An Oblique Approach

Belisarius couldn't help laughing himself. "Nonsense, Sittas!" he exclaimed. "I'm sure Irene was speaking the simple truth. I'm astonished myself, actually."

Sittas transferred his glare to the Thracian.

"Don't you start on me, Belisarius! Just because you own a copy of Caesar's—"

Prince Eon interrupted.

"Do you own a copy of Xenophon's Anabasis?" he asked Irene eagerly.

The spymaster nodded.

"May I borrow—" The prince fell silent. "Oh. It's probably also at your villa. In Constantinople."

"I'm afraid so."

The prince began frowning thoughtfully.

"Maybe we could go back—"

"Enough, Eon!" cried Garmat. "We are not going back to Constantinople to get you a book!"

"It's the Anabasis," whined Eon. "I've been wanting to read that since—"

"No! Absolutely not! Your father is waiting for us at Axum—at Adulis, probably. And have you forgotten—"

"It's the Anabasis," wailed Eon.

"Spoken like a true bibliophile," said Irene admiringly. She grinned at the despondent prince and waved her hand airily. "These heathens simply don't understand, Eon. You have to resign yourself to it. Like a saint of old subjected to barbarian tortures and ordeals."

"The Anabasis," moaned Eon.

"Ousanas!" barked Garmat. "Do your duty!"

"What duty?" demanded the dawazz. "Love of books prince's best quality. Only thing keep him away from mischief."

The dawazz leaned forward and tapped the prince on top of the head. Very lightly. "Nevertheless. Is still matter of deadly Malwa danger. Anxious father awaiting report of beloved son. Anxious negusa-nagast-type father. Not wise to keep such fathers waiting while hunting up book. Not wise. Anxiety turn to reproach. Negusa-nagast-type reproach."

The two sarwen grunted agreement. Eon sulked.

"How soon can we get Heron's book here?" asked Antonina.

Irene shrugged. "With a special courier—"

Sittas interrupted. "Do you know how much it costs to send a special—"

John of Rhodes laughed. "Why is it that the richest men are always the stingiest? Relax, Sittas. We won't strain your purse."

To Irene: "There's no need for a special courier. I've got weeks of work ahead of me before I can even start thinking about our project. We'll need to find chemical supplies, equipment, tools—everything. All I have at the moment is a few odds and ends."

"Do you need the help of artisans?" asked Belisarius.

John shook his head.

"Not yet, Belisarius. I wouldn't know what to tell them to do or make. Be a waste of their time and your money. Six months from now, maybe. Maybe."

The general frowned. "You think it's going to take that long?"

John scowled fiercely. "That long? Do you have any idea what you're asking me to do?"

The naval officer began to rise, in obvious preparation for a heavy session of stumping about, but Belisarius waved him back to his seat.

"Relax, John. I wasn't criticizing. I'm just—just worried, that's all. I don't know how much time we have at our disposal, before our future enemy falls upon us."

John was still not mollified, quite. But before he could say anything further, Irene spoke:

"That's your job, General."

"Excuse me?"

"Buying us time. That's your job. Mine also, to an extent. But mostly yours."

"You've done it before," said Sittas. The big Greek general smiled. "Of course, that was against a bunch of dumbass Goths. Maybe you're not smart enough to tie sophisticated Indians into knots."

"Don't bait my husband, Sittas," said Antonina.

"I'm not baiting him. I'm prodding his vanity."

"My husband is not vain."

A sad shake of the head.

"Poor woman. The wife is always the last to know. Belisarius is the vainest man in creation. He's so vain that he's not vain about the things modest men are vain about—their fame, their riches, their good looks, their wives' good looks. Oh no, not Belisarius. He's only vain about his lack of vanity, which is the worst vanity there is."

Everyone in the room except Irene frowned, trying to follow the tortured logic.

"That makes no sense at all," said Eon. Uncertainly, to Irene: "Does it make sense to you?"

Irene laughed gaily. "Of course it does! But you have to remember—I'm the only other Greek in the room. Except John, but he's from Rhodes. A practical folk, the Rhodesmen. Lapsed Greeks, I'm afraid."

John said nothing, but his gaze was full of interest. Irene laughed again.

"Don't even think about it, John."

The naval officer's grin was quite wolfish.

"Why not? I can't be designing fantastical weapons all the time." A sudden, happy thought. "Well, actually, perhaps I can. But to operate effectively I'll need to be kept up to date with all the latest secret information. Spymaster-type information, you know. Oh, yes. Daily briefings. Essential."

"You stay away from my paramour," growled Sittas. But it was a tepid, tepid growl.

A chuckle swept the room.

Irene patted his hand gently. "Now, now. Don't you worry, dear. I really think I'm capable of dealing with the occasional wolf."