Tomb of the Lost

Chapter ELEVEN



Julius Caesar was sitting at his writing desk on board his ship writing reports. It had been a month since his arrival in Alexandria. A long and difficult time for the Roman dictator.

It had been a long and troubling week since the water supply was sabotaged and then fixed easily in one night by his men digging down to the fresh supply. That night had been dangerous, Caesar was sure, on the point of mutiny.

Then the Romans had conquered the island of Pharos with just over a hundred men, defeating a force of three times that number. They had re-floated their three beached ships and without fighting men on board they had rowed the five miles along the coast to Calvinius, linked up with him and towed his supply ships back to the royal harbour to a raucous applause from the Romans watching.

It had been a great victory for Caesar. Another in a long line of triumphs. At daybreak their elation was short lived. They had seen Achillas’ fleet blockading the harbour. The Roman ships under protection from the island now only able to seek safe passage in the royal harbour. The Romans had enjoyed a brief victory on that day when they had returned. News had soon got out that Caesar’s ships were seriously undermanned and the Alexandrian fleet had awaited them. On that first day of battle at sea Caesar had managed to sink one Egyptian ship and damage many others.

Now today news had reached Julius that the Alexandrians had begun a new fleet and in four days had constructed twenty seven new warships. The Alexandrians driven by the knowledge that they were, indeed, masters of the sea.

“Twenty seven in four days,” Caesar said to himself.

He read on.

In addition to the twenty seven the locals were also dragging rotten hulls from the seabed and mud and were even tearing down rafters from public buildings to create their new navy. Julius knew in the safety of the calm water of the harbour that this was a formidable force.

Then just one hour ago Caesar had received a report that a reserve fleet from Rhodes and Turkey flying the Roman eagle had been sighted off the coast and news that Mithridates’ great army had entered Egypt. Now nothing could stop the mighty Roman war machine. Could it?

“And what about Cleopatra?” Julius asked himself, feeling his heart flutter at the thought of her.

“Ah! My love I haven’t seen you for a week.”

“BALLISTA!”

Caesar heard the shout come through his window.

“BALLISTA!” the voice shouted again.

Julius heard the whoosh of the huge stone as it flew past and hit the water, sending up a spume of spray.

In the next instant Julius was up out of his seat and running for the stairs. He burst out into the afternoon sunlight just as another huge stone flashed past and crashed into the sea. He dashed across the deck and into cover against the side next to Admiral Agrippa.

Agrippa didn’t bother with the usual expected greeting or pleasantries but just blurted out.

“They suddenly attacked without warning Caesar!”

“Must have known our men were taking a break.”

“Yes. The Alexandrians have spies all along the rooftops. It would be very easy for them to spot our limited numbers.”

Another stone hit the water with a heavy splash. This one so close the two men were soaked by its spray.

“It won’t be long before they start making direct hits.”

“How many ships are firing at us?”

“Five Sir. The others are out of range.”

Everywhere around Caesar’s men were rushing for the artillery weapons, ratchets frantically being worked.

“It’ll take our men just a few moments to get our artillery set up sir.”

Julius looked towards the lighthouse and saw hundreds of his men rushing down to the beach to join the fight, shouting out to be picked up.

“Should we go and get them?”

Julius glanced at the enemy ships.

“No. If we move further back the Alexandrians will sail into the harbour and pin us in. No Agrippa. Tell your men to leave the artillery and man the oars.”

“Man the oars?”

“Yes. If we move towards them we’ll be too close for their weapons. We’ll drive them back. Whatever we do we must not let them any closer to the lighthouse.

“Man the oars!” Agrippa roared.

Amidst huge blocks of stone crashing into the sea men stopped what they were doing and rushed below decks. The large barrel chested oarsmaster ran up. Despite the missiles raining down he stood erect.

“We’re going to attack! Ramming speed!” Agrippa shouted.

“Yes sir.”

The man went below.

Julius now stood tall on the deck. He could see the Egyptians on their ships frantically adjusting their weapons. One direct hit crashed into a small fishing boat that had somehow got left behind. The boat rocked violently and capsized as the stone slid off and both sank to the deep.

Caesar heard the drum below deck begin. He looked over the side and saw the oars lowering into the water. There was a short silence. Then as one they pulled water, came out, returned to the start and came back again. It took several sweeps of the oars to get the ship moving but once they bit into the sea she picked up speed.



On the deck of the largest Alexandrian warship her commander Ibn Benghazi turned to his first officer, who said.

“What are the Romans doing? They must see that there is no escape for them.”

“They know there is no escape. No. this Roman is playing a game of cat and mouse with us. It’s an idle threat.”

They watched as Caesar’s standard was raised, letting all know who was on board.

