“Sir, why do we use ships that can’t catch the enemy? We could clear out the Mare Internum in less than a year if we forced them to close with us.”
Prax smiled, seemingly delighted by the question. “Close with us? Oh, it happens, but they’re better seamen than we are, you know. There’s every chance they’ll ram and sink us before we can send our men over. Of course, if we can get the legionaries on their decks, the fight is won.”
He blew air out slowly through puffed cheeks as he tried to explain. “It’s more than just lighter, faster ships we need—though Rome won’t be sending funds to lay keels for them in my lifetime—it’s a professional crew to man the oars. Those three vertical banks they use so precisely, can you imagine what our muscular slaves would do with them? They’d be a splintered mess the first time we tried to hit our best speed. With our way, we don’t need to train experts, and from the point of view of the Senate we don’t need to pay salaries to them either. One sum to buy the slaves, and the ship practically runs herself thereafter. And we do sink a few of them, though there always seem to be more.”
“It just seems . . . frustrating at times,” Julius said. He wanted to say it was madness for the most powerful nation in the world to be outsailed by half the ships on the oceans, but Prax kept a reserve that prevented the comment, despite his friendliness. There was a line not to be crossed by a junior, though it was less obvious than with some.
“We are of the land, gentlemen, though some like myself come to love the sea in the end. The Senate sees our ships as transport to take our soldiers to fight on other lands, as we did recently at the fort. They may come to realize that it is as important to rule the waves, but as I said, not in my lifetime. In the meantime, Accipiter is a little heavy and slow, but so am I and she’s twice my age.”
Suetonius laughed dutifully, making Julius wince, but Prax seemed not to notice. Julius felt a breath of memory at Prax’s words. He remembered Tubruk had said something similar once, making him hold the dark earth of the estate in his hands and think of the generations that had fed it with their blood. It seemed a lifetime of experience away. His father had been alive then and Marius had still been a consul with a bright future. He wondered if someone was tending their graves. For a moment, the dark currents of worry that were always washing against his thoughts came to the surface. He reassured himself, as he always did, that Tubruk would look after Cornelia and his mother. He trusted no one else half as much as that man.
Prax stiffened slightly as his gaze swept the coast. His amiable expression disappeared, replaced by hardness.
“Get below and sound the call-out, Suetonius. I want every man on deck ready for action in five minutes.”
Wide-eyed, Suetonius saluted smartly and strode to the steep steps, climbing nimbly down. Julius looked where Prax pointed and he narrowed his eyes. On the coast, a pall of black smoke was rising into the morning air, almost unmoved by wind.
“Pirates, sir?” he asked quickly, guessing the answer.
Prax nodded. “Looks like they’ve raided a village. We may be able to catch them as they come away from shore. You could get your chance to ‘close’ with them, Caesar.”
* * *
Accipiter was stripped for action. Every loose piece of equipment was stowed away securely; the catapults were winched down and stones and oil prepared for firing. The legionaries gathered quickly and a picked team assembled the corvus, hammering iron spikes between the sections until the great boarding ramp was ready, standing high above the deck. When the holding ropes were released, it would fall outward onto the timbers of an enemy ship, embedding its holding spike immovably. Over it would come the best fighters on Accipiter, smashing into the pirates as fast as possible to make a space where the rest could jump on board. It was a perilous business, but after every action the places for those first over were hotly contested and changed hands in gambling games as a high stake in dreary months.
Below, the slave master called for double time and the oars moved in a more urgent rhythm. With the wind coming off the coast, the sail was dropped and reefed neatly. Swords were checked for cracks and nicks. Armor was tied tightly and a growing excitement could be felt on board, held down by the long-accustomed discipline.
The burning village was on the edge of a natural inlet, and they sighted the pirate ship as it cleared the rocky promontories and reached the open sea. Gaditicus ordered full attack speed to cut down the enemy’s room to maneuver as much as possible. Caught as they were against the coast, there was little the pirate ship could do to avoid Accipiter as she surged forward, and a cheer went up from the Romans, the boredom of slow travel from port to port disappearing in the freshening breeze.
