Destiny's Shield

They were sadly mistaken. Within two minutes, the four surviving seamen were huddled in the bow, nursing their wounds and casting fearful glances at the Kushan soldiers standing guard over them. Not one of those Kushans had even been scratched in the "melee."

Then, to add to their misery, they saw the prow of a ship looming out of the downpour. Within seconds, the ship had drawn alongside. The Keralan seamen recognized the craft. One of those swift, fearsome Ethiopian warships.

An Axumite officer leaned over the rail.

"Is problem?" he called out. "We hear noise of—of—" He faltered, having reached the limit of his skill with Hindi.

The Kushan commander glared.

"Yes, there's a problem!" he grated, pointing an accusing finger at the four captives. The Keralan seamen hunched lower.

"There's only four of the bastards left. Not enough to run the ship."

Another Ethiopian came to the rail. The Kushan commander immediately recognized him—Ezana, one of the Axumite soldiers' top leaders.

Ezana gave the situation a quick scrutiny. He was familiar with Kushans, and knew that they were not a sea-going folk. No hope they could run the ship themselves.

He turned his head and barked out a quick string of names. Within a minute, six Ethiopian soldiers were standing next to him. While they were mustering, Ezana took the opportunity to close with the merchant vessel. It was the work of but seconds for the Ethiopians to tie up alongside.

Lightly, Ezana sprang across onto the Keralan ship. He strode toward the bow where the Kushan commander was waiting, along with his men and the captives.

Once there, Ezana made a little gesture at the six Axumites who were making their own way across.

"These men will stay with you for the duration of the trip," he explained, speaking in heavily accented but quite good Hindi. "Along with the four surviving mutineers, that should be enough."

He gave the ship a quick examination. Judging from his expression, he was not pleased with what he saw.

"Indian tub," he sneered. "Can run a good Axumite trader with six men. Five—even four—in an emergency."

He transferred the sarcastic expression onto the four Keralan survivors. The seamen hunched lower still, dropping their heads. Doing everything in their power to fade out of sight.

No use. Ezana squatted down next to them.

"Look at me," he commanded. Reluctantly, they raised their heads.

Ezana grinned.

"Don't look so unhappy, lads. Consider your good fortune! My men hate running crappy ships like this. I'd have my own mutiny if I pitched you overboard and appointed four replacements."

Hearing this happy news, the expression on the faces of the Keralans brightened.

A bit, no more—and that little bit immediately vanished under Ezana's ensuing scowl.

"But they don't hate it as much as they hate mutineers," he rumbled. "I'd be on my best behavior from now on, if I were you."

Four Keralan heads bobbed frantic agreement.

Ezana's scowl deepened. "You're seamen. So I assume you're familiar with the Ethiopian treatment for mutineers?"

Four Keralan heads bobbed horrified agreement.

"Good," he grunted.

He rose and turned to the Kushan commander.

"You won't have any more trouble," he pronounced. As he made his way back to the rail, the Kushan accompanied him.

"What is the Ethiopian way with mutineers?" he asked.

Ezana climbed onto the rail. Just before making his leap, he bestowed a cheerful grin onto the Kushan commander.

"It involves fishing."

He sprang across. Turned and called back.

"We're partial to shark meat!"

Two days later, Ezana came aboard the Empress' flagship. A council had been called for all the central leaders of the expedition. He, along with Wahsi and Garmat, were to be the Ethiopian representatives at the meeting.

Garmat was already aboard, waiting for him. As the two men fought their way across the deck in the face of a rain so heavy it seemed almost like a waterfall, Ezana grumbled. "This has got to be the worst climate in the world."

Garmat smiled. "Oh, I don't know. At least it's not hot. The temperature's rather pleasant, actually. Whereas the Empty Quarter—"

Ezana shook his head firmly. "No contest. At least you can breathe, in Arabia."

He cast a fierce glower at the heavy sky. "How much does it rain here, anyway?"

They were at the small shed which provided an entryway into the large cabin amidship. Both men made an effort to wring out their clothes—mere kilts, fortunately—before entering.

Garmat frowned in thought. "I'm not sure, actually. I think I heard somewhere that southwest India during the monsoon season gets—"

He gave a figure in the Ethiopian way of measuring such things. Ezana's eyes widened. The figure was the equivalent of thirteen feet of water in five months.

"Mother of God!"

Garmat nodded toward the east, toward the invisible coast of India.

"Cheer up. If all goes well, soon enough we'll be crossing the mountains into Majarashtra. It's dry, I hear, on that side of the Western Ghats."

"Can't be soon enough," grumbled Ezana. He led the way into the cabin.