Seeing that he would eventually lose the chase, and that the Roman captain intended to board, the admiral began ordering wild maneuvers to throw off his opponent. Perhaps, if he turned sharply and often enough, the opportunity to grapple would never come. With any luck, the Roman might make a wrong turn and expose his beam to the flagship’s ram. But then, the admiral saw several projectiles fly from the Roman deck, each trailing behind it a long tether. Two of these managed to strike the flagship’s beam, driving firmly into the oak.
“Harpago!” one of his crew announced.
Both Roman harpoons had penetrated well below the railing and far from any portal. Thus, for a man to attempt to cut the attached hemp cable he would have to be lowered over the side. The admiral selected four of his most agile sailors for this, but all four were quickly feathered with Roman arrows the moment they left the protection of the bulwark. As the cable stretched taut, and the Romans slowly reeled the two ships together, the admiral donned helmet and sword, and took up position with his bodyguards and several dozen armed marines and sailors behind a wall of arrow-riddled shields.
As they all waited for the inevitable fight, the admiral snuck a peek over the brim of one shield to see a mass of Roman helmets and bristling sword points, assembled by the rail of the enemy ship and preparing to board. They looked to be formidable warriors with battle-maddened eyes that shined like pools behind the shadowy slits in their faceplates. But one stood out from the rest, and the admiral concluded that this man must be his adversary. For he wore a lapis blue cloak over a bronze cuirass and a white-plumed helmet on his head. Although the faceplate hid his features, the tailings of a beard covered the exposed neck beneath his chin. He stood at the forefront of the gathering, speaking in low tones as if to keep the eager warriors steady in the face of the slaughter into which they were about to step.
The admiral momentarily lost sight of the blue-cloaked officer when the two ships ground together, shearing off every oar, arrow, or javelin that had been protruding from that side. The impact knocked nearly every man on both ships to his knees. A silent interval passed, in which each man regained his feet. The next moment, the enemy horde began spilling over the bulwarks, slashing and jabbing, pushing back the dazed Rhodians, and establishing an ever-widening foothold. Although the two forces were nearly even in number, the methodical Romans found the gaps in the chaotic Rhodian defense. Where the mercenaries fought in pairs and threes, the Romans fought in squads, covering each other’s flanks, and moving instantly at every bidding of the blue-cloaked officer. He pointed his reserves into every gap in the lines, seeing opportunities where an untrained eye might perceive only a jumbled throng of swinging swords and battered shields. The Rhodians fell by the dozen, the course of the battle decidedly in the Romans’ favor, its direction changing only once, when the frantic rowers abandoned their oars belowdecks to storm onto the main deck, catching the Romans off their guard and slaying more than a dozen. But the composed Roman commander quickly recovered from this. He organized a counter-attack and regained control of the hatchways, ordering his marines to thrust a gladius through the neck of any man who dared emerge thereafter.
So, it would be defeat, the Rhodian admiral concluded – not only that of his fleet but also that of his ship, his crew, and himself. Surrender, of course, was out of the question. The senators he had spurned would undoubtedly salivate over his capture. They would demand his execution for joining with Caesar. Perhaps the blue-cloaked Roman commander was aware of this, because he had never once called out for him to yield, in spite of the many times they had made eye contact across the maelstrom of hacking weapons.
With hundreds of Rhodians lying mangled on the bloody planks, the inevitable moment came when the admiral and his bodyguards were all that remained. Pressed into a corner of the stern deck, his guard fought valiantly, holding their shields to protect their master before themselves, parrying and deflecting the ceaseless thrusts of gladius and pike. But eventually, one by one, they fell dead at his feet, leaving him alone to face the Romans. Intent on showing himself courageous to the last, the Rhodian admiral held his sword at the ready. He would take at least one of these Roman bastards with him when Charon ferried him across the Acheron to the underworld. But the blood-covered Romans abruptly stopped their advance, even as the dripping points of their extended weapons sprinkled the deck at the admiral’s feet. Several sharp commands were spoken in Latin, and then the Romans took several steps backwards, opening ranks and allowing the blue-cloaked officer through. Unlike the acrimonious nature of the marines, who clearly wished to perforate the admiral with two dozen iron-tipped pikes, the Roman commander approached in a wary manner. His armor and helmet were thoroughly painted with the lifeblood of his foes, but he had not been overcome by the same battle rage that possessed his men. The eyes that gazed back from behind the red-splattered faceplate were thoughtful and discerning.
The Roman commander brought his sword to his chin in a salute, and then bowed respectfully. The admiral returned the bow.
“My compliments, sir,” the admiral said in Latin with the utmost politeness.
“It will be my privilege to forward any personal correspondence you may have,” the Roman replied curtly, and then gestured to the deck before him.
The admiral sighed, fully understanding what was being offered. He gave a small appreciative smile. “The small chest in my cabin contains a few letters of no consequence to anyone but my kin. If they make their way to Rhodes, you will have my eternal gratitude.”
“You have the word of Scribonius Libo, they shall arrive safely.”
The admiral looked on his opponent with a brief moment of curiosity. He had heard of this Scribonius Libo, the new rising star of the Roman fleet, known for several recent naval victories. “My heart rejoices at having been defeated by a name as noble and glorified as that of Libo.”
“The day stretches on, my lord,” the Roman said, his tone stiff once more.
“Indeed it does, sir,” the admiral replied with an apologetic smile. “I will keep you no longer.”
Slowly and methodically, he removed his helmet and unlaced his breastplate, letting both clatter to the deck. Then, after a deep breath and one long look at the sea, he knelt and bowed his head, tilting it slightly to the side so that the Roman officer’s blade might encounter no obstruction in its deadly travel. The courtesies he had been offered by the Roman commander were very generous indeed. His choices were to accept death now, honorably, at the hands of this noble officer, who would make his death as swift and as painless as possible, or to be taken alive and turned over to the Roman Senate, who would undoubtedly have him publicly crucified as an example of what happens to those who aid Caesar. A quick death, or one that stretched out for days on end while the scavenger birds perched all around his withering form, pecking at his eyes, his ears, and his privates.
Considering those options, there really was no choice at all.
IX
Libo wiped the blood from his sword while standing over the twitching body of the Rhodian admiral. His battle-worn marines cheered all around him and from every corner of the captured ship. The Rhodian fleet had been defeated – annihilated – and victory was theirs.
“Hail, Libo! Hail, Libo!” They chanted his name repeatedly, and he answered their salute by standing on the rail and raising his sword high above his head. This sent them into a higher state of euphoria.
They had done it. Their discipline and courage had won the day, in spite of the hunger and thirst that plagued them. Perhaps their aching bellies, and not his leadership, had been their chief impetus, since Libo could see that, on their own initiative and without any orders from him, a line of eager men had already formed to pass up stores from belowdecks and over to the Remus.