simply burning naphtha, or some similar fuel. Every account of the weapons describes them in terms of eruptions—as if they could somehow control the force of a volcano, on a smaller scale. The closest physical phenomenon that I know of is what’s called combustion. And there’s only one scholar to my knowledge who studied combustion to any great extent.”
“Heron of Alexandria,” stated Irene.
John of Rhodes nodded. “Precisely. I need a copy of his Pneumatics.”
Sittas glowered. “There aren’t more than fifty copies of that book in existence! Do you have any idea how much it costs? If we can even find one in the first place without raiding the library at Alexandria.”
“I own a copy,” said Irene. “I will be glad to loan it to you. It’s still at my villa in Constantinople, however, so it will take a little time to get it here.”
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.”