The gap between the galleys was now down to a mile and as the Aquila accelerated to eleven knots Atticus waited for the first turn. Gaius stood firmly to his right, his feet slightly apart to brace himself, ready to throw his weight against the arm of the tiller. Lucius was stationed below deck on the shoulder of the drum master, watching the rowers intently as they pulled through the sequence of moves that defined their existence. The slaves had been forewarned of the order to come, an order no different from the many times they had practiced the manoeuvre, although this time a chain ran through the eye of the manacle on their ankles. Failure in practice had meant a lash of the whip. In the face of the enemy, shackled to the seventy-ton galley, the stakes were immeasurably higher.
The first turn came without warning, the pirate galley swinging hard to starboard. Gaius reacted without command and the Aquila tilted heavily underneath Atticus’s feet, the captain standing with his legs shoulder-length apart for balance. He noticed Gaius did not match the turn exactly but kept the Aquila on a convergent course, narrowing the gap between the galleys with every oar stroke. Atticus kept his own gaze locked on the aft-deck of the pirate ship, trying to anticipate their next move. He recalled with dread fascination the scene he had witnessed minutes before when one of the pirate crew had been thrown off the stern of the bireme, his body crushed beneath the ram of the Aquila as she followed the wake of the bireme relentlessly. It was a sight that would have frightened lesser crews but for the men of the Aquila, it merely reminded them of the ferocity of the prey they were about to hunt down, a prey far more dangerous than the Carthaginians in close quarter fighting.
The pirate galley turned again, this time to port and again Gaius matched her course. The two galleys were now less than four-hundred yards apart, the Aquila’s line two points inside the bireme’s to further close the gap. The rain continued to fall, peppering the surface of the sea and striking the deck of the Aquila with a staccato beat, the sound filling Atticus’s ears as he tried to single out the pirate captain on the galley ahead, the distance and the water-drenched sea air thwarting his efforts.
‘Make ready!’ Atticus shouted to Gaius over the sound of the rain, knowing instinctively the pirate galley was about to commit, the distance and angles near perfect.
‘She’s turning!’ Gaius shouted, his hand steady on the tiller, his muscles tensed in anticipation. ‘She’s coming about!’
The bireme turned violently to port, coming about at an incredible speed, her agility a sight to behold as she turned her bow into the path of the Aquila.
‘Centre the helm!’ Atticus ordered and Gaius lined the Aquila’s ram up with the oncoming bireme. The two galleys were now on a collision course, ram to ram, the larger trireme tearing down the line of attack.
Atticus focused his entire attention on the oncoming galley, trying to estimate the distance between the two ships, their combined speeds devouring the gap between them. The bireme had turned with an extraordinary display of manoeuvrability and Atticus was left with a lingering doubt as to the ability of his own galley. He brushed it aside, angry at his own mistrust of the Aquila. She had never let him down before. He looked over his shoulder to Gaius; the helmsman braced as before, holding the tiller on a centre line but ever-ready to react. The pirate’s course was suicidal and both men knew it was only a feint.
With the gap down to two hundred yards the pirate galley turned three points to port, breaking the headlong attack, a classic manoeuvre for a more agile galley that readied her for a turn into the broadside of the Aquila. Gaius reacted instinctively, also turning the Aquila three points to port, putting the galleys on parallel course to pass each other going in opposite directions at a distance of one hundred yards, the only obvious defence for a trireme of the Aquila’s size.
‘Runner!’ Atticus shouted and a crewman was instantly at his side, ‘Orders to below, prepare for a turn to starboard!’ The crewman acknowledged the order and ran from the aftdeck, disappearing down the hatch that led to the rowing deck.
Atticus focused his attention on the pirate ship once more. She was now on the Aquila’s starboard fore quarter, less than one hundred and fifty yards away and she now held the advantage.
If the Aquila tried to force a fight and turn into the bireme’s course to strike her amidships the pirate galley’s agility would allow her to cut inside the turn and sweep past the Aquila before the trireme could bring her ram or corvus to bear, perhaps even striking the Aquila’s exposed oars as the two galleys swept past each other. On the other hand if the Aquila played it safe and stayed on course, she would run past the bireme and then need to turn to pursue her once more, allowing for the pirate galley to replay the entire sequence of turns once more, never allowing the Aquila the opportunity to engage, trumping her speed and power with agility.
