There were 50 of the big ships, the triremes. Many more liburnians—half of which were located north of the big ships, half south. They estimated there were 200 ships in total. It was a large fleet, poorly arranged.
Thestor immediately questioned the report’s accuracy. “No disrespect meant, my friends. But are you sure Amandus has this half of the liburnians north of the triremes? Why would he leave his big ships vulnerable from the south? There is no risk of our fleet attacking from the north. There is no way for us to get there without engaging the triremes first. It doesn’t make sense.”
“The ships are as we draw them, Great Thestor. We all saw them from different locations just yesterday.”
Crispus craned his neck to study the sketch more closely. “Is it a ploy? A trap being set? How long have they been in that position?”
“For over a week.”
“Amandus is no fool. Is there a reason he would want part of his fleet to be able to go north quickly?” Crispus asked.
Thestor understood the point his young admiral was trying to make. “Only if Sextus needs some of the fleet. Or if there’s a problem confronting the remainder of the fleet by the Bosporus.”
“And Sextus is in Lamseki?” Crispus asked the scouts.
“Yes Caesar.”
“And all this my father knows?
“Yes, Caesar.”
As soon as the scouts got their money and left, Crispus sighed and scratched at the sand sketches with a stick. “Thestor, they must be worried about Constantine’s army crossing the straits. More worried than they are about us. Which is good for us. Since we will have the wind behind us, we will attack tomorrow morning with 80 of our fastest ships—and keep the remaining 100 or so here by the Cape.
“The Hellespont is narrow where they’re moored. And the wind will be behind us, giving us full advantage. If we are agile and fast, and they are slow to protect their cumbersome triremes, we will sink many of them in the first few hours.” Thestor repeated.
South Narrows of the Hellespont, Asia Minor
July 21, 1077 AUC (324 AD)
In his stateroom on his newest trireme, Amandus arose early with a minor headache. At night he liked his wine undiluted and he tended to have one cup too many.
He rationalized that it was a reaction to his frustration at taking conflicting orders from Licinius. Being told to delay any conflict with Constantine’s fleet and to be fully available for Sextus were mutually exclusive.
To delay would mean he should be located in the Aegean Sea, where he had room for the big ships to move. He could then attack when they had the advantage of wind or speed. To be fully available for Sextus meant being in the Hellespont, ready to move north at any sign of Constantine’s approach.
Not that it mattered; he didn’t expect much problem from Crispus’ fleet whenever they arrived. So here he stayed, less than five mille from the Aegean and 15 from Sextus.
Walking into the small mess area he debated to have a cup of fig juice or watered wine, and choose the fig juice. Following the stairs to the upper deck, he scanned the horizon to the south, past his liburnians. It was clear. He nodded to some of the marines leaning against the starboard rail and finished his juice, slightly cutting his lip on a chip from the clay cup’s rim. It was a bit windy and the clouds were low and large. Storms in a day or two, he thought.
Looking south again, he saw what he thought might be a sail. He kept his gaze, his heart beating a little faster, and focused on what looked like another sail. He threw the empty chipped cup into the water and yelled at his young signalman to sound the buccina. The horn’s deep bellow indicated to the fleet that Amandus was communicating. A series of trumpets followed, sounding the alarm. Other signalman raised the ready flag.
Crispus’ heart was also beating faster. He could see the Amandus’ fleet in front of him. For a moment, he questioned his choice of bringing only 80 liburnians. Two hundred opposing ships looked intimidating at three mille. But it was too late to question. The crew was making last-minute preparations. And the oarsmen weren’t rowing, because the strong wind was carrying them. The die has been cast.
Amandus’ liburnians were starting to tack and row toward them. They would be easy to avoid, given his greater speed and maneuverability—and, particularly, because of the wind.
