by David Drake
It was not a happy study.
A full-sized dromon, like the one approaching them, had a crew of two to three hundred men. A two-banked galley, that ship had 25 oars in each bank—100 in all. Fifty rowers were permanently assigned to the lower bank, one man to an oar. The rest of the crew, who would number at least 150, were assigned to the fighting deck. A hundred of those would man the upper bank of oars, two men to an oar, while the rest served as archers and boarders. In the event of a drawn-out pursuit or engagement, the upper rowers would switch places with the soldiers, thus keeping the men from becoming exhausted.
Technically, Eusebius knew, their ship was also classed as a dromon, an oared war galley. But it was the medium-sized type called a pamphylos. They only had eighty oars, twenty on each bank. And there was only room for a single rower on the upper oars.
A hundred and fifty rowers versus eighty. Despite the greater weight of the approaching dromon, it would still be faster than their own galley. And they were further handicapped because of the modifications which John had made in their warship.
John had known he would be heavily outnumbered in the coming battle—one ship against twenty, probably more. So he had decided to use his single ship as a pure artillery vessel, bombarding the enemy fleet at long range with his firebombs. For that reason, they only carried twelve fighting men—just enough to operate the two scorpions. They would be hopelessly outmatched in the event of a boarding.
True, they also carried a double crew of rowers. If John's battle plan worked, his men would be rowing for long periods. So he had loaded the ships with relief rowers. That would give them a greater endurance than the crew of the approaching dromon, but the weight of the extra rowers would also slow them down.
Not to mention—
Eusebius studied the fighting platform he was standing on. The wood-castle was larger and heavier than normal for this size war galley. It needed to be in order to provide the necessary support and room for the two scorpions which John had placed there. But that extra size also added weight. As did—
Eusebius lowered his gaze to the deck of the ship itself. Normally, Byzantine war galleys were of the modern design called aphract—"unarmored." Since modern naval tactics called for boarding as well as ramming, the rowers/soldiers on the upper banks were protected by nothing more substantial than a light frame rigged along the gangways to which they attached their shields.
But John, since he had no intention of boarding, had refitted the ship to the older cataphract design. He had attached solid wooden projections to the gunwales, with overhanging beams, to protect the rowers from archery. The armored projections resembled the rowing frames of ancient Hellenic galleys, although the rowers themselves were still positioned inside the hull. The end result was to enclose the rowers in solid, arrow-proof shelters. A bit stifling, perhaps, despite the ventilating louvers, but far better protection than mere shields hanging on a light frame.
And—much heavier.
Their ship was still faster and more maneuverable than the tubby square-rigged sailing ships which the Army of Bithynia was using for its transports. But it was a sluggish turtle compared to the approaching dromon.
John had not expected to face a real warship.
"Hurry up!" snapped the Rhodesman, clambering back onto the wood-castle. "No—never mind. We'll just have to make do with the bombs you've already uncrated."
"There's only eight of them," protested Eusebius.
"Then we'll have to shoot well," snarled John. "We don't have time, Eusebius! That damned dromon is coming on like a porpoise. Move."
As John and Eusebius began loading the two scorpions with the first of the firebombs, the ship's steering officer bellowed orders at the crew. Though the men were every bit as grim-faced as their captain, they set about the tasks without hesitation. Those sailors were Rhodesmen themselves. John had handpicked them from the ranks of the Roman naval forces stationed in Seleuceia. Their officers had not even complained—not, at least, after they saw the letter of authority from the Empress Theodora which John carried with him.
The pamphylos began coming about, facing this new enemy approaching from the Sea of Marmara.
John peered intently at the oncoming dromon.
God, those rowers are good!
Several cataphracts were standing on the fighting platform in the bow of the galley, staring back at him. Their features were obscured by the helmets on their heads.
Well-used helmets, thought John gloomily. Just like their damned armor. And—oh, shit—don't they hold their bows with a practiced, casual ease? Just great. Just fucking great!
He stared at one of the cataphracts. A huge man, he was.
God, I don't even want to think what that ogre's bow pulls. Two hundred pounds, probably.
He began to turn away, heading for one of the scorpions. An idle thought caused him to pause. He glanced back at the huge cataphract. Then, he stared at the cataphract standing right in the prow of the galley.
A tall cataphract.
The tall cataphract removed his helmet. His face was no longer obscured.
John of Rhodes had excellent eyesight.
A moment later, Eusebius and the entire crew of the pamphylos stopped what they were doing. They were transfixed—gaping, goggling—by the sight of their commanding officer.
John of Rhodes leapt and capered atop the wood-castle, howling like a banshee. He sprang upon the port wall of the fighting platform and gestured obscenely at the fleet of transports bearing the Army of Bithynia across the Bosporus. Then, apparently unsatisfied with mere hand gestures, John unlaced his trousers, pulled out his penis, and waved it in the face of the still distant enemy.
