quinquereme. His indecision lasted a second longer and he called the captain to his side, the order catching in his throat as he cursed his fate.
‘Sound the withdrawal,’ he said, his heart consumed with thoughts of the consequences that would follow his decision. ‘Full retreat.’
The trumpet calls of retreat were followed an instant later by triumphant shouts, the Roman lines surging forward as the Carthaginians ran to the two quinqueremes, many of the Punici dropping their weapons in their haste, the men leaping across to the foredecks to escape the unleashed legionaries. The rowers of the Carthaginian galleys began to backstroke, slowly withdrawing their rams, the sea-water gushing in around them, filling the lower holds of the Aquila as retreat rapidly descended into rout, the Carthaginians left on the Aquila trying to jump the ever-increasing gap, many falling to the water below, easy prey for the hungry sea.
Septimus led his men to the foredeck of the Aquila, attacking the bottle-neck of retreating men; giving no quarter to an enemy who had offered them less and the fight became a desperate slaughter as the Romans purged the Aquila of Carthaginians, the remnants throwing themselves into the sea to avoid the vengeance of a merciless foe. Septimus called his men to order, breathing heavily, his blood-soaked sword falling to his side, his gaze drawn to the retreating Carthaginian quinqueremes and beyond to the Roman vanguard.
Septimus suddenly became aware of the desperate screams of panic beneath him as the battle noise on the foredeck abated and he looked across the Aquila, noticing the tilt of the deck that was worsening with each passing second, the Carthaginian rams that had supported the Aquila supplanted with an unstoppable flood of sea- water.
‘Every man to the Orcus!’ Septimus roared, his men reacting instantly and they ran the full length of the Aquila to the corvus of the Roman quinquereme, the legionaries of that galley following without hesitation. Septimus took up the rear, ensuring that every injured legionary was taken aft, his eyes sweeping the decks, ignoring the dreadful screams of the dying rowers chained to the dying galley. He reached the aft-deck and immediately spotted Atticus, the captain kneeling at the side-rail with a man’s head on his lap. He ran to them, recognising the pale bloodless figure as Lucius.
‘Atticus,’ Septimus called. ‘Is he…?’
Atticus looked to Septimus, a haunting expression of grief etched on his face. ‘Get your men off,’ Atticus said, ‘and hold the corvus for me.’
Septimus nodded, turning to the last of the legionaries waiting for their chance to get across the boarding ramp.
Atticus leaned over, his face inches from the man he had served with for so many years, his trusted advisor and mentor, his friend.
‘Lucius,’ he said. ‘We need to go.’
Lucius opened his eyes and gazed across Aquila before looking up at Atticus.
‘She’s dying, Atticus,’ Lucius said, his voice cracking, a trickle of blood forming at the edge of his mouth, a massive pool of blood covering the deck beneath him.
‘I know,’ Atticus replied, forcing his own eyes to look out over his galley, accepting and facing that truth for the first time.
‘Leave me here,’ Lucius said, his eyes pleading. ‘Leave me with her.’
‘No I can’t,’ Atticus replied. ‘There’s still time. I…’
‘No,’ Lucius said, shaking his head. ‘There’s no time, not for me, and I don’t want to die on some blasted quin.’ He tried to laugh and blood coughed from his mouth, staining his lips. He gasped for breath. ‘She shouldn’t die alone,’ he said.
Atticus nodded and held out his hand. Lucius grabbed it, the strength of a lifetime’s friendship and respect making the grip firm. Atticus laid Lucius’s head gently on the deck and stood up, holding his gaze for a second longer before turning and walking to the corvus, Septimus already across, the Orcus ready to pull away.
Atticus stopped for a heartbeat and looked down at the deck of the Aquila and then back along her entire length, the galley sinking rapidly by the bow. He nodded to her and jumped onto the corvus, the ramp rising even as he walked across and the Orcus got underway, the quinquereme turning as the first galleys of the Roman vanguard swept past, many of their crews looking to the sinking trireme, at the many slain on her decks, Roman and Carthaginian, wondering what ferocity had gripped the solitary ship. Atticus stood with Septimus on the foredeck of the Orcus as the quinquereme accelerated to battle speed, her course turning into the wake of the fleeing Carthaginians while Atticus watched once over his shoulder as the Aquila slipped beneath the waves.
EPILOGUE
The muted sounds of a thousand voices, of shouted commands and a multitude making ready was carried on the soft breeze that blew into Regulus’s room in the barracks overlooking the harbour of Agrigentum. He glanced down at the parchment on the table, reading again the last lines of the written report, satisfied the man standing before him could add no more. He looked up, studying the captain’s face, searching for any signs of subterfuge. There were none.
‘You’re dismissed,’ Regulus said and the captain of the Orcus saluted and turned on his heel, leaving the room quickly.
‘His report confirms it,’ the young man seated by the far wall said, standing up as he spoke. ‘Varro attempted to flee and only engaged when the Aquila forced him to. Along with the statements of the other captains the evidence is overwhelming.’
Regulus nodded but remained silent, turning his head to stare out the window to the harbour of Agrigentum, to the ranks of galleys and transport ships, the preparations to sail at a frenzied pitch. He turned back.
‘I agree, Longus,’ he said, ‘but the captain of the Orcus also states that Varro ordered him to sail directly to the Aquila’s aid and we know that Varro was lost in that fight.’
Longus made to respond but Regulus held up his hand.
‘He died trying to save those men, Longus,’ Regulus said.
‘But his cowardice almost cost us the Ninth Legion,’ Longus protested. ‘Whatever bravery he subsequently showed.’
Regulus lapsed into silence again, his mind already decided on the matter. To denigrate Varro was to call into judgment his own decision to appoint the tribune as commander of the third squadron and it was a sign of weakness that Regulus had to avoid at all costs. The invasion would begin within days and last several months, a long time for Regulus to be absent from the Senate chamber and he could not have any doubt of his abilities to command fermenting in the Curia.
Regulus looked to Longus again, ready to call the last meeting when a sudden thought occurred to him, a thought that made him uneasy. To quash all record of Varro’s cowardice was a calculated move to protect himself rather than a noble deed for Rome and Regulus realised that a part of him had become like the man he most despised, Scipio. He brushed the thought aside, burying it quickly, not ready to admit that he had made the needs of Rome subservient to his own.
‘Send in Captain Perennis,’ he said and Longus nodded, wondering at the senior consul’s suddenly strained expression.
Atticus walked into the room and stood to attention before Regulus, Longus walking around the table to stand at the consul’s shoulder. Regulus studied the man before him, the vicious scar across his jaw-line, the hard determined features, his green eyes almost unfocused in their intensity. The consul had seldom seen a more charged expression, as if latent fury was but a shade beneath the exterior and Regulus silently confirmed his earlier decision.
‘You are to be commended, Captain Perennis,’ Regulus began, his voice expansive, his expression affable. ‘You have done Rome a great service, showing courage and daring against a determined enemy.’
The consul paused, waiting for the captain to accept the complement but the young man stood unmoved.
‘Rome has found in you a son she can be proud of,’ Regulus continued, ‘and I hereby promote you to the newly formed rank of Praefectus Classis, Prefect of the fleet, reporting directly to the commander of the Classis
