“What a waste,” he murmured. “What a stupid waste. All for a stinking convoy that was never anything more than an accidental diversion.”
He shook his head sadly. “We cannot even do the rites. Nothing left.”
Antonina placed her hand on Ousanas’ shoulder and shook it firmly.
“That is also stupid. Of course we can do the rites. We are not pagans, Ousanas.” What had become her husband’s most treasured saying came to her mind. “Only the soul matters, in the end. We can pray for Wahsi’s soul—and those of the other men who died.”
Ousanas sighed, lowering his head. Then he snorted.
“What other men?” For a moment, his grin almost appeared. “Wahsi was the only casualty. The only fatality, at least.”
Antonina’s jaw sagged. Seeing the expression, Ousanas did manage a wan and feeble grin.
“I told you, woman.” He tossed his head, sneering at the Malwa ships fading into the distance. “Sheep, in the hands of Ethiopian marines. Nothing but sheep. The only wounds were caused by Ye-tai, and even they could do no better. There are no soldiers in the world as good as Axumite sarwen, Antonina, in the close quarters of a boarding operation.”
He rubbed his face. The gesture was sad, not weary. “Even the rocket which killed Wahsi was fired by accident. A gaggle of kshatriyas were trying to turn it around to face their attackers. The fuse was lit—one of them killed by a spear—he stumbled, fell, knocked the rocket trough askew—”
Ousanas waved his hand. “Stupid,” he muttered. “Just one of those stupid, pointless deaths which happen in a battle. That’s all it was.”
* * *
Wahsi’s death was far more than that, when the funeral ceremony was held the next day. By then, after hundreds of Ethiopian soldiers had whispered through the night, the sarawit had come to their own conclusions.
There was a part of Antonina, as she listened to the lays and chants—there were bards among the soldiers; amateurs, but good at their business—which thought the whole thing absurd. But that was only a part of the woman’s soul, and a small one at that.
The soul which stood at her center did not begrudge the soldiers their myth. By the time the expedition returned to Ethiopia, she knew, Wahsi would have entered Africa’s own warrior legends. His death, leading a great sea battle, would become a thing of glory.
She did not begrudge the sarwen those legends. She would not have begrudged them, even if she weren’t the leader of an expedition to rescue her husband from destruction.
But, since she was, she certainly didn’t intend to start spouting nit-picking, picayune, petty little truths. Leave that for antiquarians and historians of the future.
Ousanas spoke her thoughts aloud.
“Pity the poor Malwa at Charax,” he said cheerfully, as he and Antonina listened to the chants. “That stupid death has turned a shrewd maneuver against enemy logistics into a crusade. They would storm the gates of Hell, now.”
Chapter 31
CHARAX
Autumn, 532 a.d.
When the captain of the unit guarding Charax’s northeastern gate was finally able to discern the exact identity of the oncoming troops, he was not a happy man.
“Shit,” he cursed softly. “Kushans.”
The face of his lieutenant, standing three feet away, mirrored the captain’s own alarm. “Are you sure?”
The captain pulled his eye away from the telescope mounted on the ramparts and gave his lieutenant an irritated look. “See for yourself, if you don’t believe me,” he snarled, stepping away from the telescope.
The lieutenant made no move to take his place. The question had not been asked seriously. It was impossible to mistake Kushans for anyone else, once they got close enough for the telescope to pick out details. If for no other reason, no one in Persia beyond Kushans bound up their hair in topknots.
The captain marched over to the inner wall of the battlement and leaned over. A dozen of his soldiers were standing on the ground below, their heads craned up, waiting to hear the news.
“Kushans!” he shouted. The soldiers grimaced.
“Summon the commander of the watch!” bellowed the captain. Then, more loudly still: “And hide the women!” The latter command was unneeded. The soldiers were already scurrying about, rounding up the slave women whom the guard battalion had dragooned into their service.