by David Drake
The pirates drew closer. There had been no rocket volleys for some time, but now another six were fired off. Belisarius noted that the kshatriyas manning the rockets had adjusted the angle of the firing troughs. Where before the bamboo half-barrels had been tilted upward, they were now almost level.
These rockets did not soar upward like a javelin. They sped in a more or less flat trajectory barely a few feet above the water. And they struck with devastating impact. At that range, they could hardly miss. Belisarius was fascinated to see one rocket hit the sea at a shallow angle and then bounce back upward, like a flat-thrown stone skipping across water. That rocket did as much damage as any when it slammed into the bow of an Arab ship.
Almost half of the pirate fleet had now been struck by the missiles. Two ships were listing badly and had ceased their forward motion. Two others were burning furiously, and their crews were jumping overboard.
But it was obvious the Arabs had no intention of breaking off the attack. The pirate vessels now began to scatter, spreading out in such a way as to give less of a massed target for the rockets. The sailors on the surviving galleys helped those who had jumped from stricken ships to clamber aboard.
Five pirate vessels were now sinking or burning out of control, and at least one other seemed out of the action. But Belisarius did not think that the actual number of warriors had been significantly reduced. Most of those who had jumped into the sea had been taken aboard other vessels. The remaining craft were now jammed with men.
Another volley of rockets was fired. All of them but one missed, however, soaring through the space now vacated by the galleys. Even the one which struck a ship simply glanced off harmlessly. That rocket continued to soar across the sea until, suddenly, it erupted in a ball of flame and smoke.
Belisarius scratched his chin. It occurred to him that the rockets did not actually seem to—explode—on contact. He remembered, now, that several of the rockets had exploded a few seconds after striking a ship. The effect had been the same, however, for the force of their flight had driven the rockets right through the thin planking of the Arab ships. And, regardless of the timing of the explosions, the rockets burned so fiercely that they almost invariably set the ships afire.
Still—
"With the right armor and tactics," he mused aloud, "I don't think these rockets would be all that dangerous."
Valentinian turned to him with a questioning look.
"Play hell with horses, General," commented the cataphract.
"True," agreed Belisarius. "Those shrieking hisses and explosions would panic the brutes. No way to control them." Suddenly, he grinned. "I do believe the infantry has just made a great comeback!"
"Shit," muttered Anastasius. "He's right."
Valentinian groaned. "I hate walking."
"You hate it?" demanded Anastasius. "You haven't got an ounce of fat on you! How do you think I feel?"
Garmat interrupted worriedly. "Night has almost fallen."
It was true enough. It was still barely possible to make out the intact pirate ships in the gathering darkness, but not by much.
"New moon, too," added Eon. "There won't be any light at all in a few minutes."
Another volley of rockets was fired. Belisarius noted that the kshatriyas had angled all six of the troughs around so that all of the rockets were fired toward a single ship. Even so, only one of the rockets struck. Fortunately, the missile hit directly amidships and exploded with a satisfying roar. That vessel, clearly enough, was doomed.
Just before the last glimmer of daylight faded, it was possible to see the pirate galleys beginning to surround the Indian ship. They were now keeping a distance, however, waiting for nightfall. Between that distance, and being widely spread out, it was obvious that the rockets were no longer of much use.
Two more wasted volleys made the point before Venandakatra began calling out new orders. Immediately, three of the rocket crews began transferring their troughs to the starboard rail of the ship. For their part, the three remaining rocket crews began spacing their troughs more widely down the port length of the ship. The Malwa, it was obvious, were positioning the rocket launchers to repel boarders.
Venandakatra shouted new orders. Listening, Belisarius could begin to understand the meaning. He realized that the jewel was once again working its strange magic. The Malwa language was called Hindi, and Belisarius knew not a word of it. But, suddenly, the language came into focus in his mind. The shrill words spoken by several kshatriyas in response to Venandakatra's commands were as clear as day.
"The Indian rocket-men are not happy," whispered Garmat. "They are complaining that—"
"They will be burned if they do as Venandakatra orders," completed Belisarius absently.
