"Why did ye disturb me?" he asked. "It is but one of the triremes of Licinius coming back with tidings for Cæsar. We may hail her, in her passing, but we may not hinder her. Cæsar is careful of the bearers of his messages. Men die early who meddle with that which doth not concern them."
No change was made, therefore, in the handling of the quinquereme. The rowers sat idly at their places, ready for any orders which might come, but allowing their oars, longer and shorter, to hang in the water, or to rest hauled inboard.
Now there came wind enough to fill the sail, and she slipped along better, while the sailing master came and stood by the haughty centurion.
"They are in haste," he said. "They row swiftly."
"Well they may," replied the officer, "whether Licinius hath had good fortune or whether the fates have been against him. I would not be sent to Britain. Too many have gone to ruin on that island."
"It is a bad place," said the seaman, "and all those seas are full of Saxons. They are fierce barbarians, but they make good gladiators. I would crucify them all."
"Never spare thou a Saxon," said the centurion. "They are food for the sword. Slay every one thou findest on land or sea. Mars be my witness, I will spare not one."
For life or for death, therefore, was the swift coming of The Sword. The Saxons must overcome the quinquereme, or escape her in some manner, or they must die without mercy, and this they knew well.
"A strong force on board of her," said the centurion, as The Sword drew nearer. "But I see no standard save an eagle on the fore deck. She hath no officers of rank, and that is strange. I will hail her. Sound thou thy trumpet, trumpeter!"