Masters of the Sea - Master of Rome (21 page)

Even from four hundred yards away, Hamilcar imagined he could feel the heat off the smouldering piles of debris, although he knew it was the warmth of the dawn sun, its light perfectly framing the triumph that was the mercenaries’ night attack. The Greeks had more than proved their worth, and Hamilcar wished his father had been there to see the harvest of his choice.

Apart from the destruction of the siege towers, the attack served one other important purpose: putting to rest a doubt that had plagued Hamilcar ever since the hired Greeks had arrived. He had long used mercenaries as part of his forces, but never had he allowed them to outnumber his own native troops, a necessity at Lilybaeum forced upon him by Hanno’s possession of the Carthaginian army and the spectre of betrayal that had hung over Hamilcar and the garrison. That fear was now vanquished by the Greeks’ successful attack on the siege towers and the death of so many Romans at the hands of the mercenaries.

Hamilcar had little doubt that the Romans would build again, but at a slower pace, hindered perhaps by the need for greater security or an underlying fear that their labour would be for naught. The Romans were wilful to the point of arrogance, but even they must feel the uncertainty that follows on the heels of defeat.

Whatever the enemy’s course, Hamilcar’s plan was now firmly in motion. The destruction of the siege towers had bought him valuable time. Lilybaeum was safe from a land assault for the immediate future and Hamilcar could now turn his attention to other side of the battle. For this he needed to leave the city, to escape the siege. He turned towards the sea and the quadrireme waiting for him at the quayside.

Atticus strode impatiently across the aft-deck of the
Orcus
, his mood foul after a sleepless night. The arrival of the Rhodian in Lilybaeum was an ill omen, a subtle but vital shift of the odds in the Carthaginians’ favour. Their easy approach and evasion had made a mockery of the blockade; Atticus had sent one of his galleys to Ovidius, the Roman prefect at the northern end of the bay, to warn him of the quadrireme’s arrival.

To add to his disquiet, Atticus had heard the sound of battle from behind the town during the dark hours of the night, the noise travelling easily across the still waters of the bay. Trapped out in the lagoon, it was impossible to tell what was occurring but, as the noise abated, the orange glow of fires could be seen. It was evident that the siege towers had been attacked and Atticus’s thoughts were with Septimus and the Ninth Legion, his concern keeping him awake until dawn.

He held his hand up to his face to shield his eyes, the rising sun behind the town illuminating the inner harbour, and he saw a number of boats sailing aimlessly across the docks, while others pulled gently at their anchor lines in the shoal-weakened swell. In light of the Rhodian’s arrival, Atticus was tempted to abandon the blockade and immediately sail the fleet into the inner harbour via the northern channel, to force the issue and end the torturous waiting, but he dismissed the idea, knowing that the Carthaginians had not attacked him in the enclosed harbour of Aspis for the same reasons he could not here, and in Lilybaeum there would be the added danger of needing to land men on a hostile dock with a precari ous line of retreat. The town would have to be taken from the land-ward side by the legions or, failing that, the inhabitants would need to be forced to surrender through starvation and deprivation, a tactic that would only work if the bay were sealed and the town cut off from resupply.

As a blockade runner, the Rhodian was the blade that could slash the entire fabric of the siege. Atticus turned abruptly from the town to continue pacing the deck, his mind revisiting every thought he had had during the night on how he could capture the Rhodian when he inevitably tried to run the blockade again. The heat of the day was building, the sun beating down from a clear blue sky, and the sweat prickled on Atticus’s back, sharpening the fine edge of his dark mood.

Hamilcar nodded as permission to come aboard was granted. He walked quickly up the gangplank, jumping down on to the main deck, followed by twenty of his own men. He looked to the aft-deck, searching for the Rhodian, his shaved head a distinguishing feature that singled him out. He saw the Greek standing by the helm, his expression one of anger. Hamilcar strode towards him, his men fanning out across the deck behind him, and the Rhodian approached to close the gap, meeting him on the main deck.

‘The agreement was for you alone, Hamilcar,’ the Rhodian said. ‘There was never any mention of these additional men.’

‘They are here for my protection, Calix,’ Hamilcar replied evenly. ‘You have worked with the Romans before and I wanted to be sure you would not be tempted to hand me over to the blockade. So, at the first sign of treachery, my men have orders to strike
you
down.’

