Septimus took off towards the foredeck, passing several of the ships crew as he went. They had been busy since dawn, preparing the ship for action, a routine drilled so well that all work was carried out without comment or command. He approached the captain slowly.
Atticus stood at the very front of the foredeck, leaning slightly over the rail as if to extend his reach through the impenetrable fog. He cocked his head slightly as he picked up Septimuss approach, but did not turn. Atticus was three inches shorter, thirty pounds lighter, and a year older than the centurion. Of Greek ancestry, he was born the son of a fisherman near the city of Locri, a once-Greek city-state of Magna Graecia, Greater Greece, on the toe of Italy, which Rome had conquered a generation before. Atticus had joined the Roman navy at the age of fourteen, not out of loyalty to the Roman Republic, for he had never seen Rome and knew little of its democracy, but out of what he believed to be necessity. Like all those who lived on the shores of the Ionian Sea, his family feared the constant attacks of pirates along the Calabrian coast. Atticus had refused to live with this fear, and so he had dedicated his fifteen-year-long career to hunting pirates, a hunt that he hoped would bear fruit once again that very day.
You wanted to speak to me? Atticus said without turning.
Yes, thanks for coming so quickly, Septimus said sarcastically. Well, where are these pirates of yours? I thought they were expected over an hour ago.
I dont know where they are, Atticus replied frustratedly. Our sources said their bireme passes this section of the coast every second day before dawn.
Could your sources be wrong?
No, the lives of those fishermen depend on knowing the movements of any pirates in these waters. Theyre not wrong but something is. That ship should have passed by now.
Could you have missed them in the fog?
Doubtful a pirate bireme? If she passed within a half-league of here Id have heard the drum masters beat. No she hasnt passed.
What if she were under sail?
She cant be under sail, not this close to the shore, especially with an intermittent onshore wind.
Septimus sighed. So what now?
The fog is dissipating. We wait until its gone and we move out of this inlet. Without a man on that headland, he indicated the opening of the inlet, we dont have enough advance warning of any approach and we might be spotted in here. We cant risk being bottled in.
As if by Atticuss command, a large gap in the fog opened around them. Septimus was turning to leave the foredeck when the sight off the bow arrested him. At this point on the Calabrian coast the Strait of Messina was over three miles across, and under the blue sky he could see the distant shore of eastern Sicily. However, it was not the magnificent vista opening before him that stopped him short.
Now we know why the pirate ship didnt appear, muttered Atticus.
In mid-channel, a league away and directly across from them, three trireme galleys were slowly beating north towards the mouth of the strait. They were a vanguard, scouting ships, moving ponderously under oars in arrowhead formation, unable to utilize their sails in the calm weather of the strait.
By the gods, whispered Septimus, who are they?
Carthaginians! Tyrian design, heavier than the Aquila, rigged for sea crossing. Looks like the fog hid us for just long enough.
Atticuss gaze was not on these three ships as he spoke, however. He was looking further south along the strait. At a distance of over two leagues behind the vanguard, Atticus could see the darkened hulls of additional approaching ships, a whole fleet of them led by a quinquereme, a massive galley with three rows of oars like the Aquila but with the upper oars manned by two men each.
Septimus noticed Atticuss gaze and followed its line, instantly spotting the other ships.
In Jupiters name, Septimus said in awe, how many do you think there are?
At least fifty, Atticus replied, his expression hard, calculating.
So what now? Septimus asked, deferring to the man who now controlled their next move.
There was a moments silence. Septimus tore his gaze from the approaching fleet and looked at Atticus.
Well?
Atticus turned to look directly at the centurion.
Now we run.
