sword, Greek tunic, Egyptian sandals. Physically, he looked like an African ape recently shaved.
“Name?”
“Leacus, sir. I’m from Thrace, most recently a light auxiliary in the army of General Gabinius.” At least his speech was commendably military.
“Strip and let’s have a look at you,” I ordered.
“You’re not buying a slave!” he said indignantly.
“No, but neither do I want to hire a cripple or a convict. Strip. To the skin.”
He muttered, but he obeyed. It was only what every recruiter does if he has no one to vouch for a man. I was not really looking for the stripes ofa runaway slave. Such men often as not make good soldiers. I was more interested in brands, notches, and other marks of the convicted felon, which are splendidly concealed by helmets and armor.
Unclothed, the Thracian even more resembled an ape, but I saw no incriminating marks, just battle scars on every unarmored surface. “You’ll do. Next.” Several men were already walking back toward the city, knowing that proof of their criminal proclivities would be exposed.
By midmorning I had picked nearly a hundred tough specimens. Before the naval base’s small altar to Neptune, I administered the awesome oath of service to them and paid each the symbolic silver denarius. For the duration of their service they were immune from prosecution for past indiscretions, and any who attacked them were to suffer the punishment due to any foolish enough to take up arms against Rome.
Those who had no arms of their own were issued weapons from the arsenal, then we marched the lot, soldiers and sailors, to the beached ships. Men were assigned to each vessel; the sailors immediately set to the tarring and scraping, while I lectured the marines.
“If you are accustomed to normal naval operations, forget them. We won’t be trying to sink our enemy’s ships. Sunken ships can’t be sold, and drowned pirates can’t tell us where their base is. Keep that in mind. All the chasing around, looking for a few wretched raiders, has one real aim: we want to find out where their base is. That will be where they have whatever loot they haven’t disposed of already. It’s also where they’ll have the captives they’re holding for ransom. Some of these will be Roman citizens, and Rome wants them back.
“Finding the ships and catching them is up to the sailors. Once we’re alongside, it will be up to you marines to capture them. Instead of the ram, we’ll be using the
corvus.
Are you all familiar with this elementary device?” Most signaled they were, but I explained anyway because men tend not to admit to ignorance. “The
corvus
is a plank hinged to our ship at one end, with a big spike at the other. When we’re close enough, we drop the spiked end onto the enemy’s deck. At that time the two ships are effectively nailed together. We then walk across the
corvus
and proceed to kill or capture the pirates. The Roman Fleet used this tactic against the Carthaginians, and it worked splendidly. Our ships are not large, so our
corvus
can’t be wide. We’ll have to cross in single file. The first man on the
corvus
must be brave, but then he gets a double share of the loot, which is a great spine stiffener. Any questions?”
A Palmyrene named Aglibal spoke up, “It seems to me that the pirates may use the
corvus
to board our ship.”
“There may be disputes concerning right-of-way on the
corvus.
I expect you men to win all such disagreements.”
Once they grasped the essence of our tactics, I put them aboard the ships and drilled them in the intricacies of using the
corvus.
Crossing a plank may seem simple, but nothing is simple in battle. Interval is always crucial—keeping the men close enough together to support one another but far enough apart that they don’t interfere with each other’s fighting ability. Placement of the
corvus
would also be crucial, but that was up to the skill of the sailors.
With the ships beached, I drilled the men
“Name?”
“Leacus, sir. I’m from Thrace, most recently a light auxiliary in the army of General Gabinius.” At least his speech was commendably military.
“Strip and let’s have a look at you,” I ordered.
“You’re not buying a slave!” he said indignantly.
“No, but neither do I want to hire a cripple or a convict. Strip. To the skin.”
He muttered, but he obeyed. It was only what every recruiter does if he has no one to vouch for a man. I was not really looking for the stripes ofa runaway slave. Such men often as not make good soldiers. I was more interested in brands, notches, and other marks of the convicted felon, which are splendidly concealed by helmets and armor.
Unclothed, the Thracian even more resembled an ape, but I saw no incriminating marks, just battle scars on every unarmored surface. “You’ll do. Next.” Several men were already walking back toward the city, knowing that proof of their criminal proclivities would be exposed.
By midmorning I had picked nearly a hundred tough specimens. Before the naval base’s small altar to Neptune, I administered the awesome oath of service to them and paid each the symbolic silver denarius. For the duration of their service they were immune from prosecution for past indiscretions, and any who attacked them were to suffer the punishment due to any foolish enough to take up arms against Rome.
Those who had no arms of their own were issued weapons from the arsenal, then we marched the lot, soldiers and sailors, to the beached ships. Men were assigned to each vessel; the sailors immediately set to the tarring and scraping, while I lectured the marines.
“If you are accustomed to normal naval operations, forget them. We won’t be trying to sink our enemy’s ships. Sunken ships can’t be sold, and drowned pirates can’t tell us where their base is. Keep that in mind. All the chasing around, looking for a few wretched raiders, has one real aim: we want to find out where their base is. That will be where they have whatever loot they haven’t disposed of already. It’s also where they’ll have the captives they’re holding for ransom. Some of these will be Roman citizens, and Rome wants them back.
“Finding the ships and catching them is up to the sailors. Once we’re alongside, it will be up to you marines to capture them. Instead of the ram, we’ll be using the
corvus.
Are you all familiar with this elementary device?” Most signaled they were, but I explained anyway because men tend not to admit to ignorance. “The
corvus
is a plank hinged to our ship at one end, with a big spike at the other. When we’re close enough, we drop the spiked end onto the enemy’s deck. At that time the two ships are effectively nailed together. We then walk across the
corvus
and proceed to kill or capture the pirates. The Roman Fleet used this tactic against the Carthaginians, and it worked splendidly. Our ships are not large, so our
corvus
can’t be wide. We’ll have to cross in single file. The first man on the
corvus
must be brave, but then he gets a double share of the loot, which is a great spine stiffener. Any questions?”
A Palmyrene named Aglibal spoke up, “It seems to me that the pirates may use the
corvus
to board our ship.”
“There may be disputes concerning right-of-way on the
corvus.
I expect you men to win all such disagreements.”
Once they grasped the essence of our tactics, I put them aboard the ships and drilled them in the intricacies of using the
corvus.
Crossing a plank may seem simple, but nothing is simple in battle. Interval is always crucial—keeping the men close enough together to support one another but far enough apart that they don’t interfere with each other’s fighting ability. Placement of the
corvus
would also be crucial, but that was up to the skill of the sailors.
With the ships beached, I drilled the men
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