Macro beckoned to the optio in command of the guards. ‘The prefect’s arranging a little display for this lot. Take them to the master carpenter’s workshop. Except for him.’ Macro pointed to the pirates’ leader. ‘He’s coming with us. Cut him loose from the others.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The optio saluted.
The prisoners were jostled into a rough column while their young leader was taken to one side, under the eye of a marine who kept a firm hand on his shoulder while the other rested on the pommel of his sword. Ajax watched in sullen silence as his men were led into the camp, chains jingling as the shingle crunched under their bare feet.
Meanwhile, the two centurions strode down to the biremes beached in the shallows where Cato gave orders for repairs to the fire-damaged bireme while Macro organised the unloading of the wounded, and passed on the news of the prefect’s extra issue of wine. The last order raised a good-humoured cheer and the men eagerly set to work to finish their duties and clean their kit, all the while looking forward to the prospect of getting out of their skins on the cheap, but potent, wine procured for the navy.
Cato watched them for a moment with a growing feeling of contempt. More than a few grateful toasts would be made to Vitellius that evening for the extra ration of wine. The same Vitellius who had only days before led them into a disastrous sea-battle that had cost the lives of hundreds of their comrades. Were their memories so short? Then again, the successful ambush of the pirates had won them back a large measure of confidence, and the improvement in their spirit had been evident to Cato as the crews of three biremes, their two prizes and the prisoners had made their way back down the coast to join the rest of the fleet. Now Vitellius was trying to buy himself back into their affections, and Cato had no doubt that he would succeed the instant these men sank into the warm intoxicating embrace of the prefect’s gift.
Cato turned towards the prisoner and looked him over closely once again. He was sure of it. This was the same man he had seen aboard the pirate flagship, alongside Telemachus…The pirate chief referred to him as a lieutenant. But as Cato struggled to recall the moment in as much detail as possible he was dimly aware that there had to be more to it than that. Ajax was no mere underling. He was one of the pirate chief’s senior men. And now he had fallen into Roman hands. Small wonder that Vitellius had been so pleased with the result. At last they had some kind of advantage over their elusive foe.
Ajax turned his head, scanning the ships and the men around him with a keen intelligence, then he met Cato’s eyes and glanced down, bowing his head and letting his shoulders sag into a very convincing aspect of dejection. Cato smiled. The man was good, and was going to play up to his captors for all he was worth.
As soon as Macro was satisfied that all was in order he strolled over to Cato. ‘Ready? Then let’s take this little beauty back to headquarters for a chat.’ He strode over and raising his vine cane Macro prodded Ajax in the small of his back. ‘Come on, let’s be having you!’
The prisoner lurched forward with a rattle of chains and threw his head back to spit at Macro, who immediately slapped him hard across the face with the back of his hand.
‘Now, now. Show some manners!’
Macro pointed up the beach with his cane, indicating the entrance to the camp and the three of them set off.
Vitellius was awaiting their arrival in his tent. Standing to one side of the tent were two hard-looking men who, Cato realised, must be interrogators. Like most of the specialists in the Roman military, these men would be thoroughly versed in their art and, from the look of them, Cato suspected that they would have had plenty of opportunities to put that training into practice.
As the two centurions and their prisoner entered the tent Vitellius nodded to a sturdy wooden chair with a high back in the middle of an area that had been cleared of any other furniture. Even the rugs that normally covered the ground had been neatly rolled up and placed to the side to avoid getting stained. Macro guided the prisoner over to the chair.
‘Wait there.’
At once the two interrogators moved in and tore the soiled clothes off the prisoner, throwing them to one side until he stood naked before them. One of the interrogators firmly pushed him down into the chair and then produced some leather straps, and the two of them tied Ajax’s wrists and ankles to the chair.
‘Right then.’ Vitellius slowly walked round the prisoner and then stopped directly in front of him. ‘I think we’ll have this one flayed alive.’
