Tyrant: King of the Bosporus Read Online Free PDF Page B

rescue – shouting to the golden ships.
    His archer-captain shot into the enemy, and an enemy archer fell – a man in robes. A Sakje. Satyrus cursed that Eumeles had suborned
his own people
. There were many things that he and Leon had taken for granted.
    The greens cheered again and the golden triremes turned harder, now certain of their prey.
    ‘Oars out! Backstroke! Give way, all!’ Satyrus called as soon as the majority of his rowers had switched their benches. He considered everything he had learned of war – that men responded so much better when they understood what was needed. His teachers had insisted on it.
    He leaned down into the oar deck. ‘Listen, friends. Three strokes back and switch your benches – two strokes forward – switch again. Got it? It will come fast and furious after that. Ready?’
    Hardly a cheer – but a growl of response.
    ‘Pull!’ he called.
    ‘Athena and strong arms!’ a veteran cried.
    ‘Athena and strong arms!’ the whole oar deck shouted, all together, and the ship shot back his own length.
    ‘Athena and strong arms!’ they repeated, and again
Falcon
moved, gliding free.
    ‘Switch your benches!’ Satyrus called, but many men were already moving with the top of the stroke, switching benches with a fluidity he hadn’t seen before.
    He ran along the deck to Diokles. He wanted to stop and pant.
No time.
    The nearest golden hull was just three ship’s lengths away.
    ‘Into the starboard bow of the green!’ Satyrus shouted. ‘We have to ram the green clear of
Herakles
.’
    Diokles turned and looked at the onrushing golden ship in the lead.
    ‘Yes!’ Satyrus shouted. He read Diokles’ thoughts just as the helmsman read his. With luck – Tyche – the lead golden hull would foul his partner.
    There were a dozen more triremes behind that pair, strung out over two stades of water.
    The rowers had switched benches. ‘Pull!’ he bellowed into the oar deck.
    The hull changed direction. The oars came up together, rolled over the top of their path.
    ‘Pull!’ he roared. The hull groaned and
Falcon
leaped forward – already turning under steering oars alone.
    ‘Pull!’ he called as the oars crested their movement. He waited for the splintering crash as the lead golden ship rammed their stern, but he didn’t look. His eyes were fixed on his oarsmen.
    ‘Pull!’
    ‘BRACE!’ yelled a sailor in the bow.
    Falcon
hit the enemy quadrireme just where his marine box towered over his ram – just where men were rallying for another rush at the
Herakles
. It was a glancing blow, delivered from too close, but the results were spectacular. Something in the enemy bow gave with a sharp crack – some timber strained to breaking by the
Herakles
snapped. The marines’ tower tilted sharply and the whole green hull began to roll over, filling rapidly with water.
    ‘Switch your benches!’ Satyrus called. Now was the moment. But the
Herakles
was saved – he was rocking in the water like a fishing boat after pulling a shark aboard, his trapped ram released from the stricken green.
    The lead golden trireme shaved past their stern, having missed his ram by the length of a rowing boat. He was still turning and his oarsmen paid for his careless steering as they began to get tangled in the wreckage of the green as the stricken ship turtled.
    Just to the port side, beyond
Herakles
, the second golden hull swooped in to beak the
Herakles
amidships – the second ship had been more careful, biding his time, waiting for the two damaged Alexandrian ships to commit to a reverse course.
    The oarsmen were reversed, their faces to the bow. ‘Back water! Pull!’ Satyrus called. Had to try.
    Had to try.
    Diokles shook his head and braced himself against the side. When the golden ship struck the
Herakles
, his hull might be pushed right into them.
    Abraham was shouting at his rowers, trying to get them to pull together. They had been locked in a boarding action for too long and many men had left