Calix bristled at the insult against his honour, and Hamilcar sensed the Greek crewmen around him react with similar anger, but he kept his eyes on the Rhodian.

‘There will be no treachery, Hamilcar,’ Calix replied with suppressed resentment. ‘I have also worked with your people in the past and my reputation is without stain.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Hamilcar said firmly, ‘my men stay.’

Calix stared at the Carthaginian commander for a moment longer. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We will discuss the price of their passage after we escape the blockade.’

Hamilcar smiled. ‘Agreed,’ he said. He had known Calix would ultimately comply – how could he not, given he was yet to be paid? – but to have him back down so quickly and swallow the slight against his honour was a mark of his professionalism. For many men whose allegiance was for sale, loyalty could easily be secured by a higher bidder; but with the Rhodian, Hamilcar was now confident his loyalty was also bound by his word and his reputation.

Calix ordered his crew to cast off and shouted down the open hatchway to the rowing deck to make ready. Hamilcar glanced down and was immediately surprised to see the rowers moving freely around the deck, many of them running to their oars in answer to Calix’s command.

‘They’re freedmen,’ he said almost to himself, and Calix turned.

‘The strongest rowing crew in the Mediterranean,’ he said with unassuming confidence, and he began calling orders at his crew again as the
Ares
moved sedately away from the dock.

Hamilcar watched the rowing crew at work, their stroke even and clean. He had heard the Greeks used freedmen as rowers, but he had never encountered them before. For a fleet the size of Carthage’s, apart from the difficulties of procuring such manpower, the cost of using freedmen as rowers would be enormous, although Hamilcar could see the advantages.

As the order was given for standard speed, the
Ares
jerked forward under their combined strength. He was poised to turn away when one other realization struck him, his ear so attuned to the sound that he did not notice its absence; there was no drum beat. Just as he wondered how the rowers kept time, they suddenly began to sing, a deep sonorous tune that matched the pace of their stroke. They bent their backs to the task with the enthusiasm of professional labourers who took pride in their work.

The
Ares
swung her bow through ninety degrees and Calix called for battle speed. Beyond the inner shoals, two squadrons of ships were sailing slowly across the lagoon while the bulk still straddled the northern channel. As Hamilcar moved to the helm, Calix adjusted the course of the
Ares
once more, deciding on an inner channel that would take the
Ares
between the two squadrons but closer to the southernmost one, a calculated risk to lower any pursuit to a minimum.

Hamilcar looked to the Roman ships less than a mile away and, with a sailor’s heart, he shrugged off the concerns of command to concentrate on the contest about to unfold. He was committed; his fate was in the hands of the gods and the skilled crew of a Greek mercenary.

‘Enemy galley, four points off the starboard bow.’

It took mere seconds for Atticus to spot the approaching ship and discern its course and intent.

‘Battle speed, steady the helm,’ he shouted, running to the side rail. It was the Rhodian, there was no doubt. Making battle speed and heading for a channel in the inner shoals about half a mile away. Atticus looked to his other squadron nearer the northern end of the bay. They too were responding, coming about to close the vice, but Atticus could immediately see they were too far away. Only his squadron was in a position to intercept the Rhodian.

‘Gaius, your assessment,’ Atticus asked over his shoulder.

‘He’s making battle speed,’ Gaius replied, his hand steady on the tiller. ‘And if his channel through the inner shoals is straight, he’s going to reach the lagoon before we can intercept him. Recommend we go to attack speed and head for the outer rim of the lagoon.’

Atticus nodded without turning. ‘Make it so,’ he said, and the
Orcus
accelerated, the staggered response of the rest of the squadron creating a slight gap behind the command ship.

Gaius turned the helm through two points to port and the
Orcus
leaned into the turn, her ram slicing across the gentle swell, creating curved waves that marked her course.

‘Baro,’ Atticus shouted, and the second-in-command ran to the aft-deck.

‘Have Drusus ready the legionaries. It’s time they put their new skills to the test.’

Baro nodded with a conspiratorial smile. He had trained the legionaries relentlessly over the previous weeks and was anxious for them to cut their new teeth in battle. He ran back to the main deck and began speaking with Drusus, occasionally pointing to the quadrireme off the starboard beam.

