Presented with this outrageous possibility—a tame lioness?—Ousanas practically gurgled with outrage. His usual insouciant wit seemed to have completely deserted him.
“Never seen the man in such a state,” commented Antonina slyly. She cocked her head at her companion. “You, Menander?”
But Menander was not about to enter this fray. The expression on his face was that of a man invited to enter a den of lions and argue the fine points of dining etiquette with its denizens. Clearly enough, the young Roman naval officer intended to champion the only safe and logical course. Silence.
Antonina smiled. Sweetly, at Menander; jeeringly, at Ousanas.
“Tame lioness! Not bad!” she exclaimed.
John of Rhodes, the designer of the gadget in question, finally entered the fray himself. His preceding silence, while one of his beloved contraptions was subjected to ridicule, was quite unlike the man. John of Rhodes had once been Rome’s most acclaimed naval officer. Forced out of the navy because of his inveterate womanizing—which, alas, included seducing wives of several of his superior officers and visiting senatorial delegates—John had been plucked out of premature retirement by Belisarius and Antonina and put to work designing the new weapons which Aide had brought from the future. Then, as he showed as much energy and ability in that work as he had in his former career, John had found himself once again elevated to high naval rank. Higher, in substance if not in form, than any rank he had previously held. Officially, he was still a captain; in reality, he was the admiral of the Roman Empire’s new fleet of gunpowder-armed warships. Its smallest fleet, true, but the only one which was growing by leaps and bounds.
Throughout the course of his checkered career, however, two things about John of Rhodes had remained constant. He was still a womanizer, although—under Antonina’s blood-curdling threats—he had managed to keep his attentions away from the wives of Roman officers and Persian notables. And he was perhaps the most dyspeptic man Antonina had ever encountered. His preceding silence, while Ousanas scowled and sneered, was the surest indication that even John of Rhodes was a bit leery of his new invention.
Finally, however, he rallied. “The thing is perfectly safe!” he bellowed. John began stumping about the deck of the warship, gesticulating madly. “I got the idea from Belisarius himself! And none other than Aide gave him the design!” Stump; stump. “For your information, O great hunter from Africa”—here, he and Ousanas matched magnificent sneers—”this device insured the supremacy of Rome at sea for centuries in—in—”
His right hand groped, trying to point to that unknown and unseen future which would have been, if the “new gods” of the future had not intervened in human history. The gesture was vague and uncertain. John had tried to seduce Irene Macrembolitissa on several occasions. The attempts had been quite futile, of course. Irene was not in the least susceptible to the charms of seducers. But, in her own lioness way, she had enjoyed toying with a would-be predator. So, on one occasion, she had fended off John’s advances by a learned explanation of the logical complexities involved in changing the past by intervening from the future. Notions like the “river of time” had mingled freely with “paradox” and “conundrum.” By the time she was done, John was exhausted, utterly confused, and resigned to a night of celibacy.
“—in that other history,” he concluded lamely.
He rallied again, pointing with a stiff finger to the gadget. ” ‘Greek fire’ they’ll call it! The scourge of Rome’s enemies at sea.”
Ousanas’ thundering rejoinder was cut short by Ezana. “Why don’t we try the thing out,” he suggested mildly. “After all, what’s the harm?”
The Ethiopian admiral’s eyes scanned the Roman ship in whose bow the “gadget” was positioned. Christened the Theodora Victrix—whatever else he was, John of Rhodes was no fool—she was the latest warship to join the Roman fleet in the Erythrean Sea. And, though the ship had been built in Adulis by Ethiopian shipwrights, she was not an Axumite vessel. So—
“Worst that happens,” Ezana concluded serenely, “is that the ship burns up.”
John glared at him, but remained silent.
“That’s it, then,” decided Antonina. She headed for the gangway connecting the ship to the dock. She fluttered her hand toward Ousanas. “No doubt the aqabe tsentsen will wish to remain on board during the trial, scrutinizing every step of the operation with his keen hunter’s eye.”