Atretes’ heart constricted at what he saw.
“They’re outfitted with ravens, centurion!” a soldier shouted.
Theophilus had already seen the movable boarding bridges being rotated about the stump-mast set in the prow of the hemiolia. Beneath the outer ends of two he could see the sharp spike. If dropped aboard the Alexandrian freighter, the spike would penetrate and hold them fast. “Fire!” he commanded and the catapults were released, sending jars of oil across. They shattered on the deck at the same time the soldiers released a volley of flaming darts.
The hemiolia swung round and came hard against the Alexandrian. The blow rocked Atretes on his feet and sent screaming passengers down the ladderway. The ravens dropped, and Illyrians charged across, screaming war cries.
Rather than throw the spear, Atretes used it as a pugil stick. Giving his own war cry, he brought the end hard against the side of one Illyrian’s head and then came around to slice the throat of another. Dodging a sword, he rammed his shoulder into his attacker, knocking him backward into several others.
The crash of blade against blade echoed across the deck, as well as the screams of dying men. Leaping to the higher deck, Atretes felt a sharp sting along his right shoulder as an arrow shot by him. Enraged, he threw his spear, skewering a bowman and pinning him against a barrel.
He knew it was a mistake as soon as it left his hands, for he stood in the open, virtually defenseless. Someone knocked him back as three Illyrians came up the steps.
Theophilus struck the first man’s shoulder, then kicked the fallen sword to Atretes as he blocked a sword blow from the second attacker. He kicked the man down the stairway, knocking two others back.
Atretes took up the sword and almost used it on the man who had just saved his life. Gritting his teeth, he stood, feet planted as Theophilus turned. Seeing his fighting stance, the centurion smiled grimly. “Galls, doesn’t it?” He lowered his sword.
Knocking him aside, Atretes jumped down onto the main deck and entered the worst of the fray, venting his rage on anyone who dared come close.
* * *
Rizpah could hear the battle through the door of the owner’s cabin. Two hard thuds sounded against the door. Someone shouted and there was another thud, harder this time. The bar cracked. Opening a trunk, Rizpah threw out half the owner’s clothing. She put Caleb inside and closed the lid.
The door burst open as she turned. In the doorway was the Macedonian passenger. He entered with a gladius in his hand. “The prize I want,” he said, his dark eyes gleaming. “She’ll bring a good price.” He stood aside as two others entered the small quarters. “Take her.” The command given, he left.
She stood still as though cowed with terror until they came close. Then she used everything she had learned in the streets of Ephesus to keep them from laying hands on her. She struck, kicked, bit and scratched, screaming as she did so.
* * *
Atretes saw the Macedonian enter the cabin, but he was too deep in the fray on the main deck to do anything. He slashed the abdomen of one attacker and kicked another back. Ramming his shoulder into a third, he tried to drive his way through the melee. He saw two Illyrians enter the cabin as the Macedonian left, guiding others to the booty below.
Atretes hacked his way forward as he saw the two pirates dragging Rizpah from the cabin. She was fighting them every inch of the way. One struck her with his fist, and Atretes gave a bellow of rage. He reached them before the Illyrian had time to lift her to his shoulder. Seeing Atretes, both withdrew from her, but not in time to save their lives.
“Roman galleys!”
Many of the pirates managed to release their booty and retreat across two of the ravens, but grabbing up a spear, Atretes leaped to the third ramp, preventing the others from escaping.
“Atretes!” Theophilus shouted. “Let them go!”
Bellowing his war cry, Atretes struck blows to the right and left. Pain burst in his right shoulder and he fell forward. Losing balance, he fell headlong in the water. He hit hard and sank into the cold water of the Ionian Sea. Arrows rained down around him, barely missing their mark. Unable to move his left shoulder, he kicked his way up. As he burst the surface, he saw the raven above him being raised. The oars of the hemiolia made a loud bang as they came out, and as they swung down, one struck him on the head.
* * *
Theophilus saw what happened from the deck of the Alexandrian. Stripping off his helmet and breastplate, he shouted an order and dove in. Quick, strong strokes brought him to Atretes as he sank, and grabbing the German’s long hair, he dragged him to the surface and caught hold of the rope that was dropped. Atretes was unconscious, blood streaming from a gash in his forehead. Struggling to keep himself afloat and Atretes from sinking, Theophilus tied the rope securely. “Haul him up!”