John Stack - Ship of Rome

‘Ships ahead!’

The entire crew looked to the masthead at the call, each man following the line indicated by the lookout to the horizon dead ahead.

‘How far?’ Atticus called up.

‘I estimate five miles, Captain, sailing in line-astern formation, just short of Lipara harbour.’

‘ Stercus !’ Atticus spat. ‘Too far to signal.’

‘We’re too late,’ Septimus said aloud to himself, speaking the dread words that all felt.

‘Maintain course and speed,’ Duilius said, ‘perhaps the Carthaginian trap is not set to be sprung. We may yet reach them in time.’

Atticus nodded, wanting the possibility to exist.

Scipio surveyed the seemingly quiet city of Lipara from the aft-deck of the Mars as the galley entered the crescent-shaped harbour. The city stood in the centre of the bay, the land rising sharply behind to create a series of undulating hills stretching northwards along the spine of the island. What activity there had been on the docks had ceased at the sight of the Roman galleys approaching the mouth of the harbour, and so the trading ships that were moored to the quay stood quiet and forlorn. Scipio smiled as he imagined the panic now unfolding in the Carthaginian garrison somewhere deep within the city.

The Mars hove to in the centre of the bay, the other galleys deploying left and right in line-abreast formation. Scipio had personally chosen the formation, remembering the impact the sight had had on the people of Ostia, a sight that would inspire fear in the heart of any enemy standing on the shoreline. The senior consul experienced a feeling of anticlimax at the ease of their approach. Once back in Rome he would need to embellish his report on the capture of the city, if only to satisfy the city’s appetite for glory. A victory easily won was not a tale worth telling.

Scipio waited impatiently as the inexperienced crews manoeuvred their galleys in the confines of the harbour. Although the ships were under oar power, their efforts seemed uncoordinated and clumsy. The simple transformation of the fleet from line astern to line abreast was still incomplete when Scipio’s patience ended.

‘Standard speed!’

The Mars got under way, her advance matched by the galleys flanking her position. Scipio adjusted the folds of his toga, readying himself for disembarkation.

Duilius watched in hopeless silence as the last of the Classis Romanus breached the harbour mouth four miles ahead. The Roman galleys were moving with intent, but without haste, allowing all on board the Aquila to grasp on to the slim hope that the trap could yet be averted.

Atticus, his years at sea compelling him to be ever vigilant, continued to scan the four quarters of the horizon for any sight of an approaching enemy.

‘There!’ his mind screamed as he caught a flicker of movement off the southernmost tip of the island, a headland less than a mile from the harbour.

‘Ships off the port forequarter!’ the lookout called, all eyes turning to where Atticus’s gaze was already rooted.

‘Carthaginians!’ Atticus said, the unfurled masthead banners confirming the already realized truth. ‘Moving at attack speed.’

Atticus counted ten galleys, with more rounding the headland with every stroke of their oars. They were led by a quinquereme, an alpha male leading the attack wolves unerringly to their prey.

‘All stop!’ Duilius said suddenly.

Atticus hesitated for a heartbeat before relaying the order to the crew. The sail was immediately collapsed and the Aquila ’s oars brought her to a complete stop within three galley-lengths.

‘Your orders, Consul?’ Atticus asked, urgency in his voice, knowing that every second counted. Septimus stood beside him, his hand holding the grip of his sword tightly, the proximity of the enemy heightening his readiness.

‘Set course for Rome, Captain,’ Duilius answered, his voice laced with futile anger.

Atticus and Septimus made to protest, but Duilius cut them short, anticipating their words.

‘I cannot compound Scipio’s fate by sailing into Lipara. If both he and I fall into enemy hands the fleet will be leaderless. Our priority is Rome and the legions of Sicily. One extra Roman galley at Lipara will not stave off defeat.’

Atticus had been making ready to retort but he stayed his words, surprised by Duilius’s explanation of his decision, the consul’s honesty creating trust, the collaborative style of command encouraging compliance.

‘That fool Scipio,’ Longus spat, ‘he deserves the fate his pride has led him to.’

‘But the fleet does not,’ Duilius cursed, slamming his fist down on the side rail. ‘They are Romans. Men who answered the call of their city. They should not die like rats in a trap.’

Atticus nodded imperceptibly at Duilius’s words, the underlying belief striking a chord with his growing connection to Rome.

‘Bring her about, Gaius!’ he ordered, his faith in the consul’s vision enabling his obedience to the command. ‘Set course for Rome.’

The Aquila swung neatly as her oars engaged, the crew silent as the full realization of their failure to catch the Classis Romanus struck home. Behind them the Carthaginian quinquereme rounded the mouth of Lipara, her hull down in the calm waters of the inner harbour.

Atticus and Septimus continued to look over the aft-rail as the Aquila retreated northwards under oars, the familiarity of the scene imposing a silence on both men. The faces of the command crews and marine centurions of the Classis Romanus swept through their minds, the faces of men already lost, men already mourned. Within minutes the details of the horizon were lost in the distance and the inevitable defeat was accepted.

‘Enemy ships astern!’

Scipio spun around at the sound of the strident call. Over three hundred yards away five galleys were rounding the southern headland into the bay, with a dozen more in pursuit. They were led by a colossal ship, a quinquereme that towered over the triremes surrounding her. All were tearing through the water, rounding the headland in the time it took for panic to spread throughout the Roman fleet. Carthaginian war cries split the air and Scipio’s stomach tightened at the sound. The veneer of a Roman consul fell away to be replaced with his experience as a legionary commander.

‘Captain! Evasive manoeuvres! Centurion! Form ranks, prepare for battle.’

Scipio registered the centurion’s salute and affirmation as he responded instantly to the command.

Fulfidias, however, did not respond. Scipio whipped around, taking his eyes off the enemy to find the captain standing motionless, his eyes locked on the approaching Carthaginian galleys, a look of sheer terror on his face. Scipio struck him hard across the face, the open-handed blow knocking Fulfidias off balance. The captain regained his stance and looked at Scipio, his expression of panic unchanged.

‘Captain!’ Scipio shouted. ‘Get control of yourself and this galley or I’ll have you thrown over the side.’

Fulfidias reacted. ‘Drum master!’ Scipio heard him roar above the cacophony of sound enveloping the panicked ship. ‘Full ahead. Ramming speed!’

The Mars lurched forward as the oars bit into the calm waters of the harbour.

Scipio was given an instant to survey the Roman fleet, expecting to see the other galleys break formation and prepare to engage the enemy. His expectation was wrong.

Gisco bellowed at the top of his voice as he echoed the war cry of the men assembled on the foredeck of the Melqart. The sword in his hand felt light and he held it above his head to renew the frenzied cries of his crew, the sound filling his warrior soul. From the moment the lookouts on the heights above Lipara had signalled the arrival of the Roman fleet, Gisco had felt the exhilaration of battle rise within him. The Carthaginian fleet of twenty galleys had been moored in the village of Pianoconte, a mere two miles around the southernmost headland and completely hidden from any vessel entering the harbour of Lipara. When the Melqart had rounded the headland, Gisco’s heart had soared at the sight of the Roman galleys formed in line abreast, facing away from the mouth of the harbour. The formation seemed an act of madness, an asinine deployment that left the ships entirely vulnerable to the type of attack Gisco was now employing. The arrival of the Carthaginian galleys had transformed the scene into one of sheer chaos.