The fleet had arrived.
Chapter 11
(Quintilis: In the bay below Darioritum, on the Armorican coast)
Brutus glanced across at the trierarch of the Aurora.
‘Think we can contain them all?’
The captain clearly registered the doubt in his voice and equally clearly shared it.
‘Most of them, sir. All the ships near the port are still slow and wallowing. They’ve not got their sails full yet, and we can run circles round them so long as we can keep them from getting round us. There have got to be fifty or so ships out here already under full sail, though. Look: they’re already pulling out to our left to pass us.’
Brutus nodded thoughtfully. He had not come all this way in good weather at last just to be bypassed again. The Veneti already under sail had the edge at the moment and would be round behind the Romans in moments.
‘Then we’ll have to split the fleet. Send out the signals. Have the first six squadrons surround the fleet at the port. They should be able to do that easily enough.’
The trierarch looked less than certain.
‘Sixty ships against more than twice that number, sir?’
Brutus smiled.
‘Ah, but they have them trapped. With the army at the port, it shouldn’t take much to get a surrender from them. It’s these other vermin I’m more concerned with.’
The trierarch cast his gaze soberly over the four dozen heavy Veneti ships making their way toward the other side of the immense bay. With the numerous small islands that spotted the huge expanse, it was of prime importance to keep the Veneti fleet in view, or they could quickly land any number of refugees on one of these isolated isles and tracking them down later would be near impossible.
Brutus frowned. It would take the fleet about an hour at full speed to reach the narrow entrance to the bay from Darioritum. Given the trierarch’s estimate of the difference in speed between the two fleets, the enemy could be there almost quarter of an hour before the Romans, though that was based on estimates from a day with strong winds. The current occasional gusts would work against the Veneti, especially loaded down with refugees as they were. A three-hundred count, then. That was enough to keep them in sight.
He nodded to himself and then turned back to the trierarch.
‘And split the remaining four squadrons. I want them in a wide cordon as we chase down the fleeing ships. When they turn to deal with, us I want to be able to close the line like a net.’
The captain, his face still registering his lack of confidence in the plan, saluted and strode across to the naval signifer, standing near the long halyard that ran from the main sail along fully half the length of the hull. As Brutus watched, willing extra speed from his men, the trierarch relayed the commands and the signifer began selecting his crimson flags and running them up the line in view of the other ships.
Brutus heaved a sigh of relief when, almost instantly, the commanders of the other squadrons’ flagships relayed the signals to their own vessels and within moments the entire fleet broke up into smaller groups to tend to their individual assignments.
Tensely, as the Aurora began to turn back toward the west, he watched the majority of the fleet bear down on the helpless vessels at the dockside and offered up a prayer to Neptune that his prediction would hold.
Many Gauls might have been tempted to fight to the death; to the last man. They had seen it happen time and again over the last few years. If the Veneti fell into that category, then the six squadrons would have trouble and might not even be able to hold them. The fact that the Veneti had fled every potential engagement with the Roman forces, however, suggested that they had their survival in mind at all times and, given the presence of four legions watching them from the shore and a determined fleet blockading them in, they would have to be insane to do anything other than surrender.
No. That part of the fleet was no longer an issue, Neptune willing.
It was the fifty or so ships already straining to pull ahead that were the problem.
They were trying to flee, and that would not happen. And when it didn’t happen, they would have no choice but to turn on the Romans and try to fight their way clear.
Already the Aurora had come about, along with the remaining thirty five ships of these four squadrons, five having been lost to conditions out at sea over the past few months. Brutus watched with satisfaction as the pursuing flotilla spread out into a wide line, staggered to allow plenty of room for each vessel. Now that they were following the Veneti, racing in their wake, the oarsmen pulling with all their might, it was clear that heavy loads and lack of strong winds were hampering the enemy quite badly. Their lead on the Romans was fairly steady, occasionally widening and then shrinking as the wind gusted.
The young officer sighed and stood leaning back against the rail. The next three quarters of an hour would likely hold very much the same view, but with different scenery slipping past. In the intervening time, all he could realistically do was watch and perhaps eat something to keep his strength up. Taking a deep breath and nodding his satisfaction to the trierarch, he slid down the rail to sit on the deck, leaning into the corner. His weary frame sagged with relief.
It had been two days since he’d had a chance to shut his eyes properly. Yesterday had been filled with the tense journey up the coast. Then last night they had anchored offshore in the darkness and watched the headlands keenly for a signal from Fronto and Balbus. Oh, he’d had the opportunity for a rest then, but who could find easy sleep on the eve of such an important action and while waiting for news upon which everything hinged?
After Fronto’s signal and then Balbus’ in the early morning darkness, the fleet had approached and landed to convey supplies to the victorious Roman units and their engineers. He’d taken the opportunity for an hour’s shut-eye then, but it had seemed ill-fitting for the commander of the fleet to lie abed on the flagship while his fleet worked throughout the night and morning to supply the forts.
