“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.