John Stack - Ship of Rome

The Carthaginians were quarter of a mile away, close enough for Atticus to pick out individual details. The centre of their line was held by a quinquereme, a behemoth in comparison to the triremes flanking her hull. Atticus realized it would be the flagship, the head of the serpent. The Aquila was on course to strike the Carthaginian line three galleys south of the centre point. He etched every detail of the quinquereme in his mind, marking it as his prey. After the lines collapsed he would hunt her down. For the Romans, the fleet was not the last line of defence, it was the only line. The Punici had to be defeated and their commander struck down. In the centre of the Roman line, Atticus knew only the Aquila was equal to the task.

As the gap closed between the lines, Gisco’s focus was interrupted by the sight of an unusual structure on the bow of each Roman galley. At one hundred yards his mind had little time to react and he dismissed the sight, concentrating on the gap in the line between the two enemy galleys before him. The Melqart would sweep through, her archers raining death as she passed, before turning once more into the rear of the line. The Romans would turn to meet the threat, exposing themselves neatly. With the entire Roman fleet consisting of triremes, Gisco was confident that no enemy ship could match the speed and power of the Melqart.

He recalled the glory of the day when his ram had claimed four Roman transport ships. At the time he had revelled in the victory, his first chance to repay the hated Romans for his defeat at Agrigentum. Now he was faced with battleships and his endless appetite for revenge was goaded by the increased danger.

‘Archers, ignite!’ Gisco ordered.

The pitch-soaked tips of two dozen arrows were lit at the shouted command, the archers drawing their bows to ready themselves for the command to release.

Gisco watched as the Roman galley on his port quarter veered into his course, setting her bow against that of the Melqart.

Gisco smiled at the idiotic manoeuvre. He would crush them for their recklessness.

‘Prepare to withdraw the portside oars,’ he commanded.

Gisco allowed himself a quick glance to starboard to see the rest of his line. The Melqart ’s superior speed had put them a half-ship length beyond the line and so his galley would strike the Roman line first. He turned to the bow as the final yards swept beneath his hull.

‘Withdraw!’ he roared. ‘Helmsman, hard to port!’

The ninety-ton Melqart tore into the side of her smaller opponent. The larger galley shook with the impact but Gisco saw the Roman trireme was almost capsized by the blow. Futile grappling hooks were thrown from the Roman deck, but the momentum of the quinquereme was too great and her speed continued almost unchecked. One Roman was plucked from his ship, his hand caught on the line connected to a grappling hook held fast by the Melqart. He was thrown into the gap between the grinding hulls, the hook finally releasing as his body was pushed under.

Gisco saw the device he had noticed earlier suddenly fall towards his ship. It was a ramp of some kind, a crude boarding device with massed ranks of legionaries formed behind it. Gisco watched in fascination as the ramp fell onto the main deck of the Melqart , a series of spikes penetrating the timbers of the deck. The quinquereme shuddered at the moment of impact and for a heartbeat the two ships were locked by the inanimate ramp before the momentum of the Melqart broke the spell and the ramp was torn apart by the opposing forces on either end of its length. The spikes tore a huge gash along the deck before finally releasing, the ramp buckling under the strain, throwing legionaries from the far end where they had been poised to attack. Gisco roared defiance as he watched the ill-fated tactic thwarted and the quinquereme shrug off the remnants of the boarding ramp.

The cutwater of the Melqart tore into the extended portside oars of the Roman galley, the splintered spars snapping like twigs against the reinforced bow.

‘Loose,’ Gisco roared above the crashing sounds.

The arrows seemed to dart across the rails of the enemy ship, the point-blank range allowing the archers to keep their trajectories almost horizontal, their precision deadly. Fresh calls of panic rose from the trireme as fire took hold of the deck, the cries mixed with the screams of the dying.

The Melqart broke through the back of the Roman line out into an uninterrupted sea. Gisco ordered the portside oars to re-engage before running to the stern rail to witness the devastation his galley had wrought on the Roman ship that had dared to challenge him.

‘Come about to re-engage!’ he ordered automatically as he continued to scan the back of the Roman line, expecting any minute to see other Carthaginian galleys break through.

‘Loose!’ Septimus roared.

The twenty hastati of his command threw their pila spears as one, the volley striking the knot of Carthaginians on the foredeck of the galley directly opposite the Aquila in the Carthaginian battle line, the two ships only thirty yards apart and closing. Septimus felt the deck tilt beneath him as the bow of the Aquila was aimed at the enemy’s bow. He braced himself against the impact, holding the straps of his scutum shield tightly.

The collision of the equally matched ships drove the momentum out of both, and for an instant the rowers were thrown from their stations, the rhythm of their stroke shattered. Grappling hooks were thrown and made secure, creating the moment of inertia required.

‘Release the corvus !’ Septimus roared.

The thirty-six-foot ramp crashed down across the gap separating the foredecks, crushing the side rail of the enemy ship, the spikes driving deeply into the weathered timber deck. Septimus was instantly away, the legionaries following behind him at a rush. They roared in attack, the sudden onslaught temporarily stunning the Carthaginians. The Punici rallied into the charge, echoing the Romans’ cries with calls to their own god of war.

The legionaries deployed with terse commands, the ingrained training of years taking control of their movements. Within an instant they presented a solid wall of interlocking shields, against which the Carthaginian charge broke in disarray.

‘Advance!’ Septimus ordered above the clash of battle.

The legionaries began to step forward. At each footfall they shoved their shields forward, the copper boss at the centre striking the enemy and parrying their blows. Gladii were punched through the narrow gaps in the wall to wound or kill the faceless enemy beyond, the cries of pain mixed with shouts of futile rage at the pitiless wall of shields. The twenty principes made up the first row of attack, their physical strength driving the tide of legionaries forward. Those Carthaginians that fell wounded under the wall were instantly dispatched by the junior hastati in the rear, giving no quarter to the desperate enemy. Within five minutes the Romans had cleared the foredeck, leaving a trail of dead behind them, and the enemy were beginning to buckle.

‘We have them,’ Duilius said with relish as he watched the legionaries’ relentless advance from the aft-deck.

Atticus didn’t reply, his eyes restless, his sailor’s instincts compelling him to continually search the four quarters of the galley. The scene on board the Carthaginian galley captured by the Aquila was being repeated on all sides, the corvus tipping the odds inexorably in the Romans’ favour. Not every Roman galley had met with success the first time and Atticus counted six individual duels developing in the waters behind the Roman line as opponents struggled to manoeuvre to ram or board. Smoke billowed into the sky as a Roman galley burned furiously, the desperate cries of her crew filling the air.