Ship of Rome. John Stack

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Atticus was filled with the hum of voices from the multitude at work, broken occasionally by the sound of a whip crack as a driver spurred his team of oxen to advance, signalling the departure of yet another fully loaded wagon along the road south to the fortified legion encampment hidden beyond the town.

      The scene of docking and departing barges, of unloading and reloading supplies, of man and beast struggling for space on the congested docks seemed completely chaotic, and yet Atticus could sense the underlying order that permeated the entire operation as no voice was raised in anger and everywhere men moved with purpose and intent. The Roman legions had never fought a campaign off the mainland before Sicily, and yet, within a matter of months, the Romans’ ability to bring order and discipline to all endeavours ensured that the legions were operating as if they were but a mile from the city of Rome itself. Atticus could only wonder if any natural barrier would ever exist that could protect a people against the seemingly relentless advance of Rome.

      Lucius’s sharp commands cut through the cacophony as the sail was collapsed and made secure and the oars were engaged in the rapidly dwindling sea room of the inner harbour. Again Gaius’s incredible skill was called upon as barge after barge was avoided, their crews shouting warnings and curses as each near collision with the slow, ponderous vessels was averted. Atticus’s gaze swept the dock, searching for an opportunity. He quickly saw one and calculated the angles. It would be tight.

      ‘Three points starboard!’ he roared, his voice acknowledged by Gaius sixty yards away with a nod and a nimble touch on the tiller as Atticus ran to the main deck to prepare to disembark.

      The Aquila aligned her bow with an emerging gap as a barge began to cast off, her now empty hull turning towards the mid-channel. Voices and hands were raised on the docks, calling forward the next waiting barge into the valuable space before one of the taskmasters noticed the Aquila’s intercept course, his realization causing a minor panic as the galley’s unerring intent became apparent. Lucius roared for the barge to give way, his command instinctively followed by the merchantmen of the transport vessel who feared the Aquila’s four-foot bronze ram, and the galley swung deftly into the gap left by the departing barge.

      Atticus, Septimus and a detachment of six legionaries ran down the gangway the moment it touched the dock, their determined arrival forestalling any protest from the irate taskmaster.

      ‘Stand by on station,’ Atticus called to Lucius, who saluted and immediately ordered the gangway raised and the galley to push off from the dock. The six legionaries fell in pairs behind the captain and centurion and together they marched towards the end of the dock, heading to the town beyond. The slave labourers crowding the wharf moved back to allow the armed men to pass; as a knot of them dispersed, Atticus spotted an officer approaching at the head of a contubernia of ten soldiers. He was a tall, gaunt man, determination in his step, his face a mask of fury. Atticus recognized him immediately. He was Aulus, the Brolium harbour master.

      ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ Aulus yelled as he moved around the gangway of an unloading barge, shoving his way through the queue of bearers that cut across his path. He checked his step as he recognized the approaching captain, ordering his squad of ten men to halt.

      ‘Atticus, you Greek dog!’ he smiled. ‘By Jupiter’s balls! What madness is this?’

      The two men shook hands, Roman style, each grasping the other’s arm below the elbow.

      ‘I should have known it was the Aquila; only Gaius could pull off a manoeuvre like that. And Septimus,’ Aulus exclaimed over the captain’s shoulder, ‘still alive, I see.’

      Septimus allowed himself a smile at the friendly gibe, knowing Aulus’s dislike of legionaries.

      ‘We couldn’t wait for clearance, Aulus. We need to see the port commander immediately.’

      Aulus was disturbed by the captain’s infectious agitation, something he had never before seen in the young man.

      ‘Atticus, in Pluto’s name, what’s going on?’ he asked, all trace of humour now gone.

      ‘Carthaginians, Aulus, a whole fleet of them. At least fifty ships. Bearing north through the Strait of Messina.’

      ‘A Carthaginian fleet? In these waters? By the gods…’

      Instinctively Aulus looked around at the assembled fleet of barges. These vessels and their ability to ply goods between the mainland and Sicily were the key to the entire Roman campaign on the island. But they were slow, ponderous beasts in comparison to galleys. Fifty Carthaginian ships would play merry hell with them.

      ‘Atticus, this news must reach the legion commanders immediately,’ Aulus said without looking back at the captain, his focus on the barges around him, his mind already picturing their destruction at the hands of the Punici.

      ‘That’s why I need to speak to the port commander immediately, Aulus. He will be able to speak to the legion commanders directly.’

      ‘Atticus…Gnaeus Cornelius Scipio is here, in Brolium itself.’

      ‘The senior consul? Here?’ Atticus asked with disbelief. ‘What’s he doing in Sicily?’

      ‘He’s here to inspect the legions before the spring campaign,’ Aulus replied. ‘He only arrived two days ago. He’s staying in the port commander’s villa.’

      Atticus looked up at the villa overlooking the port. It was fifteen minutes away by foot, four minutes by horseback, but that was on a quiet day, when the streets were all but empty. Today the entire town seemed choked with equipment, slaves and draught oxen. He would need the marine legionaries to beat a path to the consul’s door.

      ‘Septimus,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘we need to get to the villa as quickly as possible.’

      ‘Understood,’ Septimus replied, and turned to his six men. ‘Squad…draw swords!’ he ordered, his words followed instantly by the distinctive sound of swords being drawn from their scabbards.

      All activity around the soldiers ceased as the sound arrested the movement of every man in earshot. Those within range immediately drew back from the group, fearful of the razor-sharp killing sword of the Roman legions. A ripple ran through the crowd as word was passed quickly along the length of the dock and, like a gust of wind blowing through ripened corn, the crowd began to part in front of the soldiers. Septimus turned and slowly drew his own sword, holding it firmly before him, sensing the familiar weight of the weapon, remembering the last time he had drawn it only hours before.

      ‘Fall in behind,’ he said to Atticus as he looked beyond him to the channel opening before them. ‘Squad…double-quick time.’

      The squad took off as one, their pace the ground-eating double-quick time that would get them to their destination, over two miles away, in fifteen minutes. Aulus watched them go until his view of them was lost, the slaves around him returning to work as if nothing had happened. But something had happened, Aulus thought, something had changed. The four legions on Sicily had seemed invincible, unbeatable, the best land army in the world. Now the Carthaginians had begun to exploit their best asset, as masters of the sea, and as surely as death follows life, if the fifty ships of the Punici were not stopped, they would strangle and starve forty thousand of Rome’s finest.

      Atticus and Septimus mounted the final steps leading to the villa’s rooftop garden behind two of the consul’s black-cloaked praetorian guards, their long wait before being summoned forward by the guard commander further chafing Atticus’s СКАЧАТЬ