Hannibal Gisco, admiral of the Punic fleet and military commander of the Carthaginian forces in Sicily, was a prudent man. Ever since taking command of the Carthaginian invasion of Sicily over five years earlier, he had insisted that any significant fleet of galleys was to be preceded by a vanguard. This ensured that any dangers were detected long before the fleet proper stumbled upon them. The evening before he had transshipped from his flagship quinquereme, the Melqart, to the trireme assigned point duty for the coming days operations, the Elissar. They were on their way to Panormus on the northern Sicilian coast, where Gisco planned to deploy his forces back along the coast in an attempt to blockade the Sicilian ports now in Roman hands, thereby hampering their supply lines from the mainland. The captain of the galley had naturally given up his cabin for the admiral; although the cabin was comfortable, Gisco had slept fitfully, the anticipation of the coming day running through his mind. They were to pass through the mouth of the strait, where Sicily and the mainland were separated by only a league, a mere two thousand five hundred yards, and a natural route for Roman supplies. As the commander of the vanguard he planned on being one of the first to draw Roman blood that day.
Gisco had arisen at dawn and taken his place on the foredeck of the Elissar. It felt good to be in command of a single ship again, a trireme, the type of ship on which he had first cut his teeth as a captain and one which he knew intimately. He had ordered the captain to open the gap between the vanguard and the fleet from the normal distance of one league to two. He remembered sensing the captain stifling a question to the order, but thinking better of it before moving to signal to the other two ships to match his pace. The captain knew the admirals reputation well.
Only a year before, when Gisco was besieged in the city of Agrigentum on the southwest coast of Sicily, he had continued to resist against all odds, even though the populace, as well as his soldiers, were starving, and all attempts to alert the Carthaginian fleet about the Roman siege had failed. Giscos tenacity had proved to be well founded, as relief did finally arrive, and although the Carthaginians had lost the ensuing battle and the city, tales of Giscos fearsome reputation and determined aggression had spread throughout the Carthaginian forces.
Gisco had opened the gap to add a degree of danger to his position. Now if they encountered the enemy it would take the fleet just that little bit longer to arrive in support. He wanted the first encounter of the day to be a reasonably fair fight and not a slaughter. Not from any sense of honour, for Gisco believed that honour was a hollow virtue, but from a need to satisfy his appetite for the excitement of battle. More and more his senior rank of overall commander placed him at the rear of battles rather than the front line, and it had been a long time since he had felt the heady blood lust of combat, a feeling he relished and hoped to experience that day.
Run ? Where to? Septimus asked. Those three ships obviously havent seen us; maybe we should just sit tight. Theres still plenty of fog banks, maybe one will settle over us again.
No, we cant afford to take the chance. The fog is too fickle. Weve been lucky once, the lead ships didnt spot us, but their fleet is bound to. Theres no way fifty ships will cross our bows without someone spotting us. Our only chance is to outrun them.
Turning away from Septimus, he called back along the ship, Lucius! Within an instant they were joined by the second-in-command of the Aquila. Orders to the drum master, Lucius, ahead standard. Once we have cleared the inlet, order battle speed. Get all the reserve rowers up from the lower deck. Lucius saluted and left.
Atticus turned to the centurion. Septimus, I need ten of your men below decks to help maintain order. Our rowers may be chained to their oars but I need them obedient and the reserves guarded. Ill also need marines on the aft-deck those Punic bastards are going to give chase and Ill need my helmsman protected from Carthaginian archers. Septimus left the foredeck to arrange his command.
Runner! Atticus commanded.
Instantly a sailor was on hand.
Orders to the helmsman, due north once we clear the inlet. Hug the coast.
The runner sprinted back along the deck. Atticus felt the galley lurch beneath his feet as two hundred oars bit into the still waters of the inlet simultaneously and the Aquila came alive underneath him. Within a minute she had cleared the inlet and the galley hove right as she came around the headland to run parallel to the coastline. As Atticus hoped, there were still some fog banks clinging to the coast, where the change in temperature between land and sea gave the fog a foothold. His helmsman, Gaius, knew this coastline intimately, and would only need intermittent reference points along the shoreline in order to navigate. After fifty yards the Aquila was once again hidden within a protective fog, but for how long Atticus could only estimate. Although he had told Septimus that he planned to outrun the Carthaginian vanguard, he knew that it would not be possible. One ship could not outrun three. He needed an alternative. There was only one.
Runner! Orders to the helmsman, once we clear this bank, turn three points to port.
