Their oversight did not matter, thought Romulus, staring back at the slaughter. Wild panic had now replaced Caesar's men's earlier courage. Disregarding their officers' orders, they fought and scrambled to escape. He pointed at a trireme second from the quay. 'That one is going to sink.'
Raising a hand to his eyes, the legionary swore. 'Caesar's on it!' he cried. 'Damn the filthy Egyptians to Hades.'
Romulus squinted into the light, finally seeing the general amid the throng. Despite the shouts of the trierarch — the captain — and his sailors, more and more soldiers were climbing aboard.
'Who'll lead us if he drowns?' cried their companion.
'Worry about him later. Let's survive ourselves first,' replied Romulus tersely, stripping down to his ragged military tunic. At once he buckled his belt back on, thus retaining his sheathed gladius and his pugio, the dagger which served both as a weapon and a utensil.
Tarquinius did likewise.
The legionary looked from one to the other. Then, muttering dire imprecations, he copied them. 'I'm not the best swimmer,' he revealed.
Romulus grinned. 'You can hold on to me.'
'A man should know who's going to save his skin. I'm Faventius Petronius,' he said, sticking out his right arm.
'Romulus.' They gripped forearms. 'He's Tarquinius.'
There was no time for further niceties. Romulus jumped in, feet first, the haruspex behind him. Petronius shrugged his shoulders and followed. Their distance from the battle meant the three splashes went unnoticed. At once Tarquinius beat a diagonal path out into the harbour. They needed some light to see, but had to stay far enough out to avoid the enemy missiles. With Petronius holding on for dear life, Romulus took up the rear.
How good it would be to catch Fabiola's ship, he thought. It was long gone into the night, though, no doubt headed for Italy. The same destination he had been trying to reach for the last age. Despite his own predicament, Romulus did not give up all hope. Time and again, Tarquinius had said there was a road back to Rome for him. That dream was what kept him swimming. With each stroke, Romulus imagined arriving home and being reunited with Fabiola. It would feel like reaching Elysium. After that, there was unfinished business to be done. According to Tarquinius, their mother was long dead, but she still had to be avenged. Killing the merchant Gemellus, their former owner, was the way to do that.
A flurry of splashes, accompanied by shouts and cries, dragged Romulus' attention back to the present. Scores of legionaries were jumping off the outermost trireme, which was foundering under the weight of too many men. Their fate in the water was no better than on board. Most were immediately dragged under by their armour, while those who could swim were targeted by enemy slingers and archers already positioned on the Heptastadion.
Romulus winced at their plight, but there was little he could do.
Petronius' gaze was also fixed on the unfolding drama. A moment later, his grip tightened.
'Easy,' Romulus snapped. 'Trying to choke me?'
'Sorry,' Petronius replied, relaxing his hold. 'Look though! Caesar's about to jump ship.'
Romulus turned his head. Lit from behind by the blaze from along the eastern harbour, he could make out the agile figure which had rallied the legionaries earlier. No longer was he attempting to control his men. Caesar had to flee now too. Off came his transverse-crested helmet and red cloak, and then his gilded breastplate. Surrounded by a group of legionaries, Caesar waited until all were ready. Then, clutching a handful of parchments, he stepped off the side rail and into the sea. His men landed around him, sending fountains of water into the air. With a protective cordon established, Caesar began swimming towards the Pharos, keeping one hand upraised to keep his paperwork dry.
'Mithras, he's got balls,' Romulus commented.
Petronius chuckled. 'Caesar is scared of nothing.'
A flurry of arrows and stones splashed down nearby, reminding them that this was no place to linger. While the majority of the Egyptian soldiers continued to assail the cohorts stuck on the dock, others were hurrying on to the Heptastadion. From there they could send unanswered volleys at the helpless legionaries in the water.
Romulus was horrified by the slingers' accuracy. The light cast on to the calm surface of the harbour was not that bright. Lower than the docks, and obscured to some extent by the Heptastadion, he had thought their journey would be reasonably safe. Not so. Fitting stones half the size of a hen's egg into their weapons, the slingers whirled them around their head once or twice before letting fly. Perhaps two or three heartbeats went by before another shower was released. A third and a fourth followed in quick succession. Soon the air was filled with the missiles; jets and spouts of water rose up as they landed. Again and again, Romulus saw legionaries being struck on the head. He cringed at the final-sounding impacts. Either they killed on the spot or knocked the victims unconscious, whereupon they drowned. That was if an arrow didn't take them through the cheek or in the eye.
Soon the enemy slingers and archers needed more targets. Because of their decision to swim further out, Caesar's group was still unscathed, like themselves. The status quo would not last, though. Thanks to the lack of Caesarean troops on the Heptastadion, the Egyptians could pursue them on a parallel course, raining death down with impunity.
'Faster,' urged Tarquinius.
Splash, splash, splash. A torrent of missiles and rocks hit the water not twenty paces away, increasing Romulus' pulse. Petronius' breath grew ragged on his neck. They had been seen. He increased the speed of his strokes, trying not to look sideways.
'Those slingers can hit a bundle of straw at six hundred paces,' muttered Petronius.
More stones landed, closer this time. Romulus' gaze was drawn inexorably to the sharply outlined enemy figures, reloading their slings. Laughter carried through the air as leather straps swung hypnotically round their heads and then released — again.
Thankfully, the island was at last drawing near. Caesar had emerged on to the shore and was already screaming orders, guiding his men to defend their end of the Heptastadion. Romulus breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Safety was beckoning, and doubtless there would be some respite once they threw the Egyptians back. When that happened, he would force Tarquinius to tell him everything about the fight outside the brothel.
Still in the lead, the haruspex turned to say something. His eyes met with those of Romulus, which were flinty and full of resolve. Tarquinius' voice died in his throat and they simply stared at each other. The silent exchange spoke volumes, and set off a host of warring emotions in Romulus' heart. I owe him so much, he thought, yet he's the damn reason I had to flee Rome. But for him, I would have had a different life. Remembering the plain wooden sword owned by Cotta, his old trainer in the ludus, Romulus scowled. A rudis like that could have been mine by now.
Tarquinius stood up. He had reached the shallows.
Shouts rang out from the frustrated slingers. Reloading their weapons, they redoubled their efforts to bring down the trio. Hastily released stones pattered down harmlessly behind them.
Romulus pushed his caligae downwards, feeling mud squelch underfoot. Petronius let out a great sigh of relief. Two more strokes and he too was able to stand. The veteran released his grip and thumped Romulus across the shoulders. 'My thanks, lad. I owe you one.'
Romulus indicated the main force of Egyptians, which was massing for a full frontal attack along the Heptastadion. 'There'll be plenty of opportunity to repay me.'
'Get over here!' screamed a centurion, right on cue. 'Every sword matters.'
'Best do as he said,' advised Tarquinius.
They were the last words he spoke.
With a hypnotic whirring sound, a rock flashed through the air between Romulus and Petronius. It smashed into the left side of Tarquinius' face, audibly breaking his cheekbone. His mouth opened in a silent scream of agony and, spun to one side by the force of the impact, he dropped backwards into the waist-deep water. Half-conscious, he sank immediately.
Chapter II: Jovina