Atticus nodded, his eyes never leaving the Carthaginian hunters. They were now dead astern. Three hundred yards.
‘Septimus, clear the fore. I need line of sight to the aft-deck.’
Septimus hesitated, one question remaining. ‘So if we can’t outrun them, what’s our plan?’
‘We need to level the odds,’ Atticus replied as he turned his full attention to the course ahead, ‘so I’m steering the Aquila between Scylla and Charybdis, between the rock and the whirlpool.’
‘Match course and speed, Captain,’ Gisco ordered over his shoulder. He heard the captain repeat the order to a runner, and a moment later the Elissar heeled over slightly as she slotted into the wake of the Roman trireme. Gisco could not see the crew of his quarry. The Romans had erected a shield wall along the back of the aft-deck using their scuta, the four-foot-high shields of the legions, in a double-height formation, ostensibly to protect the sailors on the deck, Gisco surmised. ‘That won’t protect you for long,’ he thought. He turned to the captain, his face a mask of determination.
‘It’s time to hunt them down, Captain … Signal to the Sidon to come alongside.’
Again a runner was dispatched to the aft-deck and the captain watched the Sidon break formation and increase speed, moving abreast of the Elissar.
The captain turned to Gisco. ‘The Sidon is in position,’ he said, but the admiral was already brushing past him to the side rail.
‘Captain of the Sidon!’ he bellowed across the forty yards separating the two galleys as they sped along, their oars once again matching each other stroke for stroke.
Karalis, the captain, identified himself on the foredeck.
‘Captain, increase to attack speed. Maintain for ten minutes and then increase to ramming speed,’ Gisco shouted with resolve. ‘Push the Romans hard, Captain, whip your own slaves until they drop from exhaustion, spare no man. I want the Roman galley slaves spent. When your rowers collapse we will overtake you and run them down.’
‘Yes, Admiral.’ Karalis saluted and immediately turned to issue orders to the slave deck below.
Gisco watched the Sidon leap forward, unleashed, as if she had thrown off a dead weight, her speed increasing to ten knots.
He turned again to watch the Roman galley, the blood in his veins mixing with adrenaline as he sensed the approach of battle. It was now just a matter of time.
Atticus focused all his attention on the waters ahead, trying to read every nuance in the waves. His concentration was interrupted by the approach of a runner.
‘The second-in-command begs to report, Captain, one of the Carthaginians has broken formation and has moved alongside the lead ship.’
Atticus kept his eyes on the waters ahead. The water was calm, the rock still two thousand yards distant. He had time. His orders to Lucius could not be trusted to a runner, he needed to speak to him in person. He double-checked the waters off the bow again and then turned and ran down the length of the ship to the aft-deck. Lucius was staring through a chink in the shield wall to the galleys behind.
‘Report, Lucius,’ Atticus said.
The second-in-command turned and straightened. ‘Just as we expected, Captain, one of the Carthaginians has broken off and has just increased to attack speed. She’s already closing the gap. The other two have taken up flanking positions on her starboard and port aft-quarters, but they are maintaining battle speed.’
Atticus brushed past Lucius to look through the shield wall to see for himself. The three Carthaginian galleys were in arrow formation as before, but now the lead ship was outpacing the other two.
‘Lucius, let him come to within one hundred yards and then let fly. Attack speed. Match him stroke for stroke. He’s nothing to lose so he’ll push us hard. He’ll keep pace for a few minutes then he’ll push to ramming speed. Hopefully we’ll reach Charybdis before that. When we do I’ll signal for ramming speed, then for the oars. We want him off guard, so keep them close. We can’t allow them time to react.’
Lucius nodded. ‘Understood, Captain, I’ll watch for your signal.’
Atticus reached out and clasped his second-in-command on the shoulder, feeling the calm strength there, trusting him. ‘See you beyond Charybdis,’ he said.
‘Or in Elysium,’ Lucius replied with a smile.
Septimus had watched Atticus outline his orders to Lucius without comment. He did not understand the strategy that Atticus was dictating, although the captain had been right about the Carthaginians. They were sacrificing one ship to wear down the Aquila, to leave her helpless, unable to even limp away at standard speed. The captain turned and ran once again to take up position on the foredeck. Lucius returned to looking through the shield wall at the approaching galley, the marines holding their scuta in place grimly as arrow after arrow struck their protective wall. Septimus stood beside the second-in-command.
‘Lucius, what are Scylla and Charybdis, the rock and the whirlpool?’
‘Scylla is the rock and Charybdis is the whirlpool,’ Lucius replied, never taking his eyes off their pursuer. ‘The ancients believed that both were once beautiful sea nymphs who displeased the gods and were punished. Scylla was transformed into a rock that reaches out into the sea to claw at passing ships, and Charybdis into a whirlpool that would swallow ships whole as they tried to avoid Scylla.’
Lucius paused, judging the distance before bellowing down to the slave deck, ‘Drum master! Attack speed!’
Septimus could hear the drum master repeat the order to the two hundred sweating slaves as their pace increased perceptibly, the Aquila instantly responding. Lucius looked through the shield wall again and grunted his approval before continuing as if he had only paused for breath.
‘Any ship that doesn’t know the strait – and we’re counting on the fact that the Carthaginians don’t – may find herself running along the Sicilian coastline. On this side of the strait you have to run between Scylla and Charybdis, between the rock and the whirlpool.’
Karalis thought for a moment that the Roman ship would not react, perhaps resigned to her fate, or perhaps wanting to fight and die with honour rather than run. Maybe he would get the chance to bloody his sword after all. Karalis was Sardinian by birth, as were most of his crew, and although he respected the strength of his country’s Phoenician masters, he despised their condescension. He fully understood the admiral’s strategy, but this did not assuage his anger, as he knew it was because he was Sardinian that his ship had been chosen to be sacrificed. Just as a smile began to creep onto his face, as he relished the idea of robbing the Carthaginians of first blood, the Roman craft responded, increasing to attack speed. The captain cursed. The Sidon was still one hundred yards short of the Roman ship. He would never catch her now. Even from his initial vantage point at the rear of the vanguard, he could see that the Roman trireme was a faster, sleeker ship than his own. He estimated that she was at least two knots faster, which meant his rowers had to worker harder to keep pace. None of that mattered though, he thought. Even the best galley slaves could not maintain attack speed for longer than fifteen minutes. At ramming speed they would collapse after five. The captain would follow orders. He would keep the pace unrelenting. He would push his slaves past exhaustion, past endurance. They would tear the heart out of the Roman galley slaves, and then both ships, Sardinian and Roman, would stop – the Sardinians to rest, the Romans to die.
Atticus wiped the spray from his face as he refocused his eyes on the sea ahead. The Aquila was now making eleven knots, her attack speed. He stuck out his right arm, a signal to Gaius to make another minor adjustment to the ship’s course, keeping her just right of Scylla, the rock. Atticus estimated that they had increased speed some ten minutes ago. He knew the measure of his slave crew, knew their worth,