He arose and began stumping about, with his hands clasped behind his back. “We shall need to compile a library here. Unfortunately, the books which I own myself relate to seafaring only.”
“Books are expensive,” grumbled Sittas.
“So?” retorted Antonina. “You’re stinking rich. You can afford them.”
“I knew it,” growled Sittas. “I knew it. Soak the rich Greek, that’s all anybody-”
Irene cut him off. “What books do you need?” she asked John.
The naval officer frowned. “It’s obvious to me, from listening to what the Axumites have told us, that the Malwa weapons involve more than simply burning naphtha, or some similar fuel. Every account of the weapons describes them in terms of eruptions-as if they could somehow control the force of a volcano, on a smaller scale. The closest physical phenomenon that I know of is what’s called combustion. And there’s only one scholar to my knowledge who studied combustion to any great extent.”
“Heron of Alexandria,” stated Irene.
John of Rhodes nodded. “Precisely. I need a copy of his Pneumatics.”
Sittas glowered. “There aren’t more than fifty copies of that book in existence! Do you have any idea how much it costs? If we can even find one in the first place without raiding the library at Alexandria.”
“I own a copy,” said Irene. “I will be glad to loan it to you. It’s still at my villa in Constantinople, however, so it will take a little time to get it here.”
Everyone in the room stared at Irene. She smiled whimsically. “Actually, I own most of Heron’s writings. I also have the Mechanics, Siegecraft, Measurement, and Mirrors. I almost got my hands on a copy of his Automaton-making last year, but some damned Armenian beat me to it.”
Some of the men in the room were now goggling her; Sittas was gaping.
“I like to read,” explained Irene dryly. Slyly.
Antonina started laughing.
“It’s unnatural!” choked Sittas. “It’s-”
“Marry me,” said John of Rhodes.
“Not a chance, John. I know your type. You’re just lusting after my books.”
The naval officer grinned. “Well, yes, to a degree. But-”
“Not a chance!” repeated Irene. She was laughing now herself.
“What is the world coming to?” demanded Sittas. “My mother never opened a book, much less owned one!” He frowned. “ I don’t own any books, come to that.”
“Really?” asked Irene. “I am astonished.”
Sittas glared at his spymaster. “You are mocking me, woman. I know you are.”
Belisarius couldn’t help laughing himself. “Nonsense, Sittas!” he exclaimed. “I’m sure Irene was speaking the simple truth. I’m astonished myself, actually.”
Sittas transferred his glare to the Thracian.
“Don’t you start on me, Belisarius! Just because you own a copy of Caesar’s-”
Prince Eon interrupted.
“Do you own a copy of Xenophon’s Anabasis?” he asked Irene eagerly.
The spymaster nodded.
“May I borrow-” The prince fell silent. “Oh. It’s probably also at your villa. In Constantinople.”
“I’m afraid so.”
The prince began frowning thoughtfully.
“Maybe we could go back-”
“Enough, Eon!” cried Garmat. “We are not going back to Constantinople to get you a book!”
“It’s the Anabasis,” whined Eon. “I’ve been wanting to read that since-”
“No! Absolutely not! Your father is waiting for us at Axum-at Adulis, probably. And have you forgotten-”
“It’s the Anabasis,” wailed Eon.
“Spoken like a true bibliophile,” said Irene admiringly. She grinned at the despondent prince and waved her hand airily. “These heathens simply don’t understand, Eon. You have to resign yourself to it. Like a saint of old subjected to barbarian tortures and ordeals.”
“The Anabasis,” moaned Eon.
“Ousanas!” barked Garmat. “Do your duty!”
“What duty?” demanded the dawazz. “Love of books prince’s best quality. Only thing keep him away from mischief.”
The dawazz leaned forward and tapped the prince on top of the head. Very lightly. “Nevertheless. Is still matter of deadly Malwa danger. Anxious father awaiting report of beloved son. Anxious negusa-nagast-type father. Not wise to keep such fathers waiting while hunting up book. Not wise. Anxiety turn to reproach. Negusa-nagast- type reproach.”
The two sarwen grunted agreement. Eon sulked.
“How soon can we get Heron’s book here?” asked Antonina.
Irene shrugged. “With a special courier-”
Sittas interrupted. “Do you know how much it costs to send a special-”
John of Rhodes laughed. “Why is it that the richest men are always the stingiest? Relax, Sittas. We won’t strain your purse.”
To Irene: “There’s no need for a special courier. I’ve got weeks of work ahead of me before I can even start thinking about our project. We’ll need to find chemical supplies, equipment, tools-everything. All I have at the moment is a few odds and ends.”
“Do you need the help of artisans?” asked Belisarius.
John shook his head.
“Not yet, Belisarius. I wouldn’t know what to tell them to do or make. Be a waste of their time and your money. Six months from now, maybe. Maybe.”
The general frowned. “You think it’s going to take that long?”
John scowled fiercely. “That long? Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do?”
The naval officer began to rise, in obvious preparation for a heavy session of stumping about, but Belisarius waved him back to his seat.
“Relax, John. I wasn’t criticizing. I’m just-just worried, that’s all. I don’t know how much time we have at our disposal, before our future enemy falls upon us.”
John was still not mollified, quite. But before he could say anything further, Irene spoke:
“That’s your job, General.”
“Excuse me?”
“Buying us time. That’s your job. Mine also, to an extent. But mostly yours.”
“You’ve done it before,” said Sittas. The big Greek general smiled. “Of course, that was against a bunch of dumbass Goths. Maybe you’re not smart enough to tie sophisticated Indians into knots.”
“Don’t bait my husband, Sittas,” said Antonina.
“I’m not baiting him. I’m prodding his vanity.”
“My husband is not vain.”
A sad shake of the head.
“Poor woman. The wife is always the last to know. Belisarius is the vainest man in creation. He’s so vain that he’s not vain about the things modest men are vain about-their fame, their riches, their good looks, their wives’ good looks. Oh no, not Belisarius. He’s only vain about his lack of vanity, which is the worst vanity there is.”
Everyone in the room except Irene frowned, trying to follow the tortured logic.
“That makes no sense at all,” said Eon. Uncertainly, to Irene: “Does it make sense to you?”
Irene laughed gaily. “Of course it does! But you have to remember-I’m the only other Greek in the room. Except John, but he’s from Rhodes. A practical folk, the Rhodesmen. Lapsed Greeks, I’m afraid.”
John said nothing, but his gaze was full of interest. Irene laughed again.
“Don’t even think about it, John.”
The naval officer’s grin was quite wolfish.
“Why not? I can’t be designing fantastical weapons all the time.” A sudden, happy thought. “Well, actually, perhaps I can. But to operate effectively I’ll need to be kept up to date with all the latest secret information.