Ajax glanced up with a terrified expression and Vitellius grinned. ‘So! We understand Latin. That should make things a little easier.’ The prefect stopped smiling and fixed his attention on the prisoner.
‘Listen to me. There are some questions I want answers to. I want to know where your fleet is based. I want to know how many ships you have, how they’re defended and how many men you have. Lastly I want to know where the scrolls are. If what Centurion Cato tells me about you is correct, and you are one of Telemachus’ top men then you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. Those are the questions. You’ve got the answers. If you tell me now you’ll save yourself a lot of pain and suffering. If you try to hold anything back, these men,’ he nodded at the interrogators, ‘will go to work on you. They know how to inflict agonies you couldn’t begin to imagine. All you need to know is that you will talk. One way or another.’
Ajax sneered. ‘You’re not doing such a bad job of talking yourself, Roman.’
Vitellius smiled. ‘Ah! Such courage in the face of adversity. I’m almost impressed. Let’s begin, shall we? I’m keen to see how well you cope.’
The prefect stepped aside. ‘Gentlemen, he’s all yours.’
There was no preamble. No attempt to try to put the frighteners on the pirate by laying before him the instruments of their trade and letting his imagination go to work. The interrogator with the heaviest build simply stepped up to the chair and slammed his fist into Ajax’s face, shattering his nose with a dull crunch. The young man’s head cracked against the chair back. There was a moment of stunned silence before he cried out in pain, then Ajax realised what he had done and clamped his mouth shut and opened his eyes wide and glared defiantly back at the interrogator as blood gushed over his lips and dripped on to his chest. The next blow came in from the side, on his cheek, with a soft thud.
Cato and Macro stood to one side, watching in silence as the interrogator went about his work; landing a steady sequence of blows to head and ribs. Although Cato felt sickened by the display of violence he told himself that it was necessary. Ajax had the information that would save him and Macro, and redeem Vitellius, and put an end to the pirates’ menacing of the seaways. What was this young man’s suffering when measured against all the other factors? And yet Cato felt a wave of disgust wash over him and he wanted no part of this. But he could not leave. Everyone would know that he hadn’t the stomach for it, and if word of that spread round the camp he would be a laughing stock. He must affect a cold detachment from the torture being carried out in front of him. Of course, it was easier in the resolution than the act, and when a thick gout of blood splattered on his cheek, Cato felt bile rise in his throat and he swallowed nervously.
After a while Vitellius stepped in and waved the interrogator to one side. It was warm in the tent, and the man’s skin glistened as he took a step back from the pirate sagging in the chair.
‘That’ll do to start with, thank you, Trebius.’ Vitellius flashed a smile at the interrogator. ‘We don’t want to damage him too much at this stage.’
The interrogator was taken aback. ‘I know what I’m doing, sir. He’ll be able to talk for a while yet.’
Vitellius raised his hands. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to cause any offence. But before we continue…is there anything you want to tell me, young Ajax?’
The pirate was breathing heavily and at first it seemed that he hadn’t heard the prefect. Then his head lolled to one side. He opened his eyes and spat out some blood.
�
��I’ll make you pay for this, Roman…I’ll make you suffer…And, if you kill me, then my…’Ajax glanced up anxiously for an instant, before his face twisted into a mask of bitter hatred once again. ‘He’ll make you pay.’
Macro glanced at Cato and spoke softly. ‘He?’
Cato shrugged. ‘Telemachus, maybe.’
Stepping closer to the prisoner, Vitellius bent forward and said gently, ‘Who’ll make me pay? Your friend, the pirate chief? You really think so?’
‘You’re going to die, Roman.’
Vitellius gave a light laugh. ‘Friend, we’re all going to die. Some just get to die sooner than others. The timing is all that matters in life. Now, you know the questions. I want the answers.’
‘Fuck you!’ Ajax jerked his head up and spat in the prefect’s face.
