‘Masthead!’ Narmer roared and his eyes were murderous as he saw the man start with surprise. He looked immediately chastened but the captain kept his gaze upon him, vowing silently that he would flog the man raw when his watch was finished at dawn.
‘Helmsman!’ Narmer shouted again, his anger now spurred on by his exhaustion. The man was immediately by his captain’s side and Narmer handed over control of the galley before he set off along the deck, kicking the crew awake as he did, their curses of annoyance cut short when they noticed the vicious mood of their captain. Within a minute the crew were roused and they began the daily routine that marked their lives at sea.
‘Galley! Dead astern!’
Narmer’s insides turned to water at the shout and he raced to the aft-rail, his mind flooded with foreboding. He saw the oncoming galley before he even reached the rail, her hull a dark arrow on the brightening horizon directly behind his own ship. She was on an intercept course, no more than three miles behind.
‘Any markings?’ Narmer roared as he turned to the masthead, his fury at the lookout knowing no bounds.
There was moments silence as the lookout waited to be sure but Narmer knew there could only be one answer.
‘Roman!’ he shouted, fear evident in his voice, a fear that rippled across the entire deck.
‘Prepare for battle!’ Narmer roared without hesitation. ‘Orders to the rowers, battle speed!’
He looked again to the galley in pursuit. Narmer could see that she was a trireme, at least four knots faster than his ship but the pirate bireme had one advantage over its bigger rival, manoeuvrability, and Narmer knew how to exploit it. Battle would soon be joined but Narmer was determined that it would be on his terms.
‘She’s accelerated to battle speed!’
Atticus nodded at Lucius’s words, noticing the change himself.
‘Battle speed!’ he ordered and the two hundred slaves below decks responded to the drum master’s beat without visible effort, bringing the Aquila up to seven knots, a battle speed that was a knot faster than the bireme’s.
‘She’s a pirate?’ Septimus asked as he approached Atticus.
The captain nodded. ‘She’s not Carthaginian,’ he replied, ‘and no other galley would have cause to run.’
Septimus nodded and looked back over his shoulder, wiping the rain from his face as he did. His demi-maniple was drawn up in formation on the main deck, Drusus to their front, the optio seemingly oblivious to the rain that pelted off his breast-plate.
‘Then we’re ready,’ Septimus said, and he left the aft-deck once more, his stride determined and focused, his men equally so.
Atticus watched him go and then turned to the helmsman.
‘What do you think?’ he asked
‘She’s quick,’ Gaius said, his intense gaze locked on the target.
‘But not quick enough,’ Atticus replied, no humour in his voice as his mind inventoried every capability of the Aquila and how they could be sequenced to run down her prey.
‘She’ll try to cut inside,’ Gaius continued, ‘maybe to sweep our oars or simply escape.’
‘Can we cut inside her?’ Atticus asked, trusting Gaius’s judgement over all others when it came to close quarter sailing. There were many different galley types, some of them unique, and it was impossible to apply a general rule of attack, the variations in speed and manoeuvrability too great. Only now, with a ship in his sights, could a skilled helmsman properly formulate an attack.
‘There’s only one way we can cut inside her,’ Gaius said, ‘and even then we need to anticipate her turn. Otherwise she’s too nimble.’
Atticus nodded, as his mind narrowed the options in the face of Gaius’s assessment. The manoeuvre Gaius was implicitly suggesting had been practiced many times by the crew of the Aquila but had never been used in actual combat. Atticus could see no other option against a galley as manoeuvrable as the pirate’s.
‘They’ll need to be close,’ he said aloud as he weighed the odds.
Gaius nodded, ‘They’ll never see it coming.’
‘If it works,’ Atticus remarked almost to himself. ‘If it doesn’t we’ll have handed them the advantage and maybe the fight.’
Gaius remained silent as he waited for his captain to decide, glancing once more to the pirate galley, now less than two and half miles away and then back to Atticus. The choice was far from clear-cut and he didn’t envy the captain’s position. The sound of the rain hammering the deck increased as Atticus broke the silence and turned to his helmsman.
‘We do it,’ he said, total conviction in his voice. ‘Make ready the helm.’
Gaius nodded, his grip on the tiller intensifying as his eyes moved once more to the enemy.
‘You were on the aft-deck!’ Belus roared, his gaze locked on the Roman galley in pursuit. ‘How did they get so close without detection?’
‘She was sailing without running lights,’ Narmer spat, his anger at being caught compounded by the Carthaginian’s censure.
‘And the masthead lookout?’ Belus said, turning to Narmer, his eyes full of accusation and contempt.
‘He was asleep,’ Narmer said, looking past Belus to the lookout who had just descended from the masthead by his orders.
‘Asleep?’ Belus growled, his anger threatening to overwhelm him. He was about to berate Narmer further when the arrival of the lookout interrupted him.
‘Yes, Captain,’ the lookout said, trying to sound confident but his voice was laced with panic and Belus could smell the stench of fear from him.
Narmer stepped forward. ‘You were asleep,’ he accused.
‘No, Captain,’ the man stammered, what little confidence he had tried to muster now gone. ‘I just didn’t see her because of the rain.’
‘Do you see her now!’ Narmer shouted as he grabbed the lookout by the arm and pushed him towards the aft-rail.
The man stumbled but maintained his balance and he grabbed the aft-rail for support, looking out over the water to the galley bearing down on them.
‘I didn’t…’ he began, his attention captivated by the sight before him. ‘She came from nowhere…’
He turned around to plead again and found that Narmer now stood directly before him, the captain’s expression more terrifying than before, Narmer’s gaze so hypnotic that the lookout only saw the blade a heartbeat before it struck. He backed off slightly, his mind suddenly screaming in panic as awareness flooded his senses and his hands shot up to his neck, the blood drenching his fingers. He tried to scream but the sound died in his severed throat and the lookout fell backwards over the aft-rail, striking the rudder as he fell before being swallowed by the wake of the bireme.
Narmer stepped forward and spat over the rail into the water as the lookout’s body resurfaced, the water around him stained red. He turned to face Belus, the bloodied knife still in his hand, a silent challenge passing between them. The captain would accept no more criticism from the Carthaginian.
Belus turned away and moved to the aft-rail, watching the lookout’s body until it was run over by the Roman galley advancing at seven knots. He couldn’t believe that Narmer had been so inept as to be caught so easily, especially since the captain had shown incredible skill over the previous weeks in avoiding the Roman galleys that patrolled the area. Belus knew he was partly to blame. He had noticed the change in the crew the day before when the bireme had finally turned its bow towards Tyndaris. They had become complacent, the end in sight, and Belus realised he should have confronted Narmer on the issue. Now, so close to success, Belus was faced with utter failure. He cared little for his own life, it belonged to Carthage, but the information he carried was invaluable.
Belus turned once more and looked out over the crew of the pirate galley. They were good swordsmen but they fought as individuals, relying on speed and savagery to carry a fight. Against the marines of Rome those tactics would be useless and Belus remembered his own desperate fight at Mylae. To defeat the Romans he would have to change their normal plan of attack and Belus turned to Narmer as an idea resurfaced in his mind, an idea he had formulated after witnessing the enemy attacks at Mylae. The Romans might find some way to board but for the first time Belus felt a creeping confidence that maybe the vaulted marines of Rome could be beaten.
‘Attack speed!’
