I gripped the rail of the prow, squinting in the wind as I grinned widely, studying the Cretan shore that came into view. Abu al-A'war, who was the general in command of this entire raid, had sent a number of ships in advance some days earlier in a mission of reconnaissance. The intelligence concerning the eastern shore they returned with provided us with the necessary knowledge to coordinate an attack. We decided to strike two adjacent guard towers protected with three massive Roman warships.
My breath caught in my throat as I recognized the monstrous design of the galley known as the dromon. It was by far the most dangerous sort of ship to deploy as well as the most expensive to manufacture and maintain.
These ships were even more impressive than any dromon I'd ever encountered beforehand. A dromon usually hosted any number of men upward eighty rowers and roughly the same number in sailors. By my estimate, all three of the bastards were manned by one hundred and twenty oarsmen and almost the same number in regular troops, armed with bows and javelins. The hulking monstrosities even boasted of towering constructions to either side of the masts. They were fort-like towers where archers were perched atop the battlements and would shower the enemy with any number of missiles.
Towers on ships! By the gods...
The dromons were huge. My concerns about boarding had just materialized; their railings were far above us. We would need to clamber up the hull to hop onto their deck, under the mercy of the Romans all the while. Boarding would not be an option. And there were archers atop the towers on the coast as well.
A brute force strategy could not be implemented.
The Romans aboard the ships numbered anywhere from six hundred to eight hundred. All packed in just three vessels. It would not be foolish to predict a tamer estimate of the men on the shore; any number upward a hundred, perhaps?
Abu al-A'war and I had some one hundred and fifty ships between us. That was a figure between three and five thousand fighting men. We outnumbered them considerably. However, our numerical advantage would be mitigated here. The towers and ships were sheltered between two rocky crags.
Behind them was acres of dense concentrations of trees, and further beyond, the promise of spoils.
The sun momentarily glinted on the polished white stone of a distant city, glimmering with hues of gold and silver that sent my mouth running.
We needed to use our numbers to our advantage. Storming the cove between the rocky outcrops would be beyond foolish. If we found another way, it should be one that avoids any close naval combat with the three ships. Boarding, as I mentioned before, would be reckless and costly. Even if we were to encircle the ships, our overwhelming numbers may potentially only serve to hinder us. An improvised naval attack could be disastrous in the slightest misstep, and there was sure to be one.
For instance, our ships could potentially collide with one another; if we were not careful with our volleys, tens of our own would be struck down by friendly arrows. Also, those fortifications on the ships would prove fatal if we allowed them to sail near us. One ship could dish out considerable damage to more than one enemy ship simultaneously by having each tower focus on one side, while the archers on deck were free to spray steel and iron down upon us. Even if we managed to pull off a win, it would be at great cost in lives and resources. And this would be only the beginning of our adventure here in Crete; it would demoralize us from raiding further into the island or even pursuing our other goals in the Mediterranean.
We prided ourselves in our speed and mobility. We could not use either in this cramped space, even if we managed to lure the ships out of their nook. We simply numbered too many. We needed to divide ourselves. I said as much to Abu al-A'war, the commanding general. Our ships floated side by side, overlooking the distant shore as we both leaned over our rails to discuss our plan.
Abu al-A'war nodded at my suggestion.
"Seventy-five each, then, as we are," he said. "I'll take my men and you take yours."
Seventy-five is still too many, I thought to myself. Great numbers would be useful in large-scale conflicts, but they would only prove cumbersome here.
"We can't flank them when they're in hiding," I mused out loud.
"We'll have to lure them out," he suggested.
"Pray that whoever commands them is fool enough to betray the nook."
Abu al-A'war smiled wryly at that comment. I paused, racking my mind.
"You take your seventy-five," I told him. "And drift south, far to your left. There is a chance that you may be obscured, though the left-most tower may still spot you. But they won't notice, or maybe they won't care, since I'll be the one imminent danger. Their arrows will be focused on my seventy-five."
He raised an eyebrow. "You want me to retreat?"
I shook my head. "I'll lure the ships out. I'll taunt them. That's when your part comes into play."
Abu al-A'war chuckled. "Taunt them."
He knew what I meant. I had a grudging respect for the man. He was no fool. He needed no instructions. He was a man of equal rank, and perhaps, equal ability. He knew what to do.
And so, we set forth to shatter some Roman wood.
***
At the head of twenty ships and roughly six hundred to seven hundred warriors aboard, Abu Musa, our quartermaster, sliced through the currents of the dwindling waves of the Mediterranean and stalked forward to the jaws of death.
I advanced with only a fraction of my force. By my estimate as well as that of the sharp-eyed Tariq, the Romans amidships numbered a grand total of eight hundred men, perhaps more.
Abu al-A'war, the general commander, was lost to sight, far to the left with a fleet of his own. Also unseen, far to our right, was a force of twenty-five ships commanded by my most capable commander, 'Amr ibn Sallam. A man I had fought a hundred battles with, and despite what he must have thought, had boundless trust and respect in.
