taking solace in knowing that he would soon be away, his bow turned to the southwest and the Aegates Islands, there to await a favourable wind that would carry him once more through the blockade at Lilybaeum.
Atticus watched with interest as the trireme made its way slowly towards the Orcus, its familiar lines bringing a smile to his face. He glanced at Gaius, seeing the same satisfaction in the expression of the normally stern-faced helmsman. She was the Virtus, almost an exact replica of the Aquila, and both men looked past the differences to see the galley on which they had once sailed with pride.
The Virtus pulled alongside and Atticus jumped across the gap on to the lower main deck, followed by Gaius and ten other men. He looked over his shoulder and nodded curtly to Baro on the aft-deck of the Orcus, signalling the beginning of his nominal command of the quinquereme, and the Orcus pulled neatly away from the smaller galley. Gaius went immediately to the helm while Atticus took a moment to look about the ship and its assembled crew.
They were a picked crew, the best from every ship in his entire squadron, ninety men in all, three times the normal sailing complement of a trireme, but the Virtus carried no legionaries as each sailor was a skilled boarder, a vital attribute given they were planning to take a larger galley.
Atticus knew many of the men by name; others had been recommended by their captains, trusted men who knew what was at stake and would give their best to the task. He called the captain of the Virtus to his side and ordered him to organize the men into watches while he went below to the rowing deck.
The space was overly crowded, with men squatting silently on the walkway that ran the length of the deck, while others filled the cabins of the trireme. It was a cumbersome arrangement, but Atticus had managed to increase the relief from forty to one hundred rowers, an additional weight that increased the draught of the trireme by a foot but still kept it under that of a quadrireme. Again the men had been hand-picked from amongst the entire squadron, seasoned rowers who had lived through many battles and whose nerve could be trusted. By necessity they would be unchained to allow for a frequent and fluid system of replacement, so, to ensure the rowers would remain at their oars, Atticus had promised them all their freedom should their assault be successful, a loss he planned to make up from his prey.
Atticus nodded to himself, content that all was in order, and he went back on deck. He had no idea what cargo or personnel the Rhodian had ferried into or out of Lilybaeum, but he was convinced the Rhodian would return, for without his abilities the siege remained intact and the city cut off from supply and communication. He re-examined his plan, trying to anticipate every possible variant, relying the most on the skill of the crew he had assembled.
He had concluded that he had beaten the previous time because he had blindly followed convention, forgetting the skills he and many of the other men had gained through years of skirmishing with individual pirate ships. His manoeuvres had been those of a fleet commander, not an individual captain, and the Rhodian had exploited that predictability.
Atticus had forgotten the power of one ship, of one crew, believing instead in the strength of numbers, and he had dismissed the Rhodian’s first evasion as a fluke, the product of a surprise approach, confident that a ship so vastly outnumbered would be easily caught if they were vigilant. But the Rhodian had escaped him a second time.
Now Atticus possessed, as nearly as he could, an equivalent ship; and although he did not know the exact location of the channels the Rhodian had used to escape, he had formed a reasonable approximation. He had positioned other ships of his squadron to tempt the Rhodian to use the same or nearby channels in his next attempt.
Baro had asked if he believed he knew the Rhodian’s mind because he was Greek, but Atticus had realized it was because he had once been like him, relying solely on one ship and its crew, skilfully seeking out and exploiting an enemy’s weaknesses, fighting each battle from a chosen position of strength, stacking the odds in advance to ensure victory. It was the way of a lone wolf, a creature who shrugged off the safeguards but also the burden of a hunting pack to become a more efficient killer. With the Virtus, Atticus had become that creature once more and, as he looked to the western horizon, he sensed his prey was near at hand.
Calix held up his hand as the distant features of Lilybaeum became more distinct and the helmsman immediately shouted orders for the running rigging to be released. The mainsail lost its shape, the corners of the canvas sheet flapping in the westerly wind coming in over the starboard aft-quarter, and the Ares slowed, the helmsman just managing to keep her bow steady in the swell. Calix moved to the side rail, his gaze sweeping across the width of the bay, and the altered disposition of the Roman blockade.
