“Worked like a charm,” Kujulo repeated. “Nobody will ever notice us in this mob. Just another batch of worthless traders scurrying for cover.”
As usual, Valentinian looked on the dark side of things. “They’ll turn into so many pirates in a heartbeat, they learn what cargo we’re carrying.”
Kujulo’s grin was wolfish. “Two chests full of Red Sea coral? A small fortune, true enough. I tremble to think of our fate, should these brave river men discover the truth.”
Anastasius snorted sarcastically. After a moment’s glower, Valentinian’s own grin appeared. Very weaselish, it was.
“Probably not the worst of our problems, is it?” he mused, fingering the hilt of his sword. But it was only a momentary lightening of his gloom. Soon enough, he was back to muttering.
“Oh, will you stop it?” demanded Anastasius crossly. “Things could be worse, you know.”
“Sure they could,” hissed Valentinian. “We could be floating down the Nile, bound hand and foot, fighting crocodiles with our teeth. We could be hanging upside down by our heels in the Pit, fending off archdevils with spit. We could—”
Mutter, mutter, mutter.
* * *
By the time Belisarius and his ship made the rendezvous with the Roman/Ethiopian fleet which had savaged Barbaricum, the sun was rising. So, as he climbed the rope ladder onto John of Rhodes’ flagship, he got a good view of the damage done to it amidships. One of the huge stone cannon balls, clearly enough, had made a lucky hit in the darkness. Fortunately, the ship was still intact below the water line, and the masts had remained unscathed.
Eusebius met him at the railing.
“Where’s John?” demanded Belisarius.
The nearsighted gunnery officer made a face. Silently, he led Belisarius over to a folded, blood-stained piece of canvas lying on the center of the deck. Then, squatting, he flipped back the canvas covering and exposed the object contained within.
Belisarius hissed. The canvas contained a human arm, which appeared to have been ripped off at the shoulder as if by a giant. Then, spotting the ring on the square, strong-fingered hand, he sighed.
Antonina had given John that ring, years ago, as part of the subterfuge by which she had convinced Malwa’s spies that the Rhodian was one of her many lovers. Once the subterfuge had served its purpose, John had offered to return it. But he had immediately added his wish to keep the thing, with her permission. His “lucky ring,” he called it, which had kept him intact through the many disastrous early experiments with gunpowder.
“May God have mercy on his soul,” Belisarius murmured.
Next to him, a voice spoke. The bitterness in the tone went poorly with its youthful timber.
“Stupid,” growled Menander. “Pure blind fucking bad luck. A first salvo, fired at night? They should have been lucky to even hit the damned ocean.”
Belisarius straightened, and sighed again. “That’s the way war works. It’s worth reminding ourselves, now and again, so we don’t get too enamored of our own cleverness. There’s a lot of just pure luck in this trade.”
The general planted a hand on Menander’s shoulder. “When did you come aboard?” Menander, he knew, had been in command of one of the other ships in the flotilla.
“Just a few minutes ago. As soon as there was enough light to see what had happened, I—” The young officer fell silent, cursing under his breath.
Belisarius now squeezed the shoulder. “You realize that you’ve succeeded to the command of John’s fleet?”
Menander nodded. There was no satisfaction at all in that gesture. But neither, Belisarius was pleased to see, was there any hesitation.
“So it is,” stated the general. “That will include those two new steam-powered ships Justinian’s building, once they get here from Adulis. You’re more familiar with them than anyone except Justinian anyway, as much time as you’ve spent with the old emperor since he got to Adulis.”
Menander smiled wryly. When Justinian had been Emperor of Rome, before his blinding by Malwa traitors had disqualified him under Roman law and custom, he had been an enthusiastic gadget-maker. Since he relinquished the throne in favor of his adopted son Photius, Justinian’s hobby had become practically an obsession. Along with John of Rhodes, Justinian had become the chief new weapons designer for the Roman empire. And he loved nothing so much as the steam engines he had designed with Aide’s advice and whose construction he had personally overseen. Even to the extent of accompanying the engines to the Ethiopian capital of Adulis and supervising their installation in ships specially designed for the purpose.