Nearer to the soon to be site of great carnage was another formidable array of ships, divided into three columns, each commanded by 'Abd al-Ka'aba, Piruzan and the Mundhir. The sight of them would either be blocked by our own figures and towering masts, or the Roman sentries' attention would be diverted from them. I needed them close at hand.
What the Romans on the ships saw was a numerically inferior force that caught them by surprise and was sailing to certain doom. Once in the cove, we would be trapped by the crags to the left and right and a relentless enemy to our front. The three ships would doubtless maneuver themselves to our flanks and rear, further hammering us in. We would succumb to either arrow, javelin or simply drown.
But we wouldn't. Because I was Hanthalah ibn Ka'b al-Ansari. And men tremble at the sight of my sword.
I heard the cries of alarm on ship and tower alike carry across the waves. They were alerted of our encroachment. The men on the battlements of the distant towers propped up their bows and gathered their quivers. Dozens hopped or clambered onto the three ships, and before long, they were packed and ready to deliver death scrupulously. My twenty had not yet reached the mouth of the cove and the shore sentries were out of range. We could not kill them nor could they hurt us. But we were in bowshot of the ships.
I saw the ships to the far right and left swerve away from the center dromon, exposing their beams to us as well as hundreds of jeering archers hurling insults and taunts at us. I held my arm up for a moment and let it fall when I saw fit.
"Swerve!" I bellowed at the top of my lungs.
I heard the command ripple through the air dozens of times, until all the quartermasters and rowers were hard at work, eager to earn a great victory this day and add to their glory and reputation. The ship lurched and heaved; a lesser man would have lost his footing, and though I did stumble, I did not need to grab the railing or use another for support to keep my ground.
We exposed our own beams to the enemy now; we swerved as they did, and our archers had their arrows drawn back on their strings as the flanks of our ships sailed by. In unison, twenty cries of the age-old command that had become a melody to my ears rang through my twenty ships.
"Loose!" they bellowed, and the bows hummed. The cove echoed with the twang of hundreds of bows.
Some of the arrows fell short, disappearing beneath the surface of the water with a plop. Most of them thumped into the wood of the Roman hulls, while the rest either hit true, striking the enemy down, or skidded onto their decks. It was not meant to be a devastating volley. We were still too far away to make a substantial effect.
On the prow, I hefted my shield and braced myself for the return volley.
"Shields! Up!" I roared at my boys and was satisfied to hear the command carry through.
The afternoon was filled with the grunts of men raising their shields and the clatter of arrow haft on the wood of bows.
The Roman ships were still slightly disoriented, shaken from the fact that they had been caught by surprise. The archers on their decks performed poorly, with most of their arrows falling short; their initial volley was abysmal. However, the archers on the elevated twin towers of the dromons had the high ground and superior range. I winced as their arrows whizzed past my ears and overhead. Many found their mark and men fell with grunts and cries.
But we were already on the move. We swerved out of range and the Romans' second volley was entirely feeble and useless. All the arrows found themselves at the bottom of the sea. We gave them our backs, turned steadily, finally performing a perfect semi-circle. We edged closer, our beams facing them once more; only now, it was the opposite flank. We showered them with another shoddy volley, though this one was more effective than the last.
That angered them.
It was like kicking a nest of bees. My plan depended on the Roman supremacist mentality. I lived three years among them and knew the disdain they held for others; so-called barbarians. They thought us savage desert dwellers that shagged our goats, ate our children and lusted only for female flesh and the glint of gold.
Perhaps the last one has some element of truth, I thought to myself with glee as I capitalized on centuries of embedded Roman arrogance.
Again, we swerved away from the mouth of the cove as the Romans answered our volley with one of their own. This time, we slurred away from the shore, headed inward to the open sea.
In their eyes, we were retreating, sending a shower of unorganized arrows back at them all the while, a seemingly frantic action. We were running away, abandoning all hopes of raiding Crete or landing on this heavily guarded shore. They could have stayed true to their purpose and let us run away with our tails between our legs. We would not disturb their homes as long as they lurked in these waters.
But, no. They were Romans. Theirs was might and pride unmatched. Glory that dated back thousands of years. They would not let a challenge by a band of vagabonds go unanswered; it was an insult. It was not their way. They had to squash those they deemed inferior beneath heel.
And so, they did. Abu Musa set the pace at a deliberate one. We were an open target, moving ever so slowly away, frightened by the might of Emperor and Christ. I chuckled, seeing the ships to the right and left of the central dromon churn their oars into the water, picking up their pace, headed for the open sea. They were massive things those dromons, beasts of the sea. They reminded me of the tales of the war animals the Persians used in battle; those things they called elephants. I wished to see one. But I supposed it would not be as impressive as a dromon.
The dromon that had been at the center of the formation lingered behind, seemingly reluctant. I supposed the admiral or commander of this shore's defense was situated there; perhaps an experienced military man, more shrewd and more cautious than his subordinates who no doubt left his orders to stand their positions unheeded. They ploughed forward, and now it was them heading straight into the jaws of death.
Soon enough, even the last of the Roman ships followed suit and trailed the others out of the safety of their cove. I supposed the admiral thought that it would be best if the three ships stuck together, now that he was powerless to stop the engagement from transferring to the open sea.
They had sealed their fates.