Legionary(9)
Pavo looked up just in time to see the shark-like grins of the clutch of slingers clinging to the mast, and perched along the timbers behind the sail. ‘Loose!’ Zosimus cried. The Roman bows loosed, but with a flurry of dull and weak twangs, arrows flew wildly off course, some dropping meekly into the waves, others sailing high up, almost vertically, before toppling back onto the Roman deck. Not one troubled the pirate crew. Pavo glared at his bow – the sinew and horn had split and the bowstring was sodden. The damp! he cursed, then braced as he heard the pirate slings spitting forth. ‘Down!’
A punch of ripping flesh and crunching bone rang out. The salt spray was tinged red. One young legionary staggered back, dropping his shield and clutching at the dark-red hole that a piece of slingshot had punched in his forehead. Confusion washed over his features as blood pumped from the hole, then his eyes rolled and he crumpled to the deck. Seven more fell. The undamaged liburnian once again peeled clear of the Roman vessel. The pirate leader threw his apple core into the waves then cupped his hands around his mouth;
‘Your ships will make a fine addition to my fleet,’ he cried, his smile broadening.
Zosimus threw down his shield and grappled the edge of the vessel with one hand then reached out with the other, as if strangling an imaginary victim. ‘Come and fight us on foot, face to face, steel against steel.’
Felix watched as the liburnian came round again. ‘We need to halt them, pin them, somehow.’
‘Aye, a harpax would be a fine thing,’ Gallus growled, his expression darker than a thundercloud.
Pavo’s thoughts raced – he had seen etchings of the ancient grappling hook that the republican galleys had used, centuries ago, to snare, reel in and then board enemy vessels. But etchings were of no use now. He looked all across the deck. There were planks of timber, barrels and strips of leather and linen, but they needed something solid – something fastened to their trireme that would also catch on the pirate liburnian. Then his eyes locked onto the anchor chain.
He looked up, seeing Gallus’ eyes fixed on it too. The tribunus turned, met Pavo’s gaze and those of every man nearby. ‘Get the anchor to the lip of the boat!’
‘What the?’ Sura frowned as a group of legionaries clustered around the rusting iron burden. ‘We’re dropping anchor?’
‘In a way, yes,’ Pavo wheezed as he crouched and helped lift the iron monolith to his shoulders, the barnacles scraping on his knuckles. Even with the efforts of twelve men, the burden was enormous. ‘Now give us a hand.’
‘They’re coming round again,’ Zosimus yelled, ‘and the second liburnian is on its way too.’
Gallus’ glare sharpened as he ushered Pavo and the legionaries over to the ship’s edge. ‘That’s it, keep low, keep down,’ he encouraged them as they took the anchor on their backs, crouching below the lip of the vessel.
The liburnian cut once more along the side of the trireme.
‘Slings again, ready shields!’ Zosimus bawled.
But before the Cretan pirates could loose their hail, Gallus stood tall. ‘Up and over!’ he roared.
Pavo cried with the colossal effort of rising with the anchor on his back. His comrades groaned likewise, but the iron monolith ground and splintered against the edge of the trireme and then, at once, the weight was gone.
Pavo panted, seeing the pirates gawp, their slings falling limp. The pirate captain’s broad grin faded, and his face greyed as the anchor hurtled down, then plunged into the deck of the liburnian with a crash of shredding timber. Dust and splinters billowed into the air, and then all was silent. For a moment, it seemed that the hole in the deck had caused little harm as the liburnian continued on its sweeping course. But then the anchor chain lifted and grew taut as the liburnian drew away from the hull of the Roman trireme. First, there was a groan of timber, then a chopping, snapping and shredding of collapsing hull. The Roman trireme tilted, but the lighter liburnian took the brunt of the stress.
‘Pull down the sails!’ the pirate captain cried. But it was too late. With the liburnian at full sail, the grappling anchor caused the pirate vessel to pivot sharply, almost dragging its hull below the water so acute was the angle. This jolted the pirates, casting them across the decks like toys. Some were catapulted overboard, one serving as an appetiser for the gathered shiver of sharks – his body torn apart in moments.
As the snared and crippled liburnian settled, the legionaries hauled at the anchor chain and drew the vessel back towards the trireme. When the hulls touched, Gallus stepped up on the edge of the trireme and glowered down on the pirate crew, his teeth clenched and his eyes alight with fury. Pavo joined him. Zosimus, Sura and the rest of the century were quick to follow.