Tyrant: Destroyer of Cities by Christian Cameron Read Free Book Online

his helmsman – technically the trierarch of the Arete – met him on the central command deck. Unlike a small trireme, the mighty penteres had a deck that went from gunwale to gunwale the whole length of the deck – armouring the rowers against archery but condemning them to airless sweat wherever they rowed. However, with the after half-deck for the sailors to work the permanent mainmast, the ship had the deck space to carry a huge marine complement – thirty or forty men, if he wished it. More important, the deck had room to support outboard sponsons – small decks – with the new artillery pieces. Arete was built to hold six ballistae – three to each side – and a seventh over the ram.
    It was the weapon over the ram that Draco was installing as Satyrus came up the companionway, and he seemed to ignore the king, lying full length and squinting at the deck. The frame of the ballista lay across the bow, and there was a hole bored through the deck and into the main timber that supported the top of the ram – a timber of Euxine oak as big around as Satyrus’ leg. Two shipwrights stood by, one with a brace and bit, and the other with a saw.
    Satyrus crouched by the Macedonian. ‘You’ve done this before,’ he said.
    ‘Nope,’ Draco said. ‘Diokles! You asleep?’
    ‘Didn’t go through the beam,’ came a voice from below.
    Draco shook his head. ‘Needs some kind of collar, I think. Look – we put a pin in the base of the main frame, so the piece can rotate.’
    ‘Excellent!’ Satyrus said, celebrating his freedom from the finances of his polis.
    The ballista over the bow was the heaviest piece on the ship – in fact, in the whole fleet. It could shoot an iron bar out over two stades. Allowing the piece to rotate would more than double its effectiveness.
    ‘The pin goes deep into the oak of the frame – and deep into the beam below.’ Draco shook his head. ‘But the thing weighs fifty talents. When it looses it could kick like a mule. Shear the pin – crack the beam – break the frame.’ He shrugged.
    ‘We won’t know until we try,’ Satyrus said.
    ‘I’d prefer bronze. A nice bronze base – cast. And a matching piece on the frame, to hold the pin.’ Neiron shrugged.
    ‘What’s to stop it from rotating?’ Satyrus asked suddenly.
    ‘What?’ asked Draco. His tone indicated that he was taking the criticism personally.
    ‘When there’s a sea running, won’t it just swing around like a mad thing, useless as tits on a boar?’ Neiron asked, his eyes on Satyrus. He shrugged. ‘I’m just an old man. I don’t like all this innovation. What next – we’ll all forget how to ram, and just sit back and pound our opponents to flinders with these things? Not exactly glorious, if you ask me.’
    Satyrus slapped his helmsman on the back. ‘I’ll remind you of that sometime. But Draco – he’s got a point, eh?’
    ‘More reason for a bronze base plate. With stops, or catches, or releases. I’m not a sodding engineer, am I? Just a Macedonian who’s actually loosed one of these.’ Draco knelt back down by the hole bored in the deck, still mumbling to himself.
    Satyrus expected someone to step forward, but they were all deferring to him. ‘Well?’ he asked.
    Neiron raised an eyebrow.
    ‘Do we have a bronzesmith who can cast a base plate?’ Satyrus asked. But he knew the answer, and he was suddenly back in the realms of finance.
    ‘Not really,’ Neiron admitted. ‘We need one!’
    ‘Take a note,’ Satyrus said to Helios, who took a tablet from his leather sack and scribbled. Then he turned back to Draco. ‘Well? Rig the tackle and put it in. Let’s shoot it and see.’
    Draco smiled. ‘Yes, lord.’
    In a matter of moments, a dozen sailors swarmed up the mainmast, rerigged the yard to run fore and aft, belayed the aft end with a heavy rope and put a sling over the bow end with a system of hitches. Then they attached the frame of the forward ballista and used the contraption to