Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  “There!” I recognized Motius’ voice, and I turned to see where he was pointing, but despite looking in that direction, I still did not see it for several heartbeats.

  Once I did, I understood why it was difficult to see, and it came from a couple of causes. The first was what I mentioned, that rather than being flat, the surface of the sea is more like a gently rolling terrain of small hills, one after the other, the difference being that the hills are constantly moving. The second, and ultimately the one that gave us our first warning of trouble, was that the sail was not the white of a new sail, the dirty gray of an old one, or even a brown one as some leather sails are. It was a muted color; I can only describe it is as a greenish-gray, but what mattered was its effect, because it blended almost perfectly with the water surrounding it.

  Walking over to Cador and Motius, I said aloud, “I know that none of the ships in our fleet had a sail that color. Do you recognize it?”

  They exchanged a glance, but it was Cador who answered first.

  “While I do not recognize that particular sail by the color, Centurion, I can tell you by the cut of it that it is not from a ship belonging to any of the Gallic tribes.”

  “How can that be?” I asked, puzzled.

  After all, I reasoned, we were heading south, this ship was coming from that direction, and the nearest land in that direction was somewhere in Gaul, so it made sense to me that it had be some tribe. Maybe, I thought suddenly, we’re just farther west than either of them thought we were.

  It was left to Motius to answer, “The only ships that use a sail of that color are ships that do not want to be seen, Centurion. By blending in, they can approach closer, like they have here.”

  All I can say in my defense is that I had never heard the word “pirates” roaming anywhere near the Germanic or Gallic coast, so it took longer for this to register than it should have, although still I was not all that worried; yes, I had two under-strength Centuries, but I felt certain that simply arraying some of them on the deck armored and with their shields would dissuade the most ambitious pirate ship.

  “Another sail!” Then, even before we could react, “Two more!”

  I know that is pointless to speculate, but given what lay in the future, I have wondered if we had the mast and the ability to see farther that the height of it gave us, if we could have come up with something a bit better than what we were forced to do. Before a count of fifty could elapse, we were confronted by six ships, arrayed in a semicircular arc that, putting it simply, had us outflanked on both sides and blocked our path, but it was Motius who reacted quickest.

  “Hard about! Brace yourself!” He was shouting this even as he threw himself against the steering oar, and the rear of the ship slewed sideways. To Cador, he bellowed, “Tell Mandus full speed rhythm, now!”

  I cannot fault how quickly Cador moved, vanishing below even as I was forced to grab the railing that lined the upper deck as I felt the ship tilting under my feet. It took a couple of heartbeats for the sudden shift in direction at the stern to start swinging the bow around as we began our attempt to escape, and once it felt a bit steadier, I hurried over to Motius.

  “What do you want us to do? Should I arm the men and make them ready to repel boarders?”

  He looked at me in surprise.

  “Have any of your men fought from shipboard, Centurion?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “It is not the same as a fight on land,” he explained, although his eyes never left what I took to be the most proximate threats, the two ships that had been to our most immediate right, or to the west who were only then beginning to react to our sudden turn in their direction. “If you armor your men, they are as likely to go down to the bottom when they try to leap onto their ships. Do they know how to fight without it?” My initial reaction was to snarl at him that of course they knew how to fight no matter whether they wore their segmentata or not, but Motius was not through. “Those shields you carry are too big as well. There is just not enough room.”

  There was another lurch then, but I had heard the sudden increase of the Hortator’s drum an instant before, so I was prepared for the resulting acceleration. The pause gave me time to consider Motius’ words, and while I did not like it, I could not deny that he was right; my men would be willing to fight, but at what cost to them? I had already lost a fair number against Arminius, and while I prayed that our wounded had made it through the storm and might even be safely back at Ubiorum, I was faced with the idea of having to rebuild two Centuries from just a handful of survivors.

  “Then what can we do?”

  “I have an idea,” he replied quickly. “But first, we need to try and get some space.”

