When Eon’s body was brought aboard the flagship and carried into the negusa nagast’s cabin, Antonina had accompanied it. Had done what she could, with the aid of an Axumite healer, to minimize the damage of the horrible wound. But, long before Ousanas came into the cabin, his face drawn and haggard, Antonina had faced the truth. The negusa nagast would live, for a time. Might even, if she and the healer used every method at their disposal, regain consciousness and speak. But he would not live to see another month go by. Probably not more than two weeks. Not with that wound. The spear had cut great slices of his intestines; damage that would inevitably bring fatal disease in its train.
In her heartbreak and despair, Antonina thought of summoning Belisarius and Aide—somehow, someway—but gave up that thought soon enough. Aide would know of some method of the future which could save Eon—did know, for her husband had ordered experiments begun to create the medications of the future. But there had been no time—no time—for that, along with everything else. And now, time had run out. Even if—somehow, someway—she could summon Aide, the crystal being from the future would be able to do no more than Antonina herself.
Weep, and weep, and weep. And, as she wept, nestled in Ousanas’ arm while he joined her in the weeping, Antonina wondered, now and then, how a crystal might weep as well.
Not whether. Simply how.
Chapter 29
SUKKUR
Autumn, 533 a.d.
When Belisarius first heard the guns roaring at Sukkur, he felt a great sense of relief. Granted, Abbu’s scouts had already reported that the Roman and Persian forces at Sukkur were holding back the Malwa besieging the city. Still, there was nothing quite as comforting as hearing the sound of those Roman cannons himself.
Even at a distance—Sukkur and the Indus were still a mile away—he could tell the difference in the sound between the Roman and the Malwa guns. The difference, ironically, was not in the guns themselves. Most of the siege guns which Belisarius had brought with him to the Indus—and all of the forty-eight-pounders—were Malwa in origin. Belisarius and the Persians had captured them in Mesopotamia the year before. But the Roman powder was uniformly “corned” powder, whereas the Malwa often used the older “serpentine” powder.
Here, as in many areas, the Malwa were handicapped by their sluggish economy—a handicap which was inevitable, given their insistence on maintaining rigid caste distinctions. The enemy had corned powder, but not enough of it to keep all their units supplied through a long battle or siege. Just as they were perfectly capable of making horseshoes and the new harnesses for draft animals—but, making them without replacing caste handicraft methods by the “industrial” system the Romans had adopted, they weren’t able to supply enough for their entire army. Where every single one of Belisarius’ cavalryman rode a shod horse, and all of his supply train animals used the new harnesses instead of the old collars, at least half of the Malwa army was not so equipped.
With large, small-number items like cannons or even muskets, the Malwa could compensate for their more primitive methods by substituting a mass of production. Even workers using older methods, remaining within caste boundaries, could produce a lot of such items—given that enough of them were put to work on the projects. Where the Malwa’s reactionary fanaticism tended to really show up was in their inability to mass produce small and cheap items like horseshoes and large quantities of corned powder.
What pleased Belisarius the most, listening, was the comparative rate of fire. The Malwa were firing volleys, where Ashot’s guns were firing individually. Under some circumstances, that would have concerned Belisarius. A volley was more effective in breaking a charge than uncoordinated fire. But Ashot knew that as well as anyone, and the fact that he was allowing his gun crews to set their own pace meant that he was not repelling any assaults. He was simply engaged in an artillery duel.
“Good,” grunted Maurice, who had reached the same conclusion. The chiliarch leaned back in his saddle. “We’re still in time, then.”
He scanned the surrounding area, his gray beard bristling. “Which is a good thing, since this little part of your plan came all to pieces. Greedy damn Greeks!”