The Axumite adviser was startled. "I did not realize you spoke Hindi."
Belisarius began to reply, closed his mouth. Garmat, again, was staring at him strangely.
I'm going to have to come up with an explanation for him, when this is all over. Damn all shrewd advisers, anyway!
Venandakatra shouted down the protests. His Mahaveda priests added their own comments, prominent among them the promise to bring the mahamimamsa "purifiers" from the hold below.
The kshatriyas snarled, but hurried to obey. All of the troughs were now tilted until they were pointing at a slight angle downward. More hide bundles were piled up at the rear of the troughs, but it was obvious from the kshatriyas' worried frowns that they did not think the hides would suffice to completely shield them from the rocket flames. The fire which would erupt from the rocket tails would now be shooting upward.
Another alien thought seeped through the barrier.
back-blast.
Darkness was now complete, except for the faint light thrown by the few lanterns held by Ye-tai warriors. Belisarius saw Venandakatra staring at him. A moment later, with obvious reluctance, the Indian lord made his way toward the bow of the ship.
When he reached Belisarius, the general spoke before Venandakatra could even open his mouth.
"I am well aware that the pirates will concentrate their attack on the bow and stern, where the—where your fire-weapons cannot be brought to bear. Look to the stern, Venandakatra. There will be no breach at the bow."
Venandakatra frowned. "There are not many of you," he said. "I could send some—"
"No. More men would simply crowd the bow, making it more difficult for us. And I do not have time to learn how to incorporate Malwa warriors into our tactics. Whereas Romans and Axumites are old allies, long accustomed to fighting side by side." The lie came smooth as silk.
Garmat's face was expressionless. The sarwen grunted loud agreement, as did Anastasius and Valentinian. Eon started slightly, but a quick poke from his dawazz brought stillness. Menander looked confused, but the Indian was not looking his way, and almost immediately, Valentinian changed the young Thracian's expression with a silent snarl.
"You are certain?" demanded Venandakatra.
Belisarius smiled graciously. "I said you would be glad to have us, soon enough."
Venandakatra's face grew pinched, but the Indian forebore further comment. After a moment, he scurried away and began shouting new orders. Belisarius could understand the words, and knew that the commands which Venandakatra was shrilling were utterly redundant and pointless. A disgruntled grandee making noise to assure himself of his importance, that was all.
"Verily, a foul man," muttered Garmat. "Long ago, the Axumites had a king much like him. The sarawit assassinated the wretch and created the institution of dawazz the next day."
"Do you really think they're going to attack?" asked Menander suddenly. Seeing all eyes upon him, the young cataphract straightened.
"I'm not afraid!" he protested. "It's just—it doesn't make sense."
"I'm afraid it does," countered Garmat. The adviser grimaced. "I am myself half-Arab, and I know my mother's people well. The tribes of the Hadrawmat"—he pointed to the southern shore of Arabia, now lost in the darkn
ess—"are very poor. Fishermen, mostly, and smugglers. A great ship like this represents a fortune to them. They will gladly suffer heavy casualties in order to capture it."
Ousanas chuckled. "Believe wise old mongrel, young Roman. Most despicable people in world, the Arabs. Full of vice and sins!"
Garmat squinted.
"O many vices! Many sins!"
Garmat looked pained.
"Lechery! Avarice! Cruelty!"
Garmat frowned.
"Treachery! Sloth! Envy!"
Garmat glowered.
"Would be great gluttons if not so poor!"
Garmat ground his teeth.
"Alas, Arabs unfamiliar with cowardice."
Garmat smiled. Ousanas shook his head sadly.
"Is because Arabs so stupid. Cowardice mankind's only useful vice. Naturally Arabs know nothing of it."
"I heard a story years ago," mused Anastasius, "that there was a cowardly Arab living somewhere in the Empty Quarter." He spit into the sea. "I didn't believe it, myself."
"They're coming," announced Valentinian. "I can't see them, but I can hear them."
