Masters of the Sea Trilogy: Ship of Rome, Captain of Rome, Master of Rome. John Stack

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ water splashed high as the horses’ hooves cut its surface. Once on the other side the group turned up the beach, passing the frame of a partially constructed trireme as they did so. This was the first time Scipio had been to the site and his eyes swept over every detail before him, the endless lists he had reviewed in Rome made real on the beach at Fiumicino. The galley frame was almost lost in a forest of supports and yet Scipio could make out the sharp lines of the vessel beneath. Even now, although it was only partly built and was caged by scaffolding, the galley looked as if it would soar over the water, and Scipio felt a surge of admiration for the craftsmanship of his fellow Romans.

      Scipio counted twenty frames in number, the exact total he had seen on an obscure list a week before. When the decision had been made to build the fleet, there had only been sufficient material and skilled labour available in the immediate vicinity of Rome to construct these twenty ships. Even now supplies were arriving and being distributed that would fuel the construction of a further one hundred and thirty galleys, but the twenty before him would put to sea first. Scipio entered the tented city and headed for the camp prefect’s quarters. A lantern was lit inside, the occupant already working diligently. Scipio had chosen Tuditanus personally, his choice based on two facts. The first, that Tuditanus was a hard taskmaster and would stick rigorously to any schedule, and the second, that Tuditanus was in Scipio’s employ and, while on the surface he might report to the Senate, in reality he answered only to the senior consul.

      Septimus woke thirty minutes before dawn, his mind surfacing through a groggy fog of fatigue. As he rose he looked across the dark cabin to the sleeping figure of Atticus, his friend laid out as if he had been knocked unconscious. He crept from the cabin, gathering up his sword and shield as he did and climbed the aft-gangway to the deck above. The mood up top was subdued, the men on duty coming to the end of their watch as dawn approached. Septimus ordered one of them below to get him food while he washed his face with water in a futile attempt to refresh himself. Atticus emerged five minutes later, Septimus noticing that under the dark lines of fatigue on his face the captain was seething with anger.

      ‘I take it your meeting with Tuditanus didn’t go well?’ he prompted as Atticus took the basin of water and poured the contents over his head. A week before, Atticus had outlined his fears to Septimus, the centurion immediately deferring to his friend’s experience, sharing his impatience as they waited for Tuditanus’s summons.

      ‘The bastard completely ignored me. He said I was underestimating the Romans,’ Atticus replied, slamming his fist onto the railing as he looked out over the beach.

      ‘Maybe he has a point, Atticus,’ Septimus said. ‘Lentulus is a clever man and Tuditanus is no fool.’

      ‘So you think because I’m not Roman I’m wrong?’ Atticus countered, his anger rising anew.

      ‘That’s not what I said,’ Septimus replied, keeping his tone even, sensing that Atticus was close to losing his temper.

      Atticus curbed his anger, knowing it was misplaced when directed at his friend.

      ‘So what now?’ Septimus asked.

      ‘Now I need your help,’ Atticus replied. ‘I can’t risk training the recruits yet on boarding manoeuvres, but we’ve got to give the legionaries a fighting chance. Can you train them on some of the techniques for boarding?’

      ‘My own orders call for me to demonstrate our knowledge of Carthaginian tactics, but I think I’ve enough scope to teach them some of the basics,’ Septimus smiled, liking the idea of circumventing the camp prefect’s orders.

      Atticus nodded his thanks as he noticed a number of skiffs disembarking from the beach, each one filled with the sailing recruits who would spend their day on the Aquila. The sight prompted Septimus to make his way to the main deck before climbing over the side and down a rope ladder into the small skiff tethered to the galley. A crewman of the Aquila was waiting there for him, the week-old daily routine dictating the steps of both men. As Septimus sat down, the crewman pushed off and started to row towards the shore.

      Septimus jumped out of the skiff into the ankle-deep water and walked up onto the beach. All around him the area was coming to life as drowsy men walked off their weariness and stretched tired muscles. A long day ahead. He crested the dune at the top of the beach and walked onto the flat coastal plateau behind, heading towards the hastily erected training camp at the northern end of the tented city, an expansive square of land that housed the legionaries of the Fourth, the Roman legion that had arrived at the beginning of the week. Septimus had been tasked with instructing one of the maniples on the fighting skills of the Carthaginians, specifically on how men trained in one-to-one encounters.

      The centurion was challenged at the gate of the camp by two of the vigilae, the night guard, who, although three hours into their watch, stood alert and ready. A tightly run legion, Septimus thought, as he identified himself. He passed through and headed for the quarters of his own men, spotting Quintus, his optio, standing beside a fire with two of the twenty principes of the Aquila’s half-century. They were having a murmured conversation, keeping their voices low in the quiet time before dawn.

      The optio spotted his commander approaching and broke away from the two men.

      ‘Good morning, Centurion.’

      ‘Morning, Quintus … all quiet?’

      ‘As a grave. With the work we have those legionaries doing, they’re sleeping like babies.’

      Septimus smiled at the description. The men of the Fourth were anything but babies. As one of the legions of the northern army, the Fourth had historically been at the centre of all of the major conflicts as Rome expanded her borders northwards. Their symbol was the boar, and it was a suitable emblem, for the soldiers were both vicious and stubborn. Septimus realized that the latter quality would make the task ahead more difficult.

      Septimus turned to his optio as a trumpet sounded for roll call.

      ‘Quintus, I want to shift the focus of training and teach the legionaries some of the basics of boarding.’

      ‘Yes, Centurion,’ Quintus replied, Septimus noticing the underlying scepticism in his optio’s voice. Having gone through the training only ten months before, the techniques and steps were fresh in Septimus’s mind; however, he would let Quintus, a marine with two full years’ experience, take the lead on the agenda.

      ‘So, what do you think is the best way to proceed?’

      ‘We introduce them to the hoplon.’

      Septimus nodded, knowing that that portion of the training was especially difficult for men used to handling the four-foot scutum shields of the legions.

      ‘We have to start somewhere, and the sooner the legionaries realize that they don’t have a shield that will defend their torso and legs at the same time, the better,’ Quintus added.

      ‘Agreed,’ Septimus said, as the men of the V maniple of the Fourth formed up in the training square. Their centurion, Marcus Junius Silanus, approached and Septimus groaned inwardly. Silanus had absolutely no respect for marines, an opinion he constantly expressed both to Septimus and to the men of his own maniple.

      ‘What’s on today’s agenda, marine?’ he asked, his tone laced with condescension.

      Septimus drew himself up to his full height, a good two inches taller than Silanus, the centurion’s tone goading him.

      ‘More СКАЧАТЬ