Destiny's shield

Four devils, one in each corner. Counting arms and armor, Antonina estimated their collective gross weight at twelve hundred pounds. Two of the cataphracts were so tall their helmets were almost brushing the ceiling of the cabin. One of them was so wide he looked positively deformed. And the last one, Leo, was considered by all of Belisarius' bucellarii to be the ugliest man alive.

Not 'cute' ugly. Not pug-nosed bulldog 'ugly.'

Ugly ugly. Rabid vicious slavering monster ugly. Ogre ugly; troll ugly-even when Leo wasn't scowling, which, at the moment, he most certainly was. A gut-wrenching, spine-freezing, bowel-loosening Moloch kind of scowl.

Antonina cleared her throat. Demurely. Ladylike.

'What can I do for you, gentlemen?' she asked.

The officer in the forefront tore his eyes away from Leo and stared at her. He was a middle-aged man, with greying hair and a beard streaked with white. He was actually a bit on the tall side, Antonina thought, but he looked like a midget in the same room with Ashot's four cataphracts.

For a moment, the man's stare was simply blank. Then, as recognition came to him, his eyes narrowed.

'You are the woman Antonina?' he demanded. 'The wife of Belisarius?'

She nodded. The officer's lips tightened.

'We have been told-that is to say, it is our understanding that you have been appointed in charge of this-uh- fleet.'

She nodded. The officer's lips grew thinner still, as if he had just tasted the world's sourest lemon.

'The situation here in Alexandria is very complicated,' the officer stated forcefully. 'You must understand that. It will do no one any good if you simply charge into-'

'The situation in Egypt is not complicated,' interrupted Antonina. 'The situation is very simple. The former civil, ecclesiastical and military authorities have lost the confidence of the Emperor and the Empress Regent. For that reason, I have been sent here to oversee their replacement by people who enjoy the imperial trust. On board this fleet are the newly-designated Praetorian Prefect, Patriarch, and the merarch of the Army of Egypt.'

She pointed a finger at Hermogenes. The young merarch was leaning his shoulder into a nearby wall, the very figure of casual relaxation.

'Him, as it happens. May I introduce you?'

The four naval officers were goggling at her. Antonina smiled sweetly and added:

'I will also be glad to introduce you to the new Praetorian Prefect and Patriarch, as soon as possible. But I'm afraid they are not on this ship.'

One of the younger officers in the rear suddenly exploded.

'This is absurd! You can't-'

'I most certainly can. I most certainly will.'

The same officer began to speak again, but the older officer in the forefront hushed him with an urgent wave of the hand.

'We agreed that I would do the talking!' he hissed, turning his head a bit.

When he looked back at Antonina, his lips had disappeared entirely. The lemon had been swallowed whole.

'I can see you are not open to reason,' he snapped. 'So I will speak plainly. The naval authorities in Alexandria-of which we are the representatives-will take no sides in the disputes which are roiling the city. But we must insist that those disputes be settled by the city itself. We cannot agree-we will not agree-to the imposition of a forcible solution by outsiders. Therefore-'

'Arrest them,' said Antonina. 'All four.' She spoke softly, calmly, easily.

The officers gaped. One of them reached for his sword. But before he could begin to draw the blade from its scabbard, a hand clamped around his wrist like a vise. Zenophilus' hand, that was about the size of a bear's paw. The other huge hand seized the officer by the back of the neck. The officer began to shout.

Zenophilus squeezed. The man stopped shouting instantly. Began to turn blue, in fact.

The other three officers were likewise pinioned, wrist and neck, by the rest of Ashot's cataphracts.

'You can't do this!' shrieked the one in Matthew's grip.

Matthew was one of the cataphracts who almost had to stoop to clear the cabin's ceiling. He grinned cheerfully and squeezed.

Silence.

'Why not?' asked Antonina, smiling like a seraph. She made a little gesture at Matthew. The cataphract eased up the pressure on his captive's throat.

The man coughed explosively. Then, gasping: 'Those dromons have orders! If we don't return within an hour, they're to assume that hostilities have commenced!'

' 'Hostilities have commenced,' ' mused Hermo-genes. 'My, that sounds ominous.'

He glanced at Ashot, leaning against the opposite wall in an identical pose.

' 'Hostilities have commenced,' ' echoed the Armenian cataphract. 'Dire words.'

With a little thrust of his shoulder, Ashot stood erect. He and Hermogenes exchanged a smile.

'Dreadful words,' said Ashot. 'I believe I may defecate.'

The officer who had issued the threat snarled.

'Make light of it if you will! But I remind you that those are eight warships. What do you have, besides those grain ships and that horde of corbitas? Two dromons-that's it!'

'Not quite,' murmured Ashot. He swiveled his head, looking at Antonina.

She nodded. Ashot walked out of the cabin. Seconds later, his voice was heard:

'Send a signal to the Theodora! The blue-and-white flag! Followed by the red!'

A moment later, he ambled back inside the cabin.

'That means 'hostilities have commenced,' ' he explained to the four arrested officers. Then, grinning:

'In a manner of speaking.'

The captives were so busy staring at Ashot that they never heard Antonina's little murmur:

' 'Cross the T,' to be precise. And 'fire broadside.' '

Aboard the Theodora, John of Rhodes and Euse-bius were standing on the poop deck. Seeing the blue-and-white pennant, followed by the red, John whooped.

'Yes! At last! Now we'll see what this beautiful bitch can do!'

'Wouldn't let the Empress hear you say that, if I were you,' muttered Eusebius. The artificer was standing next to John, clutching the rail. His face was drawn and pale. The Theodora's tacking against the wind had awakened Eusebius' always-latent seasickness.

'Why not?' demanded John cheerfully. 'The ship's named after her, isn't it? Isn't the Empress a beauty? And isn't she just the world's meanest bitch?' Gaily, he slapped Eusebius on the shoulder. 'But she's our bitch, boy! Ours!'

John pointed to the ladder leading to the deck below. 'Get on down, now, Eusebius. I want you keeping a close eye on those overenthusiastic gunners.'

Making his way gingerly down the ladder, Eusebius heard John bellowing to his sailors and steersman:

'Head for that fleet of dromons across the harbor! I want to sail right across their bows!'

When Eusebius reached the gundeck, he headed to the starboard side of the ship. On the Theodora's new heading, northwest to southeast, she would be bringing the five cannons on that side to bear on the enemy.

Soon enough, Eusebius forgot his seasickness. He was utterly preoccupied with the task of preparing the cannons for a broadside. He scampered up and down the gundeck, fretting over every detail of the work.

For once, the Syrian gunners and their wives did not curse him for a fussbudget and mock him for an impractical philosopher. This was not an exercise. This was the real thing. They would not be firing at empty barrels tossed overboard. They would be firing at front-line warships-which would be attacking them.

True, those warships had no cannons. But the word dromon meant 'racer,' and the sleek naval craft positioned at the entrance to the Great Harbour lived up to the term. Beautifully designed-elegant,