The fog was unexpected. What had originally promised to be a cloudless day soon became ugly and the open sea was shrouded behind an impenetrable veil. As much of a curse the fog was, it was also a blessing. It meant that the enemy could not see either.

“Captain, we’re ready.”

“Very well, centurion, take her to sea.” Appius nodded.

The great warship shuddered as the marines unfastened her from the towboat tugging her into the open waters of Actium. Over thirteen years of brutal war, thousands of men dead on the battlefield, and everything would now be determined by a naval engagement. Appius Caecilius Denter bit his nails. It was a habit he never quite got over from childhood. He always bit his nails when he was nervous. No, he didn’t fear the enemy, but he also didn’t underestimate them. The other commanders joked that the small vessels that made up the fleet of Octavian was far too light to be of a serious challenge against the mighty warships of Antony, but Appius knew that tonnage meant nothing in the hands of a capable commander.

And Agrippa, the admiral commanding Octavian’s fleet, was more than a capable commander.

He left his cabin. A captain should command his ship on the deck with his men, not tucked away inside. It made him vulnerable to attacks by enemy missiles, but it was a risk he was willing to take, and a risk his men appreciated.

The deck was a flurry of activity. Ballista rounds were being hauled up from below and jars of Greek fire were being prepared.

“Lime coming through! Make way!” A pair of marines rushed down the deck, carrying a large jar carrying the crucial component of Greek fire to the tower that housed all of the artillery. Up above in the tower, another pair of marines was busy adjusting the torsion strength of the ballista. He looked at his crew with satisfaction. They knew what they were doing, and they did it well.

The ship that Appius commanded was a quinquereme, one of the largest and heaviest ships of the fleet. It was named Cetus, after the legendary monster that threatened to devour the princess Andromeda. A fitting name, Appius thought, as he watched three smaller triremes sail past with only the tops of their sails visible when viewed from the deck of the Cetus. Massive though as it was, it was still smaller than the flagship of the fleet. The size comforted Appius. He knew that it would not sink upon first contact against the enemy. But at the same time, he still did not trust in its size. It was too heavy, too slow; the enemy could easily board it. Worse, they could smash the oars with their smaller vessels and leave her helpless in the water. He had voiced the concern to Antony and was dismissed.

“Helmsman!” The boy at the rear of the ship turned around. They called him Palinurus though his real name was much more mundane. The boy didn’t mind.

“Yes, captain?”

Appius removed his helmet, making sure to pluck away the feathers that distinguished his rank, and gave it to Palinurus. “Take my helmet. The battle will turn ugly, and they will aim for the helmsmen first.”

The boy received the gift with trembling hands. He simply stood there, looking at the heavy bronze object like it was the most wonderful thing in the world.

“Back to your station, soldier.” Appius’ order snapped the boy out of his reverie and he saluted before rushing back to the front of the ship again with the helmet on his head. It was slightly oversized for him and kept slipping down on his eyebrows, but he still wore it with pride. Appius smiled. Men like Palinurus who are still filled with hopes for a future without war, those were men who needed to lead Rome, not old men such as himself who knew nothing but war.

More triremes sailed past the Cetus. They were the first reconnaissance force, meant to gauge just how many ships Agrippa had deployed, their tonnage, and their formation. And this was the wonder of sea combat, Appius thought. Land battle formations existed solely on paper. When actual engagement took place, a commander can only hope that the men remember where to go. But sea battles, sea battles took place with far fewer numbers of variables, and formations were much easier to maintain.

His thought turned back to the war. What was the point to all the slaughtering? Romans killing Romans. It had always been like this, even before Caesar had marched on Rome more than twenty years ago. He had heard about the wars against Carthage, the wars in Hispania, and the wars against Mithridates. But those seemed so far-fetched, radically different from what reality was. There were never wars against foreigners, he thought, just wars amongst ourselves.

In the distance, he saw Minerva, the flagship and pride of the fleet, weighing in at well over three hundred tons, roll up her sail. The battle was to start. He signaled to the drummer, and a steady beat reverberated throughout the hulls of the ship. The Cetus lumbered through the water towards the enemy. The triremes still haven’t returned, and Appius simply assumed that they were lost to the enemy. The weather improved slightly as he moved towards the open sea. In the distance, he saw the sails of the enemy. Small ships.

Ascending the tower, he gauged the distance. “Specialist, you are free to engage the enemy.”

The two ballista-crews nodded and began loading their munitions. The very nature of sea combat made the ballista, traditional siege equipment meant to knock down city walls, a favored item on board large warships. However, they had a serious drawback. The wet conditions of the ocean often degraded the torsion strength of the artillery and accuracy became discouragingly low. But that did not seem to be the case today. The first shot found their mark and the mast of the coming enemy ship snapped in two. The crew cheered.