The fleet’s sails had the Chi Rho painted on them with a smaller Labarum flying off of their sterns. Crispus was on a ship captained by Akakios, a close friend of Thestor. Thestor’s ship was sailing to his port side. Thestor had encouraged Crispus to sail with Akakios, a wary sailor. Thestor was convinced Crispus would be safer there. True to form, Thestor was the first to draw fire. Cutting off Akakios and taking a grapple fired from a liburnian, Thestor’s marines cut the grapple rope as it spun their ship almost 90 degrees—and headed directly at the opposing ship.
“Strike! Strike, lads!” Thestor yelled at his oarsman to pull at their full strength and 20 seconds later the first of Amandus’ liburnians was sinking.
Crispus was watching Thestor’s successful attack when a grapple slammed into his ship. Akakios turned the ship to starboard, giving it more drag and making it harder for the liburnian that shot the grapple to pull it close. Before Crispus had time to give an order, one of the marines cut the rope connecting to the grapple. Everyone was moving more quickly than Crispus had remembered them training.
As Akakios turned the ship upwind, it accelerated past the ship that had shot the grapple—and one of Akakios’ marines fired a burning lance from a ballista. Because they were so close, the lance hit high amidships. And another of Crispus’ ships took advantage of the stalled liburnian and rammed it.
“Two down,” thought Crispus.
In the first hour of battle, Akakios had yet to ram any ship but had acted as a decoy for his fellow captains at least five times. Crispus had lost count of the how many ships his fleet had sunk but knew they had only lost one ship so far. He’d seen a large artillery stone from one of the triremes hit one of his liburnian’s bow, tearing off the entire ram. It sank instantly.
Amandus was trying to get his liburnians north of his triremes into the battle. The narrowness of the straits and the difficulty of moving the big ships, also trying to avoiding Crispus’ quicker liburnians, were frustrating the Amandus’ captains. Several of the big ships almost rammed each other—and, when their crews rowed backwards to avoid each other, they were rammed by ships with Chi Rho sails.
Early in the afternoon, Akakios sailed out from the center of the fighting. He had his eye on a larger liburnian whose sail was down and its crew was rowing against the wind toward shore. It appeared the captain wanted to row downwind, tack and have the advantage of the wind in his sails. When he realized Akakios was tracking toward him, he knew he had to turn quickly. He turned and dropped his sails—but didn’t have enough time to get to any speed before impact.
Both ships lurched. Crispus nearly lost his footing but grabbed a mast line just in time. The bow of his ship split a three-cubit hole near the stern of their target. Immediately, Akakios ordered his oarsmen to row backwards. The deck was littered with enemy arrows.
Amandus’ marines were swinging onto Crispus’ ship. Their ship was already sinking. For what seemed like an eternity—but was really less than a minute—both boats remained linked. Finally, the efforts of the oarsmen were rewarded. Cripus’ boat slowly separated from the sinking liburnian. Several enemy marines had boarded. Crispus didn’t hesitate. He drew his sword and buried it to the hilt in the closest marine. He pulled it out just in time fend off a blow. And then sliced the neck of another attacker. His archers killed the rest.
Flush with adrenaline, Crispus turned around and noticed the oarsmen were rowing forward. Thestor’s ship was behind him now. He made eye contact with Thestor, who pointed a shaking finger at Akakios. Who shrugged. Crispus realized what was happening: Akakios had been ordered not to ram en
emy ships for his safety.
As both ships headed back toward the center of the Hellespont, where most of the fighting was going on, Crispus ran to Akakios at the stern of the ship. “Next time, you ram!”
Akakios didn’t say anything. He just pointed at a large trireme heading toward them.
They would be easy prey for the catapults and ballistae of the big ship in open water. So Thestor was attacking. He took the lead using both sail and oars heading towards the starboard side of the big ship. Akakios ordered his sail down and cut to his starboard. He crossed Thestor’s wake and was moving as far away into the wind from the two ships as he could. Crispus realized what they were doing. “How can I help?”
“Get to the mast with the marines. Use scythes.”
