time to make our peace with Poseidon.’
Septimus looked doubtful. The corvus looked ungainly on the foredeck but it was dwarfed by the mainmast and he found it hard to believe it posed some kind of threat as to how the galley would fare in rough seas.
Atticus noticed the centurion’s expression, ‘I trust Gaius’s judgement on this,’ he said. ‘Galleys are very finely balanced and remember the corvus was installed on all galleys before Mylae. That was early spring so no galley has had to sail through a storm with a corvus weighing down its bow.’
Septimus accepted the argument although he remained sceptical. He knew nothing of sailing and had always deferred to the experience and knowledge of Atticus and his men but in this case he couldn’t help but feel that they were being over-cautious.
Narmer stood on the aft-deck of his galley, his hand resting easily on the weathered arm of the tiller, his eyes focused on the waters ahead and the brooding dark shoreline to his starboard. The helmsman lay asleep on the deck behind him, curled up against the aft-rail with a canvas tarp over his head, meagre protection against the rain which had begun over an hour before. The bireme had just sailed into the lee of the Bruttian peninsula which protected her from the rising swell and although the helmsman knew the coastline well, Narmer was sure none knew it better than he. As the bireme moved slowly through the shallows, Narmer’s thoughts began to drift. He would be glad to reach Tyndaris on the morrow and finally rid himself of the Carthaginian shackles that had held his galley fast over the previous six weeks.
Narmer’s galley had taken eight Roman ships during that time, rich pickings that he had been satisfied to sink in exchange for the fifteen hundred drachmae the Carthaginians had promised him. The waters around the north- eastern tip of Sicily were becoming too dangerous however, and Narmer had already decided that his next hunting ground would be the northern coast of Africa. The pickings would not be as rich there but neither would the risk of capture be as high and Narmer recalled with unease how close to detection his ship had come over the previous weeks. His ability to avoid the Roman war-galleys was based on detecting them before they spotted his ship. In daylight this was possible because of the extremely low profile of his bireme while at night he sailed without running lights, something the regimented Roman navy galleys would never do and so they were easily seen and avoided. Even with these precautions however, Narmer knew luck was always a factor in remaining undetected and so he looked forward to the time when Tyndaris and Sicily would be lost in the wake of his galley.
‘Land, bearing two-points to port!’
Atticus followed the line indicated by Corin the lookout, wiping the rain from his face and eyes as he peered through the semi-darkness formed by the struggle of the moon to be seen through the heavy but broken cloud. The northwesterly wind was picking up with each passing minute but Atticus judged the land ahead to be no more than two miles away.
‘Recognise it?’ Lucius asked.
Atticus studied it again, trying to discern some detail in the ethereal half-light, knowing that the older man was testing his knowledge. He smiled and shook his head.
‘It’s the Bruttian peninsula,’ Lucius said and he pointed out the landmarks that had allowed him to recognise the Cape.
Without command Gaius steered the Aquila two points to starboard, the line of her hull pointing directly off the southerly tip of the peninsula.
‘Recommend battle speed until we reach the lee, Captain.’ Gaius said. ‘The storm is coming up fast.’
Atticus agreed and sent the order below for battle speed, sensing the changed momentum as the Aquila took on the extra two knots of speed.
Twenty minutes later the Aquila sailed into calmer waters in the lee of the peninsula. Atticus ordered standard speed and sent lookouts to the starboard rail with orders to watch the line of breakers on the shoreline less than half a mile away. The coastline here ran south-south-west, reaching out ahead of the Aquila but Atticus could see that Gaius was adjusting the course of the galley to match, keeping her line parallel to the shadowy shoreline.
‘Ship ahead!’
Atticus moved quickly to the side-rail and looked out over the seascape before the Aquila. The wind was lighter here behind the Cape but it was buffeted by the land and the rain was now falling in long narrow sheets, at once obscuring and then revealing the waters ahead in quick succession. The cloud cover was also increasing and the moon’s light was becoming more sporadic and feeble. Atticus could see nothing ahead and he turned his face up to the masthead lookout.
‘Confirm!’ he shouted and for a brief second he saw the moonlight reflect off Corin’s face as he turned to acknowledge the order. Corin remained silent and within a couple of minutes Atticus was ready to put the sighting down to a trick of the light and the young crewman’s inexperience.
‘There!’ a shout came suddenly. ‘Two miles, dead ahead. A galley!’
Again Atticus looked to the waters ahead and again he was frustrated by the combination of elements that obscured his view. He turned to Lucius who was also scanning the waters ahead and he raised his eyebrows in question.
‘I don’t see it, Captain,’ he replied but he kept his gaze fixed on the specified point nonetheless.
Atticus looked up to the masthead again.
‘Corin!’ he ordered. ‘Report to the aft-deck.’
The young man scrambled down from the fifty foot height with ease, hitting the deck on a solid footing before running to the aft.
‘What did you see?’ Atticus asked.
‘A galley, Captain,’ Corin replied. ‘A small one, possibly a bireme. Bearing directly ahead and sailing on a parallel course.’
‘You’re sure?’ Atticus asked, suddenly not as willing to dismiss the sighting as he had been a moment before. ‘We can’t see it from here.’
‘She’s sailing without running lights,’ Corin replied.
Atticus understood immediately. Looking from the deck the ship ahead was silhouetted against the dark night sky and was therefore invisible. From Corin’s viewpoint however, the ship would also be silhouetted against the intermittent moonlight on the water.
‘A galley sailing without running lights can only mean one thing,’ Atticus said, thinking out loud. ‘She’s trying to avoid detection.’
‘The pirate galley?’ Lucius ventured.
Atticus nodded, ‘It could be,’ he said. He turned to Corin and placed his hand on the young lad’s shoulder.
‘Get aloft and let us know if you see her change course.’ Atticus ordered. Corin nodded and made to leave but Atticus stopped him, ‘and Corin,’ he said, ‘well done.’ Corin smiled and spun on his heel, retracing his steps and scurrying back up the running rigging to the masthead.
‘Lucius,’ Atticus said, turning to his second in command. ‘Douse the running lights and pass the order to the crew. No exposed flame on deck.’
Lucius nodded and left also, leaving Atticus standing alone at the side-rail. He searched the waters ahead but again he saw nothing. He smiled despite this, knowing now that a ship was there somewhere and if it was the pirate galley then dawn’s early light would expose her.
Narmer turned his face up to the rain in an effort to wash the fatigue from his eyes. He and the helmsman had shared the task of keeping the galley on course during the night but even when Narmer had taken a break he had been unable to sleep and he had surreptitiously watched the helmsman to be sure the crewman was alert. The sky was turning a lighter grey in the east, with dawn less than thirty minutes away and as the darkness fled, Narmer once again checked the line of his course in relation to the shoreline. The rain had never stopped but the wind had fallen away and so now, although the galley was no longer in the lee of the Cape, the sea breathed with only a gentle swell.
The gathering light also revealed the huddled figures of his crew spread out over the deck. Narmer was tempted to rouse them but he decided to let them sleep on. With Tyndaris less than six hours away, he could afford to relax the normally brutal discipline he was forced to impose to keep his galley running effectively. Narmer’s eyes slowly drifted upwards and his lenient mood was replaced by a sudden fury. The masthead lookout was asleep, huddled against the mast, a canvas hood draped over his head and face to protect him from the rain.
