‘Yes, sir.’ The trierarch saluted and made his way aft to the main hatch and descended below deck to urge his men on.
Cato turned his attention back to the two masts edging ahead of the Sobek on the other side of the headland. They would soon be abreast of the watchtower and then reach the open sea and make their escape. The Roman ships would attempt a pursuit, but barring a miracle Ajax and his men would get away, Cato realised bitterly.
A faint movement attracted his attention and he saw a thin dark smudge in the air above the watchtower. There was a brief eddy of smoke and then it settled into a steady trail, climbing into the clear sky. Cato frowned at this new development, but Macro and his men were safe enough now that the enemy was on the run. They could afford to let the tower burn. But even as he was thinking this, Cato realised that the smoke was too localised. A moment later there was a bright flare and a thin trail of smoke arced out from the top of the tower towards the two ships approaching from inside the bay. Another trail quickly followed the first before Cato realised what was happening.
‘Bolt throwers.’ He smiled to himself. ‘Macro’s using incendiaries. Clever bastard.’
Macro kept up a steady stream of flaming bolts as the enemy vessels approached, and then there was a dark swirl of smoke from over the headland and Cato saw that the ships had changed course, forced to give the headland a wide berth to avoid the weapons shooting at them from the watchtower. One vessel was already alight. Cato gripped the rail of the turret as he continued to watch. Beneath his feet he detected the faintest of lurches as the men at the oars made one last effort. By the time the trierarch had returned to the bows, the point was in sight and Cato knew that the contest was over. Forced aside by Macro, Ajax and his ships could not reach the open sea in time to make a clear escape.
‘We’ll have them, sir.’ The trierarch grinned.
‘So it seems,’ Cato replied as calmly as he could manage. ‘Have the marines stand to.’
The headland dipped down to a small sandy spit at the edge of the turquoise sea and the Sobek continued a short distance beyond before the triearch ordered the steersman to turn directly into the bay. From the turret Cato had a clear view of the two vessels making towards him, less than quarter of a mile away. To the right was the ship Ajax had seized when he fled from Crete. The other was the Thoth, from which smoke billowed from a fire raging amidships. Several men were drawing buckets from the sea and attempting to dowse the flames that threatened the ship. Even so, the crew stuck to their oars and the ship ploughed on, water surging over the ram and down her sides. Cato strained his eyes to see if he could spot Ajax on either ship. There was too much smoke and too many figures dashing around the deck of the Thoth to be certain of picking out a single man and he concentrated his attention on the other ship. A handful of archers stood in the turret on the foredeck and more armed men waited on the main deck. Then, as the distance rapidly closed, Cato saw a figure push his way through to the bows, tall and broad and wearing a decorated black cuirass and a brilliantly polished helmet with a black crest of billowing feathers.
‘Ajax,’ Cato whispered to himself. His heart hardened pitilessly as he beheld the rebel slave who was the cause of so much death and suffering. Cato thought fitfully of Julia and the humiliation she had suffered at the gladiator’s hands. His fists clenched hard as he gave his order to Phermon.
‘We’ll take the ship on the right. Let the other one burn.’
‘Aye, sir.’ The trierarch cupped a hand to his mouth and turned aft. ‘Steersman! Make for the starboard vessel!’
The steersman leaned into his tiller and the ship came round and steadied on a course bow to bow with the oncoming vessel. Cato stared at Ajax, and then slipped his hand down to the pommel of his sword. It was a shame that Macro was not at his side to take his share of the long-awaited revenge, thought Cato. He had little doubt that Ajax and his lieutenants would far sooner go down fighting than be captured and suffer a lingering and humiliating death by crucifixion.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ a voice called and Cato looked round as a marine climbed into the turret, clutching a bow and a quiver filled with arrows. Two more men joined him and Cato moved to one side to give them room. On the enemy ship he could see Ajax’s bowman fitting arrows to their strings before they aimed their bows high as the two ships ploughed towards each other across the tranquil surface of the bay. They loosed off the first volley of arrows and Cato watched impassively as the tiny specks swept up, high into the air, then seemed to pause briefly before plummeting down towards the Sobek. Most struck the water, twenty or so paces in front of the bow, disappearing with a faint plop and glittering spout of water. One struck the strake at the front of the ship with a loud crack and the flights trembled for a moment before they were still. The next shots would be in range, Cato knew.
‘Shall we shoot back, sir?’ asked one of the marines.
‘No. Save it for when you can’t miss.’ Cato leaned forward and called down to the legionaries crowded together beside the turret. ‘Men! Shields up!’
He glanced back over his shoulder. The next Roman ship was rounding the headland and the rest were close behind as they struggled to keep up with Cato’s vessel. The crew of the burning enemy vessel saw that escape was impossible and they turned away from the approaching warships, back across the bay in what seemed a futile bid to escape their pursuers.
A series of cracks snapped Cato’s attention back to Ajax’s ship. The second volley of arrows had struck home, sticking into the foredeck, the bows of the ship and two of the shields held up by the legionaries. Mercifully no one had been killed or injured. The oncoming ship was now no more than a hundred paces away and Cato could see Ajax and his men clearly as they readied their weapons.
