was endemic in his fleet. Now fortune had swung against him, punishing him for his hesitancy, and Hamilcar looked once more to the east and the approaching Roman galleys, a quiet determination stealing over him.
The proximity of combat cleared his mind of any further thoughts of what might have been. He was outnumbered, and the enemy was on two sides. He could not hope to hold his position at the mouth of the harbour. Defeat would be certain. Equally he couldn’t order his fleet to disperse, knowing that fleeing before a blow had been struck would be the death knell of his command.
He would have to take the fight to the Romans, but first he needed to reduce the odds against him. He closed his eyes and pictured the surrounding coastline in his mind’s eye, searching his store of local knowledge of the shores around his beloved Carthage. He opened his eyes and checked the height of the tide on the nearby shoreline. He looked to the north, his mouth hardening into a thin line, his previous hesitation forgotten, and he turned to the helmsman.
‘Come about,’ he ordered. ‘Battle speed. Signal the fleet to form up on the Alissar. We sail for Cape Hermaeum.’
The helmsman nodded and sent a runner to signal the fleet as he put his weight behind the tiller, the quinquereme responding instantly to the rudder as the galley broke the formation of the blockade. Hamilcar leaned into the turn, his hand on the siderail as the drum beat intensified, the Alissar increasing speed to eight knots within a ship-length while all around him the galleys of his command responded in kind.
‘Aspect change on the blockade!’
‘All hands, make ready,’ Atticus shouted at the lookout’s call, quickly running to the foredeck to see the course change of the blockading galleys for himself. He stood poised to issue the order for battle stations, expecting to see the Carthaginians turning into attack, but instead their bows swung north, the blockade rapidly disintegrating.
‘Galleys approaching from the east!’
Atticus heard the call and tried to see past the Carthaginian ships, their hulls blocking his view of the eastern horizon. He looked to Corin, the masthead lookout, the young man’s gaze locked on the distant seascape.
‘Identify, Corin,’ Atticus shouted, his inadequate vantage point frustrating him. Was it another Carthaginian detachment? Maybe the blockading galleys were moving to redeploy for attack. Every passing minute counted, and Atticus had to fight the overwhelming urge to go aloft and see for himself. He focused on Corin’s face, and saw the answer a second before the lookout responded.
‘They’re Roman, Prefect.’
Atticus turned to look for his second-in-command, seeing him on the main deck. ‘Baro,’ he called. ‘Get us under way. Battle speed.’
Baro nodded and began shouting orders to the crew, their already frenzied pace increasing with the ferocity of his voice. Atticus moved quickly to the aft-deck as the Orcus lurched beneath him, her oars biting into the calm waters of the inner harbour, the galley increasing speed with every drum beat.
He suddenly thought of Lucius, his former second-in-command, and how the older man would have been on the foredeck with him, shadowing his every move. He had yet to achieve that same bond with Baro; he was a harsher man than Lucius, but effective in his own right, and Atticus knew he could trust the experienced seaman.
‘Over three hundred galleys,’ Corin called out in excitement. ‘Heading west on a direct course to Aspis.’
Atticus heard the report and checked the line of his squadron, the other galleys getting under way. He nodded to Gaius as he reached the aft-deck, but the helmsman did not return the gesture, his attention as always locked on the task at hand, his hand playing lightly over the tiller as he made minute course adjustments to the one hundred and ten-ton galley. The weeks of inactivity while the squadron waited in Aspis had driven Gaius to near madness, the fact that the hull lay stationary beneath his feet was contrary to his every instinct. Now, although his face was expressionless, Atticus knew that Gaius was charged with anticipation.
‘Your assessment,’ Atticus said, and the helmsman looked to him for the first time.
‘It looks as if the Carthaginians are running,’ Gaius said after a moment’s pause, his expression puzzled.
‘But,’ Atticus prompted, noticing the helmsman’s hesitation. He too had noticed an anomaly in the Carthaginians’ manoeuvre, but he wanted to draw out the helmsman’s thoughts, knowing that Gaius’s intimate knowledge of the capabilities of a galley, and his skill at attaining the best possible position in battle, made his opinion invaluable.
