Ezana grinned. “They know Africa is a land of black people.” He cupped his hand under his chin, as if presenting his ebony face. “And if the woman is pale, and beautiful, so much the more exotic!”
“I am not beautiful,” insisted Irene.
Ezana, still grinning, shook his head. Then, nodding toward the Malwa soldiers gawking at her: “You look beautiful to them, woman. After weeks on the road, struggling through India’s heat and dust, you look like Aphrodite herself.”
Again, he admired her bosom. “Especially your tits.”
Even as nervous as she was, Irene couldn’t help but chuckle. She glanced down at the objects in question, which were almost entirely visible due to the cut of her tunic. She had overseen the seamstresses in Suppara herself, blending Roman style with what she remembered of the costumes of Minoan women painted on vases. The small amount of skin still covered—a fifth, at most—simply framed, supported, presented, and emphasized the splendid remainder.
“It is impressive, isn’t it? Makes me look like Antonina, almost.”
Ezana’s grin faded to a simple smile. “It was bound to happen, Irene. You’ve never been a soldier, on a long and arduous march. Even disciplined sarwen or Roman cataphracts would be ragged in their ranks, with every man eager to get a look. Hot, tired, aching feet and butts—most of all, bored. Especially since Rao stopped attacking the column many days ago.”
The smile became a sneer, cheerfully bestowed on the mob surrounding the Ethiopian camp. “Those soldiers? Ha!”
He rubbed his hands with satisfaction. “No, no. It worked just like you planned. Four hundred sarwen, some Syrian gunners disguised as slaves, and one Roman woman have completely distracted an army ten times their number. Stopped them in their tracks, diverted their attention, disintegrated their formations—”
His eye caught movement to the north. He barked a laugh. “Look! Even some of the troops dragging the guns are trotting our way.”
“Oh, marvelous,” hissed Irene. Gloomily: “At least I’m not a virgin.” She eyed the leering mob, and the artillery soldiers hastening down the road to join them. “Step aside, Messalina,” she muttered. “I think I’m about to exceed your exploits. Put them completely in the shade, in fact.”
Ezana chuckled. “I’m not sure who Messalina was, but if—” Humor remained, in his eyes, but Ezana’s face was suddenly stern and solemn.
“You are a bold woman, Irene Macrembolitissa. Hold fast to that courage, and set aside your fears. No one will harm you. Kungas would never have agreed to this, if he did not think we Ethiopians could shield you when the hammer falls.” The stiff face became a black mask; as hard and unyielding as Kungas’ own. “Which it will, and very soon.”
Irene’s eyes began to move toward the ridge above them, but she forced them aside.
Ezana, seeing the movement, nodded. “He will be there, Irene. Kungas will come.”
Irene, trying to settle her nerves, fastened on that image. Kungas, and his hard face, coming toward her. Kungas, smiling with his eyes as she corrected his grammar. The little twitch in his lips, before he made a jest about thick-headed Kushans, even though she herself had been astonished by his ability to learn anything quickly. Kungas, day after day after day, sitting by her side in a chamber, learning to read. Never complaining, never grumbling, never angry at her for his own shortcomings.
The memory of a hard face, and clear almond eyes, and a heart beating hidden warmth and humor, and a mind like an uncut diamond, steadied her. She took a few deep breaths. Kungas will come. A few more breaths. He will. A few more. Kungas.
She felt herself return. To the memory of a hard face she added her own irrepressible humor.
“What do you think, Ezana?” she asked, gesturing with her chin toward the cluster of officers not more than thirty yards away. The Malwa were still staring at her, exchanging unheard quips. “Will they start the seduction with fine wine? Some music, perhaps?”
Ezana chuckled. Irene snorted. “Not likely, is it?” Her sour gaze fell on one particularly gross Malwa officer. The man had his tongue sticking out, wagging it at her.