so sweet. Wiping his stinging eyes, he frantically scanned the sides of the dhow for his friend.
All he could see was cursing pirates lining the rails. Some were shaking their fists, but others were stringing bows or aiming spears.
‘Quickly!’ screamed Ahmed. ‘You fools! Loose!’
The danger was not over.
Romulus cursed. What hope had he of climbing aboard? Of rescuing Tarquinius before the trireme struck? Certain death from two directions awaited if he even tried. Yet he could not just swim away.
‘I’m here,’ said a voice from behind him.
Romulus nearly jumped out of his skin.
Tarquinius was bobbing a few paces away, a wide grin on his face.
‘How . . . ?’
‘There’s no time for that,’ the haruspex replied. ‘Let’s put some distance between us and the dhow.’
Right on cue, an arrow hit the water between them. It sank harmlessly, but another followed, and then a spear was launched.
Romulus had no desire to linger. Taking a quick look around to establish which way the shore was, he pushed himself through the warm sea with strong strokes.
‘Fucking dogs!’ Ahmed’s voice echoed across the waves. ‘Curse you both to hell and gone!’
More poorly aimed arrows splashed in nearby, but none of the crew had Romulus’ skill with the bow. And the infuriated Nubian could not afford the time to pursue the pair. It had been a perfectly timed moment to flee.
Their armour was not enough to stop them reaching dry land. Soon afterwards, they pulled themselves up an abandoned beach, which was covered in stones and pebbles. As one, they turned to see what had become of the dhow.
They had a grandstand view of the unfolding drama, which was about to reach its climax.
The pirate vessel had managed at last to come about, and was picking up speed towards Arabia, the wind bellying her sails. But it was too late. The dhow’s poor tacking had proved to be its undoing. Before the corsairs could gain any ground eastwards, the trireme had reached ramming speed. And it showed no sign of slowing down. The drum was pounding out a thudding rhythm faster than a man’s heartbeat, forcing the oarsmen to row at an exhausting pace.
‘There’s been no signal to heave to,’ said Romulus.
‘They’re going to ram them regardless.’
‘Poor bastards.’
Raised slightly from the water by the speed of the trireme, the bronze head of the ram became visible as they watched. Both were riveted to the spot. Extending fifteen paces or more in front of the ship, it provided the Roman navy with one of its most devastating forms of attack. Yet Ahmed and his crew were unaware of this. All they could see was the trireme bearing down at an acute angle, aiming for a head-on collision.
Cries of alarm carried across the water, intermingled with the screams of the captive women.
With an incredible crash, the ram hit the dhow near its prow. Even though they were some distance away, it was possible to hear the cracking of timbers. The overwhelming impetus of the Roman vessel drove the smaller boat sharply to one side. Several pirates were thrown overboard from the sheer force of the impact. They flailed about in the water, helplessly watching their comrades, most of whom had been knocked off their feet. Shouts of terror and confusion rang out.
The dhow had been dealt a mortal blow.
To finish it off, the trierarch, the Roman captain, roared out a single command. As one, archers on the trireme peppered the other vessel with arrows. Falling among the stunned corsairs like a deadly rain, the volley was devastating. Undisciplined, panicked, the surviving pirates died where they stood or crouched. The unfortunate women fared no better. Remarkably though, Ahmed was still uninjured. Courageous to the last, he shrieked orders in vain at his crew.
The trierarch barked out another command, and the catapults twanged in unison. Stone balls swept through the air to crush men’s ribcages; a huge arrow pinned Zebulon to the mast. Only a handful of pirates were left unwounded. Now there would be no need to risk the lives of any marines. This was Roman military efficiency at its brutal best.
Romulus felt a pang of sorrow as he watched. The pirates were dying miserable deaths, unable to even close with the enemy and fight hand to hand. For all that they were bloodthirsty renegades, they had lived and fought together for nearly four years. Romulus felt some degree of kinship with them. And then there were the innocent women. He turned away from the sight, unwilling to