Julius watched the enemy ship closely, thinking of the differences Prax had explained. He could see the triple columns of oars cut the choppy sea in perfect unison despite their differing lengths. She was taller and narrower than Accipiter and carried a long bronze spike off the prow that Julius knew could punch through even the heavy cedar planking of the Roman ships. Prax was right, the outcome was never certain, but there was no escape for this one. They would close and drop the corvus solidly, putting the finest fighting men in the world onto the enemy deck. He regretted that he hadn’t managed to secure a place for himself, but they had all been allocated since before the landing at Mytilene.
Lost in thought and anticipation as he was, he did not at first hear the sudden changes in the lookout calls. When he looked up, he took a step back from the rail without realizing it. There was another ship coming out of the inlet as they passed it in pursuit of the first. It was coming straight at them and Julius could see the ram emerge from the waves as it crashed through them at full speed, with sail taut and straining to aid the oarsmen. The bronze spike was at the waterline and the deck was filled with armed men, more than the swift pirates usually carried. He saw in a second that the smoke had been a ruse. It was a trap and they had sprung it neatly.
Gaditicus didn’t hesitate, taking in the threat and issuing orders to his officers without missing a beat.
“Increase the stroke to the third mark! They’ll go right by us,” he barked and the drummer below beat out his second fastest rhythm. The ramming speed above it could only be used in a brief burst before the slaves began to collapse, but even the slightly slower attack pace was a brutal strain. Hearts had torn before in battles, and when that happened, the body could foul the other rowers and put an entire oar out of sequence.
The first ship was quickly growing closer and Julius realized they had reversed oars and were moving into the attack. It had been a well-planned ruse to draw the Roman ship close to the shore. No doubt the chests of silver in the hold were the prize, but they would not be won easily.
“Fire catapults at the first ship on my order. . . . Now!” Gaditicus shouted, then followed the path of the rocks as they soared overhead.
The lookout at the prow called, “Two points down!” to the two teams, and the heavy weapons were moved quickly. Sturdy pegs under them were hammered through their holes and others placed to hold the new angle. All this as the winches were wound back once more, with legionaries sweating as they heaved against the tension of a rope of horsehair twice as thick as a man’s thigh.
The pirate vessel loomed as the catapults released again. This time, the porous stones were drenched in oil and burned as they curved toward the enemy trireme, leaving smoke trails in the air behind. They struck the enemy deck with cracks that could be heard on Accipiter, and the legionaries working the catapults cheered as they wound them back again.
The second trireme rushed toward them and Julius was sure the ram would spear Accipiter in the last few feet of her stern, leaving them unable to move or even counterattack by boarding. They would be picked off by arrow fire, pinned and helpless. As that thought struck him, he called to his men to bring up the shields to pass out. In boarding, they were more of a hindrance than a help, but with Accipiter caught between two ships that were moving into arrow
range, they would be needed desperately.
A few seconds later, arrows began to spit into the air from both of the enemy triremes. There was no order or aiming to them, just the steady firing high into the air with the hope of pinning a legionary under one of the long black shafts.
The ramming ship alone would have slid astern in clear seas, but obstructed from the front by the first trireme, Accipiter had to dodge, with all the oars on one side ordered to reverse. The strokes were clumsy, but it was faster than simply having them raised clear while the other side brought Accipiter round. It slowed them down, but Gaditicus had seen the need to head for the outside line, or he would be caught between the two ships as the second pulled alongside.
Accipiter crunched past the prow of the first trireme, shuddering as the speed fell off. Gaditicus had the slave master ready for the move, and belowdecks the oars were pulled in quickly. The professionals of the trireme were not fast enough. Accipiter snapped the beams in groups of three as she passed, each one smashing men into bloody pulps, deep in the heart of the enemy vessel.
