The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,126
of them turned over before his very eyes while he struggled to restore something like order to the oar crew below his feet.
He shuddered briefly as pictures flashed in his mind. There had been a time when Vedius had believed nothing could ever turn his stomach. He’d witnessed murder and rape with utter calm. Yet on the deck below, bodies and limbs were jammed obscenely together, crushed by the oars and the impact with the other ship. He did not want to go back down there, to the stench of open bowels and more blood than he could believe, so that it pooled and gathered with the roll of the ship. More than sixty men had died as their own oars cut them to pieces. He had been helpless then, waiting for the impact of a ram to send the rest to the bottom. Yet he had not panicked and his legion crew had gone to work with hard faces and Roman discipline, clearing the slippery corpses and moving oars over at good speed. One or two had lost the contents of their stomachs as they worked, but they’d just wiped their mouths and moved on. Menas had been one of those and Vedius had formed something like respect for the Roman officer. Menas had not shirked the labour, pitching in with the others and coming away so covered in blood he might have been working in a slaughterhouse.
For a time, all Vedius could do was watch and give signals to keep his fleet together as the enemy cut through them. Every last one of the bastards had been armed with those appalling grapnels and when the ships came together, they went through good legion soldiers like a scythe through wheat. He had seen four of the enemy ships rammed and sunk, and his men cheered each one, but Vedius knew he had lost many more. Even now, with some way on his galley once more, he could see a great part of his fleet listing or burning, or simply drifting helplessly, with oars sheared away and dead men lying still on the deck.
With narrowed eyes, he saw the enemy commander’s galley come easing back, its prow pushing splinters and bodies aside as it came. As he stared, it accelerated in a new direction, like a wasp attacking one of the ships he had called back to him. Vedius swore impotently. With half his oarsmen dead, he could not keep up with them, never mind stage a ramming action that would do serious damage. For the first time he considered saving as many ships as he could and simply getting away. Sextus would want to hear about these new weapons and tactics.
He held back from giving the order, wanting to see first how many of his ships survived. For all he knew, he still outnumbered the enemy and could yet turn disaster into a victory, no matter what it cost.
From all sides, ships rowed back to him as soon as they saw the flags. With each one returning, Vedius’ heart sank further. They were battered and broken, their sides running with blood or gashed open so that he could see through to rowers sitting just feet above the waves. Many would be lucky to make it back to shore. He could see only three that had come through unscathed, their crews staring out at the rest in shock as they took in the scale of destruction. Vedius shook his head. He knew they were not used to losing, but that did not change the reality of it. That small fleet of forty or fifty ships had torn them apart.
Twenty-nine galleys came limping back to his position and by then the enemy commander was engaged in a corvus battle with one of them. Vedius watched with hope until he saw smoke billow out from the oar-benches and the enemy move on, seeking out fresh targets. It too had sent up a new signal, though he could not read it. Vedius saw other ships come rowing in, forming up on their command galley in good order. Staring into the sun, Vedius did his best to count the enemy ships and did not enjoy the result.
‘Menas! Count them again! The sun is throwing shadows on my eyes.’
His second in command muttered numbers aloud, though the ships shifted position all the time as they gathered.
‘Twenty-three … twenty-five … twenty … eight. I think that’s it. Shall I order an attack, sir?’