Cato rubbed his brow. 'Thank the gods, it's over.'
'It's not over,' Albinus replied quietly.'Not by a long way. They're just regrouping. Then they'll be hanging around the fleet, waiting for the chance for a quick strike, like mountain wolves around sheep. If we don't make land before dusk then they'll come in under cover of dark and pick off the weaker ships right under our noses.'
The lookout called down, 'Signal from the flagship, sir!'
Albinus tipped his head up to face the man, squinting into the bright sky. 'Well?'
'All ships to form up on the Horus.'
With the large warships wallowing over the swell, the smaller ships rowed in towards the protection of the quinquireme. The trierarch of the Horus stood on the foredeck, raised a speaking trumpet to his lips and began bellowing a string of orders. These were relayed from ship to ship and when every vessel had raised a pennant to acknowledge the orders the Horus gave the execution signal. With the flagship in the lead, the other triremes formed a thinly stretched diamond shape across the sea. Packed into the middle of the diamond were the smaller vessels, most showing signs of the battle they had just survived: damaged rigging, torn sails and some with livid streaks of red trailing down from their scuppers.
Once the fleet had formed up it began to crawl across the sea, making for the coast of Illyricum, still out of sight over the horizon. The men at the oars had been exhausted by the battle manoeuvres and the ships raised their sails, while their trierarchs prayed that the northerly breeze would hold.
The pirates wasted no time in pursuing their humbled foe, and their dark triangular sails hovered on the flanks of the Roman fleet, waiting for their chance to strike, just as Albinus had foreseen. Every so often, one of the pirate ships would suddenly alter course and steer for an opening between the triremes, trying to penetrate the defensive screen. This time the advantage lay with the Romans, whose vigilance paid off as the triremes moved to close down any gap the pirates had hoped to exploit.
As the day wore on the sky cleared to a serene and unblemished blue, and the breeze slowly moderated as the two fleets crept across the sea. The pirates managed to break through twice. The first time two of their nimble ships succeeded in swooping round the heavy triremes and attacking either side of a heavily damaged bireme straggling a quarter of a mile behind the others. The ship was boarded, its crew put to the sword, a quick search made for any portable loot, and then it was fired. The pirate vessels darted away, steering clear of the trireme that had turned to try to save its stricken comrade. Worse still, in going to the aid of the straggler, the trireme left a gap for a handful of other pirate ships to slip in and ram another Roman ship before they too were forced to retreat. But the damage had been done and the Romans could do nothing more than take on the crews and as much of the supplies as it was safe to load, and leave the rest to go down with the ship.
From the deck of the Spartan, Cato and Macro watched with the rest of the crew as the long drama was played out over the gentle swell. Despite the dreadful losses they had suffered at the hands of the pirates, Cato found himself admiring the way Telemachus had executed his trap. His intelligence had been perfect, allowing the pirates to catch Vitellius and his fleet at their most vulnerable, and Cato was almost certain that treachery had been involved. What else could explain such confident handling of their ships when the pirates would normally have been thoroughly outclassed as well as outnumbered by the imperial navy? They knew they had the upper hand in manoeuvrability long before they had closed with the Roman fleet. And even now, they were looking for every chance to press home their attack, not content to wait until night when the triremes would be blind to the dark shapes sweeping through the Roman ships.
His admiration for Telemachus quickly wore off as Cato pondered on the consequences of this disastrous encounter. Hundreds of men must have been lost, along with much of the supplies and equipment that Prefect Vitellius needed to launch his campaign once they landed on the coast of Illyricum. It was possible that the losses were already so serious that the operation might have to be called off.
As soon as the thought entered his head, Cato dismissed it. He knew Vitellius well enough to realise that the prefect could not countenance such a setback to his reputation. Senior officers had been exiled, or even executed, for lesser failures. There was no choice for Vitellius. He had to go on with his campaign, even if the odds were now stacked firmly against him. The prefect would lead his men to victory, or to defeat and death. Those were the only possible fates open to all of them now, and as Cato silently watched the fire consuming the distant bireme he was filled with a heavy and deadening sense of foreboding.
His dark mood deepened as the afternoon dragged on, and when the lookout finally gave the cry that land had been sighted, Cato knew that a safe landfall would merely mark the beginning of a yet more dangerous phase of Vitellius' campaign.
06 The Eagles Prophecy
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Vitellius thrust his finger out. 'What was the meaning of that little stunt you pulled, Centurion Cato?'
'Sir?' Cato stood in front of the prefect's desk in the headquarters tent. Around him the other senior officers sat on stools and watched the confrontation warily.
'Don't play dumb with me, boy. Back there in the battle, when you took half my triremes out of the line.'
'Sir, we had to move to save our lighter ships. The enemy was cutting them to pieces.'
'Maybe, but you cost us the chance of trapping Telemachus and ending this operation at a stroke.'
'We can't be sure he was ever aboard that trireme, sir. After all, he was just using it as bait to lure our best ships away from the rest of the fleet.'
'That's just speculation, Centurion. Has it crossed your mind that the attack on the biremes might have been a ruse to lure ships away from protecting my flagship? You could have been risking my life.'
Cato shrugged.'Warfare is risky for us all, sir. In any case, the Horus and the ships that remained with you would have been able to handle any attack. In my judgement the greatest threat was to our biremes.'
Vitellius glared at him. 'In your judgement? This isn't a debating society, Centurion Cato. It's the imperial navy. You obey orders from superior officers – you don't create your own orders.'
'Begging your pardon, sir, I was using my initiative. And you did not issue any countermanding order. If those triremes hadn't gone to the aid of the other ships it's certain that our losses would have been far higher,' Cato paused to add heavy emphasis to his last words, 'than they already are.'
Vitellius clamped his lips together in a thin line, and as he glanced round the tent he noticed Macro and most of the other officers nodding in agreement with Cato.
The confrontation was interrupted by a challenge from a guard posted outside the tent. Then the flaps rustled as a clerk ducked inside, clutching a bundle of slates under his arm. He straightened his back, marched up to the prefect and saluted.
'The butcher's bill, sir.' The clerk handed a slate to Vitellius as the prefect waved Cato away. While Vitellius scanned the notes on the slate, Cato and the other officers sat in silence. They were exhausted. Even after the surviving ships had reached the bay late in the afternoon there had been no time for rest. The shore curved round for a mile or so in either direction before the beach gave way to a tumble of rocks that rose into headlands. Beyond the beach the land was covered with scrub and stunted trees for half a mile before it rose steeply into a range of forested hills that stretched up and down the coast as far as the eye could see. Not far off lay a long-abandoned settlement, little more than piles of stones now.