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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      ‘I will accompany you into your room,’ Demades’s guard commander said suddenly.

      ‘You will hold your tongue,’ Longus stormed, amazed at the blatant insubordination.

      ‘It’s all right, Senator Longus,’ Demades blurted, stepping forward, his voice nervous, ‘the commander only fears for my safety.’

      ‘You are entirely safe within these walls,’ Longus retorted, insulted by the insinuation that his house was not safe, and taken aback by Demades’s defence of the errant officer.

      ‘Yes, of course,’ Demades replied, again caught between conflicting forces. One look at Cronus confirmed the course he had to take.

      ‘But, Longus, I promised my wife that I would keep a guard with me at all times. I do not wish to break my word.’

      Longus paused for a moment, ashamed by Demades’s obvious trepidation, embarrassed that the man was so concerned about the good graces of his wife. Demades noted the disgust on Longus’s face and bit back the feeling of humiliation.

      ‘So be it,’ Longus said. ‘Please join me in the main dining room when you are refreshed,’ he added before stalking off, musing all the while on how much Demades had changed since their last encounter.

      Cronus waited until the Roman left before escorting Demades into his quarters.

      ‘Curse you, Demades, why are we here?’ he hissed, pressing the councillor against the wall as he held his neck firm in his hand.

      ‘I had to come,’ Demades spluttered, the pressure on his throat frightening. ‘Longus insisted I accept his hospitality before making the return voyage to Lipara. To refuse would have been seen as an insult.’

      Cronus snarled at the explanation, searching Demades’s voice for signs of deception. He heard only fear. With one last squeeze of pressure he released the councillor. Demades fell to the ground, his hand massaging his damaged throat. He kept his eyes low, trying to hide the myriad of emotions he knew must be written on his face. If Cronus gained any inkling of what Demades was planning, he knew he would be dead in a heartbeat.

      Septimus’s face remained grim as yet another man failed to make the jump between the two galleys. The legionary’s clambering hands on the side rail drew cheers from some of the men on the foredeck of the Aquila before he fell the ten feet to the water below.

      ‘At least this one can swim,’ Septimus muttered to himself as he watched the man make his way over to a waiting rope ladder. They had almost lost one of the men earlier, who had fallen like others before him to the cheers of all, but had not risen immediately after sinking below the water. Two sailors had been quick to realize that the man couldn’t swim and they had dived in to rescue him. It had never occurred to Septimus that most of the men couldn’t swim, a skill he took for granted having learned it in his childhood in the river Tiber.

      The training was, as expected, proving to be slow and gruelling. The men were jumping without sword or shield or the extra weight of body armour, and yet many could not make the jump. They were brave soldiers, of that Septimus was sure, for the Fourth had a fearsome reputation; but like all men when faced with an unfamiliar danger, they lacked confidence. Even those who made the other side landed off balance, and in a fight would be easy prey for a defender. It was going to take a number of days at least until all would be able to make the jump with ease. Then Septimus would have to move on to the more difficult task of teaching the legionaries the vital tactics needed for the first frenzied moments of any boarding.

      As the cheers died away and the next man prepared to make the jump, Septimus heard the loud call to order and all on deck immediately snapped to attention. Without moving his head he looked towards the gangway, which was now flanked by the familiar and unwelcome sight of the praetoriani. They stepped aside as Scipio came on board. The senior consul surveyed the assembled men.

      ‘Soldiers of Rome,’ he shouted so all could hear, ‘we sail within the hour. Prepare to depart.’

      Silanus saluted and ordered his men ashore. As one they obeyed and made their way onto the main deck and down the gangway to the dockside. They were followed by the command crews of the galleys, who had been under Atticus’s tutelage on the main deck. Septimus strode to the dockside rail and looked along the quay. Black-cloaked praetoriani were fanning out along the docks, each one carrying the same message to the sailing crews as ship after ship came alive with activity. He was joined at the rail by Atticus.

      ‘What do you think?’ Atticus asked, puzzled by the order.

      ‘I don’t know,’ Septimus replied, although he felt uneasy owing to the presence of Scipio himself.

      Atticus turned to Lucius. ‘Prepare to get under way.’

      ‘Hold!’ a voice said unexpectedly. It was Scipio, the overheard order causing him to stop halfway down the gangplank and spin around. His expression was hostile as he made his way back to the main deck.

      ‘This galley is not part of the Classis Romanus, Perennis,’ he spat. ‘That honour is reserved for the new fleet only. I need men who will follow my every command without question; men who are loyal to Rome and the Senate. You and your crew are to remain in Ostia.’

      ‘As you wish, Consul,’ Atticus replied, struggling to keep his voice even.

      Scipio turned and walked off the Aquila without another word.

      Atticus and Septimus watched from the foredeck of the Aquila as the Classis Romanus raised sail and set course for the mouth of the harbour. The ships were moving in a loose formation, the more efficient crews outstripping others, although none dared to overtake the Mars, commanded by Scipio, at the head of the fleet. Septimus spotted Silanus on the main deck of the flagship with half of his maniple assembled behind him. He saluted the centurion and Silanus returned the gesture with a nod before turning away from the rail. The sight of the fleet under way had brought cheers from both the dockside and crews of the trading ships in the harbour, and the crews of the galleys had returned the gesture, even though they were unaware of their destination.

      For security reasons the galley captains had simply been told to make ready to depart. No further details were made available and none would be forthcoming until the fleet was safely at sea. Only then would the crews learn of their mission. What they did know, however, was that the ships were now stocked with two days’ worth of provisions. This was not unusual in itself – military galleys always carried a week’s provisions as a matter of course – but this was the first time the fleet had taken on supplies, as before the men were fed in the mess halls of the castrum. If the fleet was only sailing to Fiumicino, as the men suspected, then why the need for supplies?

      From Atticus’s vantage point the course and position of the lead ships were lost in the confusion of galleys in formation, but he estimated they would be making the turn to starboard, and Fiumicino in the north, within minutes. The shape of the formation changed as the course correction was made, the galleys turning onto their new heading. Atticus could scarcely believe what he was seeing.

      ‘Come about south,’ Scipio ordered as the Mars cleared the mouth of Ostia harbour. Fulfidias issued the orders to his crew before turning to ensure the ships behind were matching his course.

      ‘Southerly course as ordered, Consul.’

      Scipio nodded, never taking his eyes off the fleet behind him. His chest СКАЧАТЬ