Like the unfolding wings of a hawk preparing to fly, the Carthaginian formation took shape before the Roman attack, the flanks advancing at a faster pace until the enemy galleys were sailing line abreast. They were manoeuvring for sea room, Atticus realized, abandoning any pretence of punching through the Roman formation. They were going to engage. Atticus smiled derisively. Although outnumbered, the Carthaginians were evidently confident they could prevail. After all, the fight would be on their terms, fought on the tip of a ram, but the Carthaginians were underestimating the skill of a trained Roman crew and Atticus vowed they would pay dearly for their imprudence.
He glanced left, watching the opposite flank as it swept in behind the Carthaginian galleys to envelop the struggling mass of trading ships, many of them hopelessly trying to raise sail in the insipid wind, irrationally ignoring the odds. Any chance of a breakout was already being quashed, and with a hard stare he turned once more to the approaching Carthaginian galleys.
The gap fell to four hundred yards and Atticus called for attack speed, the Orcus taking on the additional four knots within a ship length. Atticus pointed to the centre galley of the enemy formation, his silent order wordlessly acknowledged by Gaius as he adjusted the tiller a half-point. Hours of training came to the fore and the formation of Roman galleys behind the Orcus was forgotten as she cast off the fetters of combined attack to become a lone fighter.
Atticus and Gaius spoke with one voice as the Carthaginian galley neared, the enemy crew having identified and responded to the singular line of attack. The opposing galleys weaved through an invisible line separating the rams, each helmsman subtly countering the feints and ripostes of the other, and the unrelenting drum beat from the rowing deck seemed to increase as Atticus braced for the final thrust.
His mind cleared, the order forming in the back of his throat; he felt Gaius tense beside him, anticipating the command. The Carthaginian galley filled his vision, its dark hull a mirror reflection of the Orcus, two creatures born of the same design, forced to fight each other by their warring masters.
‘Now,’ Atticus said, almost in a whisper, and Gaius nudged the helm, taking the Orcus off its true line, a delicate and deliberate error to compel the enemy to commit. The Carthaginians responded instantly in an incredible display of seamanship, and they swept in to strike the Orcus on the starboard forequarter. Atticus had anticipated the move, but the enemy’s reaction was far faster than he predicted, their skill beggaring belief, and he roared out the final order before he drew breath.
‘Hard to starboard, ramming speed!’
The Orcus was immediately transported back to the calm coastal waters of Fiumicino and the rowing crew accelerated to ramming speed even as Gaius brought the tiller hard over. A hundred hours’ training was realized in the span of a breath, and the Orcus cut inside the line of attack, bringing her ram to bear on the starboard flank of the Carthaginian galley.
Atticus was thrown to the deck as the ram struck home, the six-foot bronze fist striking the strake timbers at an acute angle, snapping them cleanly from the bulkheads, the forward momentum of the Carthaginian galley adding to the force of the blow, the galley pushing itself upon the very spear that was slicing into its underbelly. Atticus regained his feet, the shock of attack and the fury of battle heightening his senses. Quickly he took stock. The Carthaginians were thrown by the sudden reversal but they were already recovering; Atticus could hear the angry bark of orders from the enemy decks. They were surging towards the side rails, preparing to board, to trade ship for ship.
‘Gaius, full reverse,’ Atticus ordered. ‘Drusus, prepare to repel boarders.’
The newly promoted centurion commanded his men with crisp, decisive orders and they ran quickly to the foredeck, forming a wall of interlocking shields at the rail, their swords drawn in defiance, daring the Carthaginians to attack.
The rowers of the Orcus began to back stroke but, even as they did, grappling hooks were thrown by the enemy, locking the ships together. The timbers of the stricken Carthaginian galley squealed and tore as the ram twisted in the gaping hole. The legionaries drew aside their shields to attack the lines, the ropes parting like bow strings drawn by the strength of two hundred and seventy rowers, but from ten feet the Carthaginians cast spears through the gaps in the shield wall, striking down any legionary who exposed himself. The embrace was sustained as more lines were thrown.
