The ramming ship alone would have slid astern in clear seas, but obstructed from the front by the first trireme, Accipiter had to dodge, with all the oars on one side ordered to reverse. The strokes were clumsy, but it was faster than simply having them raised clear while the other side brought Accipiter round. It slowed them down, but Gaditicus had seen the need to head for the outside line, or he would be caught between the two ships as the second pulled alongside.
Accipiter crunched past the prow of the first trireme, shuddering as the speed fell off. Gaditicus had the slave-master ready for the move and below decks the oars were pulled in quickly. The professionals of the trireme were not fast enough. Accipiter snapped the beams in groups of three as she passed, each one crushing a man into bloody pulp, deep in the heart of the enemy vessel.
Before the Roman ship had travelled more than half the length of the trireme’s oars, the bronze ram of the second smashed into Accipiter with the cracking roar of broken timbers. The whole ship groaned at the impact, like a living animal. The slaves below began to scream in a horrific chorus of terror. They were all chained to their benches and if Accipiter went down, so did they.
Arrow fire cut into Accipiter’s deck, but there, if nowhere else, was the evidence of lack of army discipline. Julius thanked his luck that they hadn’t the training to fire volleys as he ducked under a shaft that whined nastily over his head. The shields protected the men from most of the shots and then the heavy corvus was leaning out and over, seeming to hang in the air for a moment when the ropes were cut, then slamming down into the enemy deck, its spike holding it as solid as the retribution to come.
The first of the legionaries ran over the causeway, crashing into those who waited, yelling defiance at them. The usual advantage of numbers was gone against either of the two attacking ships. Both seemed packed with fighters, their armour and weapons a mixture of old and new from the whole of the coastal ports.
Julius found Cabera at his side, his usual smile missing. The old man had taken up a dagger and shield, but otherwise wore his habitual robe, which Gaditicus had allowed as long as it was checked for lice twice a month.
‘Better to stay with you than down in the dark, I think,’ Cabera muttered as he took in the unfolding chaos. Both ducked suddenly under their stiff wooden shields as arrows hummed past them. One shaft struck near Julius’ hand, rocking him back. He whistled softly as he saw the barbed head had come through.
Heavy bronze hooks clattered onto the planking, trailing writhing coils. Men began to leap onto Accipiter’s decks and the noise of battle sounded all around, clashing swords and shouts of triumph and despair.
Julius saw Suetonius spread his men out in a line to meet the attackers. Quickly, he ordered his twenty in to support, though he suspected they would have run in without him if he had been slow. There could be no surrender with Accipiter holed and every man there knew it. Their attacks were ferocious in their intensity and the first over the corvus cleared the decks before them, ignoring wounds.
Cabera stayed with him as he moved in to engage and Julius felt comfort from his presence, reminding him of other battles they had survived together. Perhaps the old healer was a good-luck charm, he thought, and then he was into the arc of enemy blades and cutting them down without conscious will, his body reacting in the rhythms Renius had taught him year after hard year.
Julius ducked under a hatchet and shoved the wielder when he was off balance, sending him sprawling by the feet of Pelitas, who stamped hard without thinking in the legionary’s classic battlefield reaction. If it’s upright, cut it down. If it’s down, stamp it flat.
The corvus was packed with soldiers as they jostled and shoved to get over. They were an easy target for archers and Julius could see a group of them against the far rail of the trireme taking shots when they could see through their own men. It was devastatingly effective fire at that short range and more than a dozen legionaries went down before those on board cut the archers apart like so much wheat, in a bloody frenzy. Julius nodded with pleasure as he saw it. He felt the same hatred for archers that all legionaries felt who had known the terror and frustration of their long-range attacks.
The second trireme had backed oars and pulled almost free of Accipiter, the damage done. Gaditicus watched them manoeuvre as he held back units to repel their assault when it came. The situation was changing too rapidly to predict, though he did know the pirates couldn’t stand off. Accipiter could be sinking, but she would not begin to settle for minutes more and the legionaries could yet fight their way clear onto the other trireme, taking command there. It wasn’t impossible that they could salvage some sort of victory if they had an hour and were left alone, which is why he knew there would be another attack as soon as the second ship could clear its ram and bring its fighters close enough to board. He swore to himself as the last cracking timber sounded and the sharp prow pulled away from Accipiter, with the new orders to their oarsmen shouted quickly in what sounded like a mixture of Greek and dog Latin.
Gaditicus sent his remaining reserve of soldiers to the other side of Accipiter, guessing they would board on the opposite side to split the defenders. It was a sensible move and served its purpose, though if the first trireme could be taken quickly enough, then all his men could be brought to repel the new attack and the day might not be lost. Gaditicus clenched his fist over the hilt of his gladius in what he knew was useless indignation. Should he have expected them to meet him fairly and be cut to pieces by his soldiers? They were thieves and beggars, after the silver in his holds, and it felt as if small dogs were bringing down the Roman wolf. His hand shook with emotion as he saw the bank of oars pulled in on one side and the second trireme sculling towards his beloved ship. He could still hear the screaming of the slaves below in a constant chorus of terror that wore at his nerves.
Julius took a blow on his armour and grunted as he reversed his sword through a man’s face. Before he could take in his position, a bearded giant stepped towards him. Julius felt a touch of fear as he saw the enormous height and shoulders of the warrior carrying a weighty metalworker’s hammer that was stained red with blood and hair. The man’s teeth were bared and he bellowed as he brought the weapon over his shoulder in a downward blow. Julius backed away, bringing his arm up to parry in reflex. He felt the bones of his wrist snap in the impact and cried out in pain.
Cabera darted quickly between them and sank his dagger into the man’s neck, but the warrior only roared and brought the hammer back round to sweep the frail healer away. Julius reached for his own dagger with his left hand, trying to ignore the agony of grating bones. He felt dizzy and suddenly detached, but the enormous man was still dangerous, though blood fountained from the neck wound.
The bull-like figure staggered erect and swung again in blind pain. The hammer connected solidly with Julius’ head with a dull crack and he collapsed. Blood pooled slowly from his nose and ears as the fight went on around him.
Brutus took a deep breath of clean mountain air as he looked back at their pursuers. With Greece spread out below them and the slopes covered with tiny purple blooms lifting a rich scent into the wind, it seemed wrong to be dwelling on death and revenge. Yet, as Renius had predicted, the group of riders contained at least one good tracker, and over the last five days they had remained doggedly on their trail despite a number of attempts to lose them.
Renius sat on a mossy rock nearby with his shoulder stump exposed, rubbing grease into the scarred flesh as he did every morning. Brutus felt guilty each time he saw it, remembering the fight in the training yard of Julius’ estate. He thought he could even remember the blow that had severed the nerves of the arm, but there was no calling it back after all this time. Though the flesh had formed a pink pad of callus, raw patches would appear that needed to be salved. The only real relief came when Renius was forced to leave the leather cap off and let the