Neptune's Fury

by J. Clifton Slater

  Then from the south, the fourth Roman trireme came over the horizon. Digging one hundred and seventy oars, the ship seemed to skim the surface of the ocean. Alerio wasn’t the only one to see the warship.

  Centurion Invitus waved it in the direction of the grain ships and the Captain of the second quinquereme broke off his attack run. He would need room and area to battle a second trireme.

  For a few moments, the scene froze for Alerio. The four grain ships added their crews’ oars to the sail power in order to get more speed out of the floating bowls. Behind them, the second enemy warship curved away from the transports while the fourth trireme raced in to assume sentry duty. It lasted only a breath before Alerio snapped back to the present.

  ***

  As if a leviathan swam just beneath the surface, the ram plowed the ocean, throwing rooster tails up into the air. Before the twin sprays of water fell back into the sea, they were hammered into the quinquereme. The warship approached so quickly no splatters bounced off its hull.

  Alerio raised both arms overhead until his thumbs and forefingers met. Almost as if he offered a target with the gesture, Qart Hadasht archers launched volleys of arrows at the exposed figure. Maintaining the position of his arms, Alerio leaned over to study the ram on the front of his ship.

  In comparison, the rooster combs from the trireme rose half the height. And they splashed back into the ocean before the speeding hull reached the tail ends of the water features.

  Third Principale Sisera shifted his eyes from the trireme’s ram to the quinquereme’s ram. Back and forth he mentally measured and tracked the distance between the converging warships. From his perch at about eight feet above the water, he studied the top deck of the enemy ship. Although only four feet higher, the quinquereme provided a more stable platform for archers. The things saving Alerio from collecting numerous arrowheads in his body were the jerking of the trireme between oar strokes and, the nose drop and rise suffered by the quinquereme from the power of its three hundred oarsmen.

  Larger and faster with additional weapons besides a ram, the quinquereme was the more deadly warship. But Alerio didn’t care, he stood and studied the ship as if it was an opponent in a sword fight. And like a duel with sharp steel, the first move would be the last.

  ***

  Ram to ram, bronze against bronze were images favored by poets and land-based adventures. The issue with smashing rams together created two problems. Acting like fingers, the stacks of cutting edges in the faces of the rams would interlock. Much like interwoven fingers, the warships would be lodged together. Even after the battle was decided by the superior force, the victor would be trapped in a dual-hulled ship with two sterns and no bow.

  The other argument preventing bronze against bronze contact was more germane to Alerio’s situation. A behemoth of one hundred and eighty tons colliding with a fifty-ton mass could be equated to a single Billy goat butting heads with a bull. Not a good outcome for the goat or for the trireme.

  In breaths and heartbeats, the quinquereme drew closer. So near in fact, Alerio could hear the Qart Hadasht drummers pounding out the stroke rhythm for their oarsmen. One good thing about his looming death. The archers couldn’t lean far enough over to get a shot at the Third Principale. Their targets were now on the steering platform at the stern of the trireme.

  ***

  On the platform, senior Centurion Invitus screamed, kicked the boards, and stomped his boots on the deck. Sisera was simply standing on the forward platform, transfixed by the approaching quinquereme. As the ship’s senior officer paced, a sailor holding a shield shifted to keep the barrier in front of his commander. It had already picked up a few stray arrows.

  Each of the men on the steering platform had a shadow with a shield. It wouldn’t do to have the command crew of a warship swept from the platform in the middle of a battle.

  But it wasn’t the middle of a battle with ships angling for position. It was closer to a pair of bucks during rutting season preparing to buttheads. One hundred and thirty feet away, Alerio Sisera stood on the foredeck, stock still, with his arms over his head.

  “If he is my eyes,” Invitus mumbled coldly about his third deck officer. “We are already dead.”

  “Orders, Centurion?” First Principale Stratus questioned.

  He, as well, could see the Empire warship growing taller and more menacing. And, his third deck officer carelessly watching, or maybe sleeping.

  “We should begin maneuvering,” Stratus suggested.

