The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,125

ship, but the ones that reached Agrippa’s galley were cut down in moments, their bodies thrown over the side to sink. His own soldiers hacked and killed their way through the enemy crew and went down into the hold to threaten the rowers there.

A cheer went up as they dragged the captain to the deck, a man in a plumed helmet who had tried to hide himself below when he saw his ship was taken. Still alive, he was thrown overboard to drown in his armour – and Agrippa’s men had another ship. He was tempted to take it for his own, but the enemy fleet still swarmed all around.

‘Set fires and get back quickly,’ he ordered, watching the sea in all directions for a new threat until black smoke rose over the screaming of oarsmen. Agrippa closed his ears to the sound. There was no justice in such a battle. He knew they had not chosen to attack him, but there was no help for it and he could not show mercy. His soldiers came back on board and the corvus bridges were levered out of the decks with fallen swords.

The galleys eased apart and the pillar of smoke thickened quickly, roaring yellow in the hold. Agrippa shouted encouragement to his men as they took their positions once again at the oars, dropping red blades at their feet and placing their blistered hands on the wooden beams. All around him his small fleet was still fighting.

It was a strange lull. The battle had spread over a vast distance as the galleys ran each other down. The water was covered in a slick of oil and splinters and floating bodies, some of them still moving. Agrippa could see any number of upturned hulls and had no way of knowing if they were his own or those of the enemy. For those still fighting, he knew every ship he’d built, with just a glance. He was pleased at the numbers. He turned at the cracking thump of catapults and saw threads leap out again from one of his ships, dragging another of the enemy galleys close enough to kill. Whether by luck or because they had learned not to rush a single rail, it remained upright, and then his swordsmen came charging over two corvus bridges and that ship too was taken.

Maecenas returned to his side, panting from his exertions. He looked around him in wonder, having never seen a battle at sea before.

‘Are we winning?’ he said, resting his sword on the rail.

Agrippa shook his head. ‘Not yet. Half the ships you see are disabled. We could take those, but there’s no point.’

He signalled quarter-speed to the oar-master and the galley eased between burning vessels. They could all hear crying, screaming men in the infernos they passed and the black smoke choked them. The breeze had begun to freshen, driving the smoke away to the east. To Maecenas’ shock, the sun was still low in the morning sky, though he thought they had been fighting for many hours.

As they moved through the devastation of the battle, Agrippa sighted the first ship they had struck. The captain’s crew had worked hard to transfer oars to the broken side and restore some movement to his battered ship. Agrippa saw new signals fluttering on its mast and he watched to see how many ships could still respond. It seemed to take an age for them to answer, but he saw flags go up on galleys in the distance as they began to come back.

He sent up his own signal to regroup on his flag and then there was nothing to do but wait.

‘Now we will see,’ he said grimly. He sought out the closest galley that looked undamaged but carried the colours of the Roman fleet on its mast. Agrippa raised his voice to carry to his crew. ‘That one. There’s no point waiting for them to come to us.’

His men were exhausted after rowing all night and then fighting after that, but Maecenas could see the savage delight in the harpax crews as they coiled ropes and wound back the catapults. They were in no mood to lose after coming so far.

Vedius felt a dim red fury as he watched the enemy flagship run up new signals. They made no sense, even to the ex-perienced legion signallers he commanded. Whoever the man was, he was a cunning bastard, Vedius thought to himself. Those flying grapnels had devastated his galleys. He’d seen three