Before the Roman ship had traveled more than half the length of the trireme’s oars, the bronze ram of the second smashed into Accipiter with the cracking roar of broken timbers. The whole ship groaned at the impact, like a living animal. The slaves below began to scream in a horrific chorus of terror. They were all chained to their benches, and if Accipiter went down, so did they.
Arrow fire cut into Accipiter’s deck, but there, if nowhere else, was the evidence of lack of army discipline. Julius thanked his luck that they hadn’t the training to fire volleys as he ducked under a shaft that whined nastily over his head. The shields protected the men from most of the shots, and then the heavy corvus was leaning out and over, seeming to hang in the air for a moment when the ropes were cut, then smashing down into the enemy deck, its spike holding it as solid as the retribution to come.
The first of the legionaries ran over the causeway, smashing into those who waited, yelling defiance at them. The usual advantage of numbers was gone against either of the two attacking ships. Both seemed packed with fighters, their armor and weapons a mixture of old and new from the whole of the coastal ports.
Julius found Cabera at his side, his usual smile missing. The old man had taken up a dagger and shield, but otherwise wore his habitual robe, which Gaditicus had allowed as long as it was checked for lice twice a month.
“Better to stay with you than down in the dark, I think,” Cabera muttered as he took in the unfolding chaos. Both ducked suddenly under their stiff wooden shields as arrows hummed past them. One shaft struck near Julius’s hand, rocking him back. He whistled softly as he saw the barbed head had come through.
Heavy bronze hooks clattered onto the planking, trailing writhing coils. Men began to leap onto Accipiter’s decks and the noise of battle sounded all around, clashing swords and shouts of triumph and despair.
Julius saw Suetonius spread his men out in a line to meet the attackers. Quickly, he ordered his twenty in to support, though he suspected they would have run in without him if he had been slow. There could be no surrender with Accipiter holed, and every man there knew it. Their attacks were ferocious in their intensity and the first over the corvus cleared the decks before them, ignoring wounds.
Cabera stayed with him as he moved in to engage, and Julius felt comfort from his presence, reminding him of other battles they had survived together. Perhaps the old healer was a good-luck charm, he thought, and then he was moving into the arc of enemy blades and cutting them down without conscious will, his body moving in rhythms that Renius had taught him year after hard year.
Julius ducked under a hatchet and shoved the wielder when he was off balance, sending him sprawling by the feet of Pelitas, who stamped hard without thinking, in the legionary’s classic battlefield reaction. If it’s upright, cut it down. If it’s down, stamp it flat.
The corvus was packed with soldiers as they jostled and shoved to get over. They were an easy target for archers, and Julius could see a group of bowmen against the far rail of the trireme taking shots when they could see through their own men. It was devastatingly effective fire at that short range, and more than a dozen legionaries went down before those on board cut the archers apart like so much wheat, in a bloody frenzy. Julius nodded with pleasure as he saw it. He felt the same hatred for archers that all legionaries felt who had known the terror and frustration of their long-range attacks.
The second trireme had backed oars and pulled almost free of Accipiter, the damage done. Gaditicus watched them maneuver as he held back units to repel their assault when it came. The situation was changing too rapidly to predict, though he did know the pirates couldn’t stand off. Accipiter could be sinking, but she would not begin to settle for minutes more and the legionaries could yet fight their way clear onto the other trireme, taking command there. It wasn’t impossible that they could salvage some sort of victory if they had an hour and were left alone, which is why he knew there would be another attack as soon as the second ship could clear its ram and bring its fighters close enough to board. He swore to himself as the last cracking timber sounded and the sharp prow pulled away from Accipiter, with the new orders to their oarsmen shouted quickly in what sounded like a mixture of Greek and dog Latin.