  “No, we wait,” Invitus directed. “Maybe the Qart Hadasht Captain will flinch.”

  Chapter 34 - A Lesson Passed On

  After checking and dismissing the ineffective archers, Alerio peered down at the boiling water around the two rams. At this close a range, his eyes could take in both weapons. Heartbeats from impact, the Qart Hadasht Captain his showed his plan. He adjusted his ship.

  The ram, ever so slightly, shifted to the left. It would take more travel for the weapon to come off center and the bronze blades to cut into the hull of the trireme and not strike the other ram. In that tiny move, Alerio’s eyes perceived the change and the new heading. Just as Alerio would do in a gladius competition, he reacted.

  Alerio’s fingers separated when both arms arched over and pointed off to his right side. Holding the pose, he waited as the gap between the quinquereme and the trireme shrunk.

  “Starboard side, five power strokes,” he heard Bancus Nunzio from the rowers walk. “Port side, five and hold water.”

  The Furor’s Face responded and swiveled around the strong center rowers’ locations. Then after five lopsided strokes, oarsmen on both sides dug in and the nimble trireme shot out of the quinquereme’s way.

  Straight forward the bigger warship could easily outpace the smaller one. Out distance and overpower, plus carry infantry, bolt throwers, and archers that could overturn a trireme. But, spinning and twirling on the ocean’s surface were the domain of the triremes.

  ***

  The ram missed the stern and the trireme’s rear cleared the front side of the quinquereme. To the First Principale and the helmsmen, they had averted a disaster and could breathe again. With a blessing from the Goddess Fortūna, they could now row closer to shore and avoid another confrontation with the enemy’s ram. But the ship’s senior officer had a different idea.

  “Starboard side, power ten,” Invitus ordered. “Port side, stroke three and pull oars.”

  At the instructions, five sailors yanked long poles from under the steering platform. Holding them in two hands, they raced to stations along the left side of the trireme.

  The big warship may be powerful, but the trireme was agile. Furor’s Face snapped to the left and its bronze ram dug into the hull of the quinquereme snapping oars as it advanced. Between momentum and the mad rowing from the right-side oarsmen, the ram gouged out a fifteen-foot gash below the water line. With the long poles set against the enemy’s hull, the sailors pushed the trireme away from its victim.

  When enough space opened between warships, senior officer Invitus ordered, “Port side, run them out and, stroke, stroke, stroke.”

  Optio Florian and Centurion Nunzio, one at each end of the rower’s walk, passed the instructions to the oarsmen. After feeling the vibration of their ram eating hull and hearing the screams of tortured wood, the oarsmen were relieved to get the rowing directions.

  Up on the steering platform, smiles and puffed out chests displayed the success of the command section.

  “Well done, senior Centurion,” Stratus gushed.

  He reached out a hand, offering to grip wrists. Invitus, caught up in the thrill of his victory, turned to face the First Principale and extended his arm.

  ***

  From his vantage point on the foredeck, Alerio marveled at the long and fat pieces of wood that splintered from the hull. As if watching sparks from a metalworker’s grinding wheel, the ram flung fragments. But rather than metal, they were showers of shredded oak.

&n
bsp; Assisted by the sailors and their poles, the hulls separated. Once the gap opened between ships, the port side ran out their oars and joined the starboard side in powering the trireme away.

  The damaged hull of the quinquereme tilted and its oak planks slid by. It was a rare occurrence to stand this close to a vanquished enemy ship and Alerio relished the victory. He turned to face forward and let the breeze wash over him. From the corner of his eyes, Alerio watched the Qart Hadasht’s commanders issuing orders in an attempt to save their vessel.

  “It was a good fight, Nenia Dea,” Alerio prayed. “I picked up no scars and none of my people died.”

  The two warships slid by each other until Alerio could see around the stern of the Empire’s vessel.

  “Hard port,” he shouted while jerking his arms to his left. The visual signal of the escape direction might give the Republic warship an out. It would be close, Alerio thought, if….

  But the ship’s senior Centurion stood sideways, gripping the First Principale’s wrist. Invitus’ blind eye was turned to Alerio when the second quinquereme plowed into their ship.

