ships being rendered helpless.
He turned to the trierarch.
“Ready the marines.”
Atenos narrowed his eyes. As soon as the Roman fleet had appeared around the headland in full view of the city of Darioritum, the Veneti ships had reacted in selfish panic. Those vessels that were already under sail and out on the water made a desperate run for the open sea cutting past the Romans dangerously close, perhaps a quarter of their fleet in all, but carrying many of the women and children who had already boarded.
The rest of them, wallowing in the port area and with no hope of achieving speed quickly enough to escape the Romans, desperately tried to set their sails. For a moment, the big centurion wondered what they were up to. As Commander Brutus split his fleet and a number of triremes and quinqueremes raced off after the fleeing Veneti ships, the rest of the Roman vessels closed in on the port like a net.
Why were they setting their sails, then? They had no hope of running.
They couldn’t be planning to fight?
And yet, as he watched, much of the remaining Veneti fleet prepared for action, while a few of the more sensible vessels made for the jetties and relative safety.
Atenos grinned as he watched the nearest heavy ship, it’s huge square sail still furled, using the low wind and the small sail at the bow to guide itself toward the smashed jetty upon which he stood.
Perhaps a third of the remaining Veneti had seen the futility of the situation and were now making for the docks or the bank nearby, the rest racing out to meet the Roman fleet. The legionary next to him cleared his throat.
“Do
The huge Gallic centurion turned a wolfish grin on him.
“Neither. Form up!”
The legionary looked confused, but came to attention along with the other eight remaining men of Atenos’ squad on the wooden boards. On the other jetties, the rest of his century heard the order and snapped to attention, wondering what they were doing.
The centurion watched the huge Veneti galley close on the jetty. The tall sides were at just the right height to board from the wooden walkway. It would be amusing then watching the triremes trying to disembark here onto a jetty some eight feet higher than their deck. He continued to gaze, stony faced, as the ship came alongside him.
To the rear of the port, the rest of the Roman force was busy dealing with the surrendering horde of warriors that had become trapped at the seaward end of the oppidum. Sooner or later they would have to clear the way to the jetties and repair the damage done to them. For now, though, the First Century of the Tenth Legion’s First Cohort was alone on the wooden jetties.
The Veneti warriors on board had their hands raised in a gesture of surrender as the vessel bumped against the timber of the jetty and came to a stop. Several legionaries staggered with the impact, but regained their composure quickly and returned to attention.
Atenos turned his fearsome, blood-soaked face to the surrendering Veneti and barked out a number of commands in the guttural dialect of the Gauls. Warriors flinched and ran the plank out to the jetty, hurrying off the ship and past the Roman column to stand, dejected, on the wooden planks, awaiting the decision as to their fate and hoping, presumably, that their surrender would earn them clemency.
Atenos watched as the last of the hundred or so passengers disembarked and, as the crew made to follow, he held up his hand and shouted something else in Gaulish, causing them to return to their stations.
“Sir?”
Atenos turned to the small party of Romans.
“Get aboard!”
The legionaries, confused yet obedient, turned and rushed up the boarding plank to the deck of the huge Veneti ship. Atenos followed them up and turned his fierce gaze on the ship’s captain.
“You speak Latin?”
The man’s face gave him the answer to his question and he sighed before reeling off instructions in their native tongue. The man shook his head defiantly.
“Yes you damn well
Striding over to the shaken captain, Atenos, a head taller than him and drenched in blood and gristle, grasped the man by the tunic and lifted him off the floor until they were face to face, before speaking to him slowly and deliberately, almost in a growl.
The captain looked terrified and quickly nodded. As soon as Atenos dropped him back to the floor, he turned and began shouting commands at the crew. The huge centurion returned to his men as, behind him, the crew began to get the ship moving once more.
“We’re collecting the rest of the century and then we go out to help the fleet. At ease for now.”
As the men of the First century relaxed, Atenos stepped to the rail. It really was impressive watching the Veneti sailors at work. The ship was huge and heavy, powered only by the wind in the small front sail and yet they were already sliding through the water moments after the command was given.
He looked over at the captain and shouted another command before turning to look at the legionaries standing to attention on the other two jetties. Close by, other ships were making for the docks and this ship would be getting in the way.
“You men get ready.”
The big war galley slowed as it approached the end of the jetty and Atenos waited until he judged the timing to be right.
“Come aboard!”
The legionaries looked at one another in surprise. The ship was still moving and there was a gap of several feet between the jetty and the deck. The first man who jumped landed badly, falling to his knees and grazing them on the deck. Atenos tutted at him and beckoned to the rest.
“Get aboard or you’re swimming after us!”
The men ran in a small knot and leapt aboard, some landing well, others falling as they hit the deck. As soon as they were safely on the ship, the captain picked up the pace as he made for the next jetty. Behind them, another Veneti ship had already begun to dock at the jetty they had left, yet more vessels closing in behind.
The whole procedure was repeated at the third jetty, though with greater ease, since they knew what was coming. After another shouted command in Gaulish, the huge centurion turned to his men.
“Anyone here had experience of fighting as marines?”
There was a long, unbroken silence.
“Me neither, but I’ve seen it done. No shield walls or testudos. As soon as we get near the first enemy ship I want everyone near the rail. On my command you run and jump for the enemy deck. When you get there you come up fighting and don’t wait for orders or formations. Just kill anyone who isn’t one of us. If you miss the jump, you’ll fall between the hulls. I wouldn’t recommend that, so jump carefully. Everyone clear?”
The legionaries roared their understanding and saluted.
Atenos turned to look ahead as they broke clear of the many vessels trying to reach the docks and into the open water, heading toward the fleets, where the conflict was already underway. The Veneti ships outnumbered the Roman fleet by almost two vessels to one, but the Roman crews had adopted a peculiar tactic: they were sailing around the beleaguered Veneti, safe in the knowledge that the lack of strong winds left the enemy slow to manoeuvre. What they were hoping to achieve with this peculiar activity was beyond him until he saw, with a grin, two huge ropes give way on the nearest enemy vessel, allowing the sail to flap loosely over to one side, where it fell to the deck, useless.
Roman sailors and marines were hacking with some kind of pole-arm at anything available and were crippling the enemy ships with surprising speed and efficiency. Rather than boarding them there and then, they were leaving them, helpless and immobile, while they moved onto the next. Once they had the whole Veneti fleet becalmed and unable to move, they could deal with them at their leisure.
Atenos laughed. He had, given the navy’s record so far, presumed that the