“So the great butcher himself challenges us,” Benghazi said, “Maintain our position. Let’s see what the barbarian has in mind.”

“Maintain position!” the first officer shouted.

“Maintain position,” the order was relayed to the other ships.

Caesar watched as the oars dipped into the sea again. Now his ship was picking up speed. The enemy artillery had so far had no impact on the Roman ships. Now a direct hit on Julius’ ship sent men diving for cover. The large stone clattered and crashed heavily along the deck splintering wood like matchsticks and turning two men into mincemeat. The force of the blow causing the ship to momentarily wobble, pulling the steering oars out of the helmsman’s grip. The ship lurched and one row of oars pulled at air instead of water and for a moment the rowers were thrown off balance. Caesar and Agrippa were forced to hold on to keep their footing. The drum master stopped his drumming long enough for the rowers to compose themselves. Then he started up again.

“Row!”

Thump! Thump!

“Row!”

Thump! Thump!

They soon picked up the pace again and the ship was moving cleanly through the harbour.

Julius tore his eyes away from the two, mangled, men that lay on the deck to gauge the distance to the enemy.

Four hundred yards. Three fifty. Three hundred.

“Ramming speed!” Agrippa shouted to the officer in charge.

“Ramming speed!”

The drum master picked up the pace.

Two hundred and fifty yards. Now the enemy artillery fell silent.

“He’s coming straight at us!” the Alexandrian officer shouted, “He’s going to ram us!”



On the Roman galley everyone but Julius Caesar had prepared themselves for impact. Agrippa had wound his foot around some ropes and locked his arms through rigging. He had watched with one eyebrow raised as Caesar had stood calmly on the deck and had gazed up, apparently, at seagulls high in the sky. Agrippa could only imagine at what the impact would do to Caesar’s unprotected position.

’The force of it will kill him,’ he said to himself.

From where he waited he could see the tall mast of the enemy ship get closer and higher.

At one hundred yards distance he decided to watch until he could watch no longer, turning his head at the last moment to avoid seeing his friends demise. At the last possible second he decided to untangle himself and rush to Caesar’s side, to share his death, to die side by side, the final glorious moment of his military career. He was almost at Caesar when the Roman dictator suddenly spun around and shouted.

“NOW!”

At the steering oars men lifted the port side clear of the water and the men at the starboard oar pushed theirs deep into the sea while the rowing oars at the port side were lifted clear of the sea while the oars on the starboard side stopped rowing and held theirs down. The ship slewed around violently throwing men about both above and below decks. Caesar and Agrippa held onto each other in a strong embrace. Caesar’s back exposed to the fire arrows which mercifully didn’t come.

Caesar was smiling at Agrippa.

The Roman ship was leaning far over, her timbers creaking under the heavy strain. Then she righted and the oars were quickly doing their work and they were pulling away to the victorious cheers of the Alexandrian fleet.

Agrippa was still looking at Caesar as the two men moved apart.

“The best is yet to come,” Julius said.



On his ship the Greek mercenary Euphranor from Rhodes was watching the scene ahead. His ship, a Greek trireme, had been at the back of the Alexandrian fleet where the previous evening they had sailed in as Greek mercenary pirates and sworn allegiance to King Ptolemy and Achillas. Then accepted as allies they had spent the night preparing. His ship had been under pain of death to remain absolutely silent. All communication had been done with wax tablets among his crew.

While the Alexandrian flagship and her fleet had been preoccupied by the tactics of Caesar they had quietly slipped anchor and using the gentle currents they had positioned themselves. Unseen at the back of the fleet they had slowly slipped their oars into the water and in silence and without the aid of a drumbeat they had begun moving towards the flagship. Using only hand signals and maintaining silence they had built up speed. Other Egyptian ships had watched them go through thinking they were just mercenaries keen to prove their loyalty had been bought.

Then at the given signal, Caesar’s standard being raised, they had gained speed for ramming.

Standing alone at the prow Euphranor had watched Caesar’s ship speeding towards the Alexandrian flagship. He’d seen the Alexandrians brace themselves for impact.

’Fools! The Romans wouldn’t hit them head on. What would that achieve? I thought the Alexandrians considered themselves masters of the sea and they don’t even know the basics.’

Euphranor had seen how Julius Caesar had sailed within throwing distance of the flagship.

’The Gods I admire that man.’



“Listen to me!” his brother Mentor had said that night on the balcony of their father’s home at Lindos, “We have to join the Egyptians. They will be the eventual victor in this war.”

The island of Rhodes like so many had been inundated with calls by Caesar and Rome to join in his fight with Pompey.