The runner disappeared. Atticus tried to estimate their position relative to the vanguard. The Aquila was moving at battle speed, the vanguard at standard speed. He judged the Aquila to be parallel to them now now ahead. The longer the fog held, the greater their chances.
It lasted another two thousand yards.
The Aquila burst out into open sunshine like a stallion surging from the confines of a stable. At battle speed she was tearing through the water at seven knots, and Atticus noted with satisfaction that within her time enclosed in the fog she had stolen five hundred yards on the Carthaginian vanguard. He was about to turn to the stern of the galley to signal the course change when the Aquila responded to Gaiuss hand on the rudder. Sharp as ever, Atticus smiled as the galley straightened on her new course, running diagonally across the strait. Now the Aquilas course would take her across the bows of the vanguard, Atticus estimated, at no more than three hundred yards. He gripped the rail of the Aquila, feeling the pulse of the ship as the rhythmical pull of the oars propelled it through the water.
*
Ship to starboard Roman trireme bearing north.
With an agility that belied his fifty-two years, Gisco ran to the rigging of the mainmast and began to climb to the masthead. Halfway to the top he glanced up to see the lookout point to the mainland. Following this line, he looked out towards the distant coast. Sure enough, some five hundred yards ahead, a Roman trireme was moving at speed along the coast.
Estimate she is moving at battle speed, the lookout shouted down after overcoming the shock of seeing the admiral below him. She must have been hiding somewhere along the coastline, invisible behind the fog
Gisco stared at the Roman trireme and double-checked his estimate of their course. It puzzled him. That doesnt make sense, he thought, why not run parallel to the coast, why halve their lead on us?
Gisco clambered down the rigging to the deck twenty feet below. The instant his feet hit the deck he took stock of his surroundings. The crew were frantically clearing the deck for battle. They were good, he noticed, well drilled and efficient.
He could see the captain on the foredeck, no doubt looking for him.
Captain! he shouted.
The man turned and strode towards him. Yes, Admiral?
What do you make of her, Captain?
Roman for sure, probably coastal patrol, maybe thirty crew and a reduced century of marines. Shes fast, doing battle speed now, and she cuts the water well. Shes lighter than one of our own, maybe a couple of knots faster at her top speed.
Gisco wondered if the captain had noticed their course. Anything else? he asked.
Yes, shes commanded by a fool. If he holds his current course hes giving us an even chance of catching him.
Gisco turned away from the captain and spied the Roman galley again. She was ahead, about forty degrees off their starboard bow, but instead of running parallel to the Elissars course and maintaining her lead, she was running on a converging course that would take her across the bow of the Elissar at a distance of approximately three hundred yards.
Captain, alter your course, two points starboard.
The captain issued the order to a runner who set off at speed to the helmsman at the stern of the ship. The ship altered course slightly and Gisco nodded with satisfaction when he noted the other two triremes instantly responding to the new heading. He turned again to look ahead. The captain was right on one count the Roman was a fool; but he was wrong on the other: their odds of catching them were a lot better than evens.
Shall I increase to attack speed, Admiral?
At first Gisco did not hear the question. All his senses focused on the Roman galley, now four hundred yards ahead on his right. He must know he is eating up his advantage with every oar-stroke by now, he thought. Where is he running to?
Shall I increase speed? the captain asked again.
What? Gisco answered irritably, his mind replaying the captains words that he had heard but not listened to, allowing them to form in his mind.
No, maintain course and speed. If we increase, the Roman may alter course and run before us, matching us stroke for stroke. Well let him shorten his lead in his own good time. Then well take him.
Septimus moved towards the foredeck. He had noticed the course correction when they emerged from the fog and had been instantly alarmed. What the hell was Atticus doing? He trusted the captain but their course seemed like madness. Atticus was joined on the foredeck by Lucius, and the two men were deep in conversation. The second-in-command was ten years older than Atticus. He was a small bull of a man, solid and unyielding. A sailor all his life, he too was a native of the Calabrian coast. He was known as a tough disciplinarian, but he was fair, and all the crew, especially Atticus, respected his judgement. As he spoke with the captain, he occasionally pointed ahead to the distant shoreline across the strait.