Reluctantly, Antonina backed away from the viewslit and began edging her way to the rear. Between the cramped space and her own voluptuous figure, getting past the two fire-cannon handlers on her side was a bit of a chore.
“Good thing you aren’t wearing that obscene breastplate of yours,” said Ousanas. “Or those men are crippled. Instead of enflamed with passion.”
Antonina burst out laughing. The two cannon men tried to restrain their own laughter, but not with any great success. One of them shook his head ruefully, as he made a last minute adjustment to the complicated machinery of the flamethrower.
Some cool, calculating part of Antonina’s mind recognized that their easy humor was a subtle indication of the respect and affection in which she was held by the soldiers and sailors under her command. Whatever resentment they might once have felt, being led by a woman—even if she was the wife of Belisarius—seemed to have vanished over the course of the two years since she had set sail from Constantinople.
And the same part of her mind, as she finally reached the rear of the shelter and squatted next to Ousanas, also finally understood something about her husband. She had often heard Maurice and Belisarius’ bodyguards grumble at the general’s stubborn insistence on exposing himself to danger. A characteristic which she, also, had always considered nothing more than childishness—even stupidity. But now, examining her own reluctance to leave the viewslit for the relative safety of the rear of the shield, she finally understood. Over the last two years, she too had internalized her own position of power and authority. And found the same profound distaste for ordering other people into danger if she was not prepared to share it herself.
Ousanas seemed to read her thoughts. “It’s still stupid,” he murmured. “Eusebius is perfectly correct—there’s nothing further you can do now.”
She stared up at him. Even squatting as they both were, the tall African hunter towered above her.
“You are a truly magnificent man, Ousanas of the lakes,” she said softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that. If I weren’t in love with Belisarius, I would set my sights on you.”
He stared back at her. In another man, the dark eyes would have had a speculative gleam in them. Wondering if her words were a subtle invitation. But Antonina would not have spoken those words to another man. And so the eyes of Ousanas contained nothing but a soft glow of warmth and affection.
“I dare say you’d succeed, too,” he chuckled. “You are quite magnificent yourself.”
He shook his head, slightly. “But it probably wouldn’t work, anyway. I fear with my new-found august status that my eventual marriage will be a thing of state. And I can’t really see you as a concubine. A wife or a courtesan, but never a concubine.”
“True,” she nodded. For a moment, she paused, gauging the sounds of another oncoming Malwa volley. But her now-experienced ear recognized another miss, even before the sailor who had taken her place at the viewslit exclaimed: “Stupid bastards! They’re still two hundred yards off. Waste of rockets.”
“True,” she repeated. Her curiosity was now aroused, and she found a welcome relief in it from the tension of simply waiting for battle to erupt. She cocked her head, smiling.
“But why wouldn’t you select a high-placed Roman wife?” she asked. “Not me, of course, but someone else. It would seem a natural choice, given the new realities. I would think—certainly hope—that Axum intends to retain its alliance with Rome even after the Malwa are broken. And I’m quite sure Theodora would be delighted to round up three dozen senators’ daughters for you to select from.”
She spread her hands, palms up, as if weighing two things in the balance. “Granted that empires and kingdoms are fickle creatures, and not given much to sentiment. But I still can’t see where the future holds any serious reason for conflict between Rome and Ethiopia. We’d gotten along well for two centuries, after all, even before the Malwa drove us into close alliance.”
“I agree,” said Ousanas. The abrupt forcefulness of the statement, Antonina suspected, was a reflection of Ousanas’ own tension at being forced to remain idle while others prepared to fight. “But that’s part of the reason why I won’t. The truth is, Antonina, there’s no real reason for closer ties between Rome and Axum. The same distance that keeps us from being enemies, also makes close friendship unnecessary.”