Technically, Eusebius knew, their ship was also classed as a dromon, an oared war galley. But it was the medium-sized type called a pamphylos. They only had eighty oars, twenty on each bank. And there was only room for a single rower on the upper oars.
A hundred and fifty rowers versus eighty. Despite the greater weight of the approaching dromon, it would still be faster than their own galley. And they were further handicapped because of the modifications which John had made in their warship.
John had known he would be heavily outnumbered in the coming battle—one ship against twenty, probably more. So he had decided to use his single ship as a pure artillery vessel, bombarding the enemy fleet at long range with his firebombs. For that reason, they only carried twelve fighting men—just enough to operate the two scorpions. They would be hopelessly outmatched in the event of a boarding.
True, they also carried a double crew of rowers. If John's battle plan worked, his men would be rowing for long periods. So he had loaded the ships with relief rowers. That would give them a greater endurance than the crew of the approaching dromon, but the weight of the extra rowers would also slow them down.
Not to mention—
Eusebius studied the fighting platform he was standing on. The wood castle was larger and heavier than normal for this size war galley. It needed to be in order to provide the necessary support and room for the two scorpions which John had placed there. But that extra size also added weight. As did—
Eusebius lowered his gaze to the deck of the ship itself. Normally, Byzantine war galleys were of the modern design called aphract—"unarmored." Since modern naval tactics called for boarding as well as ramming, the rowers/soldiers on the upper banks were protected by nothing more substantial than a light frame rigged along the gangways to which they attached their shields.
But John, since he had no intention of boarding, had refitted the ship to the older cataphract design. He had attached solid wooden projections to the gunwales, with overhanging beams, to protect the rowers from archery. The armored projections resembled the rowing frames of ancient Hellenic galleys, although the rowers themselves were still positioned inside the hull. The end result was to enclose the rowers in solid, arrow-proof shelters. A bit stifling, perhaps, despite the ventilating louvers, but far better protection than mere shields hanging on a light frame.
And—much heavier.
Their ship was still faster and more maneuverable than the tubby square-rigged sailing ships which the Army of Bithynia was using for its transports. But it was a sluggish turtle compared to the approaching dromon.
John had not expected to face a real warship.
"Hurry up!" snapped the Rhodesman, clambering back onto the wood-castle. "No—never mind. We'll just have to make do with the bombs you've already uncrated."
"There's only eight of them," protested Eusebius.
"Then we'll have to shoot well," snarled John. "We don't have time, Eusebius! That damned dromon is coming on like a porpoise. Move."
As John and Eusebius began loading the two scorpions with the first of the firebombs, the ship's steering officer bellowed orders at the crew. Though the men were every bit as grim-faced as their captain, they set about the tasks without hesitation. Those sailors were Rhodesmen themselves. John had handpicked them from the ranks of the Roman naval forces stationed in Seleuceia. Their officers had not even complained—not, at least, after they saw the letter of authority from the Empress Theodora which John carried with him.
The pamphylos began coming about, facing this new enemy approaching from the Sea of Marmara.
John peered intently at the oncoming dromon.
God, those rowers are good!
Several cataphracts were standing on the fighting platform in the bow of the galley, staring back at him. Their features were obscured by the helmets on their heads.
Well-used helmets, thought John gloomily. Just like their damned armor. And—oh, shit—don't they hold their bows with a practiced, casual ease? Just great. Just fucking great!
He stared at one of the cataphracts. A huge man, he was.
God, I don't even want to think what that ogre's bow pulls. Two hundred pounds, probably.
He began to turn away, heading for one of the scorpions. An idle thought caused him to pause. He glanced back at the huge cataphract. Then, he stared at the cataphract standing right in the prow of the galley.
A tall cataphract.
The tall cataphract removed his helmet. His face was no longer obscured.
John of Rhodes had excellent eyesight.
A moment later, Eusebius and the entire crew of the pamphylos stopped what they were doing. They were transfixed—gaping, goggling—by the sight of their commanding officer.