Legionary: Land of the Sacred Fire by Gordon Doherty Read Free Book Online

me!’ he called out, then threw his head back in laughter.
    Zosimus roared at this, thumping a fist down upon the vessel’s edge. ‘Draw your bows! This time, be ready!’
    Pavo glanced over his shoulder to see Quadratus’ trireme closer but still too far away to help. Then he glanced to the cove, the second liburnian was now free of the sand and the crew were climbing aboard. ‘They’ll tear us apart like those sharks,’ he hissed to Sura, by his side.
    ‘They’re coming again!’ Gallus cried out from the prow, his eyes trained along his nose like a hawk watching its prey.
    ‘Nock your bows, be ready to loose!’ Pavo cried as he nocked an arrow to his own bowstring then drew it back until his arm tensed and his forefinger touched his cheek, his gaze trained on the spot where the liburnian would pass in moments. But something didn’t feel right. His bow seemed to lack tension. As before, the liburnian cut across the right of the Roman trireme. Zosimus raised his arm and chopped it down like an axe. ‘Loo . . . ’ his words trailed off.
    The deck was empty . . . no, the crew were crouched behind the lip of the vessel, shielded from Roman sights. The legionary bows slackened in confusion. Suddenly a whirring filled the air, from the liburnian’s sail.
    Pavo looked up just in time to see the shark-like grins of the clutch of slingers clinging to the mast, and perched along the timbers behind the sail. ‘Loose!’ Zosimus cried. The Roman bows loosed, but with a flurry of dull and weak twangs, arrows flew wildly off course, some dropping meekly into the waves, others sailing high up, almost vertically, before toppling back onto the Roman deck. Not one troubled the pirate crew. Pavo glared at his bow – the sinew and horn had split and the bowstring was sodden. The damp! he cursed, then braced as he heard the pirate slings spitting forth. ‘Down!’
    A punch of ripping flesh and crunching bone rang out. The salt spray was tinged red. One young legionary staggered back, dropping his shield and clutching at the dark-red hole that a piece of slingshot had punched in his forehead. Confusion washed over his features as blood pumped from the hole, then his eyes rolled and he crumpled to the deck. Seven more fell. The undamaged liburnian once again peeled clear of the Roman vessel. The pirate leader threw his apple core into the waves then cupped his hands around his mouth;
    ‘Your ships will make a fine addition to my fleet,’ he cried, his smile broadening.
    Zosimus threw down his shield and grappled the edge of the vessel with one hand then reached out with the other, as if strangling an imaginary victim. ‘Come and fight us on foot, face to face, steel against steel.’
    Felix watched as the liburnian came round again. ‘We need to halt them, pin them, somehow.’
    ‘Aye, a harpax would be a fine thing,’ Gallus growled, his expression darker than a thundercloud.
    Pavo’s thoughts raced – he had seen etchings of the ancient grappling hook that the republican galleys had used, centuries ago, to snare, reel in and then board enemy vessels. But etchings were of no use now. He looked all across the deck. There were planks of timber, barrels and strips of leather and linen, but they needed something solid – something fastened to their trireme that would also catch on the pirate liburnian. Then his eyes locked onto the anchor chain.
    He looked up, seeing Gallus’ eyes fixed on it too. The tribunus turned, met Pavo’s gaze and those of every man nearby. ‘Get the anchor to the lip of the boat!’
    ‘What the?’ Sura frowned as a group of legionaries clustered around the rusting iron burden. ‘We’re dropping anchor?’
    ‘In a way, yes,’ Pavo wheezed as he crouched and helped lift the iron monolith to his shoulders, the barnacles scraping on his knuckles. Even with the efforts of twelve men, the burden was enormous. ‘Now give us a hand.’
    ‘They’re coming round again,’ Zosimus yelled, ‘and