“We’re not moving!” Hannibal cried. He rushed to the captain and pushed him out of the way. He shouted down below decks himself. “Back water!” he shouted. “Back water!”
“We’re stuck,” the captain exclaimed.
“We cannot be!”
The oarsmen frantically backed, but the trireme held fast to the great seven’s ram. The smaller ship shuddered violently, Roman soldiers sprawling across its deck.
In panic, Hannibal rushed to the left gunwale. All across the sea, the boarding bridge devices plunged onto his ships, holding them fast. The seascape roared with crashing timbers and screaming men…
…and the boarding bridges tore into them like birds of prey.
“There, consul!” Rufinus cried in terror, pointing. “Coming right at us!”
From the afterdeck of the Neptunus, Duilius saw the Carthaginian quinquereme bearing down on them. It looked huge as it sliced through the water toward them, its stubby ram throwing up a frothing wake below the giant eyes that glared at them across the waterline.
“Calm yourself, captain,” Duilius said. “Call for ‘left forequarter’. Inform the rowing officer.”
He had never been menaced by an enemy at sea, but he felt oddly calm and detached. His fear had played itself out during the approach. Now that he was engaged at battle speed, he felt as if the world had wound down a notch; everything moved as a man trudging through thick mud, or an ant across a pool of honey. Even sound failed to penetrate his solace, though the battle raged all around him.
Rufinus shouted down the stairs to the rowing deck. “Left forequarter!” he called.
The Neptunus immediately began to turn to face the onrushing Carthaginian.
“Corvus-men at the ready,” Duilius said. “Velites, javelins out. Soldiers, prepare to board.”
The Carthaginian five grew large, its oars beating pitilessly.
“Now!” Rufinus cried.
Duilius watched as the corvus’ great spike crashed through the deck of the enemy five. Both ships heaved for an instant. The Roman soldiers had braced for the impact, but the Carthaginians spilled over their deck. It seemed the corvus might split in two from the shock. Then with a forward jerk, the ships came to rest, locked in a deadly embrace, the corvus holding them fast. Velites rushed to the bow and blackened the sky with a hail of javelins. The Carthaginian soldiers scrambled to their feet and scattered to avoid the missiles, still too shocked to understand what was happening to them.
The Roman heavy troops at once began streaming across the corvus. The first onto the bridge held his shield to the top of the side rail. The next man took his place beside him. Soon a shield wall protected the entire length of the bridge and the marines rushed across behind it, their heavy hob-nailed sandals clattering like hailstones.
The Carthaginians were stunned. Rising from the deck, the soldiers immediately found themselves confronting three times their number. The first to their feet fell where they stood. The rest immediately went to their knees.
The world came rushing back to Duilius. Immediately, the ear-splitting din of battle and the sight of ships rushing about in a great jumble of confusion fell upon him. Across the seascape in every direction, the spikes of the corvi ripped into the guts of the enemy fleet.
“She is ours!” Duilius cried, as Roman soldiers took control of the enemy vessel.
“We did it!” Rufinus exclaimed in triumph. “We did it! It worked! By Jupiter, did you see that?”
“Another mark for the Neptunus, eh captain?” Duilius said, throwing an arm around Rufinus’ shoulders.
Rufinus could not stand still. He ran to the stairs leading to the rowing deck.
“We have captured her!” he shouted down. “We did it!”
The entire ship erupted in cheers. The sound was so loud that even the legionaries on board the captured five turned to see what the matter was — and they saw that it was the elation of the Neptunus.
The Romans on the rammed trireme regained their footing and began hurling their javelins onto the deck of the great seven. Fixed to the seven’s ram, the sea began pouring into the trireme’s hull. Rowers abandoned their benches. Some jumped overboard, knowing that the ship was sinking. The soldiers’ attention remained fixed on the enemy and while the javelins flew, legionaries began climbing onto the deck of the septireme even as their own ship listed over dangerously.
“Repel boarders!” came the cry from the foredeck. The Carthaginians rushed forward and easily hacked apart the Romans as they clambered over the rails. From his position on the afterdeck, Hannibal was amazed at the bravery of the Roman soldiers as they continued to climb aboard only to face certain death.