  Because of our relatively low vantage point, I could only see the sails, but I was informed by Motius that the ships pursuing us had at most two banks of oars. Under normal conditions, this would have given us an advantage, for the simple reason that three banks of oars are better than two, but this was where the loss of our mast negated that advantage. Thankfully, Motius’ almost instantaneous reaction seemed to have caught what we assumed were pirates by surprise judging by how the bow of our ship suddenly seemed pointed at a spot outside the oncoming path of the outermost ship.

  Encouraged by this, I commented, “It looks like we’ll be able to outrun them.”

  The look he gave me was scornfully amused, and he shook his head.

  “No, Centurion, I have bought us some time, but that is all. They are going to catch us before nightfall.”

  It was not so much that I doubted him, because just in the short watches of our deeper association, he had impressed me, but I could not hide my skepticism.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Rather than respond verbally, he pointed directly ahead, but I mistook his intent, because I looked beyond the prow of the ship, and seeing only water, I shook my head.

  “We have no mast, Centurion,” he said quietly. “And no matter how hard we whip those slaves below, they are men, and they will tire. And,” he allowed, “the same is true for our pursuers, but…”

  “They have sails and the wind at their backs,” I groaned, and Motius simply nodded as he kept his eye on the nearest ship, which was now off our left side, and to my inexpert eye, it appeared as if the bow of their ship was more or less even with our stern.

  Now that I understood, I saw that he was right. As matters stood, this ship, the one closest to us, could close on us or keep up with us, but could not do both. By closing the gap to get closer to us side by side, they would end up what I could only guess would be several furlongs behind us. Motius had chosen to flee in a direction where only part of the force of six vessels even had a chance to catch us…until our crew became exhausted. It was as I was thinking about this that it came to me, so I walked closer to Motius to offer my idea because there were too many of my men still up on deck, and although their attention was on our pursuers, I still did not want to risk it. He listened attentively, but his reaction was not what I anticipated; no, I did not expect him to shout for joy and hail me as Imperator, but I was not prepared for him to only rub his chin, frowning in thought.

  “That,” he finally said, “sounds like it might work,” I was about to make my own demonstration of triumph, but he continued, “if we had time to practice it a few times. But we do not.”

  This exhausted my patience, and I snapped, “Then you better come up with a better idea, Motius, or you won’t have to worry about those fucking pirates.”

  Oh, he did not like that, but the look of anger he gave me lasted for less than a heartbeat before he nodded and said, “No, you are right, Centurion. It is our best chance. But,” he looked up and gave me a sardonic smile, “you are going to have to be the one to figure out how to make it work.”

  It should come as no surprise that the first person I turned to was Alex.

  Our only chance for escape was to make it until dark, then we could change our direction and slip away, but the
challenge was making it to that moment. Even if they had not been slaves, and even if they had been well-fed and well-rested, it was simply beyond their capacity to row at full speed for two full watches. My men would not be effective in the kind of fighting that we would have to face, although I knew that if we had no choice, they would account for themselves. Frankly, I was the one unwilling to put my men in that position because I knew I would lose so many of them, understanding Motius was correct in his assessment about their effectiveness aboard ship. However, we could still use that manpower. Sixteen rows on each side, three oars per row, and a man on every oar, with the lowest row with two because of the angle, meaning one hundred twenty-eight men, and despite both Centuries being understrength and our injuries from the storm, we had the numbers. The challenge was how to replace men who were rowing at an accelerated pace without risking the kind of thing I witnessed during the storm, because, while it may not be quite as catastrophic as allowing the ship to turn sideways to a towering wave, it was not much better since, in simple terms, we could not afford to slow down. To discuss what I had in mind, I called every officer from both Centuries to the cabin, making it very cramped, but they all quickly understood the urgency and the importance of the task.

  “We’re going to have to replace the slaves with our boys,” I cut right to the matter. “But we can’t afford to stop rowing because we don’t have a mast. Whoever these cunni are, they have the same problem with their rowers becoming exhausted…”

  “But they’ll still catch us because they have their sails,” Columella interjected glumly, and while I was irritated at the interruption, I refrained from chastising him for the simple reason that he was right.