As Akakios turned his ship into the wind and raised his sails toward the trireme, Crispus saw two grapples hit Thestor’s ship a few hundred feet away. Instead of trying to cut the ropes, Thestor ordered his oarsmen to row with all their strength.
Akakios ordered his oarsman row toward the other side of the big ship, adding to the speed of the sails. As the large trireme slowed to a stall from Thestor’s ship pulling on the grapple ropes, their entire weak side was exposed to Akakios’ ram. Realizing his vulnerability, the captain of the trireme ordered the ropes cut and the artillery to focus on Akakios’ ship.
It was the right order—but it confused his crew. The men on the upper deck had been focused on Thestor’s ship. They cut their own ropes and started to row. But they couldn’t move the ship fast enough. Or far enough.
Their comrades at the catapults also had to move fast. And they also were slightly confused. They launched their stones before they were able to set properly.
As two huge stones missed to either side, Akakios rammed the trireme at full speed. Crispus had time to secure himself—and he still fell to his knees. This was the sign that he still wasn’t a true sailor. They never seemed to fall, even during impact.
The strike from the smaller ship barely caused the trireme to move. It just shuddered slightly as Crispus’ ship punched a large hole in its side.
Immediately, Akakios ordered the oarsmen to row backwards from the trireme. Their deck was hit with several grapples at once. Crispus and the marines cut two quickly—but one was hooked high above the deck, on the mast. One of the marines climbed toward it but was hit by an arrow. At nearly the same moment, another was hit with a lance. The third…Crispus couldn’t see the third. He jumped on the pegs on the back side of the mast and climbed toward the grapple. While he was climbing, he felt the stern of his ship rise. He reached the grapple on the mast and slashed the rope with his sword in two cuts. His sword was still wet and red from the earlier fighting.
But his ship was still rising in the stern. “Get down, Caesar! Get down!” Akakios screamed, running toward him.
He did. In three quick jumps, Crispus was back on the deck. And now he could see what was happening. Their bow was wedged in the sinking trireme. It was going to pull their boat down as well.
The oarsmen were abandoning the ship. Marines from the trireme were jumping aboard the upper deck of his liburnian. Akakios and the team of six archers had assembled at the base of the mast and were picking off enemies as fast as they could. Crispus saw that they were retreating gradually toward the stern. He fell in with them. He didn’t have a bow, so he picked up a shield and held it over the heads of two of his archers. Akakios nodded in agreement and did the same.
Arrows were flying in all directions, but their group stayed calm and kept the enemy marines on the other side of the ship. Crispus could see water starting to fill the front of the deck. They were secure in their position—but they didn’t have much time.
Thestor had lowered his sail and was rowing toward the stern of the sinking liburnian. Akakios yelled to Crispus and the others: “We’ll hold them off as long as we can, Caesar. Thestor can’t stop with so much going on. He’ll just slow down. We’ve got to swim to him.”
“We’ll follow your lead, captain.” Crispus yelled back.
The archers kept shooting. They did a good job, killing several more enemy marines. Thestor’s ship drew close—and the archers kept shooting. Crispus looked at Akakios, who nodded. Thestor’s ship was passing. Akakios was still calm. The archers got in a last volley. And then:
“Now, gentlemen. Let’s go!”
He and Crispus dropped their shields, the archers dropped their bows and all eight dove into the water. It was cold. They swam as quickly as they could toward Thestor’s ship, which was dragging dozens of trailing lines in the water. All eight men—plus several surviving oarsmen—grabbed the ropes and pulled themselves toward Thestor’s ship.
Crispus had a firm grip on his line, so he made sure that his men got aboard Thestor’s ship first. By the time the sailors helped him onto the deck, the trireme and his liburnian were gone from view, with only the mast of the trireme still above water. He was out of breath from the water—so he just nodded to Akakios, who was also still out of breath and nodded back.
A few minutes later, Thestor came back to see them.
Crispus stood up. “So, you and Akakios had an agreement to keep me safe?”
