For once, the grin disappeared. “Yes, Belisarius. For prince of Axum, in new Malwa world, I call that sane. Anything else be folly.”
David Drake Eric Flint
An oblique approach
Chapter 15
The Erythrean Sea
Summer, 529 AD
“It’s quite a ship,” remarked Belisarius, gazing from the bow down the length of the Indian embassy vessel. “It must be as big as the Alexandrian grain ships-even the Isis.”
“It’s a tub,” pronounced Eon. The young prince’s gaze followed that of Belisarius, but with none of the general’s admiration.
The ship was almost two hundred feet long, and about forty-five feet wide. It was as big as the largest sailing ships ever built by Romans, the great grain-carrying vessels which hauled Egypt’s wheat from Alexandria to Constantinople and the western Mediterranean. The famous Isis was one of those ships.
Like those grain ships, the Indian vessel had two lower decks as well as the main deck. And, also like the grain ships, the Indian craft was a pure sailing vessel. It had no rowing capability at all. With its enormous carrying capacity of two thousand tons, oars would have been almost futile.
There the resemblance ended. The grain ships were three-masted vessels. The Indian ship was single- masted, although the great square sails of the huge mainmast were assisted by a lateen sail in the stern. Another difference lay in the superstructure. Where the Mediterranean tradition was to build up a poop deck in the stern, the Malwa concentrated their superstructure amidships, surrounding the base of the great mainmast. The wood used throughout the Indian vessel was teak, and the rigging was coir. Mediterranean ships were built of fir or cedar, with some oak, and the cordage was typically hemp or flax (although the Egyptians often used papyrus, and the Spaniards favored esparto grass).
Beyond those obvious differences, Belisarius was lost. Prince Eon, it seemed, was not.
“A tub,” he repeated forcefully.
“Very big tub,” added Ousanas cheerfully. “Most obscene large tub.”
“So what?” demanded Eon. “Size isn’t everything.”
The tall dawazz smiled down at his charge. Under that cheerful regard the Prince tightened his jaw.
“Size isn’t everything,” he repeated.
“Certainly not!” agreed Garmat. The old adviser smiled. “As a short man, I agree full-heartedly. However, as a short man, I must immediately add that I have always found it wise to take size into consideration. What do you think, General?”
Belisarius tore his gaze away from the ship.
“Eh? Oh-yes, I agree. Although, as a tall man, I have found the converse to be true as well.”
“What do you mean?” asked Garmat.
“I mean that I find it wise to take other things than size into consideration. I have never found, for instance, that the size of an army plays as much of a factor in the outcome of battles as the skill of the troops and its leadership.”
The prince looked smug. Ousanas immediately piped up: “Belisarius great diplomat!”
Eon majestically ignored the barb, staring out to sea. Belisarius smiled crookedly.
“Why do you call the ship a tub?” he asked the prince.
Eon gazed at him sideways. There was a slight hint of suspicion in his eyes. Even though Belisarius was not given to teasing him-one of many things which the prince had found to like in the Byzantine-still, Eon was a young man, somewhat unsure of himself for all his outward pride.
“Explain,” commanded the general.
After a moment’s hesitation, Eon launched into a voluminous recital of the huge ship’s many faults and shortcomings. Belisarius, no seaman, was immediately lost in the technical details. The gist of it, he concluded, was that Eon thought the great vessel was clumsily designed and operated by even clumsier sailors. He had no idea if Eon was right. But he was deeply impressed by the young Ethiopian’s obvious expertise in nautical matters. That simple fact drove home to him, as nothing had before, the seriousness with which the Axumites took their navy. No Roman or Persian prince could have matched that performance.
As soon as Eon finished his recital of the ship’s woes, Ousanas commented:
“Axumites notorious braggarts about seamanship.”
Garmat cleared his throat. “Actually, I agree with the prince.”
“Arabs even worse,” added Ousanas.
“You don’t agree?” asked Belisarius. The dawazz shrugged.
“Have no idea. Hunter from savanna. Avoid sea like all sane persons. Boats unnatural creatures. But is well known Ethiopians and Arabs think they world’s best seamen.” A sly glance at the general. “Except Greeks.”
“I’m not Greek,” came the immediate response. “I’m Thracian. I tend to agree with you, actually. I can’t stand boats.”
“How are you feeling?” asked Garmat pleasantly.
“I’d rather not think about it,” said Belisarius stiffly. “Please continue.”
Garmat cleared his throat again. “Well, Eon is perhaps putting the matter too forcefully-”
“It’s the simple truth!”
“-but, on balance, I agree with him. The Indians are not, you know, famous for their abilities at sea.”
“No, I do not know.”
“Ah. Well, it is true. Ethiopians and Arabs ridicule them for it. North Indians, at least. Some of the southern nations of India are quite capable seamen, by all accounts, but we have little contact with them. Their trade is primarily with the distant East.” The adviser stroked his beard. “In its own impressive way, this great ship is evidence of my point. The design, as the prince says, is clumsy. And the workmanship is rather poor. Unusually so, for Indians.”
Belisarius examined the ship.
“It seems solidly made.”
“Oh, it is! That’s the point. It’s much too solid.” Here Garmat launched into his own technical discourse, the gist of which, so far as Belisarius could tell, was that the Indians substituted brute strength for craftsmanship. And again, he was struck by the naval expertise of high-ranked Axumites.
“A tub,” concluded Garmat.
“Slow as a snail,” added Eon, “and just as awkward.”
“Big as a monster,” chimed in Ousanas. “Run right over clever little Arab and Axumite boats.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Prince.
“We find out soon,” commented Ousanas dryly. He pointed off the port bow.
The small party of Ethiopians and Romans followed his pointing finger. The southern coast of Arabia was a reddish gloom in the rays of the setting sun. But, against that dark background, a multitude of sails was visible.
“Oh, shit,” muttered Valentinian. The pentarch straightened up from his slouch against the rail a few feet distant. He nudged Anastasius next to him. The huge cataphract jerked awake from his doze.
“Get our gear,” commanded Valentinian. “And drag Menander out here.”
“The kid can’t hardly move,” protested Anastasius. “He says he doesn’t have any guts left.”
“Get him! If he complains, tell him he’s about to find out what being gutted really means.”
Startled, Anastasius followed Valentinian’s hard gaze.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Arab pirates!” cried Ousanas. He grinned widely. “Not to worry! Very small boats. True, very many of them. Oh, very very very many. Each one loaded with very very many nasty vicious men bent on wickedness. But” — here
