Captain of Rome (36 page)

Atticus’s eyes refocused once more and he looked to Septimus’s proffered hand, the conflict raging unabated within him, the loss of the
Aquila
and Lucius too raw to allow him to think clearly. In seeing Septimus he thought, as many times before, of Hadria, of his love for her and his friend’s refusal to accept that relationship. Hadria was sure of her brother’s
motives but Atticus could not grasp that same conviction, his friendship for Septimus tainted by the actions of his fellow Romans. Not today, Septimus had said and Atticus turned that resolution to his own conflict. In Septimus he had an ally and a friend and he took his hand, the grip firm between them. In time, Atticus thought, he might discover the same loyalty to Rome that Septimus took for granted, but not today.

Hamilcar walked quickly down the gangway of the
Alissar
onto the docks of the military harbour, pushing his way through the press of men on the quayside, stepping over the injured and dead alike who littered the narrow walkway. He sighted the
Baal Hammon
on the far side of the harbour, knowing she had only recently docked; Hanno’s section of the fleet only an hour ahead of Hamilcar’s on the flight south to the safety of Carthage. Hamilcar walked on, realising that Hanno was now long gone, no doubt to the council chamber to announce the defeat in terms that exonerated the councillor.

Hamilcar had thought of little else over the previous days, replaying every moment of the battle in his mind, searching for the point when victory assured turned to ignominious defeat, re-examining his strategy again and again; every time his conclusion gathering greater conviction. Hanno’s retreat had cost Carthage the battle. Hamilcar rounded a corner into the city proper, the breath catching in his throat as he sensed the palpable fear in the city. Panic seemed to emanate from every man, woman and child on the street as anxious eyes turned north to the horizon and the certain Roman invasion to come. He stopped dead, nausea threatening to overwhelm him as the shame of that fear struck home. He stepped forward again, his gaze focusing on the street ahead that would lead him to the council chamber.

Suddenly he stopped, the shame he felt instantly replaced
by anger and a spasm of bile rose in his throat. Not twenty feet away, in the shadow of an awning stood Hanno with a squad of soldiers fanned out before him, their faces grim, their eyes sweeping the street. They were looking for him, Hamilcar realised and he reached for his sword, silently cursing Hanno, vowing to take as many of his henchmen as he could before death claimed him.

Hamilcar strode forward, people scattering before him as they saw his drawn blade. One of Hanno’s men spotted Hamilcar and pointed, his call alerting the others and Hanno turned to stare at Hamilcar. He walked out from behind his men and approached Hamilcar alone.

‘Put down your sword, you fool,’ he hissed and Hamilcar hesitated. ‘I need to talk to you.’

Hamilcar looked warily beyond the councillor to the squad of soldiers, each man unmoved. He sheathed his sword.

‘Follow me,’ Hanno said and walked back towards the
Baal Hammon
, Hamilcar falling in behind him, his mind racing but unable to comprehend Hanno’s actions in the short time it took to reach the quinquereme.

Hanno walked to the aft-deck and ordered it cleared, leaving the two men standing alone.

‘How many did you lose?’ Hanno asked, his head bowed, his voice an angry growl.

‘Thirty-eight,’ Hamilcar said.

‘Fifty-six,’ Hanno replied and walked away two steps.

‘Mot protect them,’ Hamilcar whispered, ‘over ninety galleys. Lost.’ He lapsed into silence.

‘This is your fault!’ Hamilcar suddenly spat, anger coursing through him. Hanno spun around.

‘Listen to me, Barca, and understand this,’ he said, stepping forward once more until he stood inches from Hamilcar. ‘Either we stand together or this defeat destroys us both.’

‘If you had followed my strategy…’ Hamilcar began.

‘No one knows of your strategy except me,’ Hanno spat back, cutting Hamilcar short, ‘and I will deny everything.’

‘Even before the supreme council?’ Hamilcar asked, staggered by Hanno’s audacity.

Hanno smiled; a joyless grin that spoke of his confidence.

‘I will deny it, Barca,’ he said, ‘and my counter-accusations will sully us both.’

Hamilcar stepped back, his previous conviction in tatters. He could see Hanno’s reasoning. It was one man’s word against the other’s and the infighting would destroy them both. Only a united front could save them, an equal share of the blame quickly forgiven by both factions of the supreme council with the threat of Roman invasion looming on the horizon.

Hamilcar turned away from the councillor and walked to the side-rail, a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. He looked upward to the Bysra citadel high above the city, studying its towering height and he felt the wellspring of might that was Carthage surge through him, his heart taking strength from the ancients who built the formidable fortress, the founders of Carthage who sailed from the shores of Tyre so many generations before.

Hamilcar had failed to stop the Romans at Ecnomus, defeated by fate and the fallibility of lesser men. Now the battle-lines would be drawn on the very shoreline of Carthage, a boundary that no enemy had crossed in over a millennium and Hamilcar vowed, from the very depths of his soul, that the unconquered city of the
Punici
would not fall.

Atticus rubbed his hand along the side-rail, his fingertips examining the fine grain of the hardwood made even by the plane of a carpenter only months before, the craftsmanship as yet untouched by the harsh elements of the sea.

‘Answering standard speed, Prefect.’

Atticus turned and nodded to Gaius, looking to the fifty galleys of his command that sailed in formation behind the
Orcus
as he walked over to the helmsman.