"He's gone mad!" exclaimed Eusebius. The artificer hopped back and forth, torn between the urgent need to load the scorpions and the still more urgent need to restrain John before the maniac fell into the sea. The wood-castle extended two feet beyond the hull of the ship itself.
Fortunately, the naval officer's sealegs were excellent. A moment later, John laced up his trousers and sprang down upon the fighting platform. He bounced over to Eusebius, grinning from ear to ear.
It suddenly occurred to Eusebius that there was an alternate explanation for John's apparent insanity. The artificer turned his head and squinted at the dromon. The galley was now less than fifty yards away.
"Is that—?"
"Yes!" shouted John. "Belisarius! In the proverbial nick of time!"
Still grinning, the naval officer examined the war galley in a new light. His grin widened. John's eyes danced back and forth between the galley, his own ship, and the fleet of enemy transports.
By the time the dromon pulled alongside, his grin was almost blinding.
"Oh, those sorry bastards are fucked," he said cheerfully. "Fucked."
A minute later, John and his crewmen were helping Belisarius aboard the pamphylos.
After giving John a brief but powerful embrace, Belisarius immediately climbed up to the wood-castle. Quickly, he examined the bombs resting in open crates next to the artillery engines. The bombs were carefully nestled in wads of thick wool.
"Firebombs?" he asked. "Or gunpowder?"
The general nodded toward Ashot, who was still standing in the bow of the dromon.
"Ashot told me you discovered the secret of gunpowder already," he said approvingly.
John nodded.
"Yes—although I'm sure you'll have suggestions for improving the powder's quality. But these aren't gunpowder. For a naval battle, I thought firebombs would be better. They're my own special formula. I added saltpeter to the naphtha. Beautiful stuff! Beautiful! But you have to be very careful with it."
The movement of Belisarius' eyes now imitated that of John's, not two minutes earlier. Scorpions—galley—enemy fleet; scorpions—galley—enemy fleet.
"You've got a battle plan," he stated.
"Yes," affirmed John. "I'd only hoped to be able to destroy enough of those ships to give Sittas and Hermogen
es a fighting chance after they landed. But now—with your galley—we can do better. Much better."
"Give me the entire situation," commanded Belisarius.
John blew out his cheeks.
"The heart of the traitors' conspiracy is at the Hippodrome. The Malwa bribed both the Blues and Greens—can you imagine how much money that must have taken?—and are relying on them for the real dirty work." He glanced up at the sun, which had just cleared the horizon. "In three or four hours—by noon, at the latest—they'll be assembled in the Hippodrome. Twenty, maybe thirty thousand of those street toughs. Irene also discovered that they've smuggled in several hundred Malwa soldiers. With gunpowder weapons. Rockets and grenades, we think."
Belisarius nodded. "Most likely. They'll be kshatriya. I doubt they were able to smuggle in any of their cannons, though."
The general glanced at the enemy fleet. All of the transports had now cleared the harbor at Chalcedon and were well into the Bosporus.
"So," he mused. "They'll use the kshatriya as a spearhead, with a huge mob of faction thugs to provide the mass of their fighters. What else? Where do the military units in Constantinople stand?"
John shrugged.
"All of them are standing aside. Stinking cowards are hiding in their barracks."
He nodded toward the fleet of transports.
"That's the Army of Bithynia. General Aegidius is part of the conspiracy. He's got eight thousand men on those transports, including a thousand cataphracts and their horses. According to Irene, his main function is to neutralize any military units that might come to the Emperor's aid."
John's head turned to the west, studying the shoreline of Constantinople.
"Which amounts to Sittas and Hermogenes, and the small army they were able to bring here from Syria. Five hundred cataphracts and two thousand infantrymen. They've been hidden away in ships at Portus Caesarii since they arrived. But they should have marched out this morning. By now—I hope—they've taken up positions guarding the Harbor of Hormisdas. That's the landing site nearest to the Hippodrome and the Great Palace. It's where the Army of Bithynia is planning to disembark, according to Irene's spies."
Belisarius nodded.
"Which means, I assume, that the only forces we have immediately available to suppress the kshatriya and the mob in the Hippodrome are my three hundred cataphracts and Antonina's cohort of grenadiers."
"It's worse than that, Belisarius. John of Cappadocia has assembled almost a thousand bucellarii of his own. I'm sure he'll use them against the excubitores guarding Justinian at the Great Palace."
Belisarius scowled fiercely. "For the sake of God! Why didn't Justinian disband them?"
John winced. He understood Belisarius' astonished outrage. Under Roman law, private armies—bucellarii—were illegal for anyone to maintain except serving generals like Belisarius and Sittas. That law had been enacted over fifty years earlier, by Emperor Leo, precisely in order to prevent public officials and landowners from becoming too powerful.
