In the Heart of Darkness(45)

The Macedonian glared. "All reputation is folly," he pronounced. "Folly—"



"—fed by pride, which is worse still," concluded the Bishop. His smile widened. "Really, Michael, you must develop a broader repertoire of proverbs."



Antonina cleared her throat.



"As I was saying . . ."



"You weren't saying anything, Antonina," pointed out Cassian reasonably. "So I saw no reason not to idle away the time by a harmless—"



"Stop picking on Michael," grumbled Maurice. "He's done wonders with the local lads, and their wives and parents. Even the village elders aren't howling louder than a medium-sized storm at sea."



"Well, of course he has!" exclaimed Cassian cheerfully. "He's a holy man. Must be good for something."



Antonina headed off the gathering storm.



"Tell me, Michael," she said forcefully. "What is your assessment? Michael?"



The Macedonian broke off his (quite futile) attempt to glower down the bishop.



"Excuse me, Antonina? I didn't catch that."



"The peasants," she stated. "What is your assessment?"



Michael waved his hand. It was not an airy gesture. Rather the opposite. So might a stone punctuate solidity.



"There will be no problem. None."



"More than that," added Maurice. "A good number of them, I think, would jump at the chance to join a new regiment." He eyed John of Rhodes. "Assuming there's something for them to do beside drive sheep at the enemy."



John didn't rise to the bait.



"Stop worrying, Maurice. You get your new regiment put together, I'll have weapons for them. Grenades, at the very least."



"No rockets?" asked Hermogenes.



John winced. "Wouldn't count on it. The damned things are trickier to make than I thought." He drained his cup, poured himself another. Then, grumbling:



"The problem, actually, isn't making them. I've got a good twenty rockets piled up in the workshed. Every one of them'll fly, too, and blow up quite spectacularly. The problem is that there's no telling where."



Another wince. "I had one rocket—this is the bare truth—the damned thing actually flew in a circle and almost took our heads off."



"How do the Malwa aim them?" asked Sittas. "There must be a way."



John shrugged. "I don't know. I've tried everything I can think of. Fired them through tubes. Put vanes on them—even feathers! Nothing works. Some go more or less straight, most don't, and I can't for the life of me figure out any rhyme or reason behind it."



Maurice slapped the table with the flat of his hand. "So let's not worry about it," he urged. "When the general gets back from India—"



"If—" murmured John.



"—when he gets back," drove on Maurice, "I'm sure he'll be able to tell us the secret of aiming rockets. In the meantime, let's stick to grenades. Those'll be more than enough to keep a new regiment of peasant recruits busy."



"Maurice has an idea," announced Sittas. The general beamed. "Marvelous idea, I think! And you know me—I generally look on new ideas about the same way I look on cow dung."



"What is it?" asked Antonina.



Maurice rubbed his scalp. The gesture was one of his few affectations. The hair on that scalp was iron grey, but it was still as full as it had been when he was a boy.



"I got to thinking. The problem with grenades is that you want to be able to heave them a fair distance before they blow up. Then, you face a tradeoff between distance and effectiveness. A man with a good arm can toss a grenade fairly far—but only if it's so small it doesn't do much good when it lands. If he tries to throw a big grenade, he has to get well within bow range to do it." The veteran shrugged. "Under most battle conditions, my cataphracts would turn him into a pincushion before he got off more than one. I have to assume that the enemy could do as well. Persians could, for sure."



"So what's your solution?" asked John. "Scorpions?"



Maurice shook his head. "No. Mind you, I'm all for developing grenade artillery. Wouldn't be hard at all to adapt a stone-throwing scorpion for that purpose. But that's artillery. Fine in its place, but it's no substitute for infantry."



Hermogenes smiled. He was one of the few modern Roman generals who specialized in infantry warfare. Belisarius himself had groomed the young officer, and urged him in that direction.



"Or cavalry," grumbled Sittas. This general, on the other hand, was passionately devoted to the cataphract traditions.