John Stack - Ship of Rome

This time the corvus fell immediately with no hesitation.

‘Better,’ Atticus remarked.

At that moment a rogue wave struck the Aquila and the gap between the two galleys opened wider. Before Gaius could bring the Aquila back into position, the far end of the corvus slid off the foredeck of the ‘enemy’ galley.

‘That’s another problem we have to tackle,’ Lentulus said.

Atticus watched the corvus being raised again as the Aquila was manoeuvred back into place. In battle the only thing holding the two ships together would be grappling hooks. If the enemy reacted quickly and severed the lines, they could easily manoeuvre their galley away. Any boarding party across the corvus would be stranded while anyone on the ramp itself when the ships parted would fall into the sea. They had to find a way to make the ramp secure, to lock the ships together.

‘I think this raven needs to be given claws,’ Atticus said.

Gisco studied the man opposite him with interest. The Nubian stood tall and erect, his balanced stance betraying the slave’s obvious fighting abilities. His gaze was arrogant, an emotion Gisco had never encountered in a slave before, and it fascinated him.

The Nubian had been found in the Roman consul’s quarters after the ambush at Lipara. Gisco had immediately noticed the stature and bearing of a trained fighter and had arranged for the Nubian to be spared the fate of galley slave reserved for all those taken alive in the ambush. Now, as the Carthaginian fleet approached Panormus, Gisco had finally found the time to study the potential of Scipio’s personal servant.

Khalil had outlined his later life and captivity in detail, confirming Gisco’s assumption that he was a gladiator. The thought of using the Nubian as a force against the very people who trained him appealed to the admiral’s sense of fate. Only the question of Khalil’s loyalty remained. Of the hate he felt for the Romans there was no doubt, and Gisco was confident that Khalil would savage any Roman he met in battle. For Gisco to be able to command the Nubian, however, he needed to find an inducement to ensure his loyalty.

‘I will need men like you in the battle ahead,’ Gisco said.

Khalil remained quiet; however, Gisco noticed the flicker of interest in the Nubian’s eyes. The sight convinced him to continue.

‘If you fight well against the Romans and obey my every command, I will grant you your freedom when the battle is won.’

Again Khalil remained impassive, the silence irking Gisco.

‘Do you agree?’ he asked, his anger beginning to flare at the unreadable Nubian.

‘My freedom is of no concern until I repay a debt of pride. I want the life of Scipio.’

Gisco smiled at the request, one he would never allow; the consul’s life was far too valuable to be thrown away at the behest of a mere slave.

‘Agreed,’ he lied, noting with satisfaction the savage expression of Khalil as he nodded his assent.

Admiral Gisco stepped off the gangplank of the Melqart onto the busy docks of Panormus. He paused as he looked over at the frenzied activity of the port, the preparations for battle already well advanced. By his orders the fleet blockading the western coast of Sicily had been summoned to Panormus, and so the northern port was now home to over one hundred galleys. Gisco had consulted Hamilcar before his departure for Carthage and both were in agreement. Given the detailed reports of the Roman captains, the new Roman fleet would be in the waters of northern Sicily in less than two weeks.

At Lipara, Gisco had closely inspected the new Roman galleys. They had been hastily built of untreated, unweathered timbers. The hulls were too new to the water and the timbers had not bonded completely. Given time they would become hard as iron, but now they lacked significant strength beneath the water line, certainly not enough to stop a six-foot bronze ram.

Hamilcar was due to return in a little over a week with another forty galleys to join the burgeoning Carthaginian fleet in Sicily. Gisco recalled the young man’s hesitation when he had first requested the additional ships. It was only after Gisco explained the simple logic behind his demand that Hamilcar agreed. It was not enough to simply defeat the Romans in battle. The Carthaginian fleet needed to wipe out the entire Roman fleet down to its last ship. To accomplish that objective none must escape; Gisco knew only numerical superiority would guarantee him total victory.

Septimus crested the dunes at the top of the beach and headed directly for the consul’s quarters, his pace quickened by the limited time available before the sea trials for the new corvus would take place and his presence would be required back on board the Aquila. A sliver of guilt caused him a heartbeat’s hesitation, but he dismissed it quickly, using the lie that Atticus had told him to justify his decision to seek out Lutatius. Septimus knew he had caught Atticus unawares, his decision to spend the night on the Aquila unannounced and unexpected and Atticus’s equally unplanned absence from the galley too unusual to go unchallenged.

Septimus had been disturbed by the lie, not because he expected complete honesty from his friends, but because his earlier suspicions about a possible involvement with his sister had instantly reared their head. He had therefore decided to confirm his suspicions – at least in part – by calling in an old loyalty.

Septimus reached the consul’s quarters and ducked inside. An optio was seated behind a desk, its surface covered by neat piles of parchments, the endless lists of a military operation.

‘I need to speak with the consul’s private secretary,’ Septimus announced, his voice and presence causing the optio to immediately stand to attention.

‘Yes, Centurion. Who shall I say is making the request?’

‘Septimus Laetonius Capito of the IV of the Ninth.’

The optio nodded and disappeared into the inner room of the tented quarters.

A moment later he reappeared, followed by an older man, the latter with a broad smile on his usually dour face.

‘Septimus!’ the secretary laughed. ‘I see a centurion before me where once stood a boy of Rome.’

‘Lutatius,’ Septimus replied, stepping forward to shake the hand of the former camp prefect of the Ninth. Lutatius had been a centurion when Septimus joined the Ninth, a training commander who moulded new recruits into fighting legionaries. A veteran of the Third Samnite War, he had been a hard taskmaster, but he had also seen in Septimus the potential that had eventually borne fruit at the Battle of Agrigentum.

‘I hear you’re training the pups of the Fourth,’ Lutatius said. ‘Are they as hard to train as you once were?’

Septimus laughed, liking the older man, casting his mind back to his first months in the legions and the endless grinding pace that Lutatius had enforced. The two men continued to reminisce.

‘I need a favour…’ Septimus said finally.

‘Name it,’ Lutatius replied, noting the sudden seriousness in Septimus’s tone.

‘I need to know what destination was recorded on a pass given to Captain Perennis of the Aquila. ’

‘Isn’t that the galley on which you now serve?’ Lutatius replied, the details of every command stored in his sharp mind.

Septimus nodded, revealing nothing that might cause Lutatius to hesitate to reveal the information.

‘Wait here,’ the secretary said after a moment’s pause, and he re-entered the inner tent. He reappeared with a large bound ledger open in his arms, his eyes running down an unseen list of passes approved and issued.

‘Here it is,’ he said finally. ‘Atticus Milonius Perennis…eighteen-hour gate pass…destination?…Rome, the Viminal quarter.’