Gaditicus sent his remaining reserve of soldiers to the other side of Accipiter, guessing they would board on the opposite side to split the defenders. It was a sensible move and served its purpose, though if the first trireme could be taken quickly enough, then all his men could be brought to repel the new attack and the day might not be lost. Gaditicus clenched his fist over the hilt of his gladius in what he knew was useless indignation. Should he have expected them to meet him fairly and be cut to pieces by his soldiers? They were thieves and beggars, after the silver in his holds, and it felt as if small dogs were bringing down the Roman wolf. His hand shook with emotion as he saw the bank of oars pulled in on one side and the second trireme scull toward his beloved ship. He could still hear the screaming of the slaves below in a constant chorus of terror that wore at his nerves.
Julius took a blow on his armor and grunted as he reversed his sword through a man’s face. Before he could take in his position, a bearded giant stepped toward him. Julius felt a touch of fear as he saw the enormous height and shoulders of the warrior carrying a weighty metalworker’s hammer that was stained red with blood and hair. The man’s teeth were bared and he bellowed as he brought the weapon over his shoulder in a downward blow. Julius backed away, bringing his arm up to parry in reflex. He felt the bones of his wrist snap from the impact and cried out in pain.
Cabera darted quickly between them and sank his dagger into the man’s neck, but the warrior only roared and brought the hammer back round to sweep the frail healer away. Julius reached for his own dagger with his left hand, trying to ignore the agony of grating bones. He felt dizzy and suddenly detached, but the enormous man was still dangerous, though blood fountained from the neck wound.
The bull-like figure staggered erect and swung again in blind pain. The hammer connected solidly with Julius’s head with a dull crack, and he collapsed. Blood pooled slowly from his nose and ears as the fight went on around him.
CHAPTER 5
Brutus took a deep breath of clean mountain air as he looked back at their pursuers. With Greece spread out below them and the slopes covered with tiny purple blooms lifting a rich scent into the wind, it seemed wrong to be dwelling on death and revenge. Yet, as Renius had predicted, the group of riders contained at least one good tracker, and over the last five days they had remained doggedly on their trail despite a number of attempts to lose them.
Renius sat on a mossy rock nearby with his shoulder stump exposed, rubbing grease into the scarred flesh, as he did every morning. Brutus felt guilty each time he saw it, remembering the fight in the training yard of Julius’s estate. He thought he could even remember the blow that had severed the nerves of the arm, but there was no calling it
back after all this time. Though the flesh had formed a pink pad of callus, raw patches would appear that needed to be salved. The only real relief came when Renius was forced to leave the leather cap off and let the air get to the skin, but he hated the curious looks it brought and shoved the cap back on whenever he could.
“They’re getting closer,” Brutus said. He didn’t need to explain; the five men following had been in both their thoughts ever since first sighting them.
The sun-hammered beauty of the mountains concealed a poor soil that attracted few farmers. The only signs of life were the small figures of the hunters making their slow way up. Brutus knew they could not stay ahead of horses for much longer, and as soon as they reached the plains below, the Romans would be run down and killed. Both of them were approaching exhaustion and the last of the dry food had gone that morning.
Brutus eyed the vegetation that clung to life on the craggy slopes, wondering if any of it was edible. He’d heard of soldiers eating the singing crickets that haunted each tuft and clump of grass, but it wouldn’t be worth it to catch one at a time. They couldn’t go another day without food, and their waterskins were less than half full. Gold coins still filled his belt pouch, but the nearest Roman city was more than a hundred miles away across the Thessaly plain and they’d never make it. The future looked bleak unless Renius could come up with an idea, but the old gladiator was silent, apparently content to while away an hour rubbing his stump. As Brutus watched, Renius pulled one of the dark flowers and squeezed its juice onto the hairy pad that hung from his shoulder. The old gladiator was always testing herbs for their soothing effect, but as usual, he sniffed with disappointment and let the broken petals fall out of his good hand.
Renius’s calm expression suddenly infuriated Brutus. With a pair of horses under them, the pursuers from the village would never have come close. It was not in Renius’s nature to regret past decisions, but every pace gained on the footsore Romans made Brutus grunt in irritation.
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