"Justinian gave John of Cappadocia an exemption," he explained. Then, with a harsh laugh: "Not even that! He made the Cappadocian a general. Just a few months after you left for India."
Belisarius rolled his eyes in disgust. "That stinking chiseler's never been in a battle in his life," he snarled. Suddenly, the snarl turned into a crooked smile. "Which, now that I think about it, isn't such a bad thing."
The general rubbed his chin, eyeing the transports.
"Have you got a count?" he asked John.
The naval officer nodded. "There are thirty-one ships in Aegidius' fleet. Most of them—the bigger ones—are corbita."
Seeing the blank look in Belisarius' face, John elaborated.
"We seamen call them 'basket ships.' Corbita are freight haulers, general. They operate by sails alone, without rowers. They're slow under the best of circumstances, and they'll be even slower here in the Bosporus fighting against the northerly winds. But—they've got a big capacity. Each one can carry up to four hundred passengers, although I doubt they're holding more than three hundred apiece. They've got to haul the arms and equipment, also."
"And the cataphracts' horses," added Belisarius.
"That, too. But I'm pretty sure that the cataphracts themselves are being transported in the smaller ships. Aegidius has eight merchant galleys—akatoi—in that fleet. Just about right for a thousand cataphracts. Although—which is good for us—they're having to use their sails alone. They'll have no room for rowers on top of the cataphracts."
Belisarius stared at the fleet. John fell silent, realizing that the general was coming to a decision.
"Right," murmured Belisarius. He cocked an eye at the Rhodesman. "The immediate priority is to stop the Army of Bithynia from reaching Constantinople. You're the naval officer, John. How would you do it—now that you have my galley as well as this ship?"
John frowned.
"You've got good rowers. But how fresh are they?"
Belisarius shrugged. "Fresh enough, I should think. We came most of the way from Egypt on a sailing ship. Ashot had the galley waiting for us in Abydos, and we crossed the Sea of Marmara using our sails. We only unshipped the oars a few minutes ago."
"Good. We can wreak havoc among those plodding corbita with a dromon. The real problem's the akatoi. Those merchants galleys are fast. And they're full of cataphracts." He grimaced. "I wouldn't want to face that kind of archery, even in an armored galley. Not when you have to get close enough to ram."
"You won't have to," said Belisarius. "I'll take the akatoi with this ship, using the scorpions. You take the dromon and do as much damage as you can against the corbita."
Seeing John's hesitation, Belisarius pressed on.
"There's no other way, John. I'm not a naval officer—you are. I wouldn't know what to do with a dromon. Whereas here—"
He waved at the scorpions.
"I do know how to use artillery. Quite well."
Belisarius almost laughed, seeing the look of near anguish on the Rhodesman's face. John, he knew, wanted to finally try out his wonderful new artillery weapons.
John blew out his cheeks.
"You're right, damn it."
He eyed Belisarius skeptically.
"I assume you don't know how to sail a ship, either?"
Belisarius answered with a smile.
The naval officer grunted. He gestured toward one of the sailors standing at the stern. The man trotted forward along the gangway.
"His name's Honorius. Let him command the ship. Just tell him what you want. You can concentrate on the scorpions."
He turned to his assistant.
"Eusebius! Show the general how to handle the firebombs. He's going to command the artillery on this ship. I'm taking the dromon."
John eyed Belisarius' cataphracts. By now, all of them had boarded the pamphylos.
Seeing the avarice in John's eyes, Belisarius chuckled.
"Leave me Valentinian," he said. "I'll want him to aim the other scorpion. You can take the rest."
Less than a minute later, the dromon was pulling away from the ship and heading straight toward the enemy fleet. John was standing in the stern, giving orders to the steersman.
Belisarius did not watch for more than a few seconds. He had his own problem to face.
How best to use his little artillery ship against over two dozen opponents?
A thought came from Aide:
Cross the T.
Explain, commanded the general.
A series of images came to his mind. Scenes of naval battle, featuring ships pounding at each other with cannons. In each instance, the fleets attempted to sail their own ships directly across the coming line of the enemy, in order to bring their broadsides to bear on as many opponents as possible.
Belisarius scratched his chin, pondering. The scenes which Aide had shown him were not entirely relevant to his situation. His ship was armed with only two scorpions, located amidships, not a line of cannons running down the e
ntire sides of the ship. "Broadsides," thus, were impossible.
Still—
The sailor whom John had named as his substitute was now standing next to Belisarius, waiting for orders. The general turned to Honorius, and began gesturing to illustrate his question.
"Can you row this ship at a right angle across the front of that approaching fleet?"
Honorius squinted at the enemy ships. Aegidius' armada was now well into the Bosporus, about a mile distant.