“They’re still coming.” One of the ballista-crew said.

“Load up Greek fire, burn them.” He did not need to give further orders in the tower. The men knew what they were doing. Meanwhile, the enemy dispersed and reformed themselves into two columns. They were going to split up and shower his ship with arrows from both sides. The ballista on the level below him rang with each shot, and the clanking noise as the bolts were tightened sounded lyrical. The first ship of the enemy column caught on fire, but it continued its course. Her captain was either very determined or dead.

He descended from the tower and went below deck. The stench of sweat was overwhelming and he nearly gagged. The century of marines waiting below deck stood at attention when they saw him.

“Men, I was never a good speechmaker. I can’t inspire you with words like politicians. So I wont bother wasting my breath.” A ring of laughter rose from the marines.

“But I will tell you this. The war is almost over. You’ll be able to go home after this battle. Let’s make our homecoming a victorious one, shall we?”

“What will you be doing once you’re home, sir?” One of the marines asked.

“The usual. Hug my son, kiss my daughter, and my wife.” Another peal of laughter was heard. He hadn’t seen his family for two years, and while that was a short time compared to some of the legionnaires, he still thought about them constantly. He wondered how big his son has grown, he thought whether or not his daughter was being asked for marriage, and he prayed that his wife would remain loyal.

“Battle stations, soldiers. May Mars and Bellona be with you.”

The marines cheered and rushed above deck. Appius was left with the rowers. His ship was one of the lucky few that did not suffer from the plague that swept through Antony’s fleet, and thus he had a full fighting force. But they were tired, not from fatigue, but from the endless warring. He hoped that the promise he had made to his marines would be true. Reaching around his neck, he felt at the pouch that hung there. Using the dim light from above, he opened the pouch and took out the letter that his wife, Marcia, had written him two years ago. It was the only thing he had from her. She had painted her lips and kissed the bottom of the letter. Though the moisture of the sea and the passage of time had dimmed the red imprint, he could still see them. He pressed his lips against where hers had been and imagined that she were there. He would go home and see her again. He carefully folded the letter, mindful of the fragile corners, placed it back in the pouch, and went back up to the deck.

The ballistas continued to fire, the cracking noise they made brought him back to harsh reality. The enemy ships were coming even closer. Two of them were aflame now, but the others ones have escaped the kill zone and were so close so that the ballista rounds were no longer able to hit them. Appius cursed under his breath. There were three ships to each side of the Cetus and to repel them all would require divine intervention.

“Speed us up, move past them.” He called out to the drummer, whose beat grew faster. Then he turned around. “Shields up! They’ll be tossing javelins. Helmsman! Hard right, we’re ramming the enemy.”

The titanic vessel dipped slightly to the right as Palinurus struggled to keep the rudder in place. His boyish face was scrunched up in effort while he leaned against the rudder. It turned slowly and the first enemy ship already sailed past it. The second one was not so lucky. The deck shuddered as the bronze prow tore through the hull of the enemy ship. It was a light Liburnian, manned by only thirty-six men. Appius watched as the tiny ship split apart and sent its crew scrambling into the sea. It reminded him of an overturned anthill. The marines of the Liburnian were trying to unfasten their heavy armor. Some succeeded, but most were dragged beneath the boiling sea.

A first victory.

The other Liburnians, sensing that the Cetus was changing its tactic, reformed themselves. Encircling the Cetus, they prowled like wolves after a wounded sheep. The ballista crews in the tower continued to fire, but the shots went over the sails of the enemy. Each time Appius ordered his ship to break the enemy formation, the enemy would scatter, only to surround him again. He was too slow.

The rest of the fleet was faring no better. The ponderous ships were simply outmaneuvered. Appius could already see several quinqueremes dead in the water, their oars no longer moving. Some of them had their sails let down by boarders and then set ablaze, to be used as suicidal rams against their former comrades. Tongues of flames burned through the fog as the ships drifted like spirits above the water. He snarled at the ineptitude of Antony. Here was every one of his fears coming true. Worse, he could see in the distance that the Egyptian reinforcements had not arrived. The Liburnians doubled back. Two of them ran straight for the Cetus, while the other three continued circling.

“Tower, adjust firing vectors. Half torsion!” He was taking a gamble, and if he failed, then he would be sending his own ship down into the depths.

“Half torsion, sir?” The uppermost ballista crew shouted back. Even from afar, Appius could see the fear in the man’s eyes.