  “How many of the men figured this out?” I asked instead.

  “It’s all they’re talking about down below, Pilus Prior,” Herennius offered, and the others who had been below nodded their agreement.

  My first reaction was that this was bad news, but then I hesitated before I continued speaking; seeing their expressions and knowing they needed to hear something, I spoke slowly as the thought formed, “That might not be a bad thing, actually.”

  “How so?” Saloninus frowned. “They’re down there getting ready for a fight, and putting on their armor…”

  This caused me to react instantly, but while my first instinct was to dispatch Saloninus, it was because I still thought of him as my Optio.

  Instead, I turned to Gemellus, knowing how the Signifer of the First Century was viewed by the men, and ordered, “Go to the main compartment and stop them from putting on their armor.”

  Gemellus naturally responded immediately by reaching for the door, but then Saloninus stopped him to ask me, “What about their balteae? Should they be armed at least?”

  I was inclined to say yes, and clearly Alex saw and understood that because he asked me, “Pilus Prior, wouldn’t that hamper them sitting on the benches?”

  As he normally is, Alex was correct, and I added this to my internal list of things where I had erred, but I addressed Gemellus as my way of answering.

  “Tell them they stay in tunics with only their pugio attached to their balteae.”

  Gemellus disappeared, and we returned to the matter at hand, trying to figure out a way to do what we had to do, all of us acutely aware that the moment was rapidly approaching. Above us, we could hear Motius shouting what I presumed were orders in his tongue, while the Hortator maintained the steady drumbeat that was the only thing keeping us out of even graver danger. I would not describe it as an argument, but it was a spirited discussion, and this was one time where I did not feel the need to impose my authority; frankly, I needed all the ideas I could get. Finally, however, we came to a consensus about what had the best chance of working.

  “I’ll go tell Motius what his crew needs to do,” I ended the meeting, “and you go get the men ready.”

  When I climbed up onto the rear upper deck, I immediately saw that at least two of the other ships of the six pursuing us had managed to close with us to the point where they were perhaps three ship lengths behind the vessel leading the pursuit, which was still the same distance to our left, but it seemed to me as if the prow of their ship was now slightly ahead of our stern.

  Motius saw where I was looking and obviously understood. “The amount they have gained is because of their sails, Centurion. It is not much at this speed, but every bit of it helps them. Now,” he asked grimly, “what have you decided to do? How will your men replace ours?”

  I explained briefly, and I was encouraged that he nodded thoughtfully, although his gaze never wavered from the sea ahead of us; only later did I learn that he feared that we were being driven into an ambush by other pirate ships waiting for us.

  When he spoke, it was only to say, “That should work, but I suggest that you reverse it, and start with the men on the top row first.”

  “Why?” I was not being argumentative, and he did not seem to take it that way, replying simply, “Because they will be the easiest, while the angle of the oars on the lowest row put the blades closer to the ship. That is why the bottom row requires two men, but one man can handle a couple of strokes by himself.”

  I offer this as an example of two men understanding the problem but arriving at two different conclusions, because we had in fact discussed that very thing, and we agreed that the lowest row would be the most difficult, which was why we wanted to start with it, whereas Motius clearly felt the most difficult should be done last. While I am certainly not as experienced as my father was, I have been under the standard long enough to recognize that there is often no right or wrong answer as far as how one approached a problem of this nature. Ultimately, I trusted Motius, or I should say his experience, although I only nodded.

  I had taken a step towards the ladder, when he probably saved us by asking, “How are you going to do it?”

  “One bench at a time, down one side then the other.”

  The words were barely out of my mouth when I saw the alarm on his face, and he almost shouted, “No, Centurion! That would be the worst way!”

  Before another ten heartbeats elapsed as he explained why, I recognized that Motius was right in speaking this way to me, because it would have been a disaster.

  “We’re going to start at the bow, but we’re going to start with the top row first, and we’re not going to do one side of the ship then the other. Instead, we’re going to replace the two men on the first bench on either side of the walkway, then the second and do it that way.”