Atticus watched them for a moment longer and then turned his attention to the Rhodian. The quadrireme was approaching the inner shoals, still sailing at battle speed, an incredible pace considering the obstacle he was about to negotiate; but his committed course allowed Atticus to recalculate the angles, his confidence rising slowly as he drew his conclusions.

Hamilcar instinctively leaned forward as the ram of the
Ares
approached the shoals, the speed of the quadrireme raising the hairs on his arms. He glanced at Calix, the Rhodian’s gaze locked on the Roman squadron on the far side of the lagoon. Hamilcar looked over his shoulder to Lilybaeum, wondering which landmark the helmsman was using to align the galley to the hidden channel, impressed by the confidence shown by all on board but, as he looked again to Calix, he saw his brow was wrinkled in puzzlement.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘The Romans,’ Calix replied slowly. ‘I had expected them to come straight at us as we emerged from the inner shoals and then give chase, but they have sailed to the far side of the lagoon. It is a clever move, one to their advantage . . .’

He turned away abruptly and began talking to the helmsman, as if Hamilcar were no longer there, and both Greeks looked towards the Roman squadron. Hamilcar watched their discussion. Greek was the trading language of the entire Mediterranean and Hamilcar possessed a reasonable grasp of the language, but the dialect and speed of their conversation frustrated his efforts to listen. He saw them nod in unison as they reached a decision.

He looked to the waters around the
Ares
and noticed they were almost through the shoals. Beneath the crystal-clear green waters he could see the shadows of the rocks, some of them reaching up to the surface not twenty feet from the bow of the
Ares
, jagged spires that would pierce even the strongest timbers, and again he marvelled at the skill and confidence of the Rhodian, knowing that any mistake would be punishable by utter ruin.

The deck tilted suddenly beneath Hamilcar, and he centred his balance as the
Ares
accelerated to attack speed, her bow coming around to a point further ahead of the Roman squadron. The Rhodian had obviously abandoned his original course and was now striking for a more distant channel, forced to do so by the Romans’ initial perceptive reaction. Hamilcar felt a stirring of doubt but he shrugged it off. Despite the slight deviation in plan, he trusted the Rhodian.

‘Aspect change,’ Corin shouted. ‘The Rhodian is coming about two points to starboard. Moving to attack speed.’

‘I make it more like three,’ Baro said, but Atticus and Gaius remained silent, their concentration riveted on the quadrireme’s every move.

‘Helm, one point to starboard,’ Atticus said. ‘Give me a hundred yards off the port beam between us and the outer shoals.’

Gaius nodded and made the change. The quadrireme was almost directly off their starboard beam on the far side of the lagoon, but their course was convergent, the Rhodian striking for a channel in the shoals somewhere ahead of the
Orcus
. Atticus was looking to close that apex, to intercept the quadrireme just short of its target, knowing that if the Rhodian reached the shoals the race would be over. The quadrireme’s draught was at least four or five feet less than that of a quinquereme’s, and Atticus knew, if the roles were reversed, he would choose a channel that only a lighter boat could traverse.

‘We should accelerate to ramming speed,’ Baro said, but Atticus ignored him. It was too soon for such a last-ditch move. The rowers could only maintain ramming speed for five minutes maximum and, given that the Rhodian might change course again, Atticus might need that reserve of strength. He looked to his other squadron, approaching on their position, but again, even with the convergent courses, they would still not intercept the Rhodian before he crossed the lagoon. The
Orcus
was leading the charge and only they could thwart the enemy.

‘Ramming speed,’ Calix ordered, and the
Ares
was transformed into the very creature its namesake watched over, the galley taking flight across the smooth waters of the lagoon, its sleek, shallow draught offering minimal drag. The ram surged clear of the water with each pull of the oars.

Hamilcar listened to the rowers sing, their tune changing to match the increased tempo, their words sung on the exhalation of each pull of the oar. The Roman squadron was closing off the port beam, perhaps three hundred yards away, while ahead Hamilcar could not yet see the telltale signs that marked the beginnings of the outer shoals. He looked to the Rhodian, unnerved by his confidence. For Hamilcar the order to increase to ramming speed had come too soon, and he wondered if Calix was perhaps blinded by his own self-belief. He had thrown the final die and committed the
Ares
to its top speed. The Romans were sure to respond in kind and he tried to calculate the result, deducing only that it would be close. He was tempted to challenge the Rhodian but he held his tongue, and his nerve.