“I disagree brother. I know the Egyptians are ancient compared to Rome but Rome has never been defeated on land or at sea. You chose the army which made you a General. I chose the sea. I chose Caesar. Rome will be the eventual victor in this war which could swallow up the whole of the Mediterranean world.”

“I don’t think it will.”

“Our father does.”

“It’s true my son. What your brother says is right.”

The old man stepped from the shadows. His hair had long since turned white, his arms and body crisscrossed with scars from decades of fighting.

“Father,” Mentor rushed forward to kiss the old mans hand. The old General accepted the embrace then turned to his youngest son.

“Do you not embrace your poor old father?”

Euphranor kissed the old mans hand.

“May the Gods watch over you father.”

The old General sat wearily on his favourite stone seat in his garden.

“Your brother is right Mentor. I have seen most of the world. The Egyptians have become soft behind their palaces. They buy everyone’s loyalty with their gold. Rome is different. They have taken on all comers, the Gauls, the Germans. Tough competition. Men that are still barbarians. And defeated them all. I implore you, if you want to fight for someone, fight for Rome.”

“I am sorry father. You are the greatest man I’ve ever known. But you are wrong.”

Euphranor advanced on his brother angrily.

“How dare you disrespect our father in this way.”

“I meant no disrespect,” Mentor turned to the old man who sat in silence, his arms folded in his lap.

“You chose the army. You chose your way, I chose mine. Mine was harder.”

“And you must know that at sea the Roman’s must lose. The Alexandrians are the greatest sea faring nation the world has ever seen. If you fight for Caesar you will end up sunk to a watery grave.”

The two men had gone nose to nose and almost to blows. Accusations flew and then suddenly Mentor had flown into a rage and stormed off. Euphranor had intended to go after him but the old General stopped him.

“Let him go my son. A man’s destiny is but his own to choose.”



Now standing at the prow of his ship with his father’s words echoing in his mind, watching Julius Caesar’s ship swerve to avoid a collision Euphranor knew he’d made the right choice.

The gap between the two ships was closing fast. Then unbelievably a small, two oared rowing boat came straight across their path. The two occupants had been loading supplies to the bigger vessels. They stood no chance. The Greek ship crushed them with a splintering crash. The noise of which making Benghazi and his men spin around.

Euphranor’s ship tore into the Egyptian ship’s oars snapping them off with violent force. It slowed the Greek trireme only a fraction and her iron tipped ramming spar slammed into the hull of the Alexandrian flagship. The two ships shuddered from the impact. On the oar deck men saw the huge hole appear and the sea begin to flood in. Panic took hold and men began abandoning the oars and in a mad rush they made for the stairs.

The huge walkway came down with a crash and both Egyptian’s and Greeks dashed onto it. The first of them met in the middle and the fight was joined.

Euphranor, at the head of his men, slashed through one man’s neck with his sword, ignored the hot blood that sprayed his face, ran another Egyptian through, twisted his sword out and plunged it into the man’s mouth, silencing the agonising scream. A man on either side of him fighting just as viciously. He ducked a poorly timed thrust at his own face and shoulder-barged his assailant off the drawbridge. The man fell into the oars shattering his back and screamed until he drowned. Euphranor hacked at another enemy and brought his sword down through the man’s wrists slicing through skin, flesh and bone. The man screamed at his bloody stumps and Euphranor removed his head with a single blow.

Now the Greeks were pushing the Egyptians back, the drawbridge slippery with blood. Euphranor forced another man back, slipped on the bloody deck, went down on one knee and slashed an Egyptian’s leg off just below the knee. The man fell howling into the water. Euphranor struggled to his feet, his breath becoming laboured, and head-butted his next opponent in the face with his heavy full faced helmet shattering the man’s nose.

Euphranor made it to the end of the gangway and jumped down onto the deck of the Egyptian ship. He landed heavily and planted his feet firmly as he cut another Egyptian almost in two. Greeks on either side of him, fell, to be replaced with new ones taking up the war cry. The Greek mercenary suddenly spotted the enemy commander Benghazi in a gap in the fighting and he rushed headlong scattering his enemies with fear. He suddenly bellowed in pain and glanced down. An arrow had pierced his left thigh. He reached down and snapped it off leaving a two inch stump.. He threw the shaft away.

Slowly he looked up, his nose guard dripping blood.

Benghazi was twenty feet away, his forces smashed, his men laying dead or dying, flanked by two bodyguards. Euphranor waited patiently. One of the bodyguards rushed the Greek. Euphranor blocked the ill timed blow, pushed the Egyptian back, parried twice more, then hit his opponent in the face with the butt of his sword and brought the blade round in a swirling arc and slashed the man’s throat. The Egyptian gurgled his blood across the deck. The second bodyguard lunged as Euphranor sidestepped and brought his blade down, cleaving the skull in two.