  I was slightly surprised that nobody objected, but now it was time to implement it, and we filed out of the cabin as I led the way. The beating of the Hortator’s drum meant I had to bellow as if we were in battle, which I suppose we were, just not in a way any of us had ever experienced. It only required a quick glance at the men on the benches, all of them drenched with sweat, their faces lined with the fatigue of their efforts, and despite myself, I felt a deep sympathy for these slaves, even if they were rowing for their own lives as much as for ours, given that slaves of a captured ship are at best likely to remain slaves, and almost as likely to be killed because they are too many mouths to feed at sea. All of the hammocks had been unhooked from their fastening on the walkway side and now were draped down the side of the ship in between the oar holes, but even with these out of the way, there was still our baggage, in the form of packs and shields. Most of the cargo in a trireme, at least with those that transported us, is stored in the center of the ship directly under the walkway, not only to keep it out of the way, but also to help balance the ship. Unfortunately, carrying two Centuries, even understrength, meant that not every man’s pack could be kept out of the way, but this was something we could not do anything about.

  We had decided that my men of the First would be replacing the slaves on the left side, and the Second the other side, so Saloninus and I were standing side by side on the walkway at the bow. It was left to Columella to call the name of one the Second’s men to come forward, while
Mus filled that role as part of my ongoing test of him. When I heard who Mus and Columella chose to come to the bow first, I saw that they had either independently or agreed to do it in the simplest manner possible, starting with the Sergeant of the First Section of both. In the First, it was Marcus Minucius, who I had recently promoted, and Tiberius Vitruvius with the Second. When they reached us, Saloninus and I remained standing, while quickly explaining to our respective Sergeants what was expected of them. Minucius’ tunic was already darkened with sweat, although thankfully, it was not that warm, so I knew it was not from the heat. The method we had come up with was to give our men three strokes of time to watch, understand what they needed to do, and on the fourth they would move. It had to be at the right moment, and that moment comes when there is a brief, barely perceptible pause when the oarsman has pulled his oar back to his chest, then thrusts the shaft downward to clear it from the water before extending his arms to repeat the stroke. Given the speed we were going, I do not think the pause was even a full heartbeat, but this was really our only opportunity to replace the rower without running the risk of disrupting the rhythm and lowering our speed, or worse, clash oars with the lower rows.

  When I glanced over at Saloninus, he nodded that he had explained the process to Vitruvius, then we called out the count, as both of our men crouched next to us on the walkway. The slaves had been alerted of what was coming by the man who served as the chief guard, Malorix, another Gaul whose only feature that distinguished him from the slaves was the rusty gladius hanging from his baltea on one side and the cudgel he liked to hold, tapping one hand with it as he wandered back and forth, snarling at the oarsmen. At least, this was what we had been told by Malorix since we did not speak their tongue, but judging from the reaction of the slave on my side, if the guard had done so, he had done a horrible job, and only the gods know how it did not turn out to be a disaster. When Minucius dropped down, reaching for the shaft of the oar, the slave let out a cry of alarm, clearly surprised, despite the fact that he had been eyeing us even as he rowed during the time we were preparing. If that was all he did, it would have not been an issue, but Minucius dropped onto the footboard that the oarsmen use for leverage to pull their oars so that he was standing facing the slave, but on the opposite side of the shaft. The slave should have simply slid off the bench towards the main walkway, dropping down to the beam that served as the narrower walkway for the men on that tier, while Minucius swung around and slid into the man’s place as he was thrusting his arms forward before dropping the oar back into the water. Instead, he shoved himself straight backward, trying to extract himself and, from what I gathered, attempting to get away from Minucius, who he apparently thought was coming to harm him. By doing this, he fell backward, and would have landed on the oarsman on the second tier whose bench was staggered just below him, and that would have created another set of problems. Fortunately, although probably not surprisingly, that slave had been paying attention, and he somehow managed to lean out of the way, avoiding being struck by the first slave’s falling body; what was even more important was that Minucius was able to thrust his oar into the water with all of the other oarsmen without disrupting the rhythm.