The first ten of the enemy reached the main deck of Ventulus. Though they were confident, Pelitas noted how they moved as a unit, protecting each other from a sudden lunge. They spread out slightly to the sitting crew, and he saw long leather cords hanging from their belts, ready for tying the prisoners. No doubt these ten were the best fighters, veterans who knew their business and could cut their way out of trouble. Pelitas wished Julius had let him bring a sword on deck. He felt naked without one.

The crew allowed themselves to be tied without a struggle, and Pelitas hesitated. With only ten on deck, it was too early to call, but they were working with efficiency, and if they trussed the rest as quickly, they could be no help at all when the fight started. He saw four more clamber over the rail to Ventulus and then looked into the serious face of the man who approached him, thongs ready in his hands. Fourteen would have to do.

As the man met Pelitas's eye, the Roman shouted loudly, making him jump and raise his sword.

“Accipiter!” Pelitas yelled, scrambling up. The pirate looked confused and snapped a response, but then the hatches banged open and Roman legionaries swarmed out amongst them, their armor gleaming in the sun.

The man by Pelitas swung to see them, his jaw dropping. Without hesitating, Pelitas leapt onto his back, pulling his forearm across the man's throat with all his strength. The man staggered forward a couple of steps, then reversed the sword in his hand and rammed it back into Pelitas's chest. He fell away in agony.

Julius led the charge. He killed the first man in front of him, swearing as he saw Pelitas had called it too soon. The archers were still on the other ship, and dark shafts struck the deck, killing one of the bound crew. There was no way to avoid them without shields, and Julius could only hope the charge wouldn't falter. His men had never been under fire and it was hard even for experienced soldiers, when every instinct said to dive and hide. His blade clanged against another and he punched around it, knocking his opponent flat. One quick shove into the exposed throat and he was over him.

In the space, Julius glanced left and right, taking in the scene. Most of the pirates on Ventulus were down. His men were fighting well, though one or two were struggling to pull arrows from their limbs, howling in pain.

A buzzing shaft struck Julius in the chest, knocking him back a step. He felt winded, but the vicious thing fell to the wooden deck with a clatter and he realized his armor had saved him.

“Board them!” he bellowed, and his men surged with him toward the pirate ship. More arrows cut through them with little damage, and Julius thanked the gods for the tough Roman plate. He jumped onto the rail of Ventulus and skidded, his iron-shod sandals slipping on the wood.

He landed at the feet of the enemy with a crash of metal and swearing. He batted away a jabbing sword with his forearm, taking a cut from the edge. His gladius was under him and he had to roll to free it. Another blade clanged against his shoulder, snapping off the plate.

The other Romans roared as they saw him fall, cutting wildly through the pirates who faced them. They threw themselves into the enemy ship without caution, pushing the line past Julius. Gaditicus grabbed his arm and heaved Julius to his feet.

“One more you owe me,” Gaditicus growled as they rushed over the enemy deck together. Julius ran up to a pirate and lunged forward with his gladius, holding himself ready to avoid a counterthrust. Instead, the man lost his footing as he skipped back out of range and threw his sword out of his hand, sending it spinning over the planking. He looked terrified as Julius slowly lowered a heavy gladius to his throat.

“Please! Enough!” he shouted in terror. Julius paused, risking another flashing glance around him. The pirates were faltering. Many were dead and those remaining had their arms in the air, calling for peace. Swords clattered to the deck. The archers that still lived put their bows down, careful with them even as they surrendered.

Taking a step back, Julius looked behind him and his heart lifted in pride.

His recruits stood there in shining uniforms, swords drawn and held in first position. They looked every inch a legion fifty, fresh and disciplined.

“Get up,” he said to the fallen man. “I claim this ship for Rome.”

The survivors were tied using the same cords brought for the crew of Ventulus. It was quickly done, though Julius had to order one of the crew restrained after he kicked his erstwhile captor in the head when the man had been bound.

“Ten lashes for that man,” Julius said, his voice firm and strong. His men gripped the sailor firmly, while the rest of the crew of Ventulus exchanged glances. Julius stared them down, knowing it was important that they accept his orders. Left alone, they would probably have cut the prisoners to pieces, taking out years of hatred in an orgy of torture and violence. None of them met his eyes and instead they drifted apart from the congratulatory groups that had formed. Finally, Julius turned away to supervise the rest of the capture. The rowers he had feared could be heard belowdecks, yelling in terror at the sounds of the battle above. He would send men to quiet them.

“Sir, over here!” a voice called.

Prax held the body of Pelitas, his hand pressing against an open wound high in the chest. There was blood around his friend's mouth and Julius knew as he saw him that there was no hope. Cabera might have saved him, but nothing else could.

Pelitas was choking, his eyes open without focus. Each tearing breath brought more blood dribbling from his lips. Julius crouched by the pair and many of the others gathered around them, blocking the sun. In the silence as they watched, the passing seconds seemed to last a long time, but finally the labored breathing ceased and the bright gaze faded into glassy stillness.

Julius stood, looking down at the body of his friend. He signaled to two of the others.

“Help Prax take him below. I'm not putting one of ours into the sea with them.” He walked away without another word and, of them all, only the officers from Accipiter understood why he had to show such a stern front. The commander would not reveal weakness in front of the men, and not a one of them doubted who led them anymore. Even Gaditicus kept his head bowed as Julius strode past him, walking alone.

When both of the ships were secure that night, Julius met with the other officers of Accipiter and they drank a toast to Pelitas, who had not made it to the end of his path.

Before sleep, Gaditicus walked on the moonlit deck of Ventulus with Julius. They were silent for a long time, lost in memories, but as they reached the head of the steps leading below, Gaditicus took his arm.

“You are in command here.”

Julius turned to him and the older man could feel the force of his personality. “I know,” he said simply.

Gaditicus formed a wry smile. “It was when you fell that I realized. All the men went after you without waiting for orders. I think they will follow you anywhere.”

“I wish I knew where I was leading them,” Julius said quietly. “Perhaps one of the men we captured will know where Celsus is. We'll see in the morning.” He looked away to the place on the deck where Pelitas had fallen. “Peli would have had a grand laugh about me slipping like that. It would have been a ridiculous way to die.”

As he spoke, he chuckled without humor. The brave charge straight at the feet of the enemy. Gaditicus didn't laugh. He clapped his hand on Julius's shoulder, but the young man didn't seem to feel it.

“He wouldn't have died if I hadn't wanted to find Celsus. You all would be back in Rome by now, with your names clear from disgrace.”