Belisarius glanced at Valentinian. As so often before on the verge of battle, the cataphract reminded the general of nothing so much as a weasel. The sharp features; the long, lean whipcord body; the poised stillness, like a coiled spring; and, most of all, the utter intensity of the killer's concentration. At these moments, Valentinian's senses were almost superhuman.
Belisarius sighed. The choice was now upon him and could no longer be postponed.
Secrecy be damned, he decided. These men—all of them—are my comrades. I cannot betray them.
The general stepped to the very prow of the ship.
"There are two ships approaching us," he announced. He pointed, and pointed again. "There, and there. The one on the right is closer."
He heard a slight cough behind him.
"Trust me, Garmat. I can see them almost as well as if it were daytime. They are there, just as I have described."
He looked over his shoulder and smiled crookedly.
"The steersman you pointed out earlier is on that closer ship, Ousanas. Make good your boast."
For once, the dawazz was not grinning. Ousanas stared into the darkness for a moment, then looked back at the general.
"You are witch," he announced.
Belisarius made a face.
The grin made its inevitable appearance. Ousanas' skin was so black that he was almost invisible except as a shape. Against that darkness, the grin was like a beacon of good cheer.
"Is not problem," said the dawazz. Ousanas gestured toward the other warriors.
"These other men be civilized folk, Axumites and Romans. Hence filled with silly superstitions. Think witchcraft evil. I savage from far south, too ignorant to be confused. I know witchcraft like everything else in this world. Some good. Some bad."
A great laugh suddenly rang out, startling in its loudness.
"Most excellent!" pronounced the dawazz. "Never had good witch before, on my side."
"Can you truly see that well, in the night?" asked the prince shakily. "How is that possible?"
"Yes, Eon, I can. How is it possible?" Belisarius hesitated, but only for an instant. The die was cast.
"There is no time now. But after the battle, I will explain." A glance at Garmat. "I will explain everything." A glance at his cataphracts and the sarwen. "To all of you."
Ousanas lounged forward, hefting his javelin.
"Where is steersman?" he asked idly. Belisarius pointed again. Ousanas squinted.
"Still too dark," he muttered.
At that moment, Venandakatra's voice cried out a command. A volley of rockets was fired in all directions. Several kshatriyas squealed with pain, caught by the back-blasts which flared over the hide mounds.
"Fucking idiot," growled Anastasius. "The cowardly bastard, he's just panicking."
It was true enough. The volley was completely unaimed. The six rockets snaked their fiery path into nothingness. A total waste.
To all, that is, save Ousanas. For the rockets' glare had, whatever else, bathed the sea with a sudden flare of red illumination. The pirate ships were clearly visible, and even, with difficulty, individual members of their crews.
"I see him steersman!" cried the dawazz gleefully. He hurled the javelin like a tiger pouncing on its prey. The weapon vanished into the fading red glare. Almost at once it was invisible, to all save Belisarius.
The general watched the javelin rise, and rise, and rise. He had never seen such a tremendous cast. Then, the general watched it sail downward. Downward, and truer than Euclidean dreams.
A terrible, brief cry filled the night.
Anastasius hunched his shoulders, staring grimly out to sea.
"I can't bear to look, Valentinian. Is that damned black bastard grinning at me?"
Valentinian chuckled. "It looks like the Pharos at Alexandria. A blinding beacon in the night."
A sudden little flight of arrows came out of the darkness. None of them came close, however. The pirates were simply reacting out of rage.
"It won't be long now," announced Belisarius. He smiled. "By the way, you might want to shift over to the other side, Anastasius. The ship on your side isn't the closest, anymore. In fact, it's wallowing in the waves. No steersman."
Anastasius grunted his disgust. Ousanas took up another javelin.
"Maybe fucking idiot cowardly bastard Indian lord fire another useless volley," he said cheerfully. "Then I make other pirate galley wallow in waves."
"I'll kill him," muttered Anastasius.
"I doubt it," retorted Valentinian. Suddenly, he too was grinning. "And don't be a spiteful idiot. You're like some petty boy in a playground. Would you rather he was chucking those spears the other way?"