‘We’ll take them on the starboard side!’ the trierarch called to the steersman, who made a small adjustment so that the Sobek edged fractionally away from the other ship’s ram. ‘Stand by for collison!’
Cato grasped the rail of the turret and braced his feet on the deck. All around him the other members of the crew hurriedly prepared for the impact. There was a last flurry of arrows from the enemy ship and a cry of pain as a barbed point tore through the neck of one of the archers standing in the turret. Cato spared the man a quick glance and saw him crumple on to the floor of the turret, blood gushing from a severed artery. There was nothing that could be done for him and Cato looked forward again.
‘Ship oars!’ Phermon bellowed and there was a frantic clatter and rumble as the crew fed them back into the hull.
The flared tip of the ram caught the enemy ship on the bow and there was a jarring crash as men stumbled forward. Both rams had struck glancing blows and now the ships began to pass alongside each other. The enemy commander had failed to give the order to ship oars and with a series of sharp shattering sounds the oars on the starboard side were smashed to splinters as the Sobek’s bow ground along the length of the enemy ship.
‘Lower the corvus!’ Cato shouted down to the decurion of marines. ‘Quickly, man!’
The marines hurriedly recovered their balance and began to swing the boarding device out and over the enemy deck. The archers in the bow were directed towards the danger by their commander and they hurriedly loosed off their arrows at the marines. Unable to defend themselves while they manoeuvred the corvus into position, they were vulnerable to enemy missiles and two were struck down in quick succession as the arrows whirred across the deck. A moment later Cato saw another man cry out as his arm was pierced through.
‘Release!’ the decurion yelled as soon as the iron point was over the enemy’s deck. His men let go of the rope and it shot up towards the pulley as the gangway arced down. The renegades dived aside to avoid being crushed, or impaled, and with a deep thud the spike pierced the deck. There was a jolt and a groan as the stout wooden peg at the base of the corvus took the strain from the remaining momentum of both ships.
‘Boarding party away!’ the decurion called out as he drew his sw
ord and scurried across the gangway towards the enemy deck. His men rushed after him, shields raised and swords drawn and ready. The enemy archers loosed more arrows, most of which struck the wooden hoardings that protected the men as they crossed from the Sobek. A few arrows overshot, and missed the ship and crew entirely.
Cato turned to the archers in the turret and pointed out their opposite numbers. ‘Shoot those men down!’
The marines hastily notched their arrows, drew back the strings as they aimed, paused and then released their fingers, sending their arrows whipping through the air towards Ajax’s men. Cato nodded with savage satisfaction as he saw two arrows strike one of the enemy archers and send him sprawling on to his back.
‘Good work!’ He thumped his fist on the rail. ‘Keep it up.’
Leaving them to their business, he jumped down on to the deck and snatched up the oval marine shield he had taken from the Sobek’s stores. He turned to the legionaries standing ready on the main deck.
‘Follow me. Take prisoners if you can.’
Cato stepped up on to the gangway and strode forward. There were still a few of the marines at the far end, waiting for space to jump down on to the deck of the other ship. The air was filled with the sharp ring and rasp of blade on blade, together with the thuds of blows blocked by shields. A few men, their blood up, shouted their challenges. Cato flinched as an iron arrowhead burst through the hoarding at his side, but he continued forward, head hunched down to provide a minimal target to enemy archers still shooting from the foredeck. He came up against the back of a marine and glanced past to see that there was no one in front of him. Beyond, the deck of the other vessel was packed with men locked in a vicious melee.
‘Move on!’ Cato ordered. ‘Get into the fight!’
The marine glanced back and nodded anxiously before he clambered down from the gangway and pushed his way into the throng. Cato stepped forward and paused briefly to get his bearings. His eyes swept over the seething mass of men, glittering helmets and swords, and splatters of blood. Then he saw the black crest of Ajax’s helmet close to the mast as the gladiator hacked at the shield of a marine. The blows drove the man down, then Ajax kicked the shield aside and drove his sword into the marine’s face.
An icy tremble of fear gripped Cato’s spine but he forced himself forward, on to the deck, and began to push his way towards the mast. ‘Legionaries, on me!’
The burly soldiers forced their way to his side as Cato stepped over a body, and then a space opened ahead of him. A swarthy easterner with long hair tied back stood in his path, a bloodied axe in one hand and a curved dagger in the other. As soon as his eyes fixed on Cato he sprang forward with a snarl, raising his axe. Cato raised his shield and took the blow on the upper rim. The impact drove through the metal trim and cut deep into the wood. The shock of the blow jolted Cato’s left shoulder. Before he could strike back, the renegade wrenched the axe free and, at the same time, swung his left hand round, towards Cato’s unguarded side. The blade punched into the scale armour and glanced downward, ripping through a fold in Cato’s tunic.