  ***

  With almost four times the mass, the ram powered by the Qart Hadasht warship punched through the hull. The trireme tilted and skipped sideways as it was driven across the waves. As if launched from a ballista, Third Principale Sisera flew from the deck, sailed over the water, then plummeted to the sea. His chest armor and hobnailed boots pulled him under. The next set of waves rolled by, erasing any sign of his plunge.

  The ram reached deep into the trireme severing the legs of rowers in that section. Then, the beam holding the bronze weapon swept around destroying the internal beams and killing more oarsmen. When the Empire warship changed heading, the ram and beam popped out a long section of the hull as it reemerged.

  Backstroking, the oarsmen stopped the quinquereme’s forward progress. Bobbing alongside the fatally wounded Furor’s Face, Qart Hadasht bowmen lined the rail. They notched arrows and targeted crewmen from the trireme. No one who crawled out survived and certainly none of the ones trapped in the sinking structure lived.

  Senior Centurion Invitus died knowing he had killed a quinquereme. That might have been enough glory for the former cavalry officer. As for Optio Florian, Centurions Stratus and Nunzio, they were at the bottom of the sea and only Neptune was available to hear their comments.

  ***

  The Legion required many trials before a man qualified as a Legionary. Over hundreds of years, the Republic’s military picked up lessons from difficult situations. These skills were passed down from earlier generations and became core to the training. Among them were sprinting, jumping, and swimming. No man continued his Legionary training without first excelling in those skills.

  Alerio sprinted three steps and jumped when the Qart Hadasht ram punched the trireme. Soaring off the deck, he snatched the Golden Valley dagger from the small of his back. He hacked at straps before splashing down.

  The leather bindings were severed and the armor fell off. Even free of the weight, he sank. Franticly slicing on his boot wrappings, he plunged deeper.

  It was black when he finally freed himself of the last heavy object. Pressure in his ears informed him how deep he had sunk. Then, he paused in the cold depths and apologized.

  ‘Nenia Dea, I am humbled,’ Alerio thought. ‘If it is my time, I am ready.”

  Despite the fatalism in his prayer, Alerio kicked for the surface.

  ***

  From black, to gray, to green water overhead, Alerio transitioned through the ocean layers as he swam upward. Lungs screaming for air, and his chest heaving, his body threatened to take in a breath. It became a contest between the urges of his lungs and the control of his mind. Then, the green filtered sunlight was blotted out. Given any spare air in his lungs, Alerio would have swum away. But the contest was in the final phase and his options were to surface or die.

  He came up and used his hands to feel for the edge of the hull. Once clear, he allowed his face to break the surface and sweet air to fill his lungs. Realizing the shape of the Qart Hadasht’s quinquereme hid him from those on the upper decks, he allowed his head to come out of the water. The low waves gave him no view of anything beyond the next wave.

  With a kick, he rose higher above the surface and was sad he did. Further out, arrows plucked the water or struck floating bodies. It didn’t take a lot to deduce that he was the sole survivor of the Furor’s Face.

  Curious as to why the warship sat motionless, he inhaled deeply, ducked down, and swam under the keel. On the other side of the ship, he hugged the boards and allowed his head to bob under the waves. At the crest of one, he broke the surface.

  Lines dropped to the water from the undamaged quinquereme. Men swam or used pieces of wood as floats and kicked their way from the sinking sister ship. At the hull, the faster swimmers climbed the ropes to safety.

  “Come on man,” a swimmer called to Alerio. “Climb up before the mob arrives.”

  With a mixture of joy, sadness, and trepidation, Alerio kicked away from the hull and swam to a rope. Treading water, he waited for an opening and the opportunity to scale the line.

  Both Empire ships-of-war were out of the hunt for the grain transports. At least he could take comfort in completing the mission. Even with the loss of life from three triremes, the supplies would prevent thousands of Legionaries from starving to death. It was a difficult enough trade off, and now he was about to mingle with the enemy.

