“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.