Then, with the dawn light, the fleet had moved into the bay slowly, in a wide net, checking out each bay and cove on the many islands as they moved in toward their target. While Brutus had anticipated that the Veneti fleet would be docked in its entirety at Darioritum, it had been a necessary chore to scout the entire bay as they moved to make sure that no Veneti squadrons lay in wait to spring a trap from behind as they bore down on the city.
All in all, it had been a tiring two days with moments of sleep snatched where he could, out of sight of the men. He could not even imagine how the rowers kept up this tremendous pace, sleeping as they had been for only two hours at a time and in shifts. They must be exhausted.
He watched with admiration the crew working hard and the moments slipped past as he chewed on meat and bread and allowed the relief of a rest to wash through him.
Brutus realised to his embarrassment that he had actually fully drifted off as the trierarch shouted him for the second time.
‘Yes?’
He clambered to his feet and glanced across to the man, who was pointing ahead. The young man rubbed his tired eyes. He could hardly blame himself for falling asleep in the circumstances, but he would have preferred not to do so in full view of the crew as they worked.
His gaze followed the trierarch’s gesture past the rows of heaving oarsmen, across the massed ranks of the marines on the centre of the deck where they stood ready for action, and to the scene unfolding ahead of the ships.
He must have been asleep for some time and cursed the trierarch under his breath for leaving him to rest. They were rounding the last island, a long, narrow spit, and bearing down on the narrow entrance to the bay.
Ahead, the Veneti ships raced toward the gap.
Brutus straightened his tunic and shifted the cuirass that had slipped uncomfortably during his nap. Taking a deep breath, he strode to the rail where the trierarch stood.
‘Have the hooks readied. We may only have one go at this, so it needs to work first time. If the wi
nd picks up and they get an opening, we’ll lose them.’
The trierarch nodded and bellowed out his commands as the officer watched the enemy intently. The first few Veneti ships were approaching the channel.
‘Now, Fronto… now!’ he grumbled to himself.
Why wasn’t he…
But he was.
Brutus smiled as the first huge rock arced up from the stronghold on the promontory and fell into the water with a huge spray, halfway between the hulls of the two leading ships. Even at their current distance, Brutus could hear the shouts of panic and dismay.
‘Any moment now’ he muttered, his eyes flitting back and forth between the various ships.
Several more artillery shots left the ramparts of the two coastal forts. The first fell into deep water close to another vessel but the second and third hit home, one smashing through the hull of a ship, holing it instantly, the second shattering the deck boards of another and bouncing along the surface, wreaking havoc as it travelled.
The catapults having found their range, more and more heavy stones began to arc out from the promontories and fall among the Veneti fleet, while the ballistae began to loose, their huge bolts plunging in among the crews and passengers, killing indiscriminately.
Panic gripped the Veneti fleet and they veered as fast as they could, turning away from this deadly corridor. No vessel could make it though the narrow channel intact and they had quickly recognised that.
Brutus watched with satisfaction as the ships turned and tried to flee along the coast to the north, past Balbus’ fortification, trying to find an exit other than through the narrow channel or past the Roman fleet.
The wind was beginning to pick up, just as Brutus had been nervously anticipating. Now was the time; now or never.
He signalled the trierarch and, as the orders were given and passed from ship to ship, the entire Roman force changed direction and moved in to cut off the Veneti’s escape.
‘Full speed! Bring us alongside them!’
A quick glance and he counted eleven vessels that were already disappearing beneath the waves at the entrance to the channel. Fronto and Balbus’ artillery had done a fine job, but had now ceased the barrage, as the Veneti moved away, for fear of striking a Roman ship.
He watched, taking short, tense breaths, as the Roman ships bore down on an intercept course, while he willed the wind to stay down long enough.
Slowly, the Aurora edged close to a huge Veneti ship. This was the first time Brutus had been aboard a Roman vessel as it closed on one the Gaulish ships and he stared, a lump in his throat. The deck of the enemy ship seemed so much higher, close up. If he stood on the trierarch’s shoulders, he could grip the rail, but not on his own. The timber used in the construction was weathered and seasoned oak, thick and dark and strong. The enormous mass of folk on deck was an equally impressive and worrying sight. They would outnumber the Roman marines by about four to one.
In the last moments, Brutus had the heart-stopping fear that his hook-weapons would be too short.
The Aurora pulled alongside the fleeing Veneti vessel, the rowers shipping their oars at the last moment in order to allow the hulls to close safely.
‘Hooks!’ bellowed the captain.
All along the left hand side of the ship the ranks of rowers, having dropped their oars, grasped the weapons that had been stacked on the deck nearby and hoisted them up.
Brutus almost sagged with relief as he watched the hooks being raised. Thirty men along the rail lifted long, heavy poles with a sharpened hook affixed to the end, the base being held for stability by another rower.
Without waiting for a further command, the men began to hack at the halyards and rigging, and any rope they could reach with the long poles, even managing the occasional swipe at the sail itself. Here and there, as the surprised Veneti rushed to the edge to try and fight off this bizarre and unconventional attack, the hooks were used to gruesome effect on the sailors before their attention was turned to the next rope.
