Antonina nodded. And, silently, congratulated herself for having chosen Rukaiya as Eon’s queen in the first place.
But the self-satisfaction was not long-lasting. She could see, from the somewhat stiff expression on the Axumites’ faces, that they were still concerned over the issue of command.
“What’s the problem now?” she asked bluntly, seeing no reason to be diplomatic with these two men.
Ousanas shook his head. “Antonina, I believe your assessment is based more on abstractions than concrete reality. What Irene would call ‘book learning.’ ” He began to speak further, but Eon interrupted.
“Our ships are still basically galleys, Antonina.” A bit of pride rallied: “Axumite galleys, of course! Which are quite capable of sailing across open sea. But . . .”
He shrugged. “But can’t carry much in the way of supplies. Not with a full complement of soldiers and sailors. No more than a few days’ worth. And not even Ethiopians, in a few days, can make that great voyage across the Erythrean Sea which the expedition requires for success.”
“We’d run out of food and water,” elaborated Ousanas. “Not to mention gunpowder and shot, after a single major engagement.”
Understanding dawned on Antonina. And, with it, the source of the Axumites’ concern. The Ethiopians could provide the striking force—most of it, at least—but only if the Romans provided the supply ships.
She couldn’t help herself. Much as she tried to stifle the impulse, she broke into a fit of giggling.
“What’s so funny?” demanded Eon, half-crossly and half-uncertainly. The king mixed with the boy.
Antonina forced down the giggles, with a hand over her mouth. Then: “Sorry. I was just thinking of a gaggle of Roman merchant ships, taking orders from Ethiopians. Like trying to herd cats.”
Ousanas spread his hands. “The problem, exactly. That breed is insubordinate under the best of circumstances. There is not a chance we could maintain control over them, without threatening physical violence every leg of the voyage. Every day, most like. Which would eventually defeat its own purpose.”
Antonina frowned. Another damn problem in logistics! But then, seeing the expectant faces of Ousanas and Eon, she realized their own solution to the quandary. One which they were apparently afraid to broach, because they feared her reaction. And probably knew, as well, that before he left Belisarius had extracted from his wife a promise to stay out of combat.
That knowledge produced, not a fit of giggling, but a gale of laughter.
“You have no idea!” she exclaimed. “I would love to sail across an ocean instead of staying here in this miserable city managing a pack of surly merchants and traders. And even my fussing husband agreed that I could not refrain from doing anything which was—I quote—’necessary for the success of the campaign.’ ”
Grinning: “Done!”
Ousanas grinned back. “Yes. With you on the expedition, I dare say no merchant will argue the fine points of command.”
Antonina sniffed. “I dare say not.”
* * *
Less than an hour later, Antonina gave the first order which set the new plan in motion. To Dryopus, her efficient and trustworthy secretary.
“You’re promoted. I’ll send a message to Photius and Theodora telling them to give you a fancy new title. Something grand. Maybe a seat in the Senate. Certainly an estate somewhere to maintain you in the style you’ll need.”
She swept out of the chamber where she had formerly made her headquarters, leaving a befuddled former secretary in her wake.
* * *
Dealing with the twenty merchant captains who would provide the expedition with its supply ships took more time.
Not much.
“Let me make this perfectly clear,” Antonina said firmly, after listening to their protests for perhaps an hour while standing on the docks. She pointed her finger to the Roman carvels anchored in Charax’s harbor. The red light of the setting sun gave the vessels a rather sinister appearance.
“Those warships will sink any one of you who so much as gives me a peep of protest once we set sail. Which we will do the day after tomorrow.”
She allowed them some time to ponder her words.
Not much.
“And you will be ready to set sail the day after tomorrow.” Again, the finger of doom. “Or those warships will sink whichever one of your ships hasn’t cast off within an hour of the remainder of the fleet. The city’s poor folk have been complaining about a lack of driftwood, anyway, so it won’t be a total loss.”