John Stack: Captain of Rome

Atticus’s gaze swept over the sea of red crowding the docks of Thermae. The Ninth was completely trapped by the unseen Punic forces but even Atticus, unschooled in legionary tactics, knew that the legion’s strength lay in open territory and not in the rat’s maze of a coastal town. Lucius approached him from the side-rail.

‘Message from the legate to the fleet,’ he began. ‘He requests that we evacuate the hastati by sea.’

Atticus nodded before scanning the entire harbour, his mind calculating the number of men to be evacuated versus the remaining Roman galleys still capable of answering the call.

‘Heave to!’ Atticus ordered Gaius, ‘Lucius, signal every galley in sight to clear their decks and begin the evacuation.’

‘No!’

Every head on the aft-deck spun around to the aft-rail. Varro was standing there alone, his face twisted into a murderous glare.

‘We will withdraw…before it’s too late!’ he said, stumbling slightly as he walked towards Atticus.

‘But, Tribune…’ one of the senators began, stepping into Varro’s path, the young man pushing the senator aside.

‘No! We are beaten. We cannot risk being attacked again, being…’ Varro’s voice trailed off, his expression revealing the fear in his heart, his eyes darting to the solid wall of Carthaginian galleys spread across the harbour.

Atticus turned his back on the tribune, knowing every passing minute was vital.

‘Come about three points to starboard. Prepare to dock!’ he shouted.

‘No!’ Varro roared, ‘I forbid it. We must escape while we can!’

‘Tribune,’ a senator said, his hand gripping Varro’s elbow, ‘we must help the Ninth.’

‘No,’ Varro repeated, shrugging the senator’s grip aside, pushing his way forward again until he stood behind Gaius and Atticus.

‘Steady, Gaius,’ Atticus said, ignoring Varro, ‘Ready to withdraw oars!’

The tribune reached out and grabbed Atticus’s arm, spinning him around until his face was inches from Atticus’s.

‘Damn you,’ Varro roared, his gaze filled with anger and frustration, ‘I order you to turn this galley around and get us out of here!’

Atticus stepped back, his fists bunched, anger coursing through his veins. Varro had rammed his galley into the gaping maw of battle without hesitation, his glory-laced dreams quickly shattered by reality in the quick of combat, the lives of many men already forfeit to his ignorance. Now he was willing to sacrifice the life of every Roman in Thermae just to save his own.

‘Did you hear me, Captain?’ Varro shouted, ‘I order…’

Varro’s words were cut short as Atticus struck him with an open hand across the cheek. The tribune staggered with the blow, his hand flying to his face as he tried to stand upright, the pain of his split upper lip stunning him. Atticus put out his hand to steady Varro but as he did Atticus spotted Vitulus advancing from behind the tribune, the legionary’s hand sweeping across to grab the hilt of his sword. Atticus made to react when he sensed then saw an extended sword to his right as Lucius stepped forward to defend his captain. Vitulus’s eyes swept from Atticus to Lucius and he halted his advance, his hand still holding the hilt of his sword but the blade remaining sheathed. He backed off a pace, turning his gaze once more to Atticus, his eyes conveying a thinly veiled warning.

‘Lucius,’ Atticus said, putting his hand out to lower Lucius’s blade, ‘Take the tribune below to the main cabin. See that he stays there for his own protection until we clear Thermae.’

Lucius nodded without a word and sheathed his sword before taking Varro by the arm, the stunned youth offering no resistance as he was led away.

Atticus sobered for a second, remembering that there were four senators on the aft-deck, each one witness to his insubordination and the crime of striking a commanding officer, a crime punishable by summary execution. His eyes caught those of the senator who had stepped across Varro’s path. The senator held Atticus’s gaze for a second before nodding imperceptibly, his decision made, and turned his back and looked out over the side rail. The other three senators watched his gesture intently and they each followed suit without hesitation, understanding and agreeing with his decision. Each had fought bravely when the Punici had boarded, moving into the battle line without hesitation. They were all former warriors who, as in countless times in their youth, shed their fear and stepped up to the fight. They had been ashamed of Varro’s behaviour, the overt fear that shamed his rank, and so now they turned their backs. They had witnessed nothing.

Atticus inwardly sighed at the reprieve and turned his attention to the docks once more. He looked to his hand and found that it was shaking, a combination of anger and pure adrenaline at the foolhardy risk he had just taken. For a heartbeat he thought of Varro and the shocked demeanour of the young man after he had been struck. Atticus had seen that look many times before, the shock of physical violence from those who were unaccustomed to it. The feeling would not last and Atticus had no doubt that although the senators might deny that they had seen the strike, Varro would not forget the insult.

‘All principes and triarii to stand in the defensive line. Hastati to form ranks at the docks!’

As the order was repeated across the ranks of the Ninth, Septimus began to make his way back to the defensive line. An outstretched arm stayed his progress.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Marcus asked.

‘To the line,’ Septimus replied automatically, not understanding the question.

‘The hell you are!’ Marcus said. ‘This is not your fight.’

‘But…’ Septimus began but Marcus cut him short.

‘You’re a marine Centurion, Septimus. Your duty lies with your galley and your men.’

Septimus made to protest again but Marcus ignored him, shouting over his shoulder, ‘Signifier of the IV!’

Within seconds the standard bearer of the IV maniple was at their side.

‘Septimus,’ Marcus began, ‘I need you to do me a favour.’

‘Another one?’ Septimus smiled, already realising what Marcus was going to ask.

‘Take my hastati from the IV onto the Aquila and see them safely away.’

Septimus nodded, assuming the familiar mantle he had carried in the Ninth over two years before.

‘Yes, Centurion,’ Septimus replied, saluting the older man, his friend and former mentor.

Marcus punched Septimus’s breastplate twice, his expression friendly. He turned without another word and strode off towards the defensive line, the more experienced men of his maniple already deploying under the optio of the IV. Septimus watched him until he was lost in the crush of men crowded along the docks. Only then did he lower his salute.

Septimus spun around to find the Signifier standing firm, the hastati of the IV finding their way unerringly to the standard as ranks were formed all along the dock. Septimus noticed there were no more than twenty hastati remaining, less than half their original number, their comrades lost in the initial charge and subsequent street fighting.

‘Men of the IV, on me!’ Septimus shouted as he advanced towards the water’s edge, his eyes sweeping the inner harbour for the Aquila as the Roman galleys converged. ‘There!’ Atticus said, his outstretched hand pointing out the standard of the IV maniple. ‘Do you see it, Gaius?’

‘Yes, Captain,’ the helmsman replied and adjusted the Aquila’s course. Within a minute the galley was lined up with dock directly opposite the standard of Septimus’s old maniple where Atticus hoped to find his friend.

‘Steerage speed!’ the captain shouted, slowing the galley to two knots as Gaius brought the hull perpendicular to the dock.