‘They’re staying in formation,’ Gaius replied, after a moment. ‘If they really wanted to flee then they would have broken formation and scattered, making our pursuit more difficult.’
Atticus nodded, looking to the rear of the Carthaginian formation a thousand yards ahead as the last of the galleys disappeared around the northern headland protecting the port of Aspis. By the time the Orcus reached that point, Atticus knew the distance to the enemy rear would be even greater, his pursuit from dead-stop giving the Carthaginians the initial advantage.
‘Maybe they’re planning to fight,’ Atticus said, doubting his own words even as he spoke them.
‘They’re too outnumbered,’ Gaius remarked, glancing to the approaching Roman fleet.
Atticus nodded again and set his mind to the task. He moved to the side rail to get a better view of the sea ahead. ‘Gaius, what’s north of here?’ he asked.
‘The coastline runs north for ten leagues to a cape and then turns southwest for forty leagues into the bay of Carthage.’
They’ll never get as far as Carthage, Atticus thought, but, as he looked to the approaching Roman fleet, waiting for them to change course to intercept the Carthaginian formation, a sliver of doubt remained in his mind. Barca had been beaten before, but never due to error, and Carthaginian seamanship still outmatched that of most Roman crews. If the enemy were staying in formation, then their true motive was yet to be revealed.
‘They’re running,’ Nobilior shouted in elation.
Paullus turned to the junior consul and frowned, regarding the excessive display of emotion as undignified, although he too felt the satisfaction of seeing the enemy flee in the face of his command.
‘Helmsman, change course to intercept,’ Paullus ordered, and the Concordia turned two points to starboard, the fleet behind responding immediately.
The enemy fleet was still some five miles away, sailing parallel to the coastline, their galleys bunched together as if racing each other in a bid to escape. Paullus followed the line of their course, immediately seeing the land give way to the north as it turned a headland.
‘Helmsman,’ he said, ‘increase speed. I want to reach that headland before the enemy has a chance of rounding it.’
The helmsman nodded, calling for battle speed, and Paullus nodded in satisfaction as he felt the pace of the Concordia increase. He looked to the main deck and the ordered ranks of the legionaries, sensing their expectation, allowing it to feed his own impatience, and he sneered in contempt as he thought of the enemy’s futile attempt to escape his wrath.
‘The Romans are turning to pursue,’ the lookout called, and Hamilcar glanced over his starboard aft-quarter to confirm the course change of the enemy fleet before turning to look out over the aft-rail. The Roman galleys from Aspis were just breaching the harbour mouth, now more than two miles behind the last ship in his formation, and Hamilcar watched as they neatly formed behind the lead galley, beginning their pursuit in earnest.
Hamilcar turned to the sea ahead and the coastline to his left, silently naming the landmarks in sequence as the Alissar sped north, his intimate knowledge of the shoreline deepening his resolve to deny the Romans any part of his people’s sacred land. To his right the Roman fleet was slowly closing the gap as they sailed diagonally towards him, revealing their simple plan to cut his course as he made to round Cape Hermaeum. Hamilcar thanked Tanit for the Romans’ actions, forgetting her earlier duplicity.
His fleet was outnumbered, but Hamilcar knew he stood a reasonable chance of thwarting the Romans’ attempt to trap him if he could level the odds or — better yet — turn them in his favour. Victory might yet be possible or, failing that, retreat with honour. Either way, Hamilcar needed to keep his fleet together, and Cape Hermaeum would give him that chance.
Atticus stayed at the side rail of the aft-deck as the Orcus settled on a northerly track, the galleys of his command slipping into the wake of the Carthaginian formation, using the enemy’s course to avoid any hidden shallows along the coastline. He was joined there by Septimus, while the legionaries formed up behind Drusus on the main deck, the proximity of the enemy dictating every action on the quinquereme.
