‘I’ve always told you whatever you needed to know at the time,’ Sabinus replied testily.
‘No you haven’t, you’ve only told me what you thought I needed to know. If we’re to work together effectively we need to share everything because it’s impossible to make the right decisions without all the information. You weren’t aware that I had come across Macro so you didn’t think it important to tell me that his interests and ours are now aligned.’
‘You should’ve told me that you’d come across him in the first place.’
‘He was trying to arrest me on the Aemilian Bridge four years ago; the way I saw it he was just another Praetorian doing his duty. I would have mentioned it if I’d known that he’s now changed sides.’
‘So I’ve told you now; what difference does it make?’ Sabinus snapped, hating being lectured to by his younger brother.
Vespasian fought to retain his temper. ‘The very fact that Macro has got to where he is in the Praetorian Guard shows that he is a man of ruthless ambition and not one to let bygones be bygones. He will have his revenge on me if he sees and recognises me, there’s no doubt about it. The question is whether his desire for revenge will interfere with whatever plan we put into place to get Rhoteces in front of the Emperor.’
‘He would be a fool if it did.’
‘You might think so, but pride is blind. I left him sprawling in an undignified heap in the dust; he may well think that the slight to his dignitas is too much to bear and use the opportunity to stick a knife between my ribs, just to make himself feel better, even if it jeopardises everything else.’
Having met the man Sabinus could see that his brother’s hunch might not be so far from the truth. ‘You could be right, I suppose,’ he conceded. ‘We’ll just have to try and keep you away from him.’
‘How will that be possible?’
‘We’ll see, but I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about him before, Vespasian.’
‘So, any more surprises then, Sabinus?’
A shout from the forward watch, just next to them, cut short any reply.
‘Trierarchus! Dead ahead.’
Vespasian looked up. A trireme had appeared from behind the headland at the tip of Cythera and was speeding towards the two traders, now no more than a mile away.
Rhaskos came running forward for a closer look.
‘Oh, Bendis help me,’ he wailed. ‘Pirates, and we don’t have the men to fight them off. We are truly cursed.’
‘The sun’s low behind us. We must be in its glare on the water — they haven’t seen us yet,’ Vespasian observed. ‘Let’s just leave them alone. They’ll be more than happy with what’s on board those two traders.’
‘We could try to sail past,’ Rhaskos replied, ‘but that will only arouse their interest. They’d expect a ship of this size to try and intervene; if we don’t they’ll assume that we’re either undermanned or carrying someone or something too precious to warrant risking. Either way they’ll come after us.’
‘What about turning and running?’ Sabinus suggested.
‘That will definitely tell them that we’re scared and with so many of the slaves too ill to row they’d catch us in a couple of hours. The only thing to do is to call their bluff. I’ll have Gaidres and his men arm the crew and we’ll sail straight for them as if we’re going to ram them and pray to every god that you can think of that they run.’
‘How many bows do you have?’ Sabinus asked, thinking of his only previous encounter with pirates.
‘More than we have crew,’ Rhaskos replied as he ran back to give the order to Gaidres to break out the ship’s weaponry.
Up ahead the trireme had reached the first of the traders. Vespasian watched as grappling hooks flew over the little ship’s stern and it was hauled into a deadly embrace. A stream of men flooded from the pirate galley on to their prey. By now they were close enough to hear the screams of the defenders float across the water as they were cut down within the close confines of their small, nautical world. The second trader sailed on.
By the time the first trader was taken the quinquereme’s crew and Gaidres with his men had assembled on deck. Each was armed with a bow and — much to Vespasian’s unwarranted surprise, since they were Thracians — a rhomphaia strapped on their backs.
Rhaskos shouted an order and the stroke-master accelerated the beat to attack speed. From below the sound of whips cracking over the backs of the labouring slaves intensified as they were goaded into the more rapid rhythm.
The quinquereme surged forward, its huge ram cutting through the swell, churning the water beneath its bow into white foam. It powered towards the pirate trireme, which had now spotted them and was in the process of hurriedly disengaging from its newly acquired prize. The skeleton crew left aboard the trader cast off the grappling hooks and the trireme, with surprising speed, executed a 180-degree turn, bringing it round to face the quinquereme. They were not going to run.
Gaidres immediately started to organise the crew into small units, each commanded by one of his marines, and positioned them around the ship ready to pump volleys of arrows into the pirate’s crowded deck. A couple of deck-hands were circulating with skins of water. Magnus pushed through the milling crewmen with Sitalces, Artebudz and Drenis in tow.
‘Looks like they mean to take us head to head,’ he observed calmly, handing a bow and quiver each to Vespasian and Sabinus; he then adjusted the rhomphaia he had taken from the dead Ziles, which hung down his back, and took his place at the rail.
Sabinus notched an arrow and smiled grimly, all traces of seasickness having disappeared beneath the rush of adrenalin. ‘A few good volleys should see off this rabble before they get anywhere near us,’ he said with confidence as the quinquereme passed the headland at the northern tip of Cythera.
The ships were now less than a half-mile apart. Vespasian’s mouth dried as the distance between them lessened with every beat of the stroke-master’s drum. He reached for his sword hilt and pulled on it slightly, checking that the weapon was loose in its scabbard, and then drew an arrow from his quiver. All around him men were going through their various personal rituals before combat; there was a tense silence on deck broken only by the rhythmic drumbeat and irregular whip-cracks from below.
At two hundred paces the pirates let off an ill-disciplined volley that fell short, bringing a half-hearted cheer from the Thracian crew. Gaidres shouted encouragingly in Thracian and they cheered again, this time with more conviction.
As the quinquereme’s bow was raised by the swell a second long-range volley found its mark but the shots were spent and most bounced off the hull. Of those that reached the deck only a few retained enough velocity to pierce the planking. One crewman went down with an arrow dangling from his shoulder; it was soon extracted and he took his place again, bleeding lightly, back in the line.
Gaidres shouted in Thracian and the crew raised their bows and took aim. Vespasian, Sabinus and Magnus followed suit and waited for the order to release. Gaidres lifted his arm in the air and paused, judging the rise and fall of the trireme’s bow.
At a distance of ninety paces his arm flashed down.
Over fifty arrows tore towards the pirate ship. The volley hit as its bow slipped down a trough exposing more of its deck and the hundred or so men within, felling almost a dozen of them as they let fly a ragged reply.
The drumbeat quickened and the quinquereme lurched forward into ramming speed.
Vespasian quickly reloaded and waited for the order to shoot, confident, as were the rest of the cheering crew, of Gaidres’ ability to judge the moment correctly.
Gaidres’ arm flashed down again and they released another perfectly timed volley.
The celebratory cheering as they reloaded was cut short by a cry from the larboard watch. The cheers turned into a collective groan. Vespasian looked over his left shoulder to see another ship emerge from under the lee of the headland, a mile behind them, and head straight towards them.