Destiny's Shield

But he said nothing. Not until after the three Ethiopians had clambered into their small skiff and begun the trip back to their own ship. Only then did he burst into laughter. Ezana and Wahsi joined him in that gaiety.

"It's bound to be a woman!" choked out Ezana.

"Theodora wouldn't trust anyone else," gasped Wahsi. "Shahji'll die of horror!"

Garmat shook his head. "That's not fair, actually. He's Maratha, don't forget. They recognize the legitimacy of female rulers. They even have a tradition of women leading armies. Still—"

He fell silent. He was not sure, of course—it was pure speculation. But he thought he could guess who Theodora and Belisarius would send.

Not Antonina. Garmat was quite sure that Belisarius had bigger plans for her. Of the Empress Theodora's inner circle of advisers—female advisers—that left only—

Ezana completed the thought aloud.

"They may have those traditions, Garmat," he chuckled. "But not even the Maratha have a tradition of sarcastic, quick-tongued, rapier-witted women who've read more books than they even knew existed."

"Poor Shahji," concluded Wahsi. "He's such a stiff and proper sort. I foresee chagrin in his future. Great discomfiture."

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Framed

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Chapter 22

THE EASTERN MEDITERRANEAN

Summer, 531 A.D.

"Be careful!" hissed Antonina.

"I am being careful," growled Irene. "It's the stupid boat that's being careless!"

Hesitantly, gingerly, the spymaster stuck out her foot again, groping for the rail of the little skiff bobbing alongside Antonina's flagship. The sea was not particularly rough, but Irene's experience with climbing down a large ship into a smaller one was exactly nil.

Her foot touched the rail, pressed down, skidded aside. Frantically, she clutched the rope ladder. A stream of vulgar curses ensued. Coarse phrases; unrefined terms. Aimed at the world in general and boats in particular.

Above, Ousanas grinned down.

"Witness, everyone! A miracle! There is a book which Irene has never read, after all! I refer, of course, to On the Transfer of Personnel From Craft to Craft At Sea, by the famous author Profanites of Dispepsia."

A stream of really vulgar curses ensued. Utterly obscene phrases; incredibly gross terms. Aimed exclusively at one particular African.

The African in question grinned even wider.

"May I lend you a hand?" he asked pleasantly.

Irene glared up at him furiously. "Yes!" she snarled. "Get me into this stupid fucking boat!"

"No problem, noble Greek lady," said Ousanas cheerfully. The dawazz leapt onto the rail of Anton-ina's flagship, gauged the matter for perhaps a micro-second, and sprang directly down into the boat below. He landed lightly on his feet, easily finding his balance. Then, turned to face Irene. The spymaster was swinging against the hull of the larger ship above him. Her face was pale; the knuckles of her hands, clutching the rope ladder, were white as snow.

"Jump," he said.

Irene's eyes widened. She stared down at him, as if ogling a dangerous lunatic.

"Jump," repeated Ousanas. "I will catch you."

"You are completely insane!" she shrieked.

Ousanas glanced up at the flagship above. Antonina and Eon were both leaning over the rail. Antonina's face was filled with deep concern. Eon's, with a struggle to contain his laughter.

"Eon!" shouted Ousanas. "Cut the ladder!"

"Good idea!" boomed Eon. The Prince drew his blade from its baldric. It was a typical Axumite sword, other than being more finely made than most. Which is to say, it was short, square-tipped, and very heavy—more like a huge cleaver than a Roman spatha.

Irene's terrified eyes stared up at the thing. The sword would obviously cut through the thin ropes of the ladder like an axe.

Eon, muscled like a Hercules, raised the blade high.

"Oooo!" she screamed. And then, convulsively, let go of the ladder.

She fell no more than four feet. Ousanas caught her easily, easily; then, neatly, set up her upright on the deck of the skiff. An instant later, she collapsed onto a pile of cordage coiled in the bilge.

"You are a foul creature," she hissed, "from a foul land." Gasp, gasp. "Now I know where Homer got the inspiration for the Cyclops."

Ousanas clucked his tongue. "So cruel," he complained. "So vicious!"

From above came Antonina's voice.

"All you all right, Irene?"

The spymaster took a deep shuddering breath. Then, suddenly, burst into a smile.

"I'm quite fine, actually. The first mission is accomplished!"

She transferred the smile onto Ousanas.

"I apologize for my insulting and intemperate remark."

Ousanas winced, awaiting the inevitable.

Hiss.

"I did not mean to slander the memory of an honorable monster of legend."

Above, Antonina and Eon turned to face each other.