Menander’s first arrow caught another soldier in the huddled platoon. He too was slain instantly, if not with the same dramatic impact. Valentinian’s second arrow arrived a split second later. A third Malwa went down.
A platoon eating their meal nearby received its first casualty. A bad wound, not a fatal one. A horrible wound, actually. The cruel warhead of Anastasius’ arrow shredded the soldier’s left shoulder. Anastasius was not an accurate archer, but his bow was even more powerful than Valentinian’s.
Now, thirty yards down, more casualties. Three Malwa soldiers, slain by javelins hurtling from the nearby woods. Another volley. Two dead. One mortally injured.
Valentinian’s count was now five. All dead. Menander killed another, wounded a third. Anastasius killed two.
“Enough!” shouted Valentinian. The cataphract turned and plunged into the darkness of the trees. Menander and Anastasius followed him. To their left, Menander could hear Prince Eon and the sarwen making their own retreat.
Within half a minute, the cataphracts reached the small clearing where Garmat and Kadphises were holding the horses. Seconds later, Eon and the sarwen lunged into the clearing.
Garmat and Kadphises, hearing them come, were already astride their horses. The others mounted quickly.
Valentinian reined his horse around, heading for a small trail leading through the woods to the southwest. Back toward the Malwa army camp. Even through the trees, they could hear the uproar coming from the Malwa soldiery.
Anastasius and Menander began to follow him. So did Eon.
Valentinian reined in his horse, glaring at the Prince.
“Stop this nonsense, Eon!” snarled Ezana. He and Wahsi, following Garmat and Kadphises, were guiding their own horses and all the remounts toward a different trail, leading southeast from the clearing. Away from the army camp.
Eon scowled, but he halted his horse. For a moment, the Prince and Valentinian stared at each other. The glare on Valentinian’s face faded, replaced by a smile.
There was none of a veteran’s mocking humor in that smile, however. Just the smile of a comrade.
“I thank you, Eon,” said Valentinian, almost gently. “But you are being foolish. Ethiopians are infantrymen, not cavalry. This is cataphract work.”
Then, he was gone. Seconds later, Anastasius and Menander vanished into the trees with him.
Eon sighed, turned his horse, and sent it trotting down the trail where the other Axumites had gone. After a moment, the young prince shrugged his thick shoulders, shedding his regrets. He urged his horse alongside Ezana.
The sarwen glanced at him, scowling. Soon enough, however, the scowl faded. And, soon after that, was replaced by a thin smile. A grim smile.
Young princes, Ezana reminded himself, needed to be bold. Even impetuous. Better that, than the alternative. Caution and cunning, shrewdness and tactics—these could be taught.
The smile widened. Still grim.
If he ever becomes the negusa nagast, thought Ezana, he may not be a wise ruler. Not wise enough, at least, for the new days of Malwa. But he will never lack courage. Not my prince.
In the alley where an Empress and her escort lay hidden, the sound of the grenade explosions was also heard. Faintly, of course, due to the distance. But not at all muffled. Kausambi was a great city, teeming with people. But, like all cities of that time, long before the invention of electric lighting, the vast majority of its residents rose and slept with the sun. For all its size, the city at night was shrouded in a quietness which would have surprised an urbanite of future centuries.
The Mahaveda and the Ye-tai standing guard before the armory heard the explosions also. The two Ye-tai looked up from their idle conversation, craning their heads in the direction of the sounds. Other than that, however, they did not move.
One of the Mahaveda, frowning, stepped forward from the overhanging archway where he stood guard with his two fellows in front of the heavy double doors of the armory’s main entrance. The priest walked a few paces into the street, stopped, turned in the direction of the sounds, listened. Nervously, his fingers fluttered the short sword at his waist.
Listened. Listened.
Nothing.
Silence.
The vicinity of the wharf, of course, was very far from silent at that moment. By now, Malwa kshatriyas and Ye-tai were racing about the barge, charging up and down the wharf, plunging in a mass down an alley, shouting orders, shrieking counter-orders, bellowing commands. But those were human sounds, for all their raucous volume, far too small to carry the distance to the armory.