The Ares had lain off the Aegates Islands for three days awaiting a favourable wind, and had set sail only hours ago. They had approached, as before, under canvas, keeping the strength of the rowers in reserve; but Calix was about to order them lowered when he noticed the revised Roman formation. The enemy galleys were now deployed in a blockade line that reached across the breadth of the lagoon, a tactical change to cover the hidden channels and deny their use to a blockade runner. It was a misguided approach, Calix thought, for the channels were not so numerous and the Romans were now too thinly spread to form any sort of protective barrier. Even in the centre, the location of the channels last used by Calix for his escape, the line was no stronger, with the Roman galleys separated by at least four hundred yards in the calm of the lagoon.
He moved once more to the tiller, conscious of the fact that, if he could see the Romans, so they could see the Ares, and they might rush to group around his line of approach. He shouted for full ahead and the mainsail was made taut once more, the wind taking the lion’s share of the load as the rowers engaged their oars at battle speed. He ordered the helmsman to make for the same outer channel as before, one of only three available to him and the only one in the centre, and he locked his gaze on the Roman galleys directly opposite that point, confident that he could easily shred such a thin veil. The channel was a dogleg and so could only be negotiated safely under oars but, once in the lagoon, Calix would have a choice of three channels through the inner shoals, each one too shallow for a quinquereme. For the Rhodian the pieces had moved but the game, and the inevitable outcome, remained the same.
‘Galley approaching.’
‘Identify,’ Atticus shouted animatedly.
‘It’s him, Prefect,’ Corin replied from the masthead of the Virtus. ‘He’s heading is on a line bearing two points off our starboard quarter, between us and the Copia.’
It must be the same channel as before, Atticus thought with a smile, but aloud he cursed, unable to see the approaching ship from behind the hull of the Orcus. He looked to Gaius.
‘Shadow her every move,’ he said, and the helmsman nodded, holding the Virtus steady on station behind the Orcus, keeping her hidden from the open sea.
The order for battle speed was shouted from the aft-deck of the Orcus by Baro and the quinquereme moved off, the Virtus sailing in her shadow, Gaius handling the tiller with gentle, deft strokes, trusting Baro to keep a steady line.
Atticus looked to the other ships of the blockade, the nearest ones already converging on points inside the outer shoals where it was estimated the Rhodian might emerge, a natural re action to his approach. He cursed his line of sight again and on an impulse he ran to the rigging and climbed hand-over-hand up to the masthead, keeping his grip firm on the rough-hewn ropes until he reached the top, and he lifted himself up on to the mainsail lifting yard. Corin smiled beside him and moved over to allow Atticus to stand tall and find his balance.
At the head of the mainmast the gentle roll of the deck was multiplied, and Atticus was suddenly conscious that he had not been aloft in many years. His grip tightened on the mast and his movements were exaggerated in contrast with Corin’s almost innate sense of balance, but he steadied his breathing and looked out over the deck of the Orcus sailing alongside the Virtus to the horizon.
The Rhodian was approaching as before, under sail and oars, but Atticus knew he would need to slow as he passed through the channel. Despite this, the converging Roman galleys would still not be in a position to challenge him as he emerged into the lagoon, and again Atticus begrudgingly admired the Rhodian’s utmost use of the prevailing elements to his advantage. His grip remained firm on the mainmast, only now it was an outward sign of his inner determination and, as the Rhodian furled his sail to begin his run, Atticus shouted down the order for battle stations.
Calix’s head darted from side to side as he tracked the approach of the four Roman quinqueremes. As he suspected, they had left their positions in the blockade line to converge on his approach but, with the Ares already halfway through the outer shoals, he would reach the lagoon before they had a chance to close the neck of the