Vitellius instinctively recoiled, then wiped the bloody spittle off his cheek with the back of his hand. He smiled. ‘No, fuck you, you pirate scum.’ He nodded at the interrogator. ‘Back to work, Trebius. Make it really hurt this time.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The interrogator turned to his assistant. ‘Pass us the cutters…’
Ajax held out for the rest of the afternoon and even Macro was moved to admiration by the young man’s courage. Ajax had screamed when the interrogator cut off his little finger, and then gouged out several chunks of flesh, but not once had he begged for it to end, or answered the questions Vitellius put to him. Cato felt more and more sick as the torture dragged out, through one hour, then the next. Just when he felt he must object and try to put an end to this pointless mutilation, the pirate finally gave in, sobbing in terror and agony, as he blurted out a name.
‘Vectis terra…’ he whispered.
‘What’s that?’ Vitellius leaned closer, straining his ears to catch the word. ‘Speak up!’
‘Vectis terra…my father’s at Vectis terra.’
There was a sudden stillness in the tent as the Romans exchanged a look of surprise. Cato shook his head, angry with himself for missing the now obvious connection between Telemachus and Ajax. Of course their features were similar. And why would so young a man be so highly placed amongst the pirates, unless he had a blood connection with their leader?
Vitellius was the first to speak. ‘Now that is interesting. So you are his son.’
Ajax did not respond, but hung his head down and refused to meet the gaze of his captors.
‘Well then!’ Vitellius could not restrain his delight at the discovery. ‘I’m sure you will be of even greater use to us now, Ajax. I wonder…I wonder just how far your father would go for your safe return.’
Ajax spat blood on to the floor. ‘I’d rather die!’
‘Of course you would. But would he rather you died? That’s the question.’ Vitellius crossed to the side of the tent, unravelled a map and ran a finger up the dark lines that marked the coastline until he found the place. ‘Vectis terra, you say…Hmm, I don’t think so. That’s too far off the trade routes. Your ships would have to sail for days before they reached their hunting grounds.’ He turned round and chuckled. ‘Nice try, young Ajax. I knew you’d lie first time. Now we’ll have the truth, if you please.’
The prisoner hung his head in despair as the prefect crossed back to him.
‘Come now, Ajax. We will make you tell us the truth in the end, however long it takes. The only question you must ask yourself is how much pain you want to endure before you give us the truth. If you co-operate with us, then I give you my word you will live. If you persist in this foolish and pointless attempt to resist, then there will be torment, heaped upon torment, until you do tell us the truth. Then there will only be death.’
Vitellius reached down and lifted the pirate’s chin. ‘So you see, young man, the only sensible thing to do is accept that you will tell us what we need to know. Now, or later, it doesn’t matter which. But you will tell us…Trebius!’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Back to work then.’
Ajax stared in horror at the interrogator. Then he clenched his eyes tightly shut for a moment and whispered, ‘Petrapylae…’
Vitellius smiled and patted him on the head. ‘Good lad.’
The prefect returned to the map and began to scan it closely. After a while he straightened up and turned back to his prisoner with an angry expression. ‘There’s no such place. Now tell me the truth, or—’
Cato stepped between them. ‘Sir, the chart’s one of ours.’
Vitellius glared at him ‘So?’
‘His first tongue is Greek. Petrapylae–the Gates of Rock, or something like that. Can I see the chart, sir?’
Vitellius waved a hand. ‘Be my guest.’
Cato flattened out the map and glanced up the coast from their present position. Then he tapped his finger on the parchment. ‘Here. This looks like it. The Gates of Stone.’
‘Let me see that!’ Vitellius hurried over, looked at the point Cato indicated, and nodded as a smile formed on his lips. ‘That must be it.’
‘Makes sense, sir. It’s off the trade routes. There’s an abandoned Greek colony there; mountains on all sides. The entrance looks narrow enough to defend well.’ He shrugged. ‘Of course there’s plenty of other equally possible sites on this stretch of coast.’