  A space between swimmers gave Alerio access to the rope. He reached up grabbed tightly, kicked, rose out of the water, and grabbed higher with the other hand. Then he scrambled up to the crowded deck.

  Chapter 35 - False Palisades

  A quinquereme carried three hundred oarsmen. Plus, another one hundred souls composed of sailors, soldiers, and the ship’s command staff. Adding three hundred and fifty survivors from the sunken ship-of-war created chaos on the already crowded vessel.

  “Where are you from?” an Egyptian inquired.

  “Messina,” Alerio replied.

  “Are you one of those Sons of Mars?” the rower questioned.

  “You mean a pirate or a vicious fighter?” Alerio sneered. “Choose wisely before you answer. Right now, I can only prove one of those to you.”

  The man bristled and slinked away. He didn’t go far, he couldn’t. They were sitting on the rower’s walk among a crush of bodies. By dissuading conversation with the Egyptian, Alerio managed to avoid discussing which ship he was assigned to and his duties. Two answers that might draw attention from people he was supposed to know.

  It wasn’t unusual after a disaster for people to seek self-contemplation or silent prayer. Many of the seven hundred and fifty men on board sat quietly with downcast eyes. Alerio mimicked them.

  ***

  “Starboard half turn.”

  On either side of Alerio, oarsmen based on the quick order, rowed or held their oar handles still. The big vessel rocked from the extra weight of the survivors and from a sharp turn.

  “Back it down,” the rowing officers directed.

  Three hundred oarsmen backstroked the one hundred and eighty oars. Alerio was amazed at the short orders and the complicated but precise responses. Glancing down the rowing deck, he saw skins of water hanging near the rowers. So packed in were the rowers and the waterskins, an archer could launch an arrow down the deck. The arrow would pass through so many waterskins, it would appear to be raining on the oarsmen. Even though they were in tight quarters, there was little talking between rowers. They appeared to be listening for the next order.

  “Hold,” the rowing deck officers called out.

  All one hundred and eighty oars stopped with the handles held high. The blades on the other end of the oars rested deep in the water.

  Alerio realized the oarsmen on the Empire warship had skills far superior to the Republic crews. It would take training and practice to approach the proficiency in ship handling of the Qart Hadasht mercenaries
.

  “Get up. Get off my ship,” the officers on the rower’s walk shouted.

  The same order resounded from different sectors of the warship. Following shortly behind the order, Alerio heard the sounds of bodies splashing into the sea. He stood with the other survivors and followed the Egyptian to the upper deck.

  ***

  Alerio expected to be up the coast and far away from the beach at Maddalusa. While he couldn’t see the village, the shoreline, or the grain transports, he saw the taller structures at the Valley of Temples and the city of Agrigento higher up on the plateau. His view was from the north not more than six miles or so away. Then a hand poked him in the back and he shuffled forward towards the edge of the deck.

  The more bodies to drop off the quinquereme, the higher the warship rode in the water. Eventually, the water filled with people sloshing and wading ashore while others waited on the deck for a spot to clear in the water.

  Another round of ‘Get off my ship’ came from the deck officers. To hasten the departure and further lighten the quinquereme, sailors began pushing the crowd from the rear. It seemed the Qart Hadasht Captain wanted to get his ship beached sooner, rather than later.

  Alerio noticed an opening. Placing a foot on the edge of the deck, he launched himself. Windmilling his arms, the Legion officer managed to stay upright. After splashing down, he joined the throng moving to the beach.

  When he reached shore, the military camps on the hills above the beach gave him an idea.

  “Where are the Latian’s camped?” he inquired.

  His question, like his climbing on the enemy warship, was a calculated risk. The Qart Hadasht Empire used mercenaries. There was an excellent chance a unit of Latians would have hired on and joined the army. Alerio didn’t plan on entering the camp of his tribesmen. But knowing its location gave him an answer to where he was coming from or going if questioned.

  After getting a reply, he walked the trail twisting up through the campsites of an Empire army. Cavalry mounts penned in next to other livestock were separated from war elephants. Higher up and covering the hills, camps for infantry units, both heavy and light, spread from the saddles between hills up to the higher elevations.