James White - The First Protector

It required a great effort of will for Declan to look only to seaward and into the darkness that hid the projecting reefs growing like rocky horns from each side of the bay. To add to his difficulty, their ship was swinging at anchor so that there were times when the fire and the illuminated area of beach began creeping into the corner of his eye and threatening to dazzle him. Beside him neither the man on the tiller nor Brian reported seeing anything, and he wondered if the beach fire was giving enough light for the attacking craft, which would also contain men with sharp eyes, to see them.

All around him there was total darkness that was broken only by the sounds of the sea, the high wind, the ship, and the soft, occasional voices of the seamen as they spoke their names to each other. Beside him Brian was speaking softly and continuously as he recited an endless, bawdy poem that he had learned somewhere on his travels. The helmsman was appreciating it but Declan felt sure that it was not one that Sinead should hear.

He continued to stare into the darkness but to see only a mental image of her lying on the deck under the wagon like a forgotten sack of foodstuffs, cold, uncomfortable, but safe, unless this coming engagement were to go the wrong way, whereupon the mind pictures of what would happen to her became much worse. He was so busy trying to push those pictures out of his mind that he almost missed hearing the new sound, the thump and scraping noises of a boat making intermittent contact with the stern.

Quickly he felt for Brian in the darkness beside him, found his arm, and then moved his fingers down until he found the other's wrist.

"Brian," he said quickly. "Grip my belt at the back and hold it firmly. I'm going to lean far over the rail."

He was already raising his axe high in the air and leaning forward into the blackness while Brian fumbled and took a tight hold on his belt. Before he let the weapon fall in a wide, circular, two-handed sweep he remembered to twist the shaft so that the heavy blade would not strike edge-on. Captain Nolan would not be pleased with him if he was to damage the ship's rudder post. But he hit someone. There was a grunt of pain followed by the heavy splash of a body going into the water. He allowed the weight of the axe head to sweep upward and then down into another swing.

This time the blade glanced off something but otherwise raised only a great splash of water.

"Quickly," he called over his shoulder, "let me go further out."

He heard Brian's drop to the deck and felt the other's two-handed grip around his belt and continued to swing with the axe blade forward. This time it met more than water. There was a grunt of pain, the sound of splintering wickerwork and the tearing of covering skins followed by the sound of splashing and cries of alarm.

"Pull me back," he shouted. When this was done he laughed and added, "I hit one of them, and I think I knocked in the side of their boat."

"Good," said Brian. There was a fumbling and scraping against the deck as he retrieved his pike in the darkness.

"Not good," said the helmsman in a low, disapproving voice. "If you've sunk their craft they will be angry, and will have nowhere to go except onto this one. Guard yourselves and speak your names. Tomas, Tomas, Tomas."

Brian and Declan did so as they both moved a few paces to each side of him, and he heard their pikes tap sharply against the stern rail as they sought in the darkness for an aiming level for the blind thrusts they would shortly be making against the boarders. Declan did the same with the shaft of his long-axe. He had decided to use it like a heavy spear and jab rather than swing with it. That would render it less effective as a weapon but it would also reduce the risk of him accidentally killing his two companions. Every few seconds he spoke his name and jabbed into the darkness above the rail, without striking anything but the empty air.

From what seemed like one or two paces to his right there came the betraying sounds of leather scraping against wood and the scuffling of a heavy body scrambling over the rail. He was drawing back his axe for a jabbing thrust at the sounds when there was a sudden scream of pain, the splash of someone falling into the sea, and a burst of swearing in Brian's voice.

"Are you wounded?" said Declan, continuing his thrust into empty darkness and drawing back to make another. "Where, and how badly?"

"No," said Brian, swearing again. He went on quickly, "I stuck one of them, in the face or arm, I think, because I felt no armor. But he grabbed my pike and took it when he went over the side. What the hell do I do now I've lost my bloody weapon?"

"Reach out your arm to me," said Declan, changing to a one-handed grip on his axe shaft and reaching out toward the voice until he encountered Brian's arm. He gripped it loosely, slid his hand down to the wrist of the other's hand then moved it to the handle of his gladius.

"Use that." he said. "Jab, don't swing it. You'll have to fight closer, it's shorter than a pike but does more damage. If you lose it over the side I'll kill you myself."

"Go ro mait agat…" the other began, but his thanks in Gaelic were interrupted by the sound of heavy feet jumping onto the deck all around them, and suddenly Brian was speaking Latin.

"Careful, fool!" he growled in an angry undertone.

"Strike to your left, soldier, you all but killed your own officer!"

"I'm sorry, sir," another voice began in Latin, but it ended with the soft, soggy thump of a blade driving into flesh, a high-pitched grunt of pain and the sound of a body falling to the deck followed by the voice of Brian again speaking in Gaelic.

"I'm sorry," he muttered in a voice devoid of sorrow, "that pretense was most dishonorable. But then, I'm a diplomat, not a warrior. My tongue is supposed to be my strongest weapon."

"Utterly dishonorable, and effective," said Declan, laughing softly. "But be careful in its use lest you be mistakenly slain as a Roman…"

He broke off because more feet were landing on the deck in front and to one side of him. Brian and the helmsman were still softly speaking their names out of the darkness. He moved backward a pace to a distance where he could swing rather than jab with his long-axe without endangering his friends. He went down on one knee, the better to avoid the attackers' body-level stabs and slashes, as he made the first wide, circular swing.

Declan felt a double shock run up the handle to his wrists and heard a scream as the heavy blade took someone's legs from under them, but the next swing met only empty air. Still keeping low, he moved forward and swung again. This time the handle was nearly jarred loose in his grasp as the outer point of the blade tore through leather and underlying flesh and bone of a head or chest, and that man crashed to the deck without making a sound. He was twisting the axehead free, a small part of his mind trying not to think about the terrible wound it had made, when suddenly he was able to see everything that was happening.

The wind had cleared a small area of sky that contained a few stars and a thin sliver of crescent moon. There was just enough light to show Brian frantically waving his gla-dius two-handed at an attacker while he tried desperately to fend off the thrusts of the other's spear, while beyond them the helmsman, Tomas, who was limping and at times hopping on one leg, was engaging another Roman with a shortened pike the first few inches of whose point had presumably been left in someone else. Declan shifted his grip and raised his weapon high before swinging it down to strike with the flat of the blade like a massive club onto the top of the first Roman's helmet. The man dropped to the deck as if he had no bones in his legs. Brian laughed his thanks and turned to attack the helmsman's opponent in the flank, and a moment later the Roman went down.