Wailing, bloody oarsmen forced their way up from the chaos in the rowing chamber. Some of them were even throwing themselves over the port side, though they could be only a brief salvation even for those who could swim. “We’ve got to separate the ships!” shrieked Perennius in a hopeless attempt to be heard above their clamor.
The Goth who rushed Perennius along the outrigger’s runway wore a helmet of silvered iron. Its fixed visor flared over his brow like the bill of a Celtic woman’s bonnet. There was nothing feminine about his long sword or the strength with which he cut at the agent’s torso with it.
Perennius interposed the grappling iron as if it were a
buckler. The claws were thumb-thick and forged from metal as good as that in the Goth’s sword. Sparks flew from both objects. The shock to Perennius’ left arm was severe, but the two feet of greater leverage almost tore the quivering sword from the Goth’s hand.
The agent tried to thrust at his opponent. His bent blade and the weakness of the leg that should have carried him made the attack more of a stumble. The German skipped back anyway, disconcerted by his numb sword-hand. As the pirate did so, the deck lurched and he lost his footing. Screaming, he fell backward onto the oar-blades. Despite the desperate clutching of his hands, the Goth slipped off and went head-first into the sea.
Perennius went down also. The wind blew a pall of smoke from the other vessel. It reeked of leather and wet wool. Out of it came another German with his metal-shod shield raised and his spear poised to stab the kneeling agent.
There was nothing wrong with Perennius’ right arm. He hurled his sword against the warrior’s trousered shins. The weapon clanged and cut. The pirate gave a yelp and pitched headlong. His helmet fell off and he dropped his shield to scrabble at the deck coaming with his left hand.
Perennius hit him on the temple with the grappling iron. The German’s legs relaxed, but there was still life in his arms until the agent struck twice more. The body slid sideways off the runway, as the other had done before it.
Blazes, there was open water between the ships!
A freak of the breeze sucked away the bitter smoke for the moment. The ships had lain parallel with their starboard bows interlocked. Now there was a broad V of water between the liburnian’s bow and the cutwater of the pirate vessel. There was still a grappling line snubbed to the Eagle. Even as Perennius stared, the hooks of that iron tore free. They took with them a foot of the deck coaming. The Eagle lurched again. Without the drag of the smaller ship, the wind was already starting to swing her head to leeward.
The agent risked a glance over his shoulder. Behind him, Calvus was straightening. The tall man held the boat-pike near the butt as he twitched its head free of the pirate’s hull planking.
The traveller had just pushed the two ships apart single-handedly.
The Eagle’s defenders could not see what had happened. The roar of despair on their own vessel was enough to cause the pirates who had boarded already to glance around. There were less than a dozen of them. The Marines’ tight ranks and full armor had made them dangerous opponents when there was nowhere for them to run.
Perennius grabbed a fallen spear to replace the sword which had splashed over the side. He was still on his knees. “Get’em from behind with your pike!” he cried to Calvus, but when he looked around he saw that the tall man was stiff in his trance state.
The line of Germans broke from the flank nearest Perennius and his companion.
It was as sudden and progressive as cloth ripping under tension. A red-bearded pirate flung the spear with which he had been sparring with Sestius. It clanged on the centurion’s shield boss. The German dropped his own shield and ran. He launched himself from the deck of the liburnian and into the waist of his own vessel despite the widening gap that separated them. Behind him came his companions.