Gallia Invicta

skin drum, busy beating out a back-breaking rhythm for the oarsmen.

“Slow us right down.”

As Brutus watched in disbelief, the oarsmen settled into a relaxed mode, following the now-ponderous beat of the hammer, while the trierarch had the signal sent to the other ships to follow suit.

“What are you doing?”

The trierarch turned his grin on the commander.

“Listen, sir.”

Brutus cocked his head to the side and concentrated. He could hear the noises of the ship, the splashing of the waves, the distant shouts of the Veneti on their ships…

… and the onagers.

He grinned.

The artillery emplacements on the fort above, under the control of the Eighth legion, had begun to fire once more, gradually finding their range on the fleeing ships. The trierarch had slowed the Roman squadron to keep them clear of danger.

Brutus watched with relief as the range was quickly adjusted. Moments passed and then the first blow hit home. A massive boulder struck one of the central ships of the group, ripping through the ropes, wrecking the deck, smashing the mast and causing general devastation.

Shouts of alarm went up from the Veneti. The ships at the head of the group strained to try and get ahead, though there was little they could do, too reliant on a failing wind as they were.

The artillerists of the Eighth made their mark once more as the latest adjustments in range brought a group of five shots to the very head of the group of vessels. Two of the shots disappeared into the water harmlessly, overshooting slightly, while the other three hit the two lead vessels, all but crippling them immediately.

The Veneti fleet foundered and, with signals sent by the trierarch of the Aurora, their accompanying vessels spread out, each marking a target, leaving the flagship at the centre, following up on the rear of the fleeing vessels.

Chaos ensued among the Veneti.

After a further volley of deadly rocks had fallen among the lead vessels of the escaping flotilla, Balbus’ men settled into a steady rate of fire that brought their missiles down ahead of the enemy bows, deterring them from proceeding into the river mouth.

Brutus grinned. He would have to buy Balbus and his men enough wine to float a trireme when this was over.

Three of the eight vessels were already beginning to disappear beneath the waves, the damage from the repeated artillery fire too much for them. Three others had come to a full stop, the artillery fire dangerously close ahead and realising that their fight was over.

The nearest two vessels, at the rear of the Veneti flotilla, however, seemed to have other ideas. Their steering oars moved and the vessels began to turn, much more sharply than Brutus could have expected.

“I don’t believe it. They’re coming for us!”

The trierarch nodded.

“Your orders?”

Brutus shook his head. What could they do other than engage?

“Prepare the marines. As soon as we get close enough, have the men at the front and back use the hooks to do what they can while the marines board from amidships. Have the platforms raised for the marines so they can cross.”

The trierarch saluted and strode across the deck to his second in command, where he began to give out the orders.

Brutus once more watched the two approaching ships.

The quinquereme Accipiter and trireme Excidium came alongside for support, the remaining vessels concentrating on the surrendering or floundering ships.

“What are they hoping to do?” Brutus asked the trierarch, eying the enemy carefully. “Two against three and we have better manoeuvrability. Our marines are trained legionaries. What can they possibly think to achieve?”

The trierarch frowned.

“Not sure, sir. But whatever it is, they mean business. They’ve trimmed their sails just right. There’s not a lot of wind, but what there is, they’re using to the maximum. That man’s a good sailor.”

“They’re coming surprisingly fast.”

The trierarch continued to watch and a frown fell across his face. Brutus glanced across at him.

“What?”

“They seem to have no sense of self-preservation. A sensible captain would be turning to concentrate on the Excidium first. Take the smaller ship down and then concentrate on the others. Or at least split off and send one ship around each flank: one against the Excidium and the other on the Accipiter. But they’re both running central, straight for us. They’ll be surrounded by the other ships and then they’re doomed.”

Brutus watched the ships bearing down on them. The trierarch was right. In half a minute those two vessels would slide neatly into the gaps between the three Roman ships.

“A symbolic victory!”

“Sir?” The trierarch furrowed his brow.

Brutus shook his head in disbelief.

“They’re only doing what the general did. Caesar went for their capital. It was a grand gesture of Roman power; a symbolic victory to break the spirit of the tribes. The Veneti have lost the war and they know it, but they’ve identified the flagship of the fleet. Two against one. A symbolic victory. They don’t care about the Accipiter or the Excidium at all, and they don’t expect to survive.”

The trierarch nodded.

“Full speed! We need to outmanoeuvre them!”

But his calls were too late and Brutus could see that already. The Veneti war galleys closed on the three Roman vessels. The trierarch of the Excidium was prepared and the oarsmen withdraw their oars, leaving a bare side to the approaching enemy. The Accipiter followed suit, but too slow, some of the complex five banks of oars failing to withdraw in time.

The Aurora, however, was still under orders to make full speed and the row upon row of oars remained in the water, pushing the vessel forward. The two Veneti vessels barged into the gaps between the Roman ships, smashing whatever oars remained protruding from the hull as they slid tightly into place.

The enemy captains were every bit the sailors that the trierarch had imagined. Their timing had been perfect. Rather than racing into the gaps, as they approached, their sails were loosened and luffed heavily, failing to catch the wind and slowing the ships rapidly. By the time the two hulls drew alongside the Aurora they were almost at a stop.

Sailors aboard the two high hulls threw out ropes and grapples, grabbing the Roman ship and pinning themselves to it, bring the three vessels to a virtual halt and dragging the hulls together. The Accipiter and the Excidium were unprepared for the manoeuvre and shot on forwards, passing their targets and trying to pull to a stop urgently.

The oarsmen of the Aurora, already aware of the situation before the orders began to ring out, grasped swords, shattered oars, or whatever makeshift weapons they could find and rose from their seats to deal with the coming onslaught. The centurion in charge of the marines barked out an order and his men split into two units that stepped toward the rail at either side.

And suddenly the world was filled with deadly activity.

Not bothering waiting to lower boarding planks, knowing that their attack was virtual suicide and they would not be sailing home, the Veneti leapt from the higher decks of their ships and down to the timber surface of the Roman flagship as soon as the vessels were close enough. The number of people that had been on board the enemy vessels was astounding, the ships having picked up as many refugees from the city as they could manage,