“The enemy’s too close to us, we need to put some distance between us and them. Fire when ready, specialist.” He chewed on his nails again, muttering to himself as the ballista crew cranked their machines. The first enemy Liburnian crashed against the hull of the Cetus, its small prow lodging itself in the oaken hull reinforced by bronze plates. The ship tipped slightly. A jar of Greek fire whistled overhead, landing on the enemy ship just as it pulled itself out of the Cetus. The explosion rocked the Cetus even more, and Appius feared that it might be enough to roll his ship over. Luckily, that did not happen. The ballista crew, noting the effectiveness of the tactic, began to fire more rounds at the nearby ships. They were secure, for now. The Liburnians scattered, escaping the barrage from the Cetus, but Appius knew that they were biding their time, waiting for the Cetus to run out of ammunition. If he wanted to win this battle, he needed to destroy the enemy’s key ships and pray that the smaller vessels would then panic and flee. Two more quinqueremes floated into view. Appius recognized them as the Victoria and Italia. An idea formed in his head.

“Cornicen! Signal to the other two ships. Tell them to follow us. Drummer, speed us up, take us into the heart of the enemy fleet.”

The trumpet blasted across the waters and the two other ships changed their directions as the Cetus sped up. Appius now had ships under his command. The fog was starting to lift as the ruthless Mediterranean sun bore down on the fighting ships. To his dismay, he saw Octavian ships at every pass. They had surrounded the Antonian fleet. The Egyptian ships were still nowhere to be seen. He wondered if they had deserted. Sea gulls flocked over the water. Some had grown bold enough to perch atop the masts of ships, waiting for their turn to feed. He was determined to carry out his goal, and it seemed that the other two captains following him were in the same mindset.

“Captain! Enemy ship coming into range, heavy tonnage!” The lookout at the front of the ship shouted as he batted away the sea gulls that were already starting to peck at his arms.

Appius rushed to the front and his heart leapt in joy. It was one of the few large ships of Octavian’s fleet. Finally, the battle would be an even one. The tower crew, recognizing that as well, concentrated their fire onto the large ship. It was a hexare, an even heavier ship than his own. No doubt a commanding vessel if not a flagship. If he could sink it, or even damage it beyond repair, then there was still a chance that they could prevail in the battle.

“Cornicen! Signal to the Victoria, have her concentrate fire on the enemy hexare, then have the Italia sail parallel to us. We need to distract the enemy ship!”

The trumpet sounded and Appius heard the response. Moments later, artillery rounds and flaming jars of Greek fire were being launched towards the enemy ship.

“Marines! Prepare for boarding action.” This sent the soldiers into a frenzy of activity. Grappling hooks were brought out and mounted onto portable launchers that were basically smaller ballista pieces. A four-man team secured the launchers with bolts while two men loaded the hooks. The tower crew picked up bows and began raining arrows onto the enemy ship. Appius clutched the pouch near his chest, his hands shaking. Closer, closer.

“Fire!” The rearmost hook catapulted across the air but missed its target. The iron hook splashed into the water and its chain slammed down against the hull of the ship. He could see the Liburnians doubling back. He had a short window of time to complete the assault. The sea breeze ruffled his hair and for a brief moment, he was surprised that he wasn’t wearing his helmet until he remembered that he had given it to Palinurus. As the ships neared and he saw the sheer size of the hexare, he felt dangerously unprotected.

The other hooks found their mark and dug into the deck of the enemy ship. Javelins and arrows flew through the air between the ships. The four-man team at the launchers began to reel in the enemy ship. They were close enough for the marines to engage them. The enemy thought the same. Her soldiers were stationed along the hull, their swords drawn, ready for action. Appius had one more hidden trick. Prior to the beginning of the battle, he had his men prepare a small amount of malleoli, a small jar filled with flammable oil and lime so that it would burn even on water. It had been an unorthodox move, filling his ship with so much flammable substance, but they were his secret weapons against the enemy and now would be the time to prove their efficacy.

“Marines, burn them!”

The first rank of the marines tossed their ordnance to the enemy ship. When the fragile pottery broke, their contents burst into flames, scattering the defenders. Some of the unfortunate ones who were aflame leapt into the sea, only to find that the water intensified the flames rather than extinguish them. The sea bubbled and grew bright from the flames. Smoke filled the air, obstructing his view. The marines advanced into the smoke and he heard the screams of fighting men.

Overhead, the sea gulls were drawn by the sound of fighting and grew agitated.

The ship suddenly shuddered. Appius realized too late that she had been rammed. On the left side, he saw an enemy trireme sailing past him. Its own combat tower was busy launching ballista rounds against his ship.

“Captain! There’s too many! We need to get out of here! Captain!” Palinurus shouted. The helmet on his head slipped over his eyes again and he ripped it from his head. That gave the enemy trireme tower crew enough time to train their sights on him and fire.