Anastasius winced. "No, but—"
He got no further. A pirate ship loomed out of the darkness, like a dragon rising from the sea. A medley of war cries erupted from it. A moment later, another volley of rockets flared.
Now all was bright glare, redness and fury, and the ancient battle clangor. Anastasius drew his great bow and slew a pirate, and then another, and another, and another, and another. At that range, his arrows split chests like a butcher splits a chicken. Even had the pirates been wearing full armor, it would have made no difference. At that range, the arrows of Anastasius drove through shields.
And now, when he saw the other pirate galley suddenly wallow in the waves, bereft of its steersman, there was no emotion in his heart beyond a fierce surge of comradeship. For the cataphract Anastasius was not, in truth, a spiteful schoolboy filled with petty pride. He was a soldier plying his trade.
And he was very, very good at it.
Chapter 16
Even though it was a moonless night, the battle itself was fully illuminated, in a hideous, flashing way. Belisarius had time, even in the press and fury of the fray, to marvel at the scene.
If one could be said to marvel at a scene from Hell.
By the time the first pirate ships came alongside the Indian vessel, attaching themselves with grappling hooks, all but four of the Arab craft were burning infernos. The erratic trajectories of the rockets was now irrelevant. At point-blank range, the rockets did not explode upon impact. Instead, they continued to burn from their tails, with the same fierce dragon-hiss that sent them skittering through the air. Fascinated, Belisarius saw one rocket punch through the hull of a ship, glance off a rower's bench, carom off another bench on the opposite side, and then roar its way down the length of the pirate craft until it embedded itself in the bow. Its trail was marked by a horde of screaming Arabs, frantically trying to beat out the flames in their garments, which had been set afire by the rocket in its passage. Once brought to a halt by the thicker planking at the bow, the rocket continued to burn as brightly as ever. To all appearances, the mindless device seemed like a stubborn animal trying to force its way through a hedge. It was several seconds before it finally expl
oded, shattering the bow into splinters. But, by that time, the tail-fire burning down the length of the pirate craft had done as much damage as the explosion itself.
I don't think these rockets have any way of knowing when to explode, mused Belisarius.
aim hurled the serried facets at the same breach in the barrier, much like a human general might launch his troops at a shattered section of a fortified wall. Another crude thought was forced through.
no fuses.
Sensing the puzzlement in Belisarius' mind, the facets retreated. But aim rallied them immediately. With success, crude though it was, confidence was growing. aim sent the facets through the breach anew, and now, filled with the fanatic purpose of explanation.
Finally—finally!—true success. The facets flashed their exultation. aim itself broke into kaleidoscopic joy.
The knowledge which now erupted in the mind of the general Belisarius was no crude, simple thought. Instead, it was like a living diagram, a moving reality. He saw, as clearly as anything in his life, the way of the rockets. He saw the strange powder [gunpowder, he now knew] packed in the length of the rocket; the same powder, in greater quantities, which was packed in the front tip [warhead] of the device. He saw the gunpowder ignited by a long match held by a kshatriya warrior. He saw the powder erupt into flame, and saw how the flame burned. (And knew that the vision was moving at an inhuman pace, slowed by the jewel that he might follow the course of it.)
He saw the flame burn its way up, inside the length of the bamboo tube [fuselage]. He saw the raging gasses which were expelled from the rocket's rear [exhaust], and knew the fury of the gasses was the force which drove the device into motion.
(A concept—action/reaction—flashed through his mind. He almost understood it, but was not concerned; soon, soon, he would.)
Watching, in his mind's eye, the course of the flame burning its way through the gunpowder, Belisarius now understood the reason for the rocket's erratic trajectory.
Part of it, he saw, was that the gunpowder was poorly mixed. (And he knew, now, that gunpowder was not a substance itself, but a combination of substances.) The powder was uneven and lumpy, like poorly threshed grain. Different pockets and sections of the powder burned unevenly, which produced a ragged and unpredictable exhaust.