Killer of Men - Christian Cameron [159]
‘You have it?’ I asked Troas. My not-quite-father-in-law was, in effect, commanding the ship.
‘Never done this before!’ he said, but he laughed. Some men rise to their moment. Troas – a man who could bargain for his daughter’s virtue – was ready for his, and we stooped on the Phoenicians like a hawk on doves.
I saw the first engagements in the centre. Archi got his ship turned in plenty of time and up to full speed. He had a light trireme and he turned like a cat, passing between the first Phoenicians he met. One ship got his oars in, but the other got oar-raked, the broken shafts of the oars ripping men’s arms and the splinters flying like arrows. Men die when their oars are shattered.
It was a brilliant stroke, but Archi would have a professional helmsman, as good as any Phoenician – indeed, the man might be a Phoenician. He was through in five heartbeats, right through their first line.
‘Follow that ship,’ I said to Troas. ‘At all costs. Ram what you have to.’
Troas grinned.
The faster of the two Phoenicians – the one that hadn’t lost his oars – was now closing with us at a terrific rate. A sea-fight is a scary thing, friends. It starts very slowly, but once everyone decides to engage, the speed is bewildering. Two ships at full stretch come together as fast as two galloping horses. Imagine it in your head – we were ram to ram with this enemy, our ships the same weight.
I paused and turned back to Troas. ‘Diekplous?’ I asked. ‘Ram to ram?’
He shook his head. ‘At the last minute, I’ll go left,’ he said. ‘A little flick to port and we’re into his oars.’
‘I’ll warn the rowers!’ I said, and ran to the command platform. ‘On my command – all starboard-side oars inboard!’ I roared.
The oar masters all raised hands, showing me they’d heard. Otherwise, their attention was on the stroke. One missed beat here and we were all drowned men.
Over my shoulder, the enemy trireme looked as big as a citadel. And fast as a porpoise.
And I had no one to help me. When exactly do you order your oars in? How long exactly does it take ninety men to drag their oars inboard?
I stood on the balls of my feet. I flicked a glance at the enemy – and saw that there was a second ship just abaft him.
Troas had seen it too – and it was too damned late to change our minds.
‘Ready to ram!’ I screamed.
Forward, the marines and Nearchos would be bracing against the bow.
The rowers would be praying.
Troas was grinning like a madman.
I wanted to shit myself.
I glanced at the enemy. So close it felt as if we should already have hit – I could see the face of their marine captain, and an arrow clanked against my helmet and flicked away. Good shooting.
‘Starboard side!’ I yelled. Wait for another stroke. Don’t give the game away.
‘Oars in!’ I roared, blowing my voice for a day in one great shout, trying to use the strength of my lungs to get the oars in through the ports.
Whamm. We hit so hard that I fell and lost my helmet. It fell between the benches and vanished below.
The starboard-side rowers had their oars in, but it didn’t matter.
Both ships had settled on the same tactics and jibed the same way, so we’d hit beak to beak – the hand of the gods. Our beak – a month out of the shop – held. Theirs broke off. Their ship was filling with water and my mouth was full of blood, Ares only knew why.
‘Starboard oars – out!’ I screeched. My voice was gone, but the petty-officers got the message.
‘Back-water! Nearchos!’ He was still stunned from the impact, but he came to me. His great helmet with bronze wings was a little flattened, and he had it buckled.
‘Get that thing off and take command,’ I said. ‘My voice is gone!’
A sailor clambered up from inside the hull and handed me my helmet. I got it on my head.
Troas was on the ball, and he got the bulk of the sinking