‘Up you go, that’s it! Come on, brothers!’ roared Corax. ‘To the top!’
Five or so men fitted on the ladder. More than a score were waiting their turn at the bottom. He and Urceus wouldn’t have to move for a bit yet. Quintus’ head twisted. To their left, another pair of quinqueremes had come to rest; its crew were in the process of elevating its sambuca. Bolts and stones were hissing down in response. He saw a number of sailors killed, but the officers on board soon did as Corax had, rushing soldiers forward to protect the crew on the ropes. Hastati began swarming up the rungs the instant that it reached the ramparts. Quintus’ stomach lurched as he saw a group of defenders push a long, forked piece of wood out from an embrasure to one side of the point where the ladder met the defences. ‘Look out!’
Of course he was too far away to be heard, too far away to do anything but watch in horror as the fork made contact and was swiftly pushed outwards, forcing the ladder into a vertical position. There it stayed for a sickening moment before the Syracusans heaved again and tipped the ladder backwards. The hastati at the bottom were able to jump clear, but the rest were hurled to their deaths on the deck of their own ship, or in the sea. The ladder came to rest against the mast with one soldier still hanging on for dear life near the top. ‘Thank the gods,’ whispered Quintus. ‘Hold on.’
An enemy bolt lanced out from the walls and punched the hastatus clean off the ladder. He dropped into the water below without a sound.
Quintus swallowed and looked away. Forget him, he told himself. Concentrate on what’s happening here. THUMP! The force of the impact threw him back on his heels. Regaining his balance, Quintus gaped at the barbed head that had slammed through his shield. It had missed his left fist, holding the central grip, by two fingers’ width, and his head by less than that.
‘Are you hit?’ shouted Urceus from behind.
‘No! A bollock hair nearer and I would have been dead, though,’ Quintus gasped. He wouldn’t be able to hold up his shield for long, that was clear. The weight of the iron bolt was already telling on his arm muscles. With a few wrenches, he managed to tug the thing through his scutum and drop it to the deck. A large hole remained in the shield, but at least he was able to raise it aloft again.
‘Your comrades have a foothold up there, lads!’ roared Corax. ‘Keep climbing!’
Quintus peered around the edge of his shield again. To his delight, he saw that their centurion was correct. Somehow, a handful of hastati had reached over the battlements and secured the top of the ladder so that others could follow. His heart leaped. Perhaps they would make it after all?
His hopes continued to rise as two and then three more of his comrades clambered over the defences to join the fray. Corax continued to urge his men onwards, but they had seen what was going on. Now, they were eager to ascend.
A moment later, Quintus’ heart stopped. ‘What in fucking Hades’ name is that?’ he heard Urceus say. An outlandish-looking device was emerging over the edge of the ramparts. It was a long, broad piece of wood, about fifty paces in length. From its end dangled a chain and a great three-pronged hook. Even as he watched, the chain was lowered down, towards their ship. Quintus had never seen anything like this before, but he didn’t need to be told what it might do. ‘Fuck!’
‘Is it going to pick us up?’ growled Urceus.
‘I’d say so.’ Quintus looked at his mail shirt and cursed. The bloody armour would be the death of him. Urceus’ decision to wear a chest and back plate like Unlucky’s seemed more than wise now.
Corax had noticed the new weapon too. ‘Climb that ladder!’ he screamed. He blew his whistle to try and attract the attention of the soldiers on the battlements, but they were enmeshed in their own struggle for survival.
Plus, Quintus reckoned, those men were too far from the device to make a difference anyway. At least a hundred paces and scores of defenders separated them from its position. It couldn’t be taken. Perhaps the hooks could be cut off the arm? he wondered desperately.
The air was filling with shouts of dismay. Everyone had seen the iron claw.
‘Crespo, Urceus, Unlucky. Put down your shields. With me.’ Corax went striding past, towards the prow. Towards where the hook looked as if it would hit.
Sweat sluiced down Quintus’ back the way it might if he were in a caldarium. ‘Here.’ He handed his scutum to the sailor whom he’d been protecting and hurried after Corax. ‘What’s your plan, sir?’
Corax’s expression was bleak. ‘I don’t have a fucking plan, Crespo. But if we don’t stop that thing, we’re all going to drown.’
They weaved their way to the front of the ship, through their fearful comrades. Quintus studied the hook as it loomed overhead. There appeared to be no cables or bindings that they could use their swords on. Panic bubbled up inside him. What could they do with their bare hands? A quick glance at Urceus and Unlucky told him that they were no less unhappy. They were here, as he was, because of their devotion to Corax. Quintus’ lead foot caught on something and he stumbled forward, narrowly avoiding falling overboard. Cursing, he kicked at the coiled length of rope that had been responsible, and then an idea flashed into his mind. ‘Sir!’
Corax turned with a scowl. ‘What?’
Quintus lifted the rope. ‘If we could throw this around one of the prongs, we might be able to pull it out of the way. Stop it grabbing hold of the ship.’
‘That’s bloody clever! Bring it here!’
The men nearest the prow didn’t need to be told to make way. A space cleared around Corax, Quintus and the rest as they unrolled the rope and tied one end into a great loop with a sliding knot. ‘Are any of you used to roping cattle?’ asked Corax.
Feeling stupid, Quintus shook his head. ‘No, sir,’ muttered Urceus, ‘but I’ll give it a go.’ Unlucky didn’t say a word.
Corax’s lips turned downwards. ‘Fuck it. It’s my job.’
‘I can do it, sir,’ said Unlucky out of the blue.
Their eyes turned in unison. ‘Speak up. Quickly!’ ordered Corax.
‘It’s been a few years, sir, but I used to help round up the cattle on our farm every summer. Time was that I could catch a cow from thirty paces away.’
‘Now’s your chance,’ said Corax, handing over the rope.
Quintus shot an encouraging glance at Unlucky, who looked as if he wished he’d said nothing. Urceus slapped him on the back. Unlucky moved to stand in front of them, hefting the loop of rope in his right hand. The hook was now little more than twenty paces over their heads. Quintus was alarmed to see that it no longer appeared to be aiming for the deck. Instead, the men controlling it were going to try and snag the bronze ram that protruded from the front of the ship. Unlucky’s task had just been made immeasurably harder. His first attempt failed. So too did his second, and Quintus’ hope began to vanish. Then, against all odds, the loop landed on the hook and caught on one of its prongs. Unlucky yelled with delight and tugged on the line, sliding the knot closed. ‘I’ve done it, sir!’
‘Grab the rope, all of you!’ roared Corax. ‘Pull on it like you’ve never pulled your cocks!’
Quintus, Urceus and Corax made to seize the rope. Their fingers were just closing on it when an arrow took Unlucky in the chest, to the left of his pectoral plate. Whoever had aimed the shot — no coincidence, surely — was a master bowman. Unlucky’s grip on the rope slackened; it pulled through his palm, leaving the others scrabbling to catch it. Unlucky’s eyes bulged with pain; he looked down at the rope, knowing he had to keep hold of it. Instead of regaining control, however, he dribbled pink-red froth from his lips and let go entirely. Before their horrified gaze, the rope ran over the side, where it dangled from the hook into the sea. Unlucky dropped to the deck in a tangle of limbs. Corax bellowed his frustration. Quintus stooped and picked up another length of rope. ‘Here!’ he said to Urceus. ‘You have a go. We might still manage to grab it.’