“Caesar, your father told me to take care of you. And you ram a trireme!” Shaking a finger at Akakios. How would I explain this to our Imperator? He would have my head. I am lucky that Neptune has smiled on me.”
As they returned to the other ships, the battle was waning. Crispus walked toward the middle deck with Thestor and did a quick count of the sails in sight.
“I count 29 of ours and about 60 of theirs.”
Thestor nodded. “Yes. But there are many ships on the other side of the peninsula that we can’t see. Let us sound the horns. We will have tomorrow to finish the job.”
Amandus heard the horns of Crispus’ fleet and sounded his own. His headache—which the passion of battle had dulled—returned. He hadn’t lost everything, but he’d lost badly. Crispus’ smaller, faster fleet had sunk three of his ships for every one of theirs he’d sunk. Their ships had managed to keep the wind at their backs most of the day. And they were fast, much faster than he remembered. And constantly ramming.
With the narrow water, they had more opportunities for their more agile ships. The strait was wider north by Gallipoli, near where Sextus was located. By the rocky shores of Lamseki. It would be best to meet them there. He still had over one hundred ships left; Crispus couldn’t have more than 50. He could still prevail, given better conditions for his ships and adjustments he’d make to his defenses.
The main adjustment would be to bomb Crispus’ ships with more artillery.
He would delay sending a report to Licinius and Sextus until after tomorrow’s battle. And drink less wine tonight.
North of the Hellespont, Asia Minor
July 22, 1077 AUC (324 AD)
Amandus searched the horizon again from his ship’s deck. Still no sign of Crispus’ remaining fleet. Clouds had started to darken the midmorning sun and the wind from the south was strong. Good weather for Crispus coming up the strait; poor weather for accuracy of the artillery from heaving decks.
He had his fleet in a good position in the widest part of the straits, south of the city of Gallipoli. By the final count, he’d lost 77 ships the day before—about a dozen of those had been triremes. All of his liburnians were now in front of his triremes, whose broadsides were perpendicular to Crispus’ approaching fleet for movement and best artillery deployment.
His liburnians were facing the direction that Crispus’ fleet would be approaching.
He looked again—and, this time, he saw something. A row of sails. He gave the signal and the horns and trumpets sounded alarm. Within 20 minutes, the sails had become more evident, the Chi Rho’s visible to the eye. But the most disturbing part was their number:
There were well over 100 ships. Crispus had kept for
ces in reserve.
Amandus’ first instinct was to retreat. But he couldn’t. Abandoning Sextus at Lamseki would violate Licinius’ direct orders—and make it easier for Constantine to find a crossing point. Besides, where could he retreat? If he sailed north into the Sea of Marmara, Crispus’ faster ships would pick them off individually, particularly with today’s strong winds. If he crossed to the Bosporus, Crispus’ faster fleet would have an easy time picking off the older ships stationed there.
His best option, which wasn’t good, was to stay and fight.
From Thestor’s ship, Crispus watched Amandus’ fleet shift formation. He yelled to Thestor, who was speaking to the helmsman:
“They didn’t realize how many of us were coming to the party, Thestor. Now they’re tightening up their liburnians.”
Thestor walked amidships and studied Amandus’ fleet quickly. “No matter, Caesar. If they don’t want us to use the front door, we’ll come at them from the sides.” He yelled to his signal mate and then ordered the horn command to split the fleet into a pincer formation. A flag went up the mast indicating the same thing.
The fleet split, turned and attacked to the left and right of Amandus’ defensive formation.
Within a few hours, the battle was developing just as it had the day before. Crispus’ fleet had sunk over 30 of Amandus’ ships and lost fewer than 10 of its own. Because of the heavy seas, Amandus’ artillery tactics were practically useless. And the weather continued to deteriorate, with strong gusts coming from the south and west.
By mid-afternoon, Crispus and Thestor were starting to worry. The wind was overpowering—too strong for either fleet to raise sails—and the entire western sky was as dark as night.
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