Meanwhile, the rowers continued to frantically back water. Hannibal could feel the jerking motion of the ship as the septireme strained to free itself. Finally, with a great creaking of timbers, the bow of the flagship, which had been held aloft by the frame of the trireme, came crashing down into the water, sending up torrents of spray. The ship was free!
Immediately, Hannibal began looking for his next target. But as he turned his head to the right, his eyes widened in terror. Unnoticed in the struggle, a Roman quinquereme barreled toward them, the stuck septireme presenting an easy target. It was too late to maneuver.
“Hold on!” he cried.
Striking the septireme at a sharp angle in the right forequarter, the Roman ram slammed into its hull. The Carthaginian ship shuddered. Almost immediately, the boarding bridge crashed onto the deck, its spike digging into the planks, holding the ship fast.
Cries rang out from below as seawater began pouring into the rowing deck. Panicked oarsmen streamed up the stairs at the same time as Roman soldiers poured across the boarding bridge. The Carthaginians loosed a ragged volley of javelins but they glanced off the Roman shield wall that lined the corvus. Swordsmen rushed forward to contest the Roman advance, but the legionaries, shoulders pressed to their shields, cleaved into them in a solid mass.
Hannibal immediately saw which way the battle would go.
“To the boat!” he cried to his captain.
The captain quickly procured a team of oarsmen and they climbed down the ladder at the stern of the ship and clambered aboard the longboat. They set off at once, the eight rowers straining against the oars as they beat furiously away from the listing ship. Hannibal watched in stunned dismay as men leapt over the rails and plunged into the sea. The Romans quickly captured the King of Epirus. They raised their weapons in victory, and if Hannibal could not hear them cheering, he experienced the utter humiliation of seeing a jubilant enemy lining the rails of his flagship.
The rowers made for the safety of the cape, evading the crewmen of both sides who thrashed panic-stricken in the water. With clutching fingers, they clawed desperately at the longboat as it passed. The rowers beat at them with their oars. Hannibal and his little crew gazed up in fear at the warships that towered above them on all sides. Hannibal saw that the Carthaginians no longer plunged mindlessly into the attack, but sought only to escape the Roman corvi, by now a dreaded sight. The corvi hunted ravenously among his scattering ships. His center squadron was a shambles. His humiliation was complete.
For Hannibal Gisgo, the battle of Mylae was over.
Boodes witnessed the destruction of Hannibal’s center squadron. Immediately, he ordered his own forty vessels to make a wide, arcing attack on the flank of the enemy line. He had seen the corvus in action and knew how it worked. He would put his bow onto the stern of the enemy, outside the arc of the thing’s tearing beak.
Boodes saw the Roman ships arrayed against him. The center of their line had rushed ahead to engage Hannibal, leaving a refused flank facing Boodes. He urged his rowers to speed, his orders transmitted from captain to rowing officer. His signalman’s flag snapped in the wind as he ordered his squadron to find the enemy flank. He would rely on the superior speed of his ships to avoid the corvi.
He had hoped the Romans would rush at him as they had Hannibal. But
they did not. They awaited him, and as Boodes tried to sweep around them, the Romans turned to meet him, and he felt as though he were stalking a bull, never able to gain its rear.
“It is no good, general,” Boodes’ flagship captain said. “We cannot get around them.”
“Then we will go right at them,” Boodes said in frustration. He knew that when the Romans turned to use their bridges, they would expose their broadsides. The experienced Carthaginian captains would not hesitate to puncture them. “The Romans will quickly lose heart if we rush them boldly.”
The captain looked unconvinced. To their right the battle raged in the center, the boarding bridges crashing amid foundering ships. One, a Roman trireme, eased under the waves as they watched, crewmen thrashing in the water all around it.
Boodes rushed toward the nearest Roman, a quinquereme. As they approached, the helmsman directed the vessel to the side of the enemy and Boodes attempted a sharp turn to put his ram on the ship’s broadside. But the Roman turned quickly, bringing Boodes into the radius of the corvus and the bridge dropped with a great crash on his deck.
