The Malwa galley, as a vessel, was instantly crippled. Even worse was the damage to the crew. The oarbutts, flailing and splintering and hammering, killed only one man outright. But almost half of the Malwa galley’s starboard rowers suffered broken bones, cracked skulls, and crushed ribs—and all of them were bruised and stunned. All order and discipline in the vessel collapsed, as the shouting commands of the officers were buried under screams and groans.
The port-side rowers gaped at the scene. And then, gaped wider at the sight of two five-inch cannon barrels approaching. Seconds later, many of those gaping mouths were swept out of existence entirely. Axumite marines were pouring over the side before the smoke cleared. Again, the murderous cry erupted: Ta’akha Maryam! Ta’akha Maryam!
The combat which followed lasted not more than five minutes. Six Malwa sailors escaped by diving over the side. One of them, a good swimmer in superb physical condition, would make it to the bank of the delta several miles away. The rest would drown, sharing the grim fate of their fellow crewmen.
In Charax’s delta, Malwa would get no more mercy from Ethiopia than it had gotten from Rome in the city itself.
* * *
Antonina, huddling safely in the hull of her flagship, clasped the handcannon more tightly still. It was not fear which produced those whitened knuckles. Simply horror, at the sounds of unseen butchery not more than fifteen feet away. Cries of fury; cries of pain. Spears splitting flesh; sundering bone. Soft groans, and hissing agony, and death gurgling into silence.
All was silent, now, except the waves against the ships, and grunting exertion. Silent—except for the sodden noise of spears plunging, again and again, into corpses. Slaughter made certain, and certain, and certain. Once only, a low voice, filled with satisfaction: Ta’akha Maryam.
“I told you,” said Ousanas serenely. The aqabe tsentsen, as had been true throughout the battle, had never so much as moved a hand. “O ye of little faith.”
* * *
In the battle as a whole, Axum suffered the total loss of only one ship. It was a grievous loss, because the entire crew went with their vessel when the Malwa galley they were boarding suddenly erupted. What happened? No one would ever know. An accident, perhaps. Perhaps a fanatic priest.
Five other Axumite warships suffered major casualties. Numbers will tell, even against experience. Not every Axumite captain maneuvered as skillfully as Gersem. And, with twelve Axumite ships facing fifteen opponents, three Malwa galleys were left free to strike where they would.
Malwa’s sea captains might have been arrogant and incautious, but they were by no means cowards. All three of those unharmed vessels rammed Axumite ships. Tried to, at least. One of the Malwa galleys was so badly bloodied by well-aimed cannon fire that it drew off—drifted off, rather; its captain and steersman slain, along with a third of the crew. The other two rammed, and then boarded.
But the final result, even there, was the same. The Malwa advantage in numbers was not enough—not even if they had been doubled—to offset the experience and ferocity of Axum’s spearmen. The only difference was between a fight lost—badly lost—and an outright slaughter.
* * *
At Ousanas’ command, the Axumite line reformed and advanced again toward Charax. The city’s harbor was less than three miles away, now. Sharp-eyed Ethiopian lookouts reported that the Roman troop vessels were beginning to leave the docks.
There were only eight ships left in the Axumite fleet. In addition to the one destroyed outright, Ousanas had decided to abandon the two which had been rammed and one other which had been badly mauled. None of the three ships were in any danger of sinking, but they had been damaged enough to make them useless in combat. The sarwen on the three crippled vessels transferred quickly to other Ethiopian warships, filling out those crews which had suffered heavy casualties.
Eight ships, now, not twelve—but there were only five Malwa galleys left.
“Look at ’em,” snorted Antonina, studying the enemy ships. “And they say women can’t make up their minds!”
Ousanas grinned. “What you observe, Antonina, is a modern version of being caught in a myth. Between Scylla and Charybdis.”