Aide said nothing. But the facets were quivering with some very human sentiments.
SULK. POUT.
Then:
You’ll be sorry.
By the time the scorpions were re-armed, Honorius had altered the vessel’s course. They were now rowing directly toward the enemy. And, just as the sailor had predicted, the ship was much steadier.
Much steadier.
Belisarius and Valentinian fired almost simultaneously. A few seconds later, the taunts and catcalls were suddenly replaced by cries of alarm and screams of pain.
The two nearest akatoi erupted in flames. The rounded bow of the one Belisarius fired upon was burning fiercely. Valentinian’s shot caused even greater havoc on his target. His firebomb must have ruptured against the rail of that ship’s bow. Instead of engulfing the bow in flames, the naphtha had spewed across the ship’s deck like a horizontal waterfall of flame and destruction.
A deck which was packed with heavily armored cataphracts.
The scene on that ship was pure horror. At least a dozen cataphracts were being roasted alive in their iron armor. Several of them, driven to desperation, leapt off the ship into the sea. There, helplessly dragged down by the weight of their equipment, they drowned.
But they were dead men, anyway. At least their agony was over. Those who remained aboard were like human torches. In their frenzied movements, they helped to spread the flames further. John’s hellish concoction was like Satan’s urine. It stuck to everything it touched—and it burned, and burned, and burned, and burned. Within thirty seconds, the entire deck of that ship was a holocaust.
Then, the holocaust spread. The steersman, seeing the fiery doom coming toward him, made his own leap into the sea. Unlike the cataphracts, he was not encumbered with armor and could hope to swim.
Swim where? Presumably, to the nearest ship. Unfortunately, by deserting his post he caused the burning ship to head into the wind and waves. The corbita coming immediately behind was unable to avoid a collision.
The flames now spread to that ship. Most of the spreading came from the entangled sails. But some of it came from the frenzied human torches which clambered aboard.
Two ships were now completely out of action.
Neither Belisarius nor Valentinian paid much attention. They were too busy dealing with their next victims.
For Belisarius, that victim was the same as his first. Coming closer to the ship whose bow he had already set afire—now, at a range of three hundred yards—the general aimed his scorpion amidships.
He was deliberately trying to imitate Valentinian’s shot. His first shot missed—too low, scattering flames across the sea fifty yards before the target. But, after a quick adjustment of the trough’s strut, he succeeded with the next shot. His firebomb ruptured against the enemy ship’s railing and spewed destruction across its packed deck.
That ship was out of action.
As he waited for his artillerymen to rearm the scorpion, Belisarius observed Valentinian’s next shot. Valentinian was also trying to copy his first success.
He misjudged, however, and his shot went a little high.
No matter. Both he and Belisarius learned another lesson in the brand new world of naval artillery warfare.
Sails and rigging, struck head-on by a firebomb, burn like oil-soaked kindling. Within five seconds, that ship was effectively dismasted, wallowing helplessly in the waves.
Yet—
The cataphracts standing on the deck below were—for the moment at least—unharmed.
Unharmed, and filled with fury. Belisarius could see dozens of them beginning to bring their powerful bows to bear. Less than three hundred yards away—well within range of cataphract archery. In moments, his little ship would be swept by a volley of arrows. The rowers below would be reasonably safe in their enclosed shelters. But all of the men on the wood-castle had only the low walls to protect them.
“Ready!” cried the loader.
Belisarius threw his weight against the heavy trough. The loader and the claw-man helped swivel the scorpion around. As soon as it bore, Belisarius yanked the trigger.
The cataphracts on the enemy ship were just starting to draw back their bows. Some of them loosed their arrows—but, flinching, missed their aim. Most of the cataphracts, seeing the firebomb speeding right at them, simply ducked.