The Aquila sped on, Gaius holding her course, while the pirate bireme did likewise, content to pass the Roman galley with one hundred yards separating their oars. Atticus stood on the aft-deck, his eyes locked on the ram of the bireme, the rain dripping from his matted hair and soaking his tunic beneath his armour. The pirate galley seemed to slow, as if the intensity of Atticus’s gaze was somehow a barrier to her advance and Atticus’s eyes flashed to the bow of his own galley, judging the angles, his innate skill deciding in a heartbeat.
‘Now, Gaius!’ Atticus shouted without conscious thought. ‘Hard to starboard!’
The helmsman threw his weight onto the rudder, swinging it fully through the half circle that would put the galley hard over. Atticus watched the pirate galley intensely as a second passed, then another, waiting for the bireme to react, to commit to the counterturn. Again time seemed to slow and Atticus was running even as he registered the turn of the pirate galley. She was turning into the Aquila’s line, the speed of her course change faster than the trireme’s, a speed that would allow her to cut inside and negate the Aquila’s attack.
Atticus reached the hatchway in the time it took the pirate galley to commit fully to the turn. He roared down to the slave deck, the terrible gamble he was taking putting an edge of alarm to his voice, knowing a second’s delay would cost him the Aquila.
‘Now, Lucius!’
For a heartbeat Atticus thought the command had gone unheard but then suddenly the galley, already turning slowly to port in response to the rudder, keeled over violently as the ship accelerated through the turn.
Below him on the slave deck Lucius had signalled the manoeuvre which the rowers and drum master had been drilled in so many times before in training. At the command the starboard-side rowers had thrown themselves forward, immediately raising their oars clean out of the water within one stroke. The port-side slaves continued to row, the drum master calling for ramming speed, their top stroke. With the rudder hard over and the starboard-side rowers offering no resistance, the galley turned within a half ship length, the deck listing twenty degrees from the uneven force of propulsion.
Atticus leaned into the turn, balancing easily as the deck tilted beneath him. Within six seconds the Aquila had made the turn, a turn that under rudder power alone would have taken twenty.
‘Re-engage!’ Atticus roared to Lucius and the Aquila’s deck righted as the starboard-side oars bit into the water once more. The pirate galley was only twenty yards off the bow on a converging course, the opportunity to cut inside lost, the ships now too close for a counter manoeuvre.
‘Centre the helm!’ Atticus shouted as he turned to Gaius. ‘Hit them full-on!’
‘Ready the corvus!’ Septimus roared as the bow of the pirate galley filled his vision. He had been on the main deck when the Aquila had made her turn and although he had been prepared for the violent and sudden course change he had nearly lost his balance with only his fighter’s natural instincts saving him from a fall. Some of the younger hastati had not been so lucky but they had picked themselves up without hesitation, reforming ranks before Drusus had an opportunity to berate them.
Septimus led his hastati and principes to the foredeck at a run, the hob-nailed soles of his sandals giving him purchase on the rain-soaked deck. He drew his sword as he stood behind the raised corvus, his ears ringing with the sound of forty other blades clearing their scabbards in unison.
‘Steady, boys!’ Septimus growled and although there was a gap between him and his men Septimus could almost feel them pushing against him, a pent up charge ready to be released against the enemy. Septimus braced himself for impact and a second later the ram of the Aquila struck the bow of the pirate ship, a solid blow that did not penetrate but drove the momentum out of each galley.
‘Grappling hooks!’ Septimus roared. ‘Release the corvus!’
The ramp before Septimus fell in the time it took the centurion to start his charge; his feet already on the ramp as it struck the deck of the bireme, the three foot long spikes on the underside penetrating and splintering the foredeck of the pirate ship, holding her fast in a mortal embrace. Septimus ran without issuing a command, his men following without hesitation, their guttural war-cries splitting the air, their shoulders bunched behind four-foot high scutum shields, an unstoppable charge that had them on the empty foredeck of the pirate ship within seconds.
