Torismond looked a little reassured.
He sent further orders to the master. ‘Unchain the slaves now. The instant we ram, pull them back from below. You understand? To the stern. Shift the ballast to the bows. Our foredeck will soon be smashed in from above by pirate missiles. Keep the wolf-lords hidden until the moment I give the order. And ready your sailors to throw out the grappling-iron.’
‘Where?’
‘The second ship,’ said Aetius patiently.
‘How do you know she’ll come anywhere near?’
‘She’ll come. Hook her in, then throw out the boarding-planks.’
The pirates must have been flogging their enslaved rowers nearly to death, their vessels came on so fast. The first was only half a mile off now, the second still two or three miles off but closing fast.
‘Pull us up to full speed.’
‘We can’t outrun them.’ The master was right. The first pirate ship was already turning, ready to cut across their bows.
‘I don’t intend to outrun them. I intend to engage them.’
The rowers were driven harder.
From the nearing enemy ship, a couple of exploratory arrows came over the water but fell short. At the prow they could see her captain, narrowing his eyes. Very tall and whip-thin, with long, lank hair, bleached fair in sea and sun. He was naked but for a thick gold torc round his neck, torn breeches and a wide sword-belt, sword bare in his hand. More of his cutthroats sat along the yardarm with bows and arrows.
The Cygnus surged forward steadily, the pirate ship inexorably gaining on her, curving in tight. Away to their right was the little sunlit island of Melos. The Visigothic spearmen crouched below, beside the unchained slaves. The two ships closed slowly, amid the vast serenity of the sea.
Not taking his eyes from the enemy ship for one second, Aetius said to the brothers beside him, ‘You can swim, can’t you?’
They shook their heads miserably.
‘Then today you might have to learn – either that or make sure we don’t go down. Order your wolf-lords well.’
As she closed, they could see the pirate ship better: the Draco, with a saurian red dragon painted along the boards. Rufus squinted across to the second ship, which was giving them a wide berth, coming in astern; her prow was scratched with crude runes.
‘The Vandal tongue,’ said Aetius.
‘It looks like “ Halfish ” or something.’
‘Haifisch – the Shark.’ He roared below, ‘Wolf-lords at the ready!’
The master looked deeply unhappy.
Suddenly the Draco hauled round, her oars digging into the backwash, and came broadside on to this helpless fleeing merchant ship, blocking her off.
‘These pirates must be just out of school,’ murmured Aetius. ‘Ramming speed – now!’
Immediately the hortator ’s drum below accelerated into a furious rhythm, and the bosun’s lash whipped through the fetid air below. The slaves hauled on their oars, blistered and bleeding hands straining in one last effort, and the Cygnus surged forwards, straight towards the Draco.
The pirates stared at the oncoming ship, dumbfounded. The Haifisch altered course again to keep up with it.
‘That’s it,’ muttered one old hand. ‘We’re finished now. Good as sunk.’
‘Correct,’ said Aetius, arms folded, smiling. He strode to the stern and dropped down. The wolf-lords sat crammed along the sides of the underdeck clutching their spears in their huge hands, yet looking like men about to go into arena naked and unarmed, or to their execution. Aetius nodded to them. He told them not to be afraid. He told them their one hope of survival now, and it was a good one. ‘Lay aside your ashwood spears,’ he said. ‘This is close-up sword-work.’ He explained what they must do. ‘Imagine you’re taking a castle,’ he said. ‘If you fail to take it, you drown. We all drown – food for the circling Haifisch.’
The wolf-lords drew their swords.
The pirate ship wallowed and struggled, trying to turn again from this impossibly belligerent prey, even as her ragged archers let loose their arrows onto the exposed decks but hit nothing. The Cygnus’ bronze-headed ram, more decoration than weapon of war these days, drove on through the water like some terrible sea serpent, white ripples curling back over its length. The master bellowed down below, the lash flailed. They were but fifty yards off, thirty, twenty… The pirate ship staggered and lurched as they slammed into her amidships with a terrible splintering crash. It wasn’t top ramming-speed but it was enough. The ramhead punched straight through the bulwarks of the astonished Draco, and the sea began to pour in.
It was a pact of mutually assured destruction. Immediately, the enraged pirates began to lever huge missiles, boulders and lumps of lead up over the high sides of the wounded Draco and drop them onto the decks of the pestilent prey below. One went straight through the oak deck and into the shivering rowing-hold beneath. But the master had followed Aetius’ orders to the letter: the unchained slaves were already pulled back from their rowing benches. The timbers were smashed but no men were hurt. The wooden walls of that narrow world began to collapse and the dark waters surged in.
Torismond had a vision of the ship, a puny raft of life afloat on a black and infinite abyss, full of death, of creatures unknown, spawn of moonlight and black night. And this raft was being smashed to splinters beneath them. It was insanity. They would all die. But Aetius had said to trust him. Very well. He drew his sword. War’s no sorcery, and bravery alone wins battles. That was Aetius’ creed, as the prince was learning. Like his loyalties, and his haircut, hopelessly old-fashioned.
The Haifisch was drawing behind them, determined to avenge the damage to her sister ship.
‘Loyalty among pirates,’ sneered Aetius. ‘Wonders are many! Throw out the grappling-iron!’
The great barnacled claw rang hard upon the Haifisch ’s sides and then fell back into the water. Instantly the sailors hauled it up and threw it out again. Theodoric needed no instruction to give them covering fire as surprised pirate archers tried to hit them. His own close band of half a dozen Visigothic archers returned far more aggressive fire, and the pirates ducked behind their bulwarks, as surprised as the crew of the Draco at this unexpected belligerence. They were supposed to be taking prey. Now the prey was taking them.
The grappling-iron flew spinning out again, slipped against the planking and then one barbed tine dropped and stuck hard over the lip of an oar-port. Perfect. Too low for a pirate to sweep down a sword-blade to cut it away, even if any dared brave the Visigothic arrows. Already the pirates were beginning to wonder if loyalty to their sister ship was such a good idea. There was only a handful of archers on this enemy ship, plus that hard-faced Roman commander in his red cloak, who’d fetch a good ransom if taken alive. But still, the pirates felt ill-omened. One of them was already nursing an arm struck with a white-feathered arrow. There was something they hadn’t understood today.
A pirate stood up and loosed a javelin towards a sailor, but the nimble Libyan skipped aside and it stuck quivering in the deck. He pulled it free and lobbed it back. Not a serious throw, but the pirate ducked back smartly, cursing.
‘Haul in!’ roared Aetius.
The sailors set their callused bare feet against the boards of the Cygnus and obeyed. Slowly, very slowly, the Haifisch began to drift in helplessly, broadside on. There was an angry cry from above, an order or warning from its captain. But it was too late.
There came another monstrous crash from the bows. The Cygnus’ splintered deck was holed again, and the mainmast began to lean forward. Water was flooding in below, floating the ballast of sand barrels. The ship groaned and began to tilt sickeningly forwards. The mainmast creaked ominously.