In the Heart of Darkness

Arrows thunked into the walls of the wood-castle. Fortunately, due to the height of the fighting platform, the men on it were sheltered from arrows fired on a flat trajectory from the low-hulled corbita. But some of those arrows, fired by better or simply luckier archers, were coming in on an arched trajectory.

One of the windlass-crankers suddenly cried out in pain. An arrow had looped over the walls and plunged into his shoulder. He fell-partly from pain, and partly from a desire to find shelter beneath the low wall. His relief immediately stepped forward and began frantically cranking the windlass.

As he waited-and to give himself something to think about other than oncoming missiles-Belisarius watched Valentinian fire a third firebomb at the same misbegotten corbita.

Belisarius had never seen Valentinian miss anything, three times in a row. He didn't now, either. The shot was perfect. The firebomb hit the rail right before the mast, spewing death over the deck and destruction into the rigging.

His loader:

'Ready!'

Belisarius turned, aimed-

Nothing. Empty sea.

They had sailed right through the enemy fleet.

A movement in the corner of his eye. He swiveled the scorpion hurriedly, aimed-

A dromon, scudding across the waves, right toward them. John of Rhodes, standing in the bow, hands on hips, scowling fiercely.

His first words, in the powerful carrying voice of an experienced naval officer:

'Are you out of your fucking mind?'

His next:

'You could have wrecked my ship!'

A minute later, after the galley was drawn alongside, the Rhodesman scampered aboard and stalked across the deck. Before he even reached Belisarius, he was gesturing with his hands. Making an odd sort of motion, as if cutting one hand with the other.

'What were you thinking?' he demanded hotly. 'What were you thinking?' In full stump now, back and forth, back and forth: 'Imbecile! This is a fucking artillery ship!' One hand sawing across the other: 'In the name of God! Even a fucking general should have been able to figure it out! Even a fucking landsman! You stay away from the fucking enemy! You try to bring your artillery to bear without getting close! You-you-'

Hands sawing, hands sawing.

Belisarius, smiling crookedly: 'Like `crossing a T,' you mean to say?'

John's eyes widened. His hands paused in their sawing. Fury faded, replaced by interest.

'Hey. That's a good way of putting it. I like that. `Crossing the T.' Got a nice ring to it.'

Another voice. Sulky. Self-satisfied:

I told you so.

Belisarius chuckled.

'I suppose my naval tactics were a bit primitive,' he admitted.

Image:

A man. Stooped, filthy, clad in rough-cured animal skins. In his hand he clutches an axe. The blade of the weapon is a crudely shaped piece of stone, lashed to the handle with rawhide.

He is standing on a log, rolling wildly down a river. Hammering fiercely at another man, armed and clad as he is, standing on the same log.

Stone ax against stone ax.

Just ahead is a waterfall.

Chapter 26

After Belisarius and Valentinian were aboard the dromon, Belisarius stared up at John of Rhodes standing on the pamphylos' wood-castle.

'Are you certain, John?' he asked.

The naval officer nodded his head firmly.

'Be off, Belisarius!' Then, with a wicked grin:

'I'll say this much-you may be the craziest ship captain who ever tried to commit suicide, and certainly the most lethal.'

He waved his hand about, encompassing half the Bosporus in that gesture.

'You destroyed six out of the eight akatoi and another half dozen corbita. And I sank three corbita with the galley. That's well over a third of Aegidius' entire army and three-fourths of his cataphracts. Look at them!'

Belisarius scanned the Bosporus. Even to his landsman's eye, it was obvious that the enemy fleet was scattering in fear and confusion.

A sudden thought came to his mind. John voiced it before he could speak.

'Besides, I think Aegidius is dead. He was probably aboard one of the akatoi, which means that the odds against his survival are three-to-one.'

Belisarius nodded.

'That has all the signs of a leaderless army, if I'm reading the ship movements correctly.'

John snorted. 'They're like so many motherless ducklings paddling every which way.' Again, he waved his hand.

'Be off, Belisarius. You're needed in Constantinople now, not here. The dromon will bear you to shore faster than any of those ships can reach land. I, meanwhile-' He patted the scorpion next to him. The wicked grin returned in full force. '-will continue to put the fear of God in those bastards.' With a fierce glower: 'From a distance, like an intelligent man.'

Belisarius smiled and turned away. Then, hearing John's next words, smiled broadly. ' `Crossing the T.' I like that!'

At the general's signal, the war galley's keleustes-the rowing officer; literally, the 'orderer'-immediately began calling the time. The galley's oars dipped into the water. Swiftly, the dromon headed to shore.

For a time, Belisarius watched the enemy ships milling around aimlessly in the Bosporus. The ones nearest to John's artillery vessel, he saw, were already trying to evade the Rhodesman's approach. One of those enemy ships, apparently, had had enough. The corbita was heading directly back to Chalcedon, on the Asian side of the Straits.

Soon enough, a half-dozen of the corbita were following. Among the remaining ships in the enemy armada, confusion still reigned. A small cluster of the ships-seven in all, led by one of the surviving akatoi-were heading toward Portus Caesarii. Someone among the surviving cataphracts in the Army of Bithynia-Aegidius himself, possibly; more likely, one of his top subordinates-had apparently decided to continue with their treasonous scheme. But, cautiously, they were now planning to land in the more distant harbor.

A wordless cry of triumph coming from Menander drew his eyes back to the main fleet. One of the corbita in that milling mob of ships, he saw, was burning fiercely. John had struck his first blow.

The confusion in the main body of the traitor fleet was dispelled. The majority of the remaining ships, within a minute, were fleeing back across the Bosporus. Only four of them-including, unfortunately, the last of the cataphract-bearing akatoi-decided to make for Portus Caesarii.

Belisarius noticed that Ashot was now standing next to him. Ashot was the Armenian cataphract who led the small party which Antonina had sent to meet him in Egypt. Antonina and Maurice had chosen him for that mission, among other things, because Ashot was one of the few cataphracts among Belisarius' bucellarii who had any experience as a seaman.

'What do you think?' he asked.