John Stack - Ship of Rome

News of the defeat in Lipara four weeks before had arrived in Ostia via trading ships. The reports had emptied the port, the traders moving north to the coastline of southern Gaul and eastern Iberia. A pervasive fear was stalking the city of Rome, with all eyes turned to the southern horizon and the expected horrific sight of the Carthaginian fleet approaching to sack and enslave the city. A permanently tense atmosphere filled the forums of Rome, as if the populace were living on borrowed time.

Initially the Senate had panicked at the news of the defeat, with many calling for immediate negotiations with the Carthaginians in the hope that Rome could be spared an attack at the price of abandoning the legions in Sicily. Duilius had rounded on the Senate, his fury and passion shaming the lesser men to commit themselves once more to the path of honour they had chosen. Now, four weeks later, that fleet was nearing completion, with a final thirty ships scheduled for launch in two weeks’ time.

Atticus watched the wordless labour of the craftsmen as they completed the final stages of rigging the latest batch of fifty galleys. The Aquila sailed past the fleet at speed, her course set for one of the newly built wooden piers stretching out from the black sands of Fiumicino. A galley captain waved across the forty-yard gap to Atticus, and he returned the gesture with a nod, recognizing the man as a former trainee, now the captain of his own galley. Atticus was once again filled with disquiet at the thought of these raw crews facing the seemingly invincible Carthaginians. Once at Ostia the crews would undergo further training to ensure that all were familiar with their own ship and its capabilities. Even then they would fall well short of the years of experience the Carthaginians enjoyed.

The order was given for steerage speed and the Aquila slowed, the galley rising and falling in the gentle surge of the tide. Lines were thrown from the foredeck and slaves took the strain, their practised efficiency bringing the Aquila to a gentle stop. The gangplank was lowered and Atticus walked down it briskly, checking his armour as he went. His meeting with Duilius was at noon and promised, like the others, to last well into the afternoon. Ever since Lipara four weeks before, Duilius had become an avid student of seacraft and naval warfare. He had chosen Atticus as his tutor and they had met as often as the consul’s schedule allowed. Duilius was a quick study and was mindful of his inexperience, a fact that made Atticus’s task much easier.

The beach was alive with activity, the frames that would house the keels of the final thirty galleys already rising out of the remains of the scaffolds used for the completed galleys in the water. Beyond the noise of the hammering and sawing of timber, Atticus could hear the familiar sound as weighted wooden swords clashed in the legionaries’ encampment. He had not seen Septimus over the past few weeks, but it was rumoured that Septimus rarely slept and the legionaries of the Fourth followed his example, their thirst for vengeance over the loss of their comrades fuelling their strength and endurance. For the men of the Fourth, there would be no repeat of Lipara.

Atticus crested the dune at the top of the beach and continued on to the consul’s tent, situated where once the prefect’s tent had stood. Tuditanus had been taken into custody by Duilius the moment the Aquila had returned from Lipara and he had not been seen since. Atticus could only guess at Tuditanus’s fate, but he was sure that Duilius had not been lenient.

Duilius’s expansive quarters were set aside from the rest of the camp and, although the structures were made of canvas, they looked almost permanent, as if the consul’s quarters had stood as long as the village of Fiumicino. The entrance was guarded by praetoriani , their faces dour and uninviting. They too felt the shame of the defeat at Lipara. The sworn duty of their unit was the protection of the Senate, in particular the senior members. The loss of the senior consul under their charge was a dishonour to all of them.

Atticus passed through the checkpoint at the main gate, surrendering his weapons on request. He was subjected to two further searches before being admitted to the outer section of the consul’s tent. There he was questioned by an optio , the junior officer checking the captain’s details against the schedule confirmed by the consul’s private secretary. Only then did Atticus enter the inner tent, all the while flanked by two praetorian guards.

Duilius was standing with his back to the entrance, his mind focused solely on a canvas map hanging from the wall of the tent. The map depicted the southwestern coast of Italy, from Rome to the city of Righi on the toe. It also included the northern coastline of Sicily. It was this section of the map that held the consul’s attention. Duilius turned around as the guard announced Atticus’s presence.

‘You’re dismissed,’ Duilius told the guards.

The guards hesitated for a second, their instincts momentarily overriding the order. This was the first time the consul had requested their absence and, although they knew the captain from previous meetings, in the present climate they were trusting no one. Duilius glared at them and they saluted and left.

‘Sit down, Captain,’ the consul ordered.

Atticus sat in one of the two chairs facing the large central table.

‘So, Captain, the deadline approaches for the launch of the final galleys of the fleet. Have you solved our problem?’

Atticus had known the question was coming, although he didn’t think Duilius would open the conversation with it. The direct approach threw him and his carefully prepared answer fled from his mind.

‘No, Consul,’ he replied after a pause, ‘I have discussed it at length with my senior crew and we’re still drawing a blank. We cannot think of a way to quickly and safely transfer legionaries from an attacking ship to the deck of another.’

Duilius nodded, his face inscrutable. The consul had hoped for a more positive answer, but all the while he had expected disappointment. Atticus’s response was the same answer he had had from every captain he had surreptitiously asked over the previous weeks. Their answers had all been the same. The legionaries could not be made full marines in the time they had.

Septimus staggered down the beach as if drunk, fatigue fogging his mind, his stupor allowing him to ignore the pain of the cramped muscle in his upper arm. The muscle had gone into spasm during a simulated combat exercise, forcing him to throw up his shield to protect his unguarded right, the blow from his opponent coming before the man had time to realize the centurion was in pain. The legionary had instantly disengaged, overcoming the aggressive urge brought on by the close-quarter fight. Septimus had waved away the offers of assistance and simply walked away from the training ground, his destination the cool waters of the sea that had revived him so many times over the preceding weeks.

At the edge of the water, Septimus kicked off his sandals, unbuckling his armour as he did so. The breast- and backplates fell onto the sand and Septimus stepped out of the circle of discarded kit. He walked into the sea, feeling the cold water soak his feet and legs before venturing further in. He stood for a moment in the hip-deep water, waiting for the surge of a wave to reach him before plunging headlong into the wall of water. The noise of the beach was immediately lost under the wave and Septimus struck out hard under the water, watching a maelstrom of tiny bubbles cascade over each other under the turbulence of the surf. He angled his stroke upwards and immediately broke the surface behind a second wave. The water seemed to instantly revive him and he directed his body to the nearest barge, one hundred yards from the shore. His powerful overarm stroke covered the distance in two minutes. He grabbed onto the anchor line of the barge and rested, his breath returning to normal within a minute, his healthy body shrugging off the exertion. Feeling renewed, he turned once more to shore and swam back through the breaking water.