The small round, no bigger than the size of a man’s fist, whipped through the air. It caught Palinurus across the temple and tore his head from his shoulders. As the boy fell, his hand still held onto the helmet that Appius had given him. Sea gulls descended on his headless body before it had even hit the deck. Appius felt his stomach turn. He should’ve realized the helmet was too big for the boy. He should’ve never given it to him.

On the right side of the ship, the marines were still locked in combat against the enemy. He couldn’t move the ship away. At the same time, rounds fired from the trireme were still pounding the Cetus. The enemy, sensing the predicament, sent even more ships against the Cetus. Her hulls were reinforced with bronze, but the plating was starting to break. Palinurus had been right. He needed to get them all out of here.

“The Victoria! She’s been hit!” One of the crewmen on deck pointed at the distance. Appius watched in horror as the Victoria split apart from her seams. Six triremes had surrounded her and mercilessly assaulted her hull. Men leapt into the water only to be shot dead by arrows. He could hear the screams despite the chaos on his own ship.

“Cornicen! Sound the retreat! Crew! Unfurl the sails, we’re moving back to our lines!”

“Sir, you’re not going to like what you’re about to see!” The crewman who informed him of the loss of the Victoria said. He pointed his trembling finger towards the direction of Antony’s fleet. To his dismay, Appius saw the white sails of the ships being unfurled in every direction. The fleet was in complete disarray. The Octavian ships plowed through the surf, their prows seeking fresh prey. He heard the trumpet and saw his marines retreating back to the Cetus. What had happened to the Italia? Did she survive, or did she also go down like the Victoria did? He had no way of finding out, and instead resolved to getting his ship and his crew out of danger.

“Disengage the hooks, take off the launchers if you have to. We are leaving!” The wind started and the Cetus lumbered back towards the coast, its chains pulling taut as the distance between it and its target lengthened. He moved to the back of the ship and tried to see the Italia, but his sight was blocked by the enemy hexare. Another round of barrage impacted the hull of the Cetus and he heard the wooden beams snapping beneath his feet. The front-most launcher was still rooted to the deck. Its crew could not unbuckle it from its place. As the ships moved apart, the deck beneath it started to bend and warp. Appius knew what was about to happen, but he wasn’t heard in the din.

The launcher practically flew off the deck, slamming into her crew. The first man was smashed into shapeless pulp. Bits of bone and blood splattered across the deck. The second man, whose hands were still trying to disengage the chain, was thrown into the air with the launcher. His scream stopped when he slammed against the hull of the enemy hexare. The other two were sent into the ocean, where the flames from the malleoli and Greek fire still raged.

They were picking up speed, retreating from the engagement. He had to turn the ship around. Stepping over the headless body of Palinurus, he picked up his helmet and placed it back on his head. Blood ran down from the helmet onto his face but he couldn’t be bothered to wipe it off. Once the Cetus turned, he saw that the Italia was still in the fight: her tower was still launching bolts against the enemy ship. Her oars and mast were snapped. She could not escape even if she wanted to. As the Cetus picked up the speed, he watched the Octavian ships converge on the Italia, their towers bristling with firepower. The large ship quickly succumbed to the assault and rolled on her side, sending her crew into their watery graves. As she rolled, she took the enemy hexare down with her.

Appius couldn’t watch anymore. The battle was lost. All around him, sea gulls descended on to the thousands of bodies floating in the sea that had been stained red with blood. Flames engulfed several ships and they drifted, lifeless, on top of the water. Here and there, men were screaming for a line, begging to be saved. His own marines were whittled down to a handful. The deck of the Cetus was slippery with blood. The sun was setting in the west behind the enemy fleet.

“Captain, you’re bleeding.” It was his centurion. His own arm was wrapped in rags that could not halt the flow of blood. Yet he ripped off another piece from his own tunic and offered it to Appius.

He reached up to his face and touched the stickiness, only to remember that it was not his blood but Palinurus’. Drops of hot tears tumbled onto the deck. He no longer cared about winning the battle so long as it ended.

“Captain.” His centurion placed a hand on his shoulder. The remaining crew had gathered around him. “Where to?”

He wiped the tears from his face only to have his hands come away reddened. His fingers had brushed against the small pouch around his neck and he remembered Marcia’s letter to him. He remembered the kiss she had placed on it for him. He looked at his centurion and crew.

“Home. We’re going home.”

He continued to weep as he watched the sun sink deeper in to the west. How many men had woken this morning to see it rise, and how many men were left to see it set? He wept for all the men who would never go home in this senseless civil war, for the crew of the Victoria and Italia, but most importantly, for Palinurus.