Once again he faced Benghazi, who stared back, his eyes wide in terror. Euphranor took one step towards him and Benghazi, cowardly, quickly jumped up onto the side and dived into the water. He was wearing full armour and a cloak which in the water began to pull his head under. Nearby was a broken oar and he flailed for it. He knocked it just out of his reach and a small wave moved it further away. Twice his head went under the water. Then he realised he was very close to the ship. The under current had pulled him dangerously close. He panicked and put his hands against the hull to push himself away. Then his head went under the ship and he came back no more. Euphranor watched him disappear with a smirk.

The Roman galley was now broadside a few hundred yards away. The Romans on board were cheering. Euphranor looked up and saw the great Roman on the deck, the wind whipping his cloak about his legs. Euphranor raised his bloodied sword in triumph. He saw Caesar nod once to him then one of the Greek officers ran up to him and spoke.

“Sir. The rest of the Egyptians have surrendered. Shall I have them killed?”

Euphranor turned to look at the group of men on their knees.

“No. They’re Caesar’s property now. Take them into custody.”

“Yes sir. Then the ship is yours but I’m afraid she’s sinking. We must get off now.”



Julius watched until the Alexandrian flagship had disappeared beneath the surface, his men celebrating.

“That was a brilliant coup sir,” Agrippa said, “It had me fooled. Using the Greeks was ingenious.”

Caesar merely grunted. A warning shout made them both look up. The Alexandrian ballistae were starting again and the first heavy blocks of stone began to fall.

“Do they not give up? We’ve sunk their best ship and captured two more.”

“Yes but they have another twenty seven to come and more everyday.”

Julius watched the missiles for another minute then spoke.

“Pull our ships back to the dock….”

“But Sir!” Agrippa interrupted, “Forgive me sir but you said before that if we let them in.”

“They’ll not be able to get past that sunken ship without moving all these others first. That will buy us time. We cannot defend our ships with so few men. Take our fleet back to the dock and burn it.”

Agrippa couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I’m sorry sir what did you say?”

Now Caesar snapped.

“Does every one of my orders have to be questioned! I said burn them! Tonight!”



A low sunset hung over the Royal harbour making the sea appear red. It was quiet. The only people to be seen were the Roman guards. Admiral Agrippa walked along the dock flanked by his bodyguards. He stopped at the water’s edge and surveyed the ships bobbing gently at their moorings. He bent and picked up a small stone, turning it over and over in his hand, reluctant to begin his orders.

A dog was scavenging near one of the Roman ships and he threw the stone at it. Though he missed the animal the dog whimpered and ran away. He turned at the sound of heavy wagons. His men were pulling laden carts into the square. The carts were carrying large jars of pitch and oil. Officers began instructing men to their tasks. Oil was soon carried onto the ships and splashed over everything. Once the oil was all used the ships were vacated. Now men carrying burning torches boarded and quickly began touching the oil with the flames. Once an area had been ignited they moved on, always working towards the boarding ramps.

Within minutes fires were burning on all of the Roman ships. A nervous officer was standing near Agrippa.

“It doesn’t seem right somehow sir. How are we supposed to get home without….”

Agrippa turned on him angrily.

“Hold your tongue!”



On the other side of the harbour the new Egyptian admiral Darios was asleep in his bunk when he was roughly awakened.

“What is it?”

“Sir you’d better come and see this.”

He was on his feet quickly, wobbly from just having woken.

“Are the Romans attacking?”

“No sir.”

“Then what?”

“You’ll never believe it,” the other man said, no longer able to contain his excitement, “The Roman fleet is on fire.”

Darios stared at the other man for a moment while his brain digested what he’d just heard.

“On fire?”

“Yes. It’s brilliant news. Come and see for yourself.”

Darios rushed up the steps barely able to keep up. Once on deck he rushed to the rail at the side of his ship, his eyes wide, his mouth open. The Roman ships were ablaze in the evening sky.

“What happened? Did some of our fleet attack?”

“No. The Romans did it themselves.”

“Did it themselves. Why would they in their right minds….?” Then the answer hit him.

“Isn’t it wonderful news Sir. We’ll be rid of them for sure now.”

“On the contrary I think it means they intend to stay.”

“But how could they get home, I mean why would they….”

“I believe Caesar has realised that he could not hold us off indefinitely and couldn’t afford the troops to defend his fleet so rather than let it fall into our hands he’s put it to the torch.”

“But then he must know sir that he’s trapped now, with no escape route. He can’t possibly defeat us now. Can he?”

“I sincerely hope not.”

A messenger arrived.

“Yes what is it?”

“Admiral. Achillas has been murdered!”