Vitellius looked over his shoulder. ‘Supposing he’s lying?’
‘Then we keep him alive until we’ve reconnoitred the area, sir. If he’s trying to mislead us we can always interrogate him again.’
‘True. But there’s one more thing.’ Vitellius went back over to Ajax. ‘The scrolls. Are they kept there?’
There was a pause, then Ajax nodded. Vitellius stared at the prisoner for a moment before turning his gaze towards Cato and Macro. ‘You believe him?’
Macro shrugged. ‘Seems like the most obvious place to keep ‘em, sir. We’re having a hard enough time finding their ships, and Telemachus will want them somewhere he can keep an eye on them and protect them. If they’re as valuable as people think.’
‘Valuable?’ Vitellius sniffed. ‘They’re more than that, Centurion. In fact, they’re invaluable.’
Before either of the centurions could probe any further, the tent flap lifted and one of the prefect’s bodyguards thrust his head into the tent. His eyebrows rose slightly at the sight of the battered prisoner.
‘What is it?’ Vitellius snapped.
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but there’s a boat heading in from the sea.’
‘A boat? What kind of boat?’
‘Looks like some kind of yacht sir. She’s small but she’s fast.’
‘Heading this way, you say?’
‘Yes, sir. Straight for us.’
Vitellius looked at Ajax for a moment before making a decision. ‘He’ll keep. Cato, Macro, pass the word to the senior duty officer. He’s to have two centuries stand to. And alert the artillery batteries. I want them ready to fire, if necessary, the moment the boat’s in range. I’ll join you shortly.’
They saluted and ducked out of the tent. Vitellius turned to the interrogator. ‘Right then, just a few last questions…’
Outside the headquarters tent Cato and Macro had a clear view down the slope leading to the rampart and the beach beyond. The sun was brassy and bright and they had to shade their eyes and squint as they stared out to sea. Far out, little more than a vague silhouette, they could see the boat, lateen sail out to one side as it ran before the wind. They strode down to the shore and relayed the prefect’s order before turning their attention back to the approaching boat.
‘Now who the hell’s that?’ asked Macro.
Cato shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘Whoever it is seems to be in a tearing hurry to get here. Imperial courier, or something?’ Macro wondered aloud.
As they watched Cato felt the blood chill in his veins as he recalled the dispatch he had sent to Rome. There was a crunch of shingle and Cato suddenly sensed the eyes of the prefect falling on h
im and made himself stand quite still and resist the temptation to turn towards Vitellius. Instead he concentrated on the new arrival, until his eye was drawn to a distant movement on the promontory above the bay. A line of crosses stood dark against the western sky. On each one hung a tiny figure. Even as he watched, the last cross was raised into place, a man writhing on its wooden arms.
Cato suppressed a shudder of fear. If Vitellius discovered that Cato had opened his dispatch, then there was a good chance that he would find himself sharing the fate of the pirates nailed to the crosses hanging above the bay.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The small ship held its course and sailed into the bay as the sun dipped down towards the horizon. From the shore Cato could make out a cluster of figures on the deck. The slanted light illuminated red cloaks and glinted off polished armour.
Macro grunted beside him. ‘Looks like top brass. Wonder what they’re doing here.’
They both turned towards Prefect Vitellius, standing a short distance away as he squinted at the approaching ship with an anxious expression. Macro leaned closer to his friend.
‘Has this got anything to do with that report he sent back to Rome, do you suppose?’
Cato tried to sound genuine as he replied, ‘I really have no idea. We’ll have to wait and see.’
Macro looked at him curiously for a moment. Then glanced round to make sure he would not be overheard, before he spoke softly. ‘Cato, do you know something about this?’
‘About what?’
‘Don’t get cute with me, lad. I know you.’
For a moment Cato was tempted by the need to unburden his anxiety. But he would not put Macro in any more danger than he was already in. He owed the man that much at least.
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