Karalis looked frantically towards the aft-deck, praying for respite but finding none. The helmsman was dead, his chest staved in where the tiller had struck him a killing blow. The Sidon was out of control.
‘You men, to my aid!’ Karalis shouted to three sailors who were lying on the deck around him, realizing that, if he did not check the Sidon’s momentum once she cleared the current, the galley would spin her stern into the whirlpool and the ship would be lost.
The sailors were dumbstruck, petrified, unable to comprehend the forces attacking their ship.
‘Now!’ Karalis bellowed. ‘Before I cast you overboard to the monster beneath us!’
They were instantly on their feet, their fear of the captain and his threats overcoming their terror and confusion. The men followed the captain to the aft-deck, the violently spinning ship causing one to lose his balance and fall over the side rail.
The force of the turning ship was pressing the rudder hard against the bulkhead, as if it were nailed to the very timbers of the ship. The three men took hold of the six-foot-long tiller and, with all their strength, attempted to heave the rudder back to true. The resistance was incredible, the twenty-knot current gripping the bow of the Sidon, causing water to rush past the stern, engulfing the blade of the rudder, transferring its energy up the shaft to fight the strength of the three men. The resistance lessened as the bow cleared the whirlpool and, although Karalis and his men fought hard to bring the rudder to true, he knew the fight was hopeless, the momentum of the eightyton galley too great. With his fears echoed in the cries of his men, Karalis felt the whirlpool grip the stern of his ship, sucking the vessel deeper into the maelstrom, dooming all on board.
At only sixty yards’ distance, Atticus could hear the screams of the slaves and the snapping of their oars as Charybdis took hold of his enemy. Within seconds the galley had swung her bow into the vortex, which spun the enemy ship until her stern was facing the Aquila. Atticus watched in dread fascination as a group of men fought the tiller of the enemy vessel, their forlorn efforts overcome by the power of the whirlpool, the Carthaginian galley inexorably drawn into Charybdis as the current took a firm grip of her stern, dragging the ship ever closer to the centre of the vortex. The cries of terror were beyond any that Atticus had ever heard.
‘Septimus!’ Atticus called.
The centurion approached. He was shaking his head in amazement. ‘By the gods, Atticus, I have never seen such a sight. What might does this sea have, that it can take a ship and devour her?’
‘Charybdis has taken one for us,’ Atticus began, ‘the Carthaginian on the lead ship’s starboard flank is heading directly for the whirlpool. They’ll realize the danger so they’ll either break off their pursuit or try to navigate around. Either way they’re no longer a threat. We’re still too far from the mouth of the strait to escape the last ship. She’ll run us down, knowing that the rest of the fleet are not far behind. Our only chance is to attack and disable her and then disengage before reinforcements arrive. Once we clear the mouth of the strait we’ll raise sail, using the trade winds sweeping south along the Tyrrhenian Sea. The Aquila can outsail any Carthaginian trireme.’
Septimus nodded, agreeing with the captain’s logic. He looked back over the stern rail again at the two remaining Carthaginian galleys, picking out the one they would need to attack. Atticus had levelled the odds. Now it was the turn of Septimus and his men to take the fight to the enemy.
On the foredeck of the Elissar, Gisco watched the scene before him with mounting disbelief. He couldn’t accurately judge the distance between the Sidon and the Roman galley from his position on the portside aft-quarter of the chase, but he knew it had to be close. The oars of the Roman galley had been suddenly raised from the water and before Gisco could question the action they had re-engaged and were once again moving as if nothing had occurred. Then, without warning, the Sidon seemed to buckle and swing wildly to starboard. Even now she continued to spin at incredible speed, her hull breaking up under the intolerable stress. Gisco was staggered by what he saw.
‘What sorcery is this?’ the captain beside Gisco muttered aloud. ‘It is the work of Pluto. We must abandon the chase.’
‘No!’ Gisco bellowed, the captain’s words allowing him to give vent to his frustration and fear at what he had just witnessed. ‘There will be no withdrawal. Give me attack speed now and signal to the Hermes to continue the pursuit.’
‘Yes, Admiral,’ the captain blurted, caught between his fear of the man before him and the unknown forces attacking the Sidon.
Gisco now fully understood the actions of the Roman trireme, from her erratic and seemingly suicidal course to her inexplicably raising oars, and the thought of how they had played him for a fool fuelled the anger within him. Armed with the knowledge that the Roman ship had passed through these waters at attack speed, he gambled that the way ahead was clear, driven now by a desire for revenge.
Captain Maghreb had watched the fate of the Sidon with equal horror from the aft-deck of the Hermes. The doomed galley was one hundred yards ahead, the sound of snapping timbers as the hull disintegrated mixed with the last cries of her crew as they were consumed.
‘All stop!’ Maghreb roared, his own fear consuming him. The oars of the Hermes were raised, the galley instantly losing momentum. Maghreb looked across to the Elissar, expecting to see her oars similarly raised. He could only stare in disbelief as the order to continue the pursuit was signalled from the admiral.
‘Steerage speed, lookouts to the foredeck!’ Maghreb roared as he immediately tore his eyes from the Elissar to scan the waters ahead, expecting any moment to see the vortex that would engulf his ship. The galley slowed to two knots, steerage speed, feeling her way through the water as she edged forward, searching for the rim of the maelstrom. Maghreb could only hope that the Hermes could navigate around the whirlpool in time to join the Elissar in full pursuit.
‘Come about,’ Atticus ordered, his gaze steady on the approaching Carthaginian galley, her partner now trying to manoeuvre around Charybdis.
‘Be ready, Gaius,’ Atticus added, ‘she’ll try to manoeuvre to ram. That’s where her strength lies and our weakness.’
Gaius nodded, his entire being focused on the enemy galley. The Carthaginian vessel turned three points to starboard in an effort to run diagonally across the Aquila’s bow. Gaius knew that the enemy would try to turn tightly to come at them from the beam, to ram them amidships. He turned the Aquila three points to port to counter the enemy’s move, keeping the bows of both galleys on an intercept course.
Septimus had assembled his marines on the main deck, preparing the boarding parties that would sweep over the rails of the Aquila onto the Carthaginian galley. They had separated into two groups. The first group of twenty hastati and twenty principes, new recruits coupled with seasoned soldiers, were moving to station themselves on the foredeck. The second group, the older triarii, were ranged across the main deck, ready to counter any boarding party from the enemy ship. All had discarded their four-foot-long scutum shields for a hoplon. The lighter rounded shield was a Greek design, perfectly adapted to the speed and agility needed for boarding, and the marines had trained hard to overcome their past allegiance to the legions’ standard shield.