The tide of victory

was burning fiercely and emitting a huge cloud of smoke. Less than a minute a later, the Justinian and its four barges began disappearing into that smoke. Until the powder burned itself out, or the boat sank from the heat of the burning, Menander would have a certain amount of protection. The Malwa would be firing blind.

The thought did not comfort him overmuch. The big Malwa siege cannons were so inaccurate that they could just as well hit from a miss, as it were. He had only to remember the fate of John of Rhodes to be reminded that perhaps the real mistress of battle was the Goddess of Luck.

The damned stuff was acrid, too. Within seconds, Menander was trying to hold his breath as much as possible. And he was already regretting the fact that just as the Malwa could no longer see him, he could no longer watch the progress of the Victrix as it went against the picket boats.

'Good luck, Eusebius.'

Eusebius, a proper artisan, did not really believe in luck. Even his new career as a naval officer had not much shaken his faith in logic and order. So, as he positioned the barrel of the fire cannon to rake the oncoming picket boats, he did not give much thought to the possibility of being sunk by cannon fire coming from the guns on the fortress. If for no other reason, he would be sailing so close to the picket boats that they would not fire at him for fear of sinking their own craft.

A great roar announced the first volley being fired by the fortress. Not too many seconds later, Eusebius was muttering fierce curses and frantically repositioning the barrel of the fire cannon.

His intended target had disappeared. The Malwa had fired at the Victrix. They had undershot, however, and managed to sink the lead picket boat coming toward him.

Whether from chagrin or simply because the Malwa commander of the fortress decided that Menander's ships made a more suitable target, the second volley was fired at the Justinian and the four barges it was towing. As was the third.

And Menander, cursing even more bitterly than Eusebius, was confirmed in his belief that the Goddess of Luck reigned supreme in battle. None of the ships were hit by the fortress' fire. Indeed, none of the great cannon balls landed closer than thirty yards to any of the Roman vessels. But one ball, guided by incredible good fortune, did manage to neatly sever the cable towing the last barge.

That barge, containing most of the powder and shot for the twenty-four pounders, fell away and began drifting aimlessly in the sluggish current. The handful of soldiers stationed on the barge were completely helpless. None of them were really sailors; even if they had known how to raise the sails, there was no wind to fill them; and they were far too few-nor was the barge properly designed for the task anyway-to drive it against the current using oars. All they could do was drift, awaiting their certain doom.

Menander was not even aware of the problem immediately. The change in the flotilla's speed due to the sudden lightening of the load was too minor to register. It was not until the Justinian and the three barges still attached to it had steamed completely out of the smoke bank that he realized what had happened.

For a moment, he was torn by indecision. He was still within range of the fortress' guns, and would remain so for several minutes. If he cast loose the three barges he was towing in order to steam back to rescue the fourth, he might lose them all. On the other hand, if he waited until he had towed them far enough upstream to be safe from cannon fire, it would take him quite some time to rescue the stray and return-assuming he wasn't hit himself. During which time, the three barges cast off might very well ground ashore or drift back into range. The Indus' current was not swift, but it was irresistible for a barge not under any form of powered control.

His eyes fell on the Victrix, now almost a mile away. He could see another gout of flame spurting from its bow and engulfing a Malwa picket ship. In the fireship's wake, he could see that two others were burning fiercely. As expected, river craft could not hope to match the Victrix in close quarter combat. A single burst of that hideous weapon was enough to turn any small vessel into an inferno.

There was only one Malwa picket boat left. The commander of that boat, no coward, was still rowing toward the Victrix. Menander could see a small flash in the bow of the boat, as it fired the puny little bowchaser it carried. That would be a three pounder, at best. Even at short range, the heavy timber which shielded the Victrix's bow would shrug it off.

To Menander's surprise, however, the Victrix began to turn away. Within seconds, he realized that Eusebius had spotted the orphaned barge-which was now not more than three hundred yards away from him-and was intending to go to its rescue.

'You fucking idiot!' shouted Menander. He was so infuriated that he repeated the curse three time over, despite the utter impossibility that Eusebius could hear him.

He started pounding the rail of his ship with frustration. Already he could see the Malwa picket boat picking up the tempo of its oars. The Victrix's advantage in combat lay entirely in a head-on attack, using its irresistible weapon protected within that heavy bow shield. From astern-and the clumsy jury-rigged paddle wheeler was no faster than an oared ship-the advantage would lie entirely with a vessel designed for boarding. Between the steam engine which drove it and the fire cannon in the bow, the Victrix was far too cramped to carry a large crew. And half of them were mechanics, not soldiers. Before the Victrix could reach the drifting barge and secure another cable, the Malwa picket boat would have overhauled it and overwhelmed the fireship's crew.

The only thing the Victrix had to fend off such an attack was the Puckle gun mounted in an armored shell atop the engine house. It was basically a large, long-barreled cap-and-ball revolver on a stand, which was operated by a two-man crew. All nine of its chambers could be fired in quick succession by a gunner turning a crank, whereupon the cylinder could be removed by the loader and replaced by another. It gave them the closest thing possible to a true machine gun, short of the heavy and unwieldy mitrailleuse assigned to the field artillery.

The Puckle gun was a handy little weapon, admittedly. But Menander had no illusions that it would be enough to drive off as many men as the Malwa had crammed into that picket boat.

The pilot of the Justinian came to Menander's side. Clearly enough, the man had reached the same conclusion. 'What you get for trying to make a damned artisan a naval officer,' he snarled. 'He's just going to lose his own ship in the bargain.'

Menander sighed. He took the time, before bowing to the inevitable, to regret once again that the mad rush in which Belisarius' change of strategy had thrown everything had left many projects unfinished in its wake. Among them had been the plans which he and Eusebius had begun to develop in Charax for designing an effective signaling system by which a fleet could be controlled by a single officer. Which would be him, not- not-that damned artisan!

As it happened, he and Eusebius had developed part of the system. The easy part. Signal flags hoisted in daylight. But those flags-all of them neatly arrayed in a nearby chest-would be useless in the middle of this dark night. They had never gotten as far as designing a system of lamp signals.

'Nothing for it,' he growled. 'If we turn back, we'll just be compounding the damage. Maintain course.'

'Aye,' said the pilot, nodding his approval. 'Spoken like a navy man.'

'Let's hope this works,' muttered Eusebius. They had almost reached the stranded barge. He was standing just outside the bow shield, leaning over the rail in order to gauge the distance between the Victrix and the pursuing picket boat. Then, deciding the range was about right, he looked up at the fortress.

So far, the Malwa had maintained volley fire. Eusebius wasn't quite sure why they were doing so, since the undoubted advantage of volley fire on a battlefield was a moot point in this situation. He suspected that the Malwa commander was afraid that, working in the dark, crews left to their own pace might hurry the work and cause a disastrous accident.

Whatever the reason, he was glad of it. The maneuver he was about to try would leave the Victrix more or less stationary for a time. He was still far too close to the fortress to want to take that risk, until a volley had been fired. Thereafter, it would take the Malwa gunners long minutes to reload