Boodes immediately rushed to his marine officer. “To the bow!” he called, drawing his own sword. Having seen it in action, the corvus did not shock him. He was ready for it. He would meet the Romans on the bridge itself.
Weapons drawn, the Carthaginian soldiers rushed to the bridge and blocked the exit at the same time that the Romans streamed across it. Javelins flew in every direction. From behind their shields, the Carthaginians slashed at the Romans on the bridge. The narrow crossing negated the Roman advantage in numbers, and the Carthaginians, supported by massed javelins, hacked them down and began cleaving their way onto the bridge, pushing the Romans back.
Boodes held his sword aloft, urging his soldiers forward, screaming for them to attack, and knowing that the sound of his voice was lost in the clash and chaos of combat. His mere presence gave his men the courage to persevere. He would show them that a bridge could be crossed in either direction. But he wished he had more soldiers.
Just then, another Carthaginian five bore down on a Roman amidships, only to have the enemy turn at the last moment and drop its corvus. Roman marines rushed across the bridge uncontested. After that, the rest of Boodes’ squadron actively avoided the Roman ships altogether, unable to elude their turning bows. Now, the Carthaginians used their superior speed not to attack but to evade. Boodes could not believe his eyes.
The Romans had massed at the mouth of the bridge and tried to push their way across. From behind them came a hail of their heavy pila, forcing the Carthaginians to scatter as the javelins rained down upon them, piercing shields and tearing flesh. Slipping in the blood, the men retreated through a forest of quivering javelins protruding from the wooden deck.
Now, the Romans surged across the bridge unimpeded. Boodes rallied his men, and they crashed into the Romans, halting them. But legionaries continued to stream across the corvus, and the reinforcements began spilling around the flanks of the Carthaginian line. Men fell to the stabbing gladius and were lost under the trampling feet of the Roman onslaught. Boodes himself rushed forward, hacking at the Romans, screaming at his men to stem the tide.
“Fight on!” he bellowed, his sword slashing at the shields of the enemy, searching out an opening.
Men rushed to his side and they fought and died together. One by one, they fell. As the resistance slackened, more and more Romans surrounded them. The captain broke away and, to Boodes’ astonishment, flung himself over the rail. Soon, there was no one left but Boodes himself. He was too terrified to stop fighting. He fought with the ferocity of a doomed man, his sword crashing down on the enemy in a flurry of unrelenting blows. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of three Romans rushing toward him from the side, brandishing their slicing blades, and he knew that he could not turn to meet them. He felt himself weakening, but he would not stop slashing.
The three Romans raised their blades, and Boodes closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, and fought on with a grimace that looked almost like a smile.
Leaving behind the thirty-one captured ships and the thirteen sunk, the Carthaginian fleet rowed away as fast as their oarsmen’s backs would propel them. To pursue them was hopeless. The Romans would never catch them.
“Flag the recall,” Duilius said.
It would be a long time before the scattered fleet could be reassembled. Via the corvi, many Roman ships remained coupled with the Carthaginian vessels they had captured. Soldiers marched prisoners back and forth over the bridges throughout the ‘battlefield’. They would allow the sinking ships to slip under. Most of them were too far gone to attempt salvage. Men of both sides thrashed about in the water among splintered timbers and the dead. The Romans plucked them out indiscriminately, the Carthaginians bound for the slave markets of Rome.
Rufinus appeared at Duilius’ shoulder. “Do we sail for Panormus now, Consul?” he asked.
“One victory at a time, Tribune.” Duilius laughed. “We have scarcely secured this one. We must plan the next carefully. By my reckoning, the Carthaginians still have some eighty ships remaining, and they outnumber us in quinqueremes. No, we will savor this victory for now.”
“You are the first Roman to defeat them at sea!” Rufinus exclaimed, watching the Carthaginian ships as they hastened away to the west.
“And I will defeat them on land as well!” Duilius said. “I have two legions at sea. With them, I have defeated their marines. Now I will defeat their army!”
