Like the wings of a great bird, the Concordia's three banks of oars brought her towards her prey. The gap was less than half a mile now.
'Why are they just sitting there? Why don't the bastards run?' whispered Maximus.
'Maybe they think that, if they can avoid the ram, about a hundred of them can take our seventy or so marines in a boarding action, despite the Concordia's advantage in height.'
'Then they are fools, and deserve all they are going to get!'
'Forward engines open fire at 150 yards!'
Water hissed down the hull, and the gap closed swiftly. Twang, slide, thump went the starboard bolt-thrower. With staggering speed, the bolt shot away from the Concordia. For a second it looked as if it would hit the enemy boat head on but instead it skimmed just above the heads of the Gothic warriors. Already the crew were winching back the slide for the next missile. The near miss had the effect of stirring an anthill. Across the water rolled the barritus, the German war cry, a rising roar. One barbarian was frantically waving a bright-red shield above his head.
'Shit! Oh shit!' someone shouted in the prow. Out from behind the low rocky humps of the Diabetai islets rowed two more Goth ships.
'I suppose we know now why they didn't run,' whispered Maximus.
'Prepare for fast turn to left!' There was little over one hundred yards separating the Concordia from the first two Gothic vessels. 'On my signal starboard side row on at full pressure, port side back her down hard, helmsman hard over!' There was just the noise of the ship slicing through the water. 'Now!'
The Concordia heeled to the right. The lowest level of oar ports were on or even below the surface. A thousand joints of wood screamed in complaint. The mainmast shifted against its restraining ropes. But the ship turned like an eel. She raced broadside on across the prows of the Goths only some twenty yards distant. Then she was levelling out and heading away. She had turned through 180 degrees in less than three times her own length.
A whir, and something slammed into the deck a couple of yards from Ballista.
'Arrows! Shields up!' Cursing his own thoughtlessness, Ballista crouched behind his heavy planks of linden wood. There were more thumps and clangs as arrows found wood or metal. Somewhere, a man screamed as one found exposed flesh. Then, twice in close succession, twang, slide, thump as the rear two bolt-throwers answered the Gothic bowmen. Ballista peeped over his shield, then ducked down. Another flight of arrows was coming. This time, more men screamed. The captain was standing beside Ballista. The northerner felt shamed by the man's coolness.
'We can outrun them no problem. But we might fi-' The arrowhead appeared shockingly out of his throat. There was surprisingly little blood. The captain seemed to look down at it in horror, then toppled forward. As the arrowhead hit the deck the shaft broke deep in his neck, wrenching the wound open, and now blood spurted everywhere.
Keeping his shield raised towards the stern, and with Maximus also trying to shield him, Ballista went over to the helmsman. He moved hunched forward as if walking into heavy rain. The helmsman, although protected by the up-curved stern of the ship and the shields of two marines, looked frantic. His eyes were fixed on the dead body of his captain. If something were not done, the morale of the Concordia could collapse like a punctured wineskin. Dozens of bowmen were shooting into the ship, and her only reply was two bolt-throwers.
'I am assuming command,' Ballista said to the helmsman. 'Are you unhurt?'
'Yes, Dominus.' The man looked dubious. Ballista knew that he doubted if this northerner had ever commanded a trireme. He was right to doubt.
Raising his voice against the noises of the ship and the unequal missile battle, Ballista called out, 'I am in command! Optio to me! Rowing master, are you injured? Bow officer, are you?'
Both the ship's officers raised their hands in a stiff-armed salute and called back the standard military response: 'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.'
'Where the bloody hell is the optio?'
'Among the wounded, Dominus,' someone answered.
'Right. Marines, you will take commands from me. Helmsman, take charge of the rowing of the ship. Just get her out of this arrow storm, now! But not too far out. I know that we can outrun them. But they probably won't know that. Northern barbarians cannot imagine what an imperial trireme can do in action until they see it. I should know!' He laughed grimly. 'Try and keep her about a hundred to a hundred and fifty yards in front of them. Just at the limit of effective bow shot. Keep them interested. If they don't keep together we can pick them off one by one.' At that instant, Ballista remembered the merchantman anchored off Syme and, with a determined grin, said, 'I have a plan.'
By the time the merchantman came into sight again, the swan stern of the Concordia looked like a pin cushion but only a few more men had been hit, and Ballista's hopes were being realized. The largest of the Gothic longboats had pulled seven or eight boat lengths ahead of its original companion. Ballista estimated the crew to be at least a hundred warriors, who rowed with purpose, as if galvanized by the presence of 'red shield', who was obviously their leader. The original two longboats had a sizeable headstart over the other two enemy craft, which had been hiding behind the Diabetai islets. The latter were now tailed off, lagging a good half-mile behind the second boat. Ballista told the helmsman to take the Concordia to the right of the merchantman, keeping as close to her side as possible. It was almost time to put his plan into operation.
As the ram neared the prow of the motionless merchantman, Ballista called out a string of orders. 'Prepare for fast turn to left! On my command, port oars bank down hard, starboard oars row hard, helmsman put steering oars hard over!' The high side of the big round ship shot by the Concordia.
Allfather, let me get this right, thought Ballista. He could all too easily imagine calling the order too soon and the Concordia's port-side oars breaking on the stern of the merchantman, or too late, and the whole plan failing at the start.
'Turn now!'
Again, the long warship tipped, her starboard lower oar ports dipped to the water line. Again, thousands of pieces of wooden joinery squealed, and the great mainmast strained against its lashings. Two bearded faces looked on in astonishment over the stern rail of the merchantman as the Concordia raced past. In a matter of moments, Ballista shouted for the helmsman to straighten her up and for the left-hand rowers to resume their stroke. Now the Concordia was racing back the way she had come but down the other side of the merchantman.
Just as Ballista had hoped, when they emerged from the shadow of the merchant there was the following Gothic ship still chasing the trireme's wake, blindly following her original course. The Goth's beam was wide open to the Concordia's ram.
'Helmsman, sheer the enemy oars! Rowers, ramming speed!' In a deft movement the steering oars angled the warship into the longboat. 'Port oars, prepare to come inboard.' Seconds passed. How soon, how bloody soon? worried Ballista. Now! 'Oars inboard!'
Not a moment too soon the great sweeps were drawn inboard out of harm's way. The helmsman threw the steering oars to the right, and the iron ram struck the hull of the Gothic ship at a glancing angle. There was a terrible noise of metal into wood as the ram raked down the flank of the enemy longboat. The Goths, taken completely by surprise, had no time to recover their oars. They splintered like kindling. As the Concordia passed, some of her marines, without being ordered, hurled darts down from her higher deck into the northern ship. Cries of anguish and pain floated up.
Bugger! I should have thought to tell the marines to do that, thought Ballista as the stern of the trireme cleared the enemy. But his stratagem had worked. The Goths had been given no time to react and, now, with half their oars gone, they lay dead in the water.
'Aim for the second longboat, bow to bow ram,' Ballista shouted to the helmsman.
The second crew of Goths was as surprised as the first. Now they tried to turn away. Their rising panic was easy to see in their missed strokes and the longboat's sluggish response.
'Ramming speed!' bellowed the helmsman. The Concordia surged ahead. 'Brace for ramming!' With an almighty crash of splintering wood the ram punched into the enemy beam. The impact knocked Ballista to the deck. Maximus hauled him up. Ballista was winded. Bent double, he tried to suck air back into his lungs. He heard the helmsman shout, 'Back water! Back water! Full pressure!'