The gap between the foredecks fell to four feet, and the Carthaginians charged the shield wall, jumping fearlessly across, a desperate attack to escape their doomed ship. The legionaries stood firm and a dozen men fell between the grinding hulls of the galleys, their screams of terror lost in the din of battle. The stronger warriors gained the Roman deck but Drusus’s men held them fast, checking any breach before it could develop while the increasing momentum of the Orcus finally overcame the strength of the tethers and they parted in sequence, the lines whipping back to leave the Carthaginian galley reeling away. The stranded boarders fought to the last, their fate driving them to mindless fury, and many legionaries fell before they were finally overcome.
The Orcus swung away under a final hail of arrows and spears from the sinking Carthaginian galley, the enemy’s curses reaching across the increasing gap. Gaius brought the galley back up to battle speed, her bloodied ram seeking out further prey.
Atticus watched as the last arrows fell short. He looked to the foredeck and the casualties of the legionaries. The Carthaginians were a fearsome breed and their defiant attempt to board the Orcus was a mark of their courage. Nevertheless, they had been beaten on their terms, on the tip of a ram, and Atticus knew his confidence had been justified as he looked once more to the sinking enemy ship.
‘By the gods…’ Gaius began, and Atticus spun around, following the helmsman’s gaze.
Eight Roman galleys were sinking fast in the waters behind the Orcus, prey of the Carthaginian rams; as Atticus watched in horror, another three ships were struck in rapid succession, second blood for the enemy ships. Only two Carthaginian galleys had been rammed on the first assault.
Atticus had been certain of victory, the sheer weight of odds negating any chance the Carthaginians had. Yet the enemy ships were mauling the thirty-five galleys of the right flank and he realized with sickening dread that his previous confidence had been based solely on the skill and training of his crew. As a commander he had misjudged the situation, believing that all Roman crews possessed the same prowess as his own. But the Carthaginians had neatly exploiting the imbalance of skill, attacking many of the ships with near impunity, with only the more experienced Roman captains able to counter the enemy rams.
With corvi, the Romans attacked head-on in line abreast, each galley protecting the flanks of its neighbour, an impenetrable wall against which the Carthaginians had no defence. The skill required of the Roman crew for a frontal attack was minimal compared to a ramming run, and therein lay one of the many strengths of the corvus, requiring only that the crew strike the bow of the enemy ship before the boarding ramp was released to hold the galleys together. Now the ram reigned supreme and seamanship was vital, a skill the Carthaginians had honed over generations, using it to deadly effect in the harbour of Panormus.
Atticus roared a course change in anger and frustration and the Orcus came up to attack speed. In the waters ahead, a Roman galley was desperately trying to avoid the ram of a pursuing Carthaginian ship, their forlorn attempts to escape neatly countered at every turn. Atticus identified the target to Gaius, the helmsman grimly bringing the ram of the Orcus to bear. The Carthaginian crew realized the threat and although, as before, they reacted with lightning speed, Gaius was their equal and the Orcus accelerated to ramming speed.
Atticus instinctively braced himself for the strike but his frustration refused to allow him to focus. A sudden crash of timbers caused him to turn and again he watched with dread as another Roman galley fell victim to the Carthaginians. The sound was repeated twice more in as many seconds and Atticus felt the weight of regret crush him. The Orcus would claim a second prize, maybe a third, but all the while other Roman ships would be lost, and Atticus was powerless to defend them all.
Panormus had fallen, the town was theirs, but in the harbour the Carthaginians were exacting a measure of revenge, slowly drawing a blade across the exposed incompetence of the Roman navy, turning the waters red with their blood. The Carthaginians were once more claiming what was rightfully theirs: mastery of the sea.
CHAPTER TEN
Hamilcar watched impatiently as the small bird circled the tower, its wings flapping slowly in the updraught.
