Meanwhile, on the Artemis, with set face sat Eboracus, guiding the head of the Liburnian as directed. He could see the twinkling lights, and hear the sounds of rejoicing.
“Slack speed,” called Lamia.
“Slack your oars,” down into the hold.
There was a pause—all oars held poised for a moment.
“Double!” shouted Lamia.
“Double your oars!” down the ladder.
Instantly the water hissed about the bows, and the oars plunged.
Eboracus by a violent movement threw himself and his entire weight on the handle of one paddle, so as to turn the bireme about, and ram her midships into the Imperial trireme, when suddenly, without a word, Luke had drawn a knife through the thong that restrained the paddle, and instantly the pedalion leaped out of place, and would have gone overboard, had not the physician caught and retained it.
Immediately the direction of the Artemis was altered and in place of running into the trireme, she swerved and swung past the Imperial galley without touching her.
Nero, white with alarm and rage shrieked from the quarter-deck,