‘My turn,’ Cato said through gritted teeth, thrusting his shield forward. The boss caught the man in the ribs, driving the air from his lungs with a gasp. Cato followed it up with a thrust from his sword. Even though he was winded, the renegade nimbly side-stepped the blow and stood, axe raised and knife held ready, as he struggled to breathe. Then one of the other renegades stumbled into his side, and Cato’s opponent was knocked off balance. As he tried to regain his footing Cato charged forward, catching him with his shield and driving him back until his heel caught on a body and the renegade fell on to the deck. Cato drove the tip of his sword down into the man’s stomach, and then slammed the bottom edge of his shield on to his throat, crushing the windpipe.
Pulling his blade free, he moved on. Cato glanced quickly to both sides and saw that the legionaries were following up on his flanks. Many of Ajax’s men were tough but lacked battle training, and were no match for professional soldiers. The attackers had cleared the aft of the ship and now the fight stretched in a rough line across the deck. Step by step Ajax and his men were being driven back towards the bow. Not one of them threw down his weapons and asked for quarter, Cato noted.
He saw the black crest again, no more than ten feet from where he stood, and stepped forward, blocking a thrust with his shield. The man snatched his sword back and tried again, only to have the legionary to Cato’s left smash the blade towards the deck with his sword. Then, swinging the point up in a vicious arc, he stabbed the man in the stomach, cutting deep into his vitals.
There was no time to do more than nod his thanks as Cato thrust a man aside with his shield and then he was face to face with Ajax. The gladiator was wearing a Roman helmet with large cheekguards that obscured much of his face. Dark stubble covered his chin and jowls and his large dark eyes widened as he lunged forward to attack the Roman officer. The edge of his sword swept down towards Cato’s head and Cato threw the edge of the shield up to block the blow. Just as the gladiator had expected. The descending sword swept out to the side and cut round, glancing off Cato’s shoulder. The change in direction had taken some of the power from the blow, but it still struck Cato hard enough to drive him off balance and numb his arm and fingers so that his grasp of the shield handle loosened.
‘Shit...’ Cato lowered himself and leading with his numbed shoulder he sprang forward into the back of the shield, carrying it against the gladiator. The man was solidly built and rode with the blow as he absorbed the impact. Then he locked his buckler around the edge of the shield and wrenched it aside. Cato just had time to recover and step back as the other man’s sword swished past his face. For an instant, Ajax’s right arm was carried on by the momentum of the slashing cut and Cato took his chance and thrust his weapon, catching his opponent in the upper arm and opening up a good ten inches of flesh and muscle. Ajax roared with pain and anger and hacked at Cato with the backswing. There was just time to duck and Cato struck again, into the knee this time, splintering bones and cutting through ligaments. Ajax toppled away from Cato on to his side and one of the legionaries sprang forward and thrust down, deep into the gladiator’s armpit. Cato heard a rib snap and a loud grunt escaped Ajax’s lips as the blade pierced his lungs and heart. His body stiffened for a moment and then slumped forward, face down. The legionary placed his boot on the back of the cuirass and pulled his blade free and moved on to find his next opponent.
Cato stood and stared at the body, unbelieving. His enemy was dead. The hunt was over. But not quite. He shook himself out of his stupor and looked round the deck. Bodies lay sprawled across the planking, and pools and splatters of blood stained the pine timbers. Only a handful of the renegades remained, crammed into the angle of the bow, fighting on like maniacs as they shouted their defiance into the faces of the marines and legionaries.
Cato opened his mouth to speak but it was too dry and his voice caught awkwardly. He swallowed, licked his lips and tried again. ‘Fall back! Romans, fall back!’
Most of the marines and legionaries heard the command and obediently stepped away from the enemy. A handful, carried away by their bloodlust, continued until they were pulled back by comrades. The decurion had to whack the flat of his sword on the helmet of the last of his marines to get the man’s attention. There was a final thud of a sword striking a shield and then only the sound of rapid breathing, and the moans and cries of the wounded.
‘Clear the way!’ Cato shouted and the men between him and the survivors of the ship’s crew parted. He pointed his sword at the body of Ajax. ‘Your leader is dead. Throw down your weapons and surrender!’
There was a brief pause and one of the renegades laughed, and thrust his sword into the air. ‘Long live Ajax! Death to Rome!’
His companions took up the chant. Cato watched them coldly, waiting for them to fall silent. But they continued cheering and he looked towards the decurion. ‘Finish them!’
The decurion nod
ded, adjusted his grip on his shield and sword and then spat on to the deck. ‘Marines! Advance!’
They closed ranks again, grim-faced and merciless, and paced towards the last of the renegades on the ship. The latter stopped cheering and braced themselves for their final moments, determined to kill as many Romans as they could before they were wiped out.
It was swiftly over as the marines advanced, shield to shield, swords poised to stab out as they closed with the enemy. There was an uneven rattle of blows against the wall of shields, a clatter of blades and the cries of the wounded, and one last shout of ‘Long live Ajax!’ and then quiet. The marines, spattered with blood, stood over the tangle of bodies in the bow. Cato sighed wearily as he removed his helmet and mopped his brow. The slave rebellion that had begun in Crete was finally over. There were no loose ends to tie up, save the small matter of taking the other ship that was still ablaze as it made for the mangroves on the far side of the bay. They were cut off from the sea and there would be no escape for them once the other Roman warships cornered them against the mangroves.
The Legion Page 10