‘Steady as she goes, Gaius,’ he said, the helmsman nodding, his gaze ever-sweeping across the sea ahead, observing the position of the other squadrons of the
Classis Romanus
and the transport ships that sailed in their care.

Atticus looked out over the deck of the quinquereme; the legionaries formed in ranks on the main, the
corvus
standing ready on the fore, Corin aloft at the masthead and for a moment Atticus could almost imagine the galley to be the
Aquila
, his eyes looking unconsciously to the main, expecting to see Lucius walking amongst the crew, shouting orders that carried to every corner of the ship. He shook the thought aside, forcing his mind to slip back into the rhythm of command and he scanned the galley with a critical eye, checking the line of her course, the tautness of the running rigging, the rise and fall of her two hundred and forty oars. Atticus nodded slowly to himself. The
Orcus
was a good ship.

‘Legionaries are all present and correct, Prefect,’ Septimus said as he approached the helm and Atticus smiled. His new position outranked Septimus but he was sure the centurion was only using the title to taunt him, perhaps knowing that Atticus had no intention of telling his friend how to command his own men.

‘Very well, Centurion,’ Atticus replied facetiously. ‘Stand by the helm.’

Septimus nodded and stood beside Atticus, both men facing out to the sea ahead, the two of them lapsing into silence.

Atticus looked to the transport ships ahead, almost sensing the pent-up anticipation of the men sailing in them, the legionaries of the Sixth and Ninth. He glanced at Septimus,
wondering if his friend knew that Atticus had found out that at Septimus’s meeting with the legate of the Ninth he had turned down an offer to command a maniple of that legion, requesting instead to remain with the former crew of the
Aquila.
It was a decision Septimus had yet to disclose openly and Atticus was now beginning to believe that he never would, the motives of his decision remaining a secret.

‘What do you think?’ Atticus asked as he noticed Septimus was looking directly at the transports.

‘About the invasion?’ Septimus asked. He paused for a second. ‘I think we’re facing the fight of our lives.’

Atticus nodded and looked to the sea ahead, filled with the ships of Rome; the
Classis Romanus
and twenty thousand men of the legions, the unfettered might of the Republic. Beyond the horizon lay the brooding shore of Africa, stronghold of the
Punici
, their ancient homeland and Atticus realised that Septimus was right. The Carthaginians had been beaten but they were far from conquered and the ferocity they applied in Sicily was but a shadow of the viciousness they would wield with their backs to the walls of Carthage.

T
he Battle of Cape Ecnomus took place in 256 BC off the south coast of Sicily when a Carthaginian fleet engaged a Roman fleet poised to sail south to invade North Africa. The number of ships and men involved are truly staggering, with Polybius stating that 350 Carthaginian ships faced 330 Roman, with upwards of 250,000 men engaged in battle. Modern scholars have challenged these figures but nevertheless their estimates have only reduced the size of each fleet by about 100 ships which still allows for Ecnomus to be ranked as one of the largest naval battles in history.

The Roman fleet was commanded by Marcius Atilius Regulus and Lucius Manlius Vulso (Longus) while the Carthaginians were commanded by Hanno (who actually led one of the flanks) and a commander named Hamilcar. (Not Hamilcar Barca as I have written. Again Barca has been brought into the conflict earlier than recorded for narrative purposes.)

The deployments of the two fleets are similar to those described, with the Romans sailing in a triangular formation and the two consuls sailing at the apex of a spearhead while the transport ships were towed in line abreast at the rear. The Carthaginians sailed in line abreast formation with the flanks (particularly the landward) advanced, their simple plan being
to draw in and then engage the Roman spearhead in the centre while flanking the main force to attack the more vulnerable transport ships.

Initially the Carthaginian plan worked, with their centre withdrawing in the face of the Roman spearhead until a significant gap had opened between it and the Roman transport ships. They then re-engaged, holding down the Roman centre while their flanks attacked. The Roman galleys towing the transport ships (primarily carrying horses) cut their tethers and engaged the flanks, the battle in essence breaking into separate actions.

The decisive moment came when the Carthaginian centre disengaged and fled, allowing the Roman spearhead to turn and sail to the assistance of the beleaguered rearguard and like many battles, the Carthaginians suffered their greatest number of casualties near the end of battle as their formations collapsed in retreat. In all, the Carthaginians loss 94 galleys, 64 captured and 30 sunk while the Romans lost 24 galleys, a decisive win.

At Ecnomus, as at Mylae, the
corvus
played a vital part with the Carthaginians failing to find an effective tactic to counter the simple boarding device.

The majority of galleys in both fleets were quinqueremes, the smaller galleys becoming less important in the order of battle, and Polybius reports that the consuls of Rome sailed in two sexiremes, or ‘sixes’. Given this change it seemed fitting that Ecnomus would be the last battle for the
Aquila.

Immediately after the battle the Roman fleet sailed to the Sicilian coast to rest and regroup although they did not delay long. Victory at Ecnomus had driven the Carthaginian fleet to their home waters off Africa and the Romans were eager to follow. What lies ahead, however, will shake the very foundations of the Roman Republic.

The enemy fleet are far from beaten and to their backs is the city of Carthage, an impenetrable fortress that has not fallen in 500 years. The war will rage on with Atticus and Septimus in the vanguard, not realising that their greatest defeat lies ahead, a loss that is unequalled in history.

MASTERS OF THE SEA

Ship of Rome