Ousanas refrained from trampling Antonina in his hurry to get off the ship. But he only did so by the simple expedient of picking her up and carrying her off in his arms.
Ezana, oddly enough, decided to remain. Afterward, of course, he would claim he did so to maintain the reputation of Axum’s seamen. Bold, valiant—fearless as lions. But, in truth, the Ethiopian naval officer was simply curious. And he was not enough of a hunter himself to understand the absurdity of a tame lioness.
* * *
In the end, the trial was a roaring success. Quite literally. Once the Theodora Victrix and her two accompanying ships were completely out of sight of land, the cargo vessel being towed by the Axumite galley on which Antonina and Ousanas were safely perched was cut loose. Wallowing in the gentle waves of the Persian Gulf, while John made his final approach, the hulk seemed like a witless calf at the mercy of a lioness.
As soon as the Theodora Victrix was within range, John ordered his chief gunner Eusebius to activate the Greek fire cannon. This took a bit of work, since the “cannon” was more in the nature of a primitive pump than anything else. The gadget was temperamental as well as dangerous. But, soon enough, a satisfying gush of roaring flames spouted from the barrel and fell upon the target vessel.
Within seconds, the cargo hulk was a raging inferno. John of Rhodes began capering about on the deck of the Victrix, making gleeful—and, from the distance, suspiciously obscene-looking—gestures at Ousanas on the observer ship. Within minutes, he was helping Eusebius and the other gunners to pour amphorae full of sand on those portions of the warship’s bow which had been set aflame by the last dribbles of the Greek fire cannon.
* * *
“We’ll call it a roaring success,” Antonina pronounced. She pursed her lips, studying the frantic activities of the men on the Victrix’s bow. Then, cocking her head at Menander, added: “But make sure that we put in another requisition for amphorae. And you’d better tell John to start experimenting with different kinds of sand.”
Menander sighed. “Telling John” anything was akin to giving orders to a temperamental predator. Best done from a distance—best of all, by somebody else.
Ousanas snorted. “Tame lioness!”
* * *
But Menander’s qualms proved unfounded. By the time the two ships arrived back at the docks in Charax, John of Rhodes was in splendid spirits. The minor mishap at the end, clearly enough, was beneath contempt. Indeed, he even pranced off the ship proclaiming himself the need to find slightly more suitable chemicals for extinguishing fires at sea than simple desert sand.
“Chalk, maybe,” he opined cheerfully. Standing on the docks, arms akimbo, John surveyed the landscape surrounding Charax with great serenity. “Got to be some, out there. For that matter, sea salt might do the trick. Plenty of that. And who knows? Maybe dried camel dung. Plenty of that stuff!”
Antonina left the matter to him. She was already surrounded by a small horde of Roman officers and Persian officials, each of whom was clamoring for her attention on some other matter of pressing concern. Throughout, Antonina maintained her composure, and issued the necessary orders. By now, she was an accomplished general in her own right, and had long since learned one of the basic axioms of war. Amateurs study tactics; professionals study logistics.
* * *
By sundown, she was able to relax in the comfort of the small villa she had obtained in Charax’s best quarter. More or less.
“Do we have to settle the question of the camel provender?” she demanded crossly, pausing in the act of pouring herself a goblet of wine. “Tonight?”
A sheepish expression came upon Menander’s face. “Well . . . No, actually. It can wait. Not as if there’s any shortage of Arabs eager and willing to provide it for us.” Perched on a chair across from the divan where Antonina lounged, Menander scowled. “It’s just— Damned hagglers! Always got to allow extra time dickering with Arabs.”
The Thracian villager surfaced: “Bad as Greeks!”
Antonina smiled. Then, after savoring the first sip of wine and cocking an eye at Ezana and Ousanas—also lounging on nearby divans; no alert chair-perching for them—she murmured: “Don’t you have another pressing engagement yourself tonight, Menander?”