The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,131

into the air.

Agrippa had rounded the heel of Italy the night before, taking advantage of a calm sea with little wind. Octavian had learned they were coming only that morning, when an exhausted messenger had reached him after crossing the peninsula at breakneck speed. Octavian and Mark Antony had had to climb to the highest point on the coast before they could even see Agrippa’s galleys, but it had been clear from the first moments that Sextus Pompey had also been warned. His fleet was already in formation when Agrippa’s ships came into view at first light. Well rested, Pompey’s galleys had sprung into attack immediately, knowing Agrippa’s oarsmen would be tired after a night rowing along the coast.

‘Gods, did you see that?’ Mark Antony called.

He had walked further down the path, following the motion of the fleet battle with grim fascination. He knew as well as Octavian that Agrippa held their own futures in his hands. If Octavian’s friend failed, the legions could not cross a sea of raptor galleys and survive. It still rankled with Mark Antony that he had not been told of the secret fleet at Avernus.

‘Where?’ Octavian replied without looking up.

‘Next to the closest one on fire, by the rock there, two ships to the left. The one that turned right over. Your friend is doing well, despite the numbers against him.’

Octavian clenched his jaw at the reminder. Agrippa’s fleet was still badly outnumbered, though they had come round the coast with almost fifty galleys. He suspected some of those were almost for show, or to decoy the forces under Sextus Pompey. Certainly, some of the ships fought with full crews, while others only tried to ram, dodging and racing among the rest at full speed. As he watched, Octavian saw one ship crash its prow into another, staving in the side so that it began to sink. Yet the attacker could not free itself and the two galleys remained jammed together. Their crews were fighting on the decks, not just to win, but to decide who would stay on the ship that wasn’t sinking. Octavian saw oars sweeping backwards and knew the attacker was one of Pompey’s captains. Agrippa’s oarsmen poured up and out of his ships whenever they attacked, their oars pulled in or left to droop on chains. It was a dangerous tactic, as they were instantly vulnerable to any other ship coming in hard, but the additional numbers made a vital difference, as far as Octavian could tell.

Even with the knowledge that Agrippa’s ships had red sails, it was almost impossible to be certain who was winning. Some of Agrippa’s ships wallowed like fat old women in the slightest breeze and Octavian could only imagine the constant terror of the men in them as they waited for the lurch that would send them right over and into the cold sea. They were safe enough while the rowers moved them, but as soon as those men left to fight, the ships became dangerously unstable. At least one had already been sunk with only a light impact from a ram.

‘Can you say who has the advantage?’ Mark Antony said.

His voice sounded tight and Octavian glanced at him before shaking his head. The older man was feeling the strain, as well he might, given the stakes and with no way to influence the outcome.

‘Not from here,’ Octavian said loudly. His voice dropped to a mutter as he went on. ‘I can’t do anything from here.’

He glanced at the sun and saw that he had been there all morning. The noon point had passed and the two fleets were still fighting, with more and more ships set ablaze or sunk or turned right over to become a fouling danger to the rest. Thousands of men were already dead by fire or sword or water. The mass action of the beginning had turned into a weary battering, a test of endurance and will, as each captain took their chances with one more enemy, or just held themselves clear to let rowers recover their wind. There was nothing beautiful in it, Octavian realised. He had somehow expected there would be. The reality was like two old prizefighters smashing away at each other through blinded eyes, already bloody and yet unable to fall as they hung on each other. His future lay in the balance and he sent a prayer to Julius and Mars that Agrippa would come through.

Octavian was not naive. He knew some crimes went unpunished.