As Cato reflected on the details of his plan, he was suddenly struck by a terrible sense of doubt. Supposing the pirates had given up the chase, as they had seemed to, and were even now bedded down and peacefully sleeping many miles away up the coast? Come the morning the marines and sailors who had spent an uncomfortable night under arms, nerves strained in the long wait for the appearance of the enemy, would be bitter and angry and would curse the young centurion and take him for a fool. On top of their recent defeat and the pirate raids of the previous nights it could only further damage their morale. If this ambush failed Cato had no doubt that the prefect would not be willing to try anything else and Telemachus would have his victory over the Roman navy. A dangerous precedent would have been set for any other pirates lurking around the fringes of the Mediterranean. The Emperor would show no mercy to those he held responsible for such a state of affairs…
Macro stirred beside him, and peered over the side, glancing out to sea. He sniffed irritably and slumped back down beside Cato.
'I'm telling you, they aren't coming,' he said softly. 'We must have been waiting for at least six hours already. We're wasting our time.'
'Patience,' Cato hissed back. 'They'll come.'
'How can you be so sure?'
'They're pirates, aren't they?'
'Pretty bloody smart pirates,' Macro responded bitterly. 'They've had the drop on us from the moment this campaign started. What makes you think they'll fall for it?'
'Think about it. They've been snapping up prizes for months. The result is that more and more merchants have been afraid to come out of port. It's the pirates' very success that has been starving them of prey for the last month or so. I'd bet that we're the first merchant ship they've seen for a long time. They won't be able to resist the temptation. I'd bet my life on it.'
Macro grunted. 'You are betting your life on it. Mine too.'
Cato shrugged. 'Then you'd best pray that I'm right.'
'And if they don't come?'
Cato didn't reply, but just sat quite still, head cocked slightly to one side.
Macro nudged him. 'Well?'
'Quiet…' Cato tensed and stared out to sea, his body motionless.
'What is it?'
'I'm not sure…Over there, look.' Cato pointed towards the black mass of the nearest of the headlands and Macro followed the direction of his finger and strained his eyes to make out any detail.
'Can't see anything.'
'No?'
Macro shook his head.
'Me neither,' Cato admitted with a soft chuckle.
'Very fucking funny. I just hope you find it as funny when the Emperor has us thrown to…' Macro glanced out to sea and nudged Cato. 'Looks like you were right after all.'
Cato snapped his head round and saw the enemy vessel at once, as if it had simply materialised from the gloom. The pirates had unstepped the mast to lower the profile and the slender oars were muffled as they slowly propelled the ship into the bay no more than half a mile away.
'Pass the word!' Macro prodded the nearest marine with his boot. 'Enemy in sight. Make ready but no one moves until the signal is given. Go.'
The marine shuffled off in the darkness to spread the word and the two centurions turned back to stare at the approaching pirate vessel. Cato grasped Macro's arm.'There… to one side. The other two. Looks like we'll make a clean sweep of it.'
'Got to catch them first.'
'Yes…'
As they watched, the enemy vessels crept forward across the bay, gaining definition as each thrust of the oars brought them closer. Soon they could hear the soft splash and rush of the pirates' oars and could make out the white surge of water along the bows. Above the prow of each vessel a dense mass of dark shapes crowded the fore deck, still and silent as they closed on their prey. Macro slowly drew his sword and clenched his hairy fist around the handle. He looked at Cato.
'Not yet,' Cato whispered. He looked past Macro to where the nearest marine grasped a boarding grapple, with a length of rope dipping down to coil resting on the deck. He caught the man's eye and waved his hand down. The marine hurriedly lowered his head.
The enemy came on and Cato's mind raced at the prospect of the imminent struggle. His heart pounded with excitement and his mouth was quite dry. In a moment it would all begin and chaos would rage over the deck that surrounded him. Three centuries of marines crouched motionless behind the linen superstructure and Cato could sense their tension, determination to kill, and fear. Nearly two hundred and fifty of them, each with a white band tied about his head for identification. But how many pirates were aboard those ships gliding down towards them? A hundred on each, Cato guessed. It would be a closely fought battle before the other two biremes could join the struggle. But once they did, then the fate of the pirates would surely be sealed.
Above the soft lapping of the water along the hulls Cato could now hear the first quiet words of command, and the excitement in the voice was unmistakable. Cato smiled. The pirates must think that their approach had not been detected and they were about to pounce on the merchant ship without the alarm even being raised. With a jarring thud the bow of the lead pirate ship ground into the side of the bireme and scraped along the beam. The other ships glided towards the stern and across the bow, ready to add their crews to the boarding party.
Cato snatched a lungful of air and jumped to his feet. 'NOW!'
With a deep-throated roar the marines rose up from the shadows and tore down the linen screens that had disguised their warship. Those who had been equipped with boarding grapples swung them up and out and they sailed through the darkness, thudding down on to the decks of the enemy vessels. At once the lines were pulled tight, the barbs lodging in the timbers of the pirate ships, and they were drawn in towards the bireme. At the stern a flame crackled into life as a marine set a lamp to the oil-drenched beacon prepared earlier. The wavering glow lit up the marines swarming across the deck, as well as the shocked and surprised faces of the pirates aboard the vessel held fast to the stern of the bireme. Moments later more flames flared up in the distance to acknowledge the signal and the trap was complete.
For a moment the pirates were silent, then their leaders roared out orders and with a great cheer they clambered up on to the rails of their vessels and threw themselves at the Romans.
'GET 'EM!' Macro roared close by, and the marines pressed forward to meet the enemy. For a moment the two sides were distinct and separate and then there was only chaos as the deck of the bireme was covered in a mass of bodies hacking and slashing at each other with swords, daggers, clubs and axes. In the pale light of the beacon only the white headbands of the marines could distinguish one side from the other. Around Cato a thin line of marines dissolved as the pirates jumped in amongst them and threw themselves into the attack.
'Look out!' a voice cried in Cato's ear as five or six dark forms flew through the air and crashed down on the Romans. Cato snatched up his small round buckler and thrust it towards the nearest enemy. The pirate sprawled across the centurion, carrying them both down on to the deck, the impact driving the air from Cato's lungs in an explosive gasp of pain. He felt smothered, and the stench of the man's hot breath was in his face as Cato dropped his buckler and clawed over the pirate's shoulder, searching for his throat, clamping his fingers down on the windpipe. The man reared up, choking with agony as he tore himself free of Cato's grasp. Then there was an explosive grunt as Cato slammed the tip of his sword into the man's side, just below the ribcage. The pirate wrenched himself free, toppling away from Cato and a warm gush of blood splashed down on to Cato's arm. He thrust himself up and crouched low on the deck, glancing madly about as the fight raged on every side. Above the clatter of weapons and the groans and cries of the men locked in conflict, Cato heard Macro yelling out to his men at the top of his voice.