Brutus grinned as the main sail of the ship suddenly came away from its pinned position with a ripping noise and whipped around uselessly.
The effect on the Veneti ship was instant and far more profound than even Brutus had expected. Bereft of its propulsion, the huge ship slowed rapidly. The oarsmen on the free side of the Aurora were still rowing like mad, using the pressure between the two hulls to keep their course straight, and the change in speed of their target resulted in the Roman vessel shooting out ahead.
The oarsmen quickly stopped their work, but Brutus grinned and yelled down at them.
‘Keep going. Bring us round their other side and we’ll repeat the job there!’
His grin widened as he realised that the fleet were having similar successes all the way along, the Veneti ships being rendered helpless.
He turned to the trierarch.
‘Ready the marines.’
* * * * *
Atenos narrowed his eyes. As soon as the Roman fleet had appeared around the headland in full view of the city of Darioritum, the Veneti ships had reacted in selfish panic. Those vessels that were already under sail and out on the water made a desperate run for the open sea cutting past the Romans dangerously close, perhaps a quarter of their fleet in all, but carrying many of the women and children who had already boarded.
The rest of them, wallowing in the port area and with no hope of achieving speed quickly enough to escape the Romans, desperately tried to set their sails. For a moment, the big centurion wondered what they were up to. As commander Brutus split his fleet and a number of triremes and quinqueremes raced off after the fleeing Veneti ships, the rest of the Roman vessels closed in on the port like a net.
Why were they setting their sails, then? They had no hope of running.
They could not be planning to fight?
And yet, as he watched, much of the remaining Veneti fleet prepared for action, while a few of the more sensible vessels made for the jetties and relative safety.
Atenos grinned as he watched the nearest heavy ship, it’s huge square sail still furled, using the low wind and the small sail at the bow to guide itself toward the smashed jetty upon which he stood.
Perhaps a third of the remaining Veneti had seen the futility of the situation and were now making for the docks or the bank nearby, the rest racing out to meet the Roman fleet. The legionary next to him cleared his throat.
‘Do we accept their surrender, or send to the general to deal with it, sir?’
The huge Gallic centurion turned a wolfish grin on him.
‘Neither. Form up!’
The legionary looked confused, but came to attention along with the other eight remaining men of Atenos’ squad on the wooden boards. On the other jetties, the rest of his century heard the order and snapped to attention, wondering what they were doing.
The centurion watched the huge Veneti galley close on the jetty. The tall sides were at just the right height to board from the wooden walkway. It would be amusing then, watching the triremes trying to disembark here onto a jetty some eight feet higher than their deck. He continued to gaze, stony faced, as the ship came alongside him.
To the rear of the port, the rest of the Roman force was busy dealing with the surrendering horde of warriors that had become trapped at the seaward end of the oppidum. Sooner or later they would have to clear the way to the jetties and repair the damage done to them. For now, though, the First Century of the Tenth Legion’s First Cohort was alone on the wooden jetties.
The Veneti warriors on board had their hands raised in a gesture of surrender as the vessel bumped against the timber of the jetty and came to a stop. Several legionaries staggered with the impact, but regained their composure quickly and returned to attention.
Atenos turned his fearsome, blood-soaked face to the surrendering Veneti and barked out a number of commands in the guttural dialect of the Gauls. Warriors flinched and ran the plank out to the jetty, hurrying off the ship and past the Roman column to st
and, dejected, on the wooden planks, awaiting the decision as to their fate and hoping, presumably, that their surrender would earn them clemency.
Atenos watched as the last of the hundred or so passengers disembarked and, as the crew made to follow, he held up his hand and shouted something else in Gaulish, causing them to return to their stations.
‘Sir?’
Atenos turned to the small party of Romans.
‘Get aboard!’
The legionaries, confused yet obedient, turned and rushed up the boarding plank to the deck of the huge Veneti ship. Atenos followed them up and turned his fierce gaze on the ship’s captain.
‘You speak Latin?’
The man’s face gave him the answer to his question and he sighed before reeling off instructions in their native tongue. The man shook his head defiantly.
‘Yes you damn well will.’
Striding over to the shaken captain, Atenos, a head taller than him and drenched in blood and gristle, grasped the man by the tunic and lifted him off the floor until they were face to face, before speaking to him slowly and deliberately, almost in a growl.
The captain looked terrified and quickly nodded. As soon as Atenos dropped him back to the floor, he turned and began shouting commands at the crew. The huge centurion returned to his men as, behind him, the crew began to get the ship moving once more.
‘We’re collecting the rest of the century and then we go out to help the fleet. At ease for now.’
As the men of the First century relaxed, Atenos stepped to the rail. It really was impressive watching the Veneti sailors at work. The ship was huge and heavy, powered only by the wind in the small front sail and yet they were already sliding through the water moments after the command was given.
He looked over at the captain and shouted another command before turning to look at the legionaries standing to attention on the other two jetties. Close by, other ships were making for the docks and this ship would be getting in the way.
‘You men get ready.’
Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1 Page 124