“At Segesta?” Rufinus asked.
“My campaign has just begun, Tribune.”
Chapter 27
Duilius stepped off the gangplank onto the beach. Riders met him there, and guided him to the Roman camp near the city of Parapos. Disembarking from the fleet in the Gulf of Thermae, 10,000 of his legionary marines followed him, swelling the numbers of his army to 30,000. The fleet itself returned to Messana.
“Welcome back,” Gaius Caecilius called when he saw the consul’s party approaching the praetorium.
“What is this I hear about Segesta?” Duilius demanded, entering the tent without greeting the tribune. Caecilius followed him inside.
Duilius at once began rifling through a stack of parchments on the desk.
“The Carthaginians have abandoned their siege,” Caecilius reported cheerfully. “I marched at them aggressively—”
“And lost how many thousand men?” Duilius wheeled and gazed at him with rage in his eyes.
Caecilius’ cheerful manner evaporated instantly. “We were ambushed,” he said. “The legions failed to support me. They were duped by a simple demonstration—”
“Enough!” Duilius snapped. “You are a fool, Caecilius! And I was a fool to leave you here in command. How dare you fritter away my army! While I was defeating the enemy at sea, you were—”
“But we are victorious at Segesta!” Caecilius interrupted, his face reddening. “Is that not worth a couple thousand men?”
“A couple thousand!” Duilius slammed a fistful of parchments down on the table. “We could have fought a full-scale battle and not lost a couple thousand men. And you just throw them away?”
“You cannot win battles without losing men, Consul,” Caecilius said with grave formality. “You may review my actions in your absence however you see fit. But, I tell you, we won a victory at Segesta — and not by accident.”
“Where are my Syracusans?” Duilius demanded suddenly.
Caecilius uttered an ugly, scornful chuckle. “They refuse to camp with us. They have gone off by themselves and have made their own camp, at Parapos.”
“Gelon?”
“Who else? I tell you, the man is insufferable!”
“Gelon camps by himself…” Duilius shook his head. “Perhaps when he hears that we are no longer commanded by a man who leads us into ambushes, he will relent and come back. I will send an emissary to him,” Duilius said, evenly. “Now, get out of my sight before I have you flogged.”
&n
bsp; “I protest!” Caecilius lunged forward, as if to strike the consul, but caught himself and stopped short. He stood with his fists clenched.
“Get out!” Duilius snapped. Caecilius’ face contorted into a deep frown. He stared the consul in the eye. Then he saluted, turned on his heel, and strode out of the tent.
Duilius sat down heavily and sighed. Segesta was meant to be his victory. So close on the heels of Scipio’s humiliation and coupled with the Carthaginians’ naval defeat and Macella already in Roman hands, it would have capped a sensational campaign unparalleled in Roman history. Now, his successes already felt distant.
Oh, but he could use a good night’s sleep! He leaned back and stretched his legs, happy to be on solid ground again. His stomach had not had a moment’s peace since he had first set foot on those infernal boats. He did not care if he ever saw one again. He understood the legions. This was where he belonged.
He would think of a man to send to Gelon later. He had plenty of time to begin repairing the damage caused by the fool Caecilius.
For now he did not want to think about armies and boats and ambushes and battles. Instead, he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift. He could hear sounds from outside his tent: armor and weapons jangling as soldiers tramped past, distant shouting, clattering wagons. He let it all drift away. He was going to enjoy a few moments of peace.
As he sat with his eyes closed, he thought it was funny that he could still feel the heaving of a ship’s deck beneath his feet. His entire body seemed to rise and fall on gentle swells. Perhaps he was to be cursed forever with sea legs. At that moment, it was not an unpleasant sensation. He wondered who would not think of Duilius when he considered Roman sea power. It was ironic, because he had not chosen to command a fleet… He had wanted to command an army…
That was when the thought occurred to him that any victory by Duilius’ army was a victory by Duilius. Just as he was the victor of Mylae, so too was he the victor of Segesta. He smiled at the notion. Had he not, after all, planned the relief of Segesta only to be called away to the fleet because of Scipio’s humiliation?
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