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 couldn’t 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 minutes 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’d 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 wind 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 fire, 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 couldn’t 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 stand, 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.”
The big war galley slowed as it approached the end of the jetty and Atenos waited until he judged the timing to be right.
“Come aboard!”
The legionaries looked at one another in surprise. The ship was still moving and there was a gap of several feet between the jetty and the deck. The first man who jumped landed badly, falling to his knees and grazing them on the deck. Atenos tutted at him and beckoned to the rest.
“Get aboard or you’re swimming after us!”
The men ran in a small knot and leapt aboard, some landing well, others falling as they hit the deck. As soon as they were safely on the ship, the captain picked up the pace as he made for the next jetty. Behind them, another Veneti ship had already begun to dock at the jetty they had left, yet more vessels closing in behind.
The whole procedure was repeated at the third jetty, though with greater ease, since they knew what was coming. After another shouted command in Gaulish, the huge centurion turned to his men.
“Anyone here had experience of fighting as marines?”
There was a long, unbroken silence.
“Me neither, but I’ve seen it done. No shield walls or testudos. As soon as we get near the first enemy ship I want everyone near the rail. On my command you run and jump for the enemy deck. When you get there you come up fighting and don’t wait for orders or formations. Just kill anyone who isn’t one of us. If you miss the jump, you’ll fall between the hulls. I wouldn’t recommend that, so jump carefully. Everyone clear?”
The legionaries roared their understanding and saluted.
Atenos turned to look ahead as they broke clear of the many vessels trying to reach the docks and into the open water, heading toward the fleets, where the conflict was already underway. The Veneti ships outnumbered the Roman fleet by almost two vessels to one, but the Roman crews had adopted a peculiar tactic: they were sailing around the beleaguered Veneti, safe in the knowledge that the lack of strong winds left the enemy slow to manoeuvre. What they were hoping to achieve with this peculiar activity was beyond him until he saw, with a grin, two huge ropes give way on the nearest enemy vessel, allowing the sail to flap loosely over to one side, where it fell to the deck, useless.
Roman sailors and marines were hacking with some kind of pole-arm at anything available and were crippling the enemy ships with surprising speed and efficiency. Rather than boarding them there and then, they were leaving them, helpless and immobile, while they moved onto the next. Once they had the whole Veneti fleet becalmed and unable to move, they could deal with them at their leisure.
Atenos laughed. He had, given the navy’s record so far, presumed that the Roman fleet would be the ones desperately trying to outmanoeuvre the Veneti, but the situation seemed to have reversed this time. Commander Brutus had apparently identified a way to even the odds. Of course, there was still the issue of dealing with the aggravated, howling Veneti warriors on board the impotent vessels once they were stilled. The fight wasn’t over yet.
Shouting another order in Gaulish, he pointed at the near vessel that had now been abandoned by the Roman fleet, the trireme moving on to cripple another ship. The captain shifted the steering oar and Atenos’ heavy vessel swung toward the bestilled enemy.
The Veneti on board glanced at the healthy ship bearing toward them and cheered, yelling encouraging cries that turned only moments later into shouts of outrage and consternation as they realised that the warriors on board the new galley were the iron and crimson figures of Roman legionaries.
Atenos turned to the men beside him.
“What do you say, Porcius? Do we offer them terms?”
The legionary grinned up at his centurion.
“Be rude not to, sir?”
Atenos turned back to the captain, who was watching with deep regret as he steered his ship to deliver his tribe into the hands of their enemy. Stepping to the rail, the centurion bellowed an offer to the men on the helpless ship.
The answer was not immediate, as it took a moment for the Veneti warrior to drop his trousers and turn around. Atenos almost laughed at the audacity of the man, a warrior after his own heart, but that heart hardened and his face soured as he listened to the shouts and jeers and suggestions concerning possible animal stock in his lineage being issued defiantly from among the enemy.
“That would be a ‘no’ to surrender then, sir?”
The huge centurion closed hi
s ears to the increasingly brutal insults and turned to his men.
“No quarter. They’ve been given the option to surrender and declined it, so I don’t want to see you stop just because somebody waves their arms at you.”
There was an affirmative murmur among the men and Atenos turned back to the rail. The two ships were closing rapidly.
“Alright. To the rail. Prepare to board.”
The legionaries moved into position, twenty seven men, along with their officer, each professional and eager for the fight. Atenos nodded with satisfaction. It was men like this that made the Roman army the force that would eventually conquer the world, the sky, and possibly even the Gods themselves.
He watched as the gap narrowed, taking a deep breath. The Veneti warriors howled and bellowed, banging their swords on the rail, encouraging their enemy to make the first move. ‘Well,’ Atenos thought, ‘let’s not disappoint them.’
“Board!”
The two ships had closed to a distance of perhaps three or four feet when the first man jumped and was caught mid-flight by a Veneti spear thrust out in defence. The blow was far from fatal, catching him in the hip, but arrested his momentum and caused the man, screaming, to plummet into the cold water between the two ships. A second man joined him mid-jump as a swung sword blow scythed a jagged wound across his chest.
The rest of the men began to land on the enemy deck and come up fighting just as the ships finally met with a deep, resounding thump that mercifully drowned out the crack of bones and stifled screams of the two men caught between the grinding oak hulls.
Atenos leapt, not waiting for the last of his men to cross first.
Landing heavily, but allowing his knees and ankles to bend and take the strain, the huge centurion came up facing a group of Veneti warriors, his sword gripped in his right hand, the broken shield long-since discarded back on the jetty.
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