CHAPTER ONE

      For an instant the low sun shone through the surrounding fog to illuminate the lone figure on the foredeck of the Aquila. Atticus had been motionless but the momentary shot of sunlight caused him to quickly lower his head and close his eyes tightly against the light. He raised his hand instinctively and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, trying to wipe away the tiredness he could feel in every part of his body. Slowly raising his head, he spied the winter sun, estimating it to be no more than an hour above the horizon, its weakened rays only now beginning to burn off the sea mist which had rolled in so ponderously the evening before, and so the Roman galley continued to be enveloped in the all-consuming embrace of the fog.

      The Aquila, the Eagle, was a trireme, a galley with three rows of oars manned by two hundred chain-bound slaves. She was of the new cataphract style, with an enclosed upper deck that protected the rowers beneath and improved the ship’s performance in heavy weather. As a galley she was a breed apart, the pinnacle of Roman naval technology and a fearsome weapon.

      As the onshore wind freshened, blowing a cooling mist into his face, Atticus opened his mouth slightly to heighten his sense of smell. The oncoming wind and his position at the front of the trireme allowed him to filter out his surroundings, the salt-laden air, the smouldering charcoal braziers and the stench emanating from the slave decks below. The breeze would help conceal the Aquila, robbing any approaching ship of the opportunity of picking up the all-too-familiar smells of a Roman galley.

      With his vision impaired by fog and, before that, darkness, Atticus had planned on detecting his prey by sound, specifically by the rhythmic beat of the drum marking the oar-strokes of the enemy bireme’s two rows of galley slaves. He knew from reports that the galley they were hunting would be travelling close to the shore, passing the inlet that hid the Aquila from the main channel. The fog afforded the Roman galley extended cover now that the sun had risen, but it was fickle and Atticus knew he could not rely on it as he had on the darkness of the pre-dawn.

      Hobnails reverberating on the timber decking indicated a legionary’s approach, and Atticus turned to watch the soldier emerge from the fog behind him. He was a hastatus, a junior soldier, recently recruited and untested in battle. He stood tall with broad shoulders, his upper arms disproportionately developed from long hours training with a gladius, the short sword of the Roman infantry. He wore full battledress and, although his face was expressionless beneath the iron helmet, Atticus sensed the man’s confidence.

      The legionary stopped four feet short of Atticus and stood to attention, raising his right fist and slamming it into his