Neptune's Fury by J Clifton Slater

Author:J Clifton Slater [Slater, J Clifton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-24T22:00:00+00:00

Act 6

Chapter 22 - Not Paddles

Shoots of color stretched across the sky announcing the start of a new day. While the stars faded in the light from the rising sun, the ground and Nera river were deeply shadowed.

“Look there,” a militiaman urged. “Up river.”

From the gloom, the tall bow of a trireme emerged. Unlike the ones Alerio had seen at sea with one hundred and seventy oars stroking in unison, this one had twenty sticks haphazardly slapping the water. Despite the shortage of rowers and the lack of proper oars, the ship angled towards the shoreline.

“It’s headed this way,” Tite observed. “I don’t know anything about warships. But it seems to be traveling at a high rate. Maybe as fast as a trotting horse. It that normal for taking on passengers?”

“It is not,” Alerio informed him.

The trireme slid almost into the riverbank and only frantic poking with long poles kept the ship from running up on the dirt.

Optio Florian jogged to the bow area, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “We can’t slow. Grab a rope.”

Six men ran to positions along the one hundred and thirty feet of hull. Once braced, they began twirling ropes as they prepared to throw the lines.

“Run,” Alerio shouted.

He turned to face downstream, kicked off hard, and sprinted along the riverbank. While he ran, a section of the hull caught up and began to pass him. A sideways glance showed an Umbrian on the ship increasing the spin as he readied to toss the rope.

“Throw it,” Alerio shouted while lifting a hand.

The line sailed from the ship, hung over Alerio’s head for a heartbeat, before falling into his outstretched hand. Two steps towards the river while gathering in excess rope and he jumped.

Swinging on the line, his arms and face collided with the oak boards while his feet plunged into the river. As if dragged from a racing horse across rough ground, Alerio’s legs sank into the water and bounced out in a jarring pattern.

He attempted to lift his body higher but the jerking caused his hands to slip and he dipped deeper. Then, he turned his face and caught sight of Tite Roscini.

The militia Lieutenant had his legs lifted to waist level and his feet pressed against the hull. He seemed to be resting. Alerio, rather than trying to climb, mimicked Tite by bending and lifting his knees. Two attempts later, the Legion officer had his feet, flat on the side planks. Following Tite’s lead, Alerio began to pull on the rope and walk his feet up the hull.

Alerio reached the top where hands grabbed him and pulled him onto the trireme. He fell onto the platform breathing hard.

“Good morning, sir,” Florian greeted him. “We seem to have stolen a warship. I’m hoping you know what to do with it.”

“I do, Optio,” Alerio assured him. “First, we need to stop at Fort Orte.”

“Stopping and steering are issues, sir,” Florian explained.

“I noticed,’” Alerio said. He climbed to his feet and looked at the twenty Umbrians craftsmen splashing water with long poles.

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