Fortune's stroke

the common troops. Behind them reared the crest of one of Majarashtra's multitude of ridges.

The officers were ogling her even more openly than the Ye-tai. She saw one of them say something, followed by a round of leering laughs.

'What is wrong with these animals?' she demanded, half-angrily and half-nervously. 'Haven't they ever seen a woman before? If I looked like Antonina, I might understand it. She could make the sun stop in its tracks. But I'm-'

She gestured at herself. Again, anger was mixed with apprehension. 'I'm not ugly, I suppose. But with my big nose-'

Ezana chuckled. 'You are quite an attractive woman, Irene, in my opinion. But it really doesn't matter.'

He hooked a thumb toward the Malwa. 'This is why we agreed to the plan, Irene. If you hadn't volunteered to come, we never would have considered it. Kungas and I both knew what would happen, if the Malwa encountered a large party of foreigners claiming to have been shipwrecked on the coast. They are not diplomats. They would have just attacked us, on general principle. Even if they weren't guarding their precious siege guns.'

He gazed at her with approval. 'But with you here, all dressed up in such finery-' His gaze, falling on her bosom, became very approving. 'Such provocative finery- scandalous, the way foreign women dress! And they're all sluts, those heathens, everybody knows it.'

Irene scowled. 'Those monkeys know as much about Vandals as I do about-' She groped for a simile, but couldn't find an appropriate one. With her voracious reading habits, Irene couldn't think of any subject that she didn't know more about than Ye-tai and Malwa soldiers did about the people and politics of North Africa.

Ezana grinned. 'They know Africa is a land of black people.' He cupped his hand under his chin, as if presenting his ebony face. 'And if the woman is pale, and beautiful, so much the more exotic!'

'I am not beautiful,' insisted Irene.

Ezana, still grinning, shook his head. Then, nodding toward the Malwa soldiers gawking at her: 'You look beautiful to them, woman. After weeks on the road, struggling through India's heat and dust, you look like Aphrodite herself.'

Again, he admired her bosom. 'Especially your tits.'

Even as nervous as she was, Irene couldn't help but chuckle. She glanced down at the objects in question, which were almost entirely visible due to the cut of her tunic. She had overseen the seamstresses in Suppara herself, blending Roman style with what she remembered of the costumes of Minoan women painted on vases. The small amount of skin still covered-a fifth, at most-simply framed, supported, presented, and emphasized the splendid remainder.

'It is impressive, isn't it? Makes me look like Antonina, almost.'

Ezana's grin faded to a simple smile. 'It was bound to happen, Irene. You've never been a soldier, on a long and arduous march. Even disciplined sarwen or Roman cataphracts would be ragged in their ranks, with every man eager to get a look. Hot, tired, aching feet and butts-most of all, bored. Especially since Rao stopped attacking the column many days ago.'

The smile became a sneer, cheerfully bestowed on the mob surrounding the Ethiopian camp. 'Those soldiers? Ha!'

He rubbed his hands with satisfaction. 'No, no. It worked just like you planned. Four hundred sarwen, some Syrian gunners disguised as slaves, and one Roman woman have completely distracted an army ten times their number. Stopped them in their tracks, diverted their attention, disintegrated their formations-'

His eye caught movement to the north. He barked a laugh. 'Look! Even some of the troops dragging the guns are trotting our way.'

'Oh, marvelous,' hissed Irene. Gloomily: 'At least I'm not a virgin.' She eyed the leering mob, and the artillery soldiers hastening down the road to join them. 'Step aside, Messalina,' she muttered. 'I think I'm about to exceed your exploits. Put them completely in the shade, in fact.'

Ezana chuckled. 'I'm not sure who Messalina was, but if-' Humor remained, in his eyes, but Ezana's face was suddenly stern and solemn.

'You are a bold woman, Irene Macrembolitissa. Hold fast to that courage, and set aside your fears. No one will harm you. Kungas would never have agreed to this, if he did not think we Ethiopians could shield you when the hammer falls.' The stiff face became a black mask; as hard and unyielding as Kungas' own. 'Which it will, and very soon.'

Irene's eyes began to move toward the ridge above them, but she forced them aside.

Ezana, seeing the movement, nodded. 'He will be there, Irene. Kungas will come.'

Irene, trying to settle her nerves, fastened on that image. Kungas, and his hard face, coming toward her. Kungas, smiling with his eyes as she corrected his grammar. The little twitch in his lips, before he made a jest about thick-headed Kushans, even though she herself had been astonished by his ability to learn anything quickly. Kungas, day after day after day, sitting by her side in a chamber, learning to read. Never complaining, never grumbling, never angry at her for his own shortcomings.

The memory of a hard face, and clear almond eyes, and a heart beating hidden warmth and humor, and a mind like an uncut diamond, steadied her. She took a few deep breaths. Kungas will come. A few more breaths. He will. A few more. Kungas.

She felt herself return. To the memory of a hard face she added her own irrepressible humor.

'What do you think, Ezana?' she asked, gesturing with her chin toward the cluster of officers not more than thirty yards away. The Malwa were still staring at her, exchanging unheard quips. 'Will they start the seduction with fine wine? Some music, perhaps?'

Ezana chuckled. Irene snorted. 'Not likely, is it?' Her sour gaze fell on one particularly gross Malwa officer. The man had his tongue sticking out, wagging it at her.

'Will you look at-'

The officer's eyes bulged. Blood coughed out of his mouth, coating the obscene tongue. An arrowhead was protruding through his throat.

An instant later, the clustered officers were swept off their horses as if struck by a giant sickle. Irene gaped. Part of her mind identified the objects which had turned men into shredded meat. Arrows. But most of her brain simply went blank.

Dimly, she heard Ezana shouting. Her mouth still wide open from shock, she turned her head. The Syrian gunners had abandoned their servile toil and were already hurling grenades. The missiles were joined in mid-flight- and then overtaken-by four hundred javelins. Ethiopia's spearmen were also in action.

The javelin volley swept the front ranks of the Malwa mob like another great sickle. The second volley was on its way before the grenades even landed. Again, Death swung its sickle-and then again, as the grenades began exploding in the packed crowd. Some of the grenades were smoke bombs. Within seconds, the bloody scene began to disappear behind streaked and wafting clouds.

She was in a daze. Irene had never been in a battle before. She had never been near a battle before. Part of her shock and confusion was produced by simple fear. But most of it was an even simpler collapse of intelligence.

Irene's well-trained, logical mind stumbled and tripped, trying to find order and reason in the bedlam around her. Everything seemed pure chaos. An inferno of unreason. Through the eddying smoke, she caught glimpses of: men dying; sarwen locking their shields; the flight of arrows and javelins, and grenades; yelling Kushans charging down the slope; bellowing Ye-tai, desperately trying to rally confused troops. Shouts of confusion; shrieks of agony; screams of death and despair; cries of victory and triumph.

Noise, noise, everywhere. Steel and wood and flesh breaking. She clapped her hands over her ears, in her own desperate struggle to rally intelligence. Half in a crouch, sheltered under a canopy, she forced her eyes to watch. Desperately-desperately-trying to find a place where reason could set its anchor.

The anchor scraped across stone, finding no place.

How can men stand this? she wondered. Her eyes recognized purpose in the chaos. Her eyes saw the discipline of the sarwen, the way their shield wall held like a dike-and no pitiful child's castle of sand, this, against the coming tide. Her eyes saw-she had been told, but had never really believed-how the Malwa broke against those shields and spears. Men-enemies, yes, but still men-using their own flesh like water,