The fury which had filled Anna for months boiled to the surface. "I don't have a hymen," she snarled. "My husband did for that, the bastard, before he went off to war."
Now the Arab was on his feet. Hearing her words, he laughed aloud. "God save us! An abandoned little wife, no less."
The rivermen were beginning to get surly, judging from the scowls which had replaced the previous leers. One of them barked something in a language which Anna didn't recognize. One of the Aramaic dialects, probably. The Isaurian who seemed to be the leader of the three soldiers gave them another glance and an idle little wave of his hand. The gesture more or less indicated: relax, relax -- you'll get a cut.
That done, his eyes came back to Anna. "Idiot," he repeated. The word was spoken with no heat, just lazy derision. "Think you're the first woman got abandoned by a husband looking to make his fortune in war?"
"He already has a fortune," hissed Anna. "He went looking for fame. Found it too, damn him."
The Arab laughed again. "Fame, is it? Maybe in your circles! And what is the name of this paragon of martial virtue? Anthony the Illustrious Courier?"
The other three soldiers shared in the little laugh. For a moment, Anna was distracted by the oddity of such flowery phrases coming out of the mouth of a common soldier. She remembered, vaguely, that her husband had once told her of the poetic prowess of Arabs. But she had paid little attention, at the time, and the memory simply heightened her anger.
"He is famous," Anna insisted. A certain innate honesty forced her to add: "At least in Constantinople, after Belisarius' letter was read to the Senate. And his own dispatches."
The name Belisarius brought a sudden little stillness to the group of soldiers. The Isaurian leader's eyes narrowed.
"Belisarius? What's the general got to do with your husband?"
"And what's his name?" added the Arab.
Anna tightened her jaws. "Calopodius. Calopodius Saronites."
The stillness turned into frozen rigidity. All three soldiers' eyes were now almost slits.
The Isaurian leader drew a deep breath. "Are you trying to tell us that you are the wife of Calopodius the Blind?"
For a moment, a spike of anguish drove through the anger. She didn't really understand where it came from. Calopodius had always seemed blind to her, in his own way. But ...
Her own deep breath was a shaky thing. "They say he is blind now, yes. Belisarius' letter to the Senate said so. He says it himself, in fact, in his letters. I -- I guess it's true. I haven't seen him in many months. When he left ..."
One of the rivermen began to say something, in a surly tone of voice. The gaze which the Isaurian now turned on him was nothing casual. It was a flat, flat gaze. As cold as a snake's and just as deadly. Even a girl as sheltered as Anna had been all her life understood the sheer physical menace in it. The rivermen all seemed to shuffle back a step or two.
He turned his eyes back to Anna. The same cold and flat gleam was in them. "If you are lying ..."
"Why would I lie?" she demanded angrily. "And how do you expect me to prove it, anyway?"
Belatedly, a thought came to her. "Unless ..." She glanced at the little sailing craft which had brought her here, still piled high with her belongings. "If you can read Greek, I have several of his letters to me."
The Arab sighed softly. "As you say, 'why would you lie?'" His dark eyes examined her face carefully. "God help us. You really don't even understand, do you?"
She shook her head, confused. "Understand what? Do you know him yourself?"
The Isaurian leader's sigh was a more heartfelt thing. "No, lass, we didn't. We were so rich, after Charax, that we left the general's service. We" -- he gestured at his brother -- "I'm Illus, by the way, and he's Cottomenes -- had more than enough to buy us a big farm back home. And Abdul decided to go in with us."
"I'm sick of the desert," muttered the Arab. "Sick of camels, too. Never did like the damn beasts."
The Arab was of the same height as the two Isaurian brothers -- about average -- but much less stocky in his frame. Still, in his light half-armor and with a spatha scabbarded to his waist, he seemed no less deadly.
"Come to think of it," he added, almost idly, "I'm sick of thieves too."
The violence which erupted shocked Anna more than anything in her life. She collapsed in a squat, gripping her knees with shaking hands, almost moaning with fear.
There had been no sign; nothing, at least, which she had seen. The Isaurian leader simply drew his spatha -- so quick, so quick! -- took three peculiar little half steps and cleaved the skull of one of the rivermen before the man even had time to do more than widen his eyes. A second or two later, the same spatha tore open another's throat. In the same amount of time, his brother and the Arab gutted two other rivermen.
Then --
She closed her eyes. The four surviving rivermen were desperately trying to reach their barge. From the sounds -- clear enough, even to a young woman who had never seen a man killed before -- they weren't going to make it. Not even close. The sounds, wetly horrid, were those of a pack of wolves in a sheep pen.
Some time later, she heard the Isaurian's voice. "Open your eyes, girl. It's over."
She opened her eyes. Catching sight of the pool of blood soaking into the planks of the pier, she averted her gaze. Her eyes fell on the two sailors, cowering behind the well. She almost giggled, the sight was so ridiculous.
The Isaurian must have followed her gaze, because he began chuckling himself. "Silly looking, aren't they? As if they could hide behind that little well."
He raised his voice. "Don't be stupid! If nothing else, we need you to sail the boat. Besides -- " He gestured at the barge. "You'll want to loot it, if there's anything in that tub worth looting. We'll burn whatever's left."
He reached down a hand. Anna took it and came shakily to her feet.
Bodies everywhere. She started to close her eyes again.
"Get used to it, girl," the Isaurian said harshly. "You'll see plenty more of that where you're going. Especially if you make it to the island."
Her head felt muzzy. "Island? What island?"
"The island, idiot. 'The Iron Triangle,' they call it. Where your husband is, along with the general. Right in the mouth of the Malwa."
"I didn't know it was an island," she said softly. Again, honesty surfaced. "I'm not really even sure where it is, except somewhere in India."
The Arab had come up in time to hear her last words. He was wiping his blade clean with a piece of cloth. "God save us," he half-chuckled. "It's not really an island. Not exactly. But it'll do, seeing as how the general's facing about a hundred thousand Malwa."
He studied her for a moment, while he finished wiping the blood off the sword. Then, sighed again. "Let's hope you learn something, by the time we get to Charax. After that, you'll be on your own again. At least -- "
He gave the Isaurian an odd little look. The Isaurian shrugged. "We were just telling ourselves yesterday how stupid we'd been, missing out on the loot of Malwa itself. What the hell, we may as well take her the whole way."
His brother was now there. "Hell, yes!" he boomed. He bestowed on Anna a very cheerful grin. "I assume you'll recommend us to the general? Not that we deserted or anything, but I'd really prefer a better assignment this time than being on the front lines. A bit dicey, that, when the general's running the show. Not that he isn't the shrewdest bastard in the world, mind you, but he does insist on fighting."