Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 by Conn Iggulden Page A

where Prax pointed and he narrowed his eyes. On the coast, a pall of black smoke was rising into the morning air, almost unmoved by wind.
    “Pirates, sir?” he asked quickly, guessing the answer.
    Prax nodded. “Looks like they’ve raided a village. We may be able to catch them as they come away from shore. You could get your chance to ‘close’ with them, Caesar.”
    *      *      *
    Accipiter was stripped for action. Every loose piece of equipment was stowed away securely; the catapults were winched down and stones and oil prepared for firing. The legionaries gathered quickly and a picked team assembled the corvus, hammering iron spikes between the sections until the great boarding ramp was ready, standing high above the deck. When the holding ropes were released, it would fall outward onto the timbers of an enemy ship, embedding its holding spike immovably. Over it would come the best fighters on Accipiter, smashing into the pirates as fast as possible to make a space where the rest could jump on board. It was a perilous business, but after every action the places for those first over were hotly contested and changed hands in gambling games as a high stake in dreary months.
    Below, the slave master called for double time and the oars moved in a more urgent rhythm. With the wind coming off the coast, the sail was dropped and reefed neatly. Swords were checked for cracks and nicks. Armor was tied tightly and a growing excitement could be felt on board, held down by the long-accustomed discipline.
    The burning village was on the edge of a natural inlet, and they sighted the pirate ship as it cleared the rocky promontories and reached the open sea. Gaditicus ordered full attack speed to cut down the enemy’s room to maneuver as much as possible. Caught as they were against the coast, there was little the pirate ship could do to avoid Accipiter as she surged forward, and a cheer went up from the Romans, the boredom of slow travel from port to port disappearing in the freshening breeze.
    Julius watched the enemy ship closely, thinking of the differences Prax had explained. He could see the triple columns of oars cut the choppy sea in perfect unison despite their differing lengths. She was taller and narrower than Accipiter and carried a long bronze spike off the prow that Julius knew could punch through even the heavy cedar planking of the Roman ships. Prax was right, the outcome was never certain, but there was no escape for this one. They would close and drop the corvus solidly, putting the finest fighting men in the world onto the enemy deck. He regretted that he hadn’t managed to secure a place for himself, but they had all been allocated since before the landing at Mytilene.
    Lost in thought and anticipation as he was, he did not at first hear the sudden changes in the lookout calls. When he looked up, he took a step back from the rail without realizing it. There was another ship coming out of the inlet as they passed it in pursuit of the first. It was coming straight at them and Julius could see the ram emerge from the waves as it crashed through them at full speed, with sail taut and straining to aid the oarsmen. The bronze spike was at the waterline and the deck was filled with armed men, more than the swift pirates usually carried. He saw in a second that the smoke had been a ruse. It was a trap and they had sprung it neatly.
    Gaditicus didn’t hesitate, taking in the threat and issuing orders to his officers without missing a beat.
    “Increase the stroke to the third mark! They’ll go right by us,” he barked and the drummer below beat out his second fastest rhythm. The ramming speed above it could only be used in a brief burst before the slaves began to collapse, but even the slightly slower attack pace was a brutal strain. Hearts had torn before in battles, and when that happened, the body could foul the other rowers and put an entire oar out of sequence.
    The first ship was quickly growing