Read Legionary: Land of the Sacred Fire for Free Online Page B

liburnian, readying to launch it.
    Gallus’ eyes narrowed on the liburnian as it tacked round under oar until the wind filled its sails. At once, the oars were withdrawn and the nimble vessel cut through the waves, headed straight for the lone Roman trireme. He glanced to the gradually growing form of Quadratus’ ship – still too far away to aid them, then swept his gaze across his men, meeting the eyes of every one of them.
    ‘We’re on our own. To arms!’
     

     
    Pavo buckled his sword belt on over his mail shirt, fumbled with the straps of his helmet, hefted his shield and spear, then took his place just in front of the legionary line. They stood facing the prow, watching as the liburnian sliced ever closer. His heart thundered in his chest and he welcomed wryly the now familiar pre-battle symptoms of a parched mouth and full-to-bursting bladder.
    ‘Get your armour on! Shields up, spears held high, take the strain!’ Centurion Zosimus cried, striding across the legionary front as the pirate liburnian sliced ever closer.
    Pavo saw Habitus and Sextus jostling to swap places in the line. He barked at them; ‘You heard the centurion – get in line, ready to face your enemy!’
    ‘Noster, Rufus – will you lift your bloody shields,’ Sura added from his position on the right of the front rank. ‘The centurion and optio will shout at you and tell you they’re going to kick your arses, but I will actually kick your arses!’
    Meanwhile, Gallus was perched at the front of the vessel with the beneficiarius, one foot on the prow, one hand grasping the rigging for balance, the other raised, directly overhead. They had to destroy or engage the seaborne liburnian before it could garner support from the other one, almost fully launched now. In a good wind like this, the two liburnians would dance around the sturdy but cumbersome Roman trireme.
    ‘Come on,’ Gallus growled through gritted teeth, one fist clenched, as if willing the Roman trireme and the onrushing liburnian to collide. Pavo saw there were more than one hundred crewmen onboard. A motley bunch, scarred, sun-burnished, some lining the prow, others clinging to the mast and the rigging. They clutched blades, spears, shields and bows and were clad in leather and scale vests. Some wore felt caps, others old Roman helmets and some eastern style conical helms with leather aventails. At the last, the pirate vessel banked to one side. Gallus’ hand fell to the right. ‘They’re cutting past!’
    ‘To the right, ready plumbatae!’ Zosimus cried. Each in the legionary line unclipped one of the lead-weighted darts from the rear of their shield. With a thunder of boots and rustling of armour, they rushed to the right lip of the trireme.
    Pavo hoisted his plumbata as the trireme tilted, revealing the deck of the liburnian – a good seven feet lower than the trireme’s. The pirate crew had bunched together mid-deck and every one of them held a sling overhead, already blurred in motion and ready to loose.
    ‘Shields!’ Gallus cried as they cast their sling-arms forward and loosed.
    Pavo dropped his dart and pulled up his shield with a heartbeat to spare, a piece of shot crunching through it and hissing past his temple. The legionary nearest him was punched back, too slow to raise his shield, the shot taking him in the cheek. Three others fell back likewise, the rest of the hail flying overhead, or battering down on shields and deck.
    The liburnian peeled away, seemingly ready to circle around and come headlong for the trireme once more. The pirate leader looked back at them, perched on the stern. He was a swarthy man with dark, curly hair and glinting gold hoops in each ear. He wore hide boots, a fine white tunic, an embroidered green cape and a curved falcata in his sword belt. His face split in a broad grin as he took to calmly carving slices from an apple with his dagger and crunching upon them